#thank you so much for your kind words!! you are a wonderful person!!

[dduane]

Hello Ms. Duane I hope you're doing okay today.

This is a very personal ask and if it's too much and you need to ignore it I totally understand!

I was just wondering how you are managing to stay so strong and positive after what happened.

My partner and I are in our 40s and neither of us are the healthiest people and I am so very afraid of losing him one day. Sometimes, in private, I cry just thinking about it. I can't see a future in which I could go on if he died first.

But you manage to continue even after your terrible loss. You travel and write and continue to experience joys in life. Do you have any thoughts or advice on how to be ready for this future? How to survive the grief?

I hope I am not overstepping my boundaries. I have no one I could talk to about his, and your current strength amazes me.

First of all: thanks for the kind words. They're very, very appreciated.

Secondly: Everything that follows is intensely situational, and everybody else's mileage will inevitably vary. (So what else is new?)

(Adding a cut here, as I'm still ambivalent about how to handle these issues "on main". Warning: contains discussion of pre- and post-bereavement issues, the loss of longtime spouses, mental-health travel, and turning into trees.)

...Anyway. How am I managing?

Frankly, damned if I know.

In my case, I'm really not sure it's attributable to strength, as such. (Though, yeah, one learns some of that over time, if one's not afraid to expose oneself to life. Which, admittedly, is a way bigger ask these days, it seems to me, than it used to be.)

Some of it is mere habit, intertwined with unavoidable responsibility. There are things that my daily life requires me to do that can't be evaded, or not for long: and habit keeps me pushing through those. (And some of them are so fecking mundane. Keeping the online store running, doing the damn dishes, dealing with web issues [right now I'm having a deeply frustrating discussion with Peter's website about under-the-hood memory issues: a discussion that I wish I could just end with a polearm of some kind]...) This is the "This Gets Me So Damn Pissy" side of being a grownup. ...With the inevitable side question: when the hell did I grow up? Is this it? Because this bit of it is really annoying me right now.

Some of it is sheer bloody-minded stubbornness (with a side of You can't give up on dealing with this. He wouldn't like that. And also, You have to keep on surviving this to the point where you get past the worst of the pain: because you know that point will come if it's just given enough time... and he would not want the last thing he did to have caused you so much pain that you gave up).

...Is any of this making sense? God only knows. Please excuse all unnecessary parentheses.

And also: Some of this is the simple realization that it would not be either desirable or healthy to give up, or set aside, even temporarily, the whole spectrum of individuated, nothing-to-do-with-him things that have made me, and continue to make me, me... some of which were plainly (to my then and continuing delight) what got that guy to marry me in the first place.

Peter had only disapproval for the concept of suttee. But not merely because of that, I refuse to burn myself away on his pyre (or to allow my own carelessness about my physical and/or mental states to let that happen). It would serve no useful purpose, would inevitably cause pain to a lot of other people... and in any case, he would just really not approve.

Admittedly, I'm feeling kinda scorched around the edges right now. But give it time enough, and scorching can heal.

(sighing) Let me back away briefly from that whole set of issues, to look a little at the background. Whenever this subject has come up for discussion between us over the years, P. and I have been of more or less instantaneous agreement that we'd both deeply prefer, when the day and hour rolled around, to be turned simultaneously into trees. 😏 Neither of us was ever wild about the other one surviving alone and having to deal with the partner's loss. Yet—barring the chance of dying together in some natural disaster, or in a train or plane crash or something (which is frankly kind of hard on all the other people on the plane or train)—we knew damn well that eventually, whatever our preferences, that was what was most likely going to happen.

So we talked about it. We made some (as it now turns out, fairly rudimentary) plans. Some of them are turning out to be useful. Some of them are less so (in that some of them depended on assumptions about which of us would be likelier to go first). But the important thing was that we jointly acknowledged that one-of-us-goes-first was the likeliest outcome.

And nothing is served by trying to pretend that it's not likely to happen, or by failing to acknowledge and discuss it with your partner. This is hard to say, and will doubtless be hard to hear. But I promise you that all of this would have been endlessly worse for me (or for him, if I'd gone first) if we hadn't even been willing to get as far as the acknowledgement: which is vital.

One who commits to a real-world, long-term partnership must sooner or later be willing to commit to the difficult truth that it will someday end. Denial doesn't help at all. The physical universe has all kinds of seriously annoying ways to deal with that. (And if this sounds kinda stern, please understand that it's mostly myself I'm being stern with here.) ...But if you're already experiencing distress over the eventual possibility of something at this level of inevitability happening (she said, briefly putting her psych-nurse hat on*), I think you might be wise to consider how to broach the subject with your partner sooner rather than later. If you need professional assistance with this, do what you can to seek it out.

But make some kind of plan for the time when two become one (in the probably least-delightful sense of the phrase). It doesn't have to happen all at once. You don't have to spend hours over the business, or days. Peter and I handled this issue (most recently, and not with an eye to any illness...) over a matter of months, in brief conversations that sometimes lasted only minutes at a time, or even seconds. (Hilariously, it was P. finally getting his senior citizen's unlimited-public-transport pass that triggered us most recently getting into this issue in any depth.) But having done so—even in rudimentary form—each of us could rest a little easier that the other knew where to quickly reach for the already-emplaced "lifesaver," and wouldn't have to be thrashing around in the deep water all alone with no immediate help in sight.

(sighing) ...So. As to feeling joy about things? I suspect I'm a good ways off that yet. Flashes of amusement and happiness (and also of extremely black humor, possibly rather blacker than usual) have been coming and going as usual. But then the "happiness" thing is kind of unavoidable for me, because in this regard I am a very cheap date, and always have been. I mean, anybody who looks at my shitposting here should be able to detect that. :)

Meanwhile, as for travel: There's definitely a therapeutic side to this. Right up until his last day, P. and I had stacks and stacks of plans for places we wanted to go in the short- to long-term: some of them ones we'd been to before, some not. I find (not entirely to my surprise, but with satisfaction that it works) that there's currently some relief available for me in carrying out these plans, even though P's not with me except in "Shoulder Angel" mode. What I mean by this is: me traveling and seeing new and interesting things, and predicting—I like to think with some accuracy, after forty years of observing and interacting with the man—what Peter would generally make of them. So that practice will continue, when I can afford it and can spare the time away from home. (Those who want to contribute to these efforts are cordially invited to go over to the Ko-Fi and drop in whatever they please with the tag "Operation Shoulder Angel," so I know what it's about. And thanks in advance to any who feel inclined to do this.)

Additionally, in terms of the general suggestion some have made, that I should "Get out of the house and go be with your Tribe when you can", at the end of the month it seems I'll be at Archipelacon 2, on an island I didn't even know existed until some weeks back, and had to Google for. That should be interesting! Detailed reports will follow.

As for continuing to write: that won't stop until it's my turn to stop breathing, if I have anything to say about it. Casual writing, like this, is enough of a daily commonplace that it's in no danger, I think, of being interrupted. Meanwhile, I look forward to being able to settle back into actual prose work as soon as possible, as things are kinda backed up at that end. If I have to travel to do that because it's difficult to do at home... well, I've done that before, and often. If I must, I'll do it again. Some of my best writing has happened in holiday flats and hotel rooms.

Anyway: thanks much for the question, which took courage to ask! I honor that. And as for you: hang in there and do what you can for your own situation... though (obviously) at your own speed. I can tell you for sure that action on this issue will help, at least a little, over time, to kill some of the fear... and will help you prepare for the unexpected.

HTH. ❤️

*Even though we didn't wear caps. When I was still practicing, we worked in street clothes. Just as well, as I always looked like a dork in a cap.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to having a cute, strong s/o who also loves to eat

Requested by @moonygrim : Hi Celeste 😊, I hope you’re doing well 💕.

I saw that your requests were open and decided to send one in.

So I was just wondering if you could write a reaction to Seventeen having a strong cute SO who maybe likes to eat a lot. I know it’s a little of a weird one but I thought I would send it anyways since seeing something like that would mean a lot to me.

Thank you 💕.

A/N: tysm for trusting me with something so personal. representation matters, and i’m honored to help you feel seen through this one 🫶🏼 you deserve to be adored just as you are, muscle and all 💜 /// the requester included some personal experiences, which i chose not to share publicly out of respect for their privacy. the prompt above is the main request

Head-over-heels in awe of your strength [and your appetite] — Seungcheol, Dokyeom, Mingyu, Dino

These boys are starstruck. No other word for it. Seungcheol practically glows watching you lift something heavy without breaking a sweat. He calls you his ‘supergirl’ and brags about how ”his girl carried the groceries like they were feathers.” Mingyu is so whipped it’s ridiculous. You flex once and he’s making heart eyes, mumbling, “You’re so cool, what the heck.” If you’re both at a buffet? You’re tag-teaming! Dokyeom LOVES that you eat with joy. He’s always encouraging you to get seconds, and if you ever say “I think I ate too much,” he’s shaking his head like: “No such thing. Let’s go for dessert” 🍮 And Dino's a baby in love. He looks at you like you hung the moon, especially when you slightly lift him up jokingly or beat him in arm wrestling. That’s his dream girl.

Totally smitten, totally supportive — Jeonghan, Hoshi, Woozi, Seungkwan

Jeonghan low-key teases you at first, “should I be the little spoon tonight?” but it’s all affection. He genuinely finds your strength super attractive and hot and secretly loves it when you protect him from fans or push open a jammed door like it’s nothing. Woozi’s too chill to say much, but he’s proud and kind of turned on. His eyes linger when you’re focused, the small smiles when you eat with gusto — it’s all there. Seungkwan is OBSESSED. You’re his superhero. He’ll film you carrying heavy bags just to show people how cool you are. And when you’re eating happily, he's literally matching your pace and feeding you bites of his plate. Hoshi’s your #1 cheerleader, “LOOK AT HER BICEPS!!!” he’ll yell in the group chat after you open a kimchi jar he couldn’t. He’ll act all dramatic but only because, he’s so, so into you.

Extremely respectful of your body and your confidence — Joshua, Jun, Wonwoo, Minghao

Joshua’s the type to look at your arms while you’re lifting something and ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ say, “You’re really strong,” with the kindest, most genuine admiration. He loves that you’re strong and soft; his safe space. Wonwoo finds strength incredibly sexy. You might be stronger than him, and he loves that. He’s quiet, but if you ever express insecurity, he’ll look you straight in the eye and say, “you’re beautiful. Exactly as you are.” and shut all that nonsensical stuff in your head. Jun will 100% ask you to teach him workouts. You two will have gym dates, and he’ll compliment your form every time. He loves your body and the way you love food, it’s all part of what makes you you. Hao sees your strength as elegance. He’s inspired by your control, your discipline, and how at peace you are with yourself [because he doesn't let you you live with insecurities]. If someone makes a comment about your build, he’ll politely but firmly shut it down, “she’s stronger than your fragile ego. Let’s go babe.” [UFF, I LOVE HIM 😌]

Obsessed in the most Vernon way — Vernon

Vernon’s reaction is understated, but make no mistake: he’s in awe of you. You casually carry something heavy or pop open a stuck bottle cap, and he just blinks like, “wait. That was kinda hot.” He admires your strength silently, but with so much pride. He doesn’t gush, but he just shows it in lowkey ways: asking you to spot him at the gym, letting you finish his fries because you love them, or wordlessly handing you his hoodie when he notices you’re cold after a workout. And if anyone ever says anything rude about your build or appetite, he’s not shouting and screaming and challenging to fight him, but he’s sharp. He’ll cut in calmly, firmly, “she’s literally perfect. You good?”

[knottydevil]

Your rope work is beautiful and inspiring. I love watching your flow and the looks in your and your subjects’ eyes.

I was wondering, where did you learn to do Hashira? Do you have any resources you’d recommend I look into, or is this a “go to a class” skill?

I’ve been wanting to learn how to do it ever since I started learning suspension, but haven’t found great resources on safety, setting up a space for it and considerations for differing body types.

Thanks :3

Thank you so much for your kind words 🙏

I learned hashira after having about a year and a half of suspension experience. I took a few private lessons from a local rigger in the community and went to a weekend long hashira intensive at a local rope studio and learned more. Then I practiced a ton starting with partials and working my way to full suspension. I would highly recommend learning in person. Hashira can be tricky because you aren’t just tying someone in the air, you are tying them to the post, so upline management can be more complex and finding sustainable poses tailored to the specific person can be difficult and take time. In my opinion external resources are great for extra knowledge and additional tips and tricks but nothing beats the efficiency of in person learning when watched over by a practiced eye. Also it can be quite technical and a book or video can’t tell you if there is a mistake or watch you and then give you helpful hints based on what you did.

Resources for this can be difficult to find. I was very privileged that I had a rigger who taught private classes in my city. For the intensive though I did have to travel. I also became a regular at local rope events so that helped me find and hear about events both in my city and in other cities.

Featuring tinyyfairyy_k

[cheshireliam]

"Once Again, An Evil From Which You Can't Return" Story Event: Chapter 2

Liam Evans & Harrison Gray

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

This event story works in such a way that Chapter 1 is for Suitor A and Chapter 2 is for Suitor B, before splitting into two endings.

The night I went to see Liam’s play.

I couldn’t fall asleep… so I was returning to my room from the kitchen with a cup of warm milk in my hand.

On the way, I heard a voice coming from the dimly lit hallway where moonlight was streaming in.

???: Don’t let it bother you too much. 

I stood there in wonder of who the voice belonged to, and its owner emerged from the shadows. 

(Harrison…) 

Kate: You could tell? 

Harrison: Yeah. You can’t lie to save your life. You’re probably the furthest thing from a real liar I’ve ever met. 

Kate: A-am I that easy to read?

Harrison: About time you realised that yourself. 

He narrowed his eyes like a sly fox from a fairytale story. 

I had no recollection of what kind of conversations I had with them before I lost my memories, or whether we went on missions together. But…

(For him to be concerned about me… Harrison must be a kind person.) 

Kate: You’re right, Harrison… the matter has been weighing  on my mind. 

Kate: Ever since losing my memories, it's like there’s been something lingering deep in my chest… 

Kate: Everyone is telling me how I used to be, what I used to do, but… none of it feels real, and that scares me. 

All the emotions I had been keeping bottled up poured out at once, and Harrison spoke gently in response. 

Harrison: Then why not… treat it like a mystery to solve and have fun with it?

Kate: Treat it like a mystery and have fun with it…?

Harrison: Yeah. Right now, there’s endless possibilities laid out in front of you, the future is wide open. 

Harrison: There’s a possibility you had every member of Crown wrapped around your little finger, or maybe you were their top detective, solving even the toughest cases left and right. 

Kate: Fufu, what even is that… 

Harrison’s absurd suggestions caught me off guard, but they did melt the tension away and make me laugh. 

Harrison: Or maybe, for example—

Harrison: —... Kate. I’m your lover. 

Kate: … 

The tender, aching tone of his words resonated in my ears. When I looked up, I saw Harrison grinning in contrast to the seriousness I heard in his voice.

Harrison: Just kidding… Was that a lie? Or the truth? 

Kate: … Are you saying that’s one of the possibilities too? 

Harrison: Exactly. Did you fall for it? 

Kate: … I did. Your facial expression was so serious, I almost believed you…

Harrison: In any case, regardless of whether what I said was true… you really should try taking things a little easier. 

Kate: Yeah… you’re right. Thank you, Harrison. I think I’ll try moving on and working towards getting my memories back with a more positive mindset. 

Harrison: That’s the spirit. … And if you’d like, I could even help you out. 

Kate: Really? In that case, I’d love that…! 

…

The next day, he really did agree to go outside with me.

He said he’d take me to places I’d been to before, and the first location was—

… 

Kate: That's a lot of books…

Harrison: This is where you chased me down, saying you wanted to know more about my curse. 

Kate: So that happened… 

Harrison: Now, was that a lie or the truth? 

Kate: Geez, there’s no way I’d know that without my memories, okay? 

Harrison: Looks like nothing’s clicking yet. Guess we’re off to the next location. 

…

The next place he took me to was a café filled with the sweet aroma of baked treats.

Kate: Mmm… it melts in my mouth. I’ve never had ricotta pancakes this fluffy before! 

Harrison: Second time you’ve had them.

Kate: Huh?

Harrison: Was that a lie, or the truth?

Kate: This taste… 

Kate: Even if it’s my second time having this, there’s no doubt these pancakes would impress me just as much as the first. 

Harrison: No one asked for a review, gourmand. 

…

And then, when it was almost sunset, we arrived at—

Harrison: Remember this place? 

Leadenhall Market — an indoors market lined with restaurants, cafés, butchers, and bookstores. 

(But anyone who lives in London would know this place.)

Kate: … Did we come here together before? 

Harrison: Yeah, we went to that bookstore over there for research.

Kate: Research? 

Harrison: I work as a proofreader for a living. 

As I scanned the storefronts, hoping to trigger any of my lost memories, I spotted a book cart with wheels set out near the entrance… 

When I approached and started browsing the books on display, Harrison suddenly widened his eyes in surprise. 

Harrison: This is the one! This is the reference I’ve been looking for. I can’t believe I’d find it now of all times. 

He picked up the book and eagerly started flipping through the pages. 

(I’ve never seen Harrison like this before…)

His mint-coloured eyes were clear and sparkling like the sky after the rain. 

In that moment, I felt like that was the most genuine version of him I’d ever seen, without all the lies and pretense. 

Harrison: What are you staring at?

Kate: Just happy to learn you love books. Ah, and please don’t say that line about whether I think it's a lie or truth. 

Kate: It’s written all over your face. You LOVE books. 

Harrison: … 

Harrison’s expression twisted.

And then his eyes lowered, his bangs casting a shadow over his face. 

Kate: Harrison? 

Harrison: … Sun’s going down, it's about time we head back. 

…

He purchased the reference book from the shop and we retraced our journey back to Crown’s castle. 

(Harrison showed me to all those places, yet I couldn't recall a single thing in the end. And…) 

The image of Harrison’s expression twisting ever so slightly lingered in my mind. 

(He said it was only a possibility when he claimed to be my lover earlier… but was it truly only that?) 

As we walked side by side, Harrison reached into his coat to tuck the book away—

Harrison: … Ah. 

With a light metallic clink, something fell from his chest pocket.

It was a small tin of candy. 

Harrison: Here, catch.

He tossed it through the air, and a mint-coloured candy landed in my outstretched palm. 

Kate: Thank you.

I popped it into my mouth, and a refreshing sensation spread immediately. 

Harrison: … Mint is my favourite flavour out of all the candy in the tin. 

Harrison: Was that a lie, or the truth?

He repeated the phrase he’d used countless times that day.

Harrison: … This is the last time I’m asking. 

Although that last line was said in a murmur, his eyes were gazing directly into mine, with an unwavering look of longing. 

[jessesluvr]

feeling spoiled by how much jesse fics you've been writing out 🤭🤭🤭

in the warmth of you | jesse x reader

authors note : i am absolutely so undeniably in love with him, i need more fics of him. please if there's any fics you recommend send them my way ASAP?! i keep rereading the same ol' fics and i need MORE. anyways hehe, please enjoy !

summary : a slow-burning love grows between you and jesse through shared patrols, quiet evenings, and small acts of care, until one night under the stars, he kisses you like a promise. what starts as comfort in a harsh world becomes something deeper—something safe, warm, and lasting, like home.

word count : 1.3k

you never expected to find something like this in jackson. something soft and warm, a quiet kind of hope that wasn’t just survival.

it started small. a shared joke on patrol, the way jesse’s smile lit up the dark woods after a long day. the way he listened when you talked, really listened, not just waiting for his turn to speak.

you found yourself looking for him—in the mess hall, by the firepit, on the radio—like a secret you couldn’t wait to keep.

one chilly evening, the camp was quieter than usual. the fire burned low, sparks drifting into the clear night sky. you were sitting on a log, shoving your hands deep in your coat pockets, when jesse came over, holding two steaming mugs of coffee.

“thought you could use this,” he said, handing you one with a shy grin.

you smiled, the warmth from the cup seeping into your fingers. “thanks.”

he settled beside you, the silence comfortable, not awkward. the stars stretched endlessly above, and for a moment, the whole world felt still.

“you ever think about what comes next?” he asked softly.

you looked at him, surprised. “all the time.”

“me too,” he admitted. “sometimes i wonder if there’s more than just getting through the day.”

you nodded. “there has to be.”

from that night, everything shifted. jesse was no longer just a friend or a familiar face—he became the person you wanted to share small moments with. the way he laughed when you teased him, the way he was always there without being asked.

he started leaving little things for you—an extra jacket when it got cold, a crudely carved wooden flower, a note with a stupid joke that made you laugh out loud.

jesse was nervous, though he tried not to show it.

he found you near the market, brushing dirt off your sleeves, and cleared his throat. “hey. um, so... i was thinking maybe we could... you know, hang out? outside the usual?”

you blinked, heart fluttering. “like a date?”

he scratched the back of his neck, the familiar sheepish grin blooming. “yeah, that. if you want.”

you smiled, the answer already on your lips before he finished. “i’d like that.”

he led you to a quiet clearing just outside the camp, where the wildflowers still bloomed despite the chill creeping into the air. jesse had brought a patchwork blanket and a small bundle of berries and nuts.

you settled next to him, and he kept stealing glances your way, like he couldn’t believe you were really there, with him.

the conversation meandered easily—stories from before jackson, favorite songs, dreams you barely dared whisper. jesse laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made your chest ache with something new.

when the sun dipped low, casting pink and orange across the sky, jesse took your hand in his. “i’m glad you said yes.”

you squeezed back, warmth blooming through your fingers. “me too.”

patrols were usually quiet, tense affairs. but with jesse, even the long, winding walks became moments you looked forward to.

he pointed out a hidden trail or a patch of berries you’d missed before. he hummed softly when he thought no one was listening, and you caught yourself smiling at the sound.

once, you slipped on a muddy patch, and jesse was instantly at your side, steadying you with firm hands.

“clumsy,” he teased gently.

“maybe,” you laughed, “but you’re my favorite safety net.”

he looked at you then, eyes softening. “always.”

on one patrol, you stopped by a small creek. jesse pulled off his boots, rolling up his sleeves.

“come on,” he said, reaching for your hand. “let’s get our feet wet.”

you hesitated, but then laughed, letting him tug you in. the cold water shocked your skin, but you didn’t care. you were with jesse—laughing, free.

when you got back to camp, you were soaked and muddy, but you didn’t mind. jesse just shook his head with a smile and pulled you close.

some nights, jesse was a quiet presence beside you, the kind of closeness that didn’t need words.

you’d sit by the fire, watching the flames flicker, your hands brushing accidentally until neither of you moved away.

he told you about his childhood, about the things he’d lost and the things he’d fought for.

you shared your fears and hopes, small things you never dared say aloud before.

he listened like you were the only thing that mattered.

one night, you woke to find jesse already awake, watching you sleep.

he traced a finger along your jawline, then leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“i don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

you reached up to hold his face, your heart bursting with quiet love.

“you won’t,” you promised.

you sometimes took shifts with jesse at the radio tower.

the view was breathtaking—rolling hills and forests stretching out for miles, the sky a vast canvas of stars.

jesse liked to point out constellations, making up silly stories about the stars.

you’d lie back on the cold metal floor, listening to his voice, feeling like for once, the world was big and full of wonder.

once, when the radio crackled with voices from patrol, jesse grinned and said, “that’s us—team chaos.”

you laughed, leaning against him. “team chaos and calm.”

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

the first rain of the season caught you by surprise during a patrol.

jess told you to run, but instead, you stood still, arms outstretched, feeling the cool drops splash against your skin.

jesse watched you for a moment, then joined you, laughing as you both danced in the rain like kids.

soaked through, muddy and cold, you collapsed against a tree, breathless.

jesse pulled you into a hug, his chest warm against yours.

“you’re crazy,” he said with a smile.

“maybe,” you said, “but you’re crazy enough to keep up.”

one evening, jesse offered to cook dinner.

you watched as he fumbled with pots and pans, clearly out of his element.

“need help?” you teased.

he shrugged, sheepish. “i can build a fire, not much else.”

together, you cooked a simple meal—stew with wild herbs, flatbread warmed on the fire.

you shared stories and jokes as the food simmered.

when it was ready, you ate side by side under the stars, the taste richer because of the laughter and shared moments.

jesse reached for your hand across the firelight, his fingers warm and steady.

you’d been sitting side by side, talking about your pasts, your losses, your hopes.

the night was quiet except for the distant sounds of the camp settling down.

jesse looked at you with a tenderness that made your breath hitch.

slowly, he reached for your cheek, thumb brushing gently.

“can i?” he asked.

you nodded, heart pounding.

his lips met yours softly, a promise, a question, a beginning.

the world shifted, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe, loved.

as weeks turned into months, you and jesse talked about the future.

not the distant, impossible future, but the next day, the next season, the next moment.

you dreamed of a home, of planting a garden, of laughter filling empty rooms.

jesse listened, nodding, adding his own hopes and dreams.

“we’ll make it,” he said firmly.

you believed him.

because with jesse, the impossible felt a little more possible.

it wasn’t dramatic or loud.

just a quiet moment after a long day, when you were leaning against each other by the fire.

jesse looked at you, eyes honest and full.

“i love you,” he said simply.

your heart soared.

you whispered it back, fingers weaving together.

and in that moment, you both knew you’d found something worth fighting for.

and that’s when you realized: this wasn’t just a flicker of warmth against the cold world. it was a fire.

steady and real.

a promise.

a home.

and jesse—he was yours.

[canisalbus]

Just wanted to say I really enjoy following you and seeing posts on my feed of your oc's! Here's a quick sketch of Machete I drew as I find his design to be amazing

.

[anti-dazai-blog]

Hey!! I really like your blog, your analyses are very well thought out and they must take a while to write for sure. You’ve also totally got guts I’ll give you that! It’s not easy being in this fandom and calling out the fan favorite, don’t let the hate get you down. Keep doing what you do! Some of us are either too scared to voice our critics on Dazai or don’t have time to compile it all (I’m the latter)

-👻

thank you so much!!!!!

I’m really glad you’re enjoying this blog and I really appreciate you taking the time to send an ask about it!! Thank you so much you’re amazing 👻 anon!

[mononijikayu]

you belong with me — nanami kento.

"Hi….I’m Kento."

“Kento, huh.” you said, testing the name again like you were rolling it around in your head, trying to get the feel of it. After a moment, you nodded, satisfied.

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“That’s a good name.” You declared it with the authority of a five-year-old who had decided someone was officially worth their time.

“Your name’s okay too... I guess,” Kento replied, his tone so nonchalant it was almost teasing.

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, romance, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, p to v sex, car sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my love, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, best friend! nanami kento, best friend! reader;

WORD COUNT: 14k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the final fic for 2024!!! wah, there's a lot to say. first and foremost, this fic would not be possible if it wasn't for the lovely person who commissioned it from me awhile back. please give them a lot of love and a lot of thanks.

they were my first ever commission here and still it flutters my heart with joy to have worked them. they were so good to me and continues to do so, with how they want to share this fic with you too.

also, i want to thank you all for sticking with me this 2024. it was a long road and a really painful time. i wrote to escape these painful times and i got through 2024 with you guys, just enjoying stories in my head. so thank you!!! there were a lot and there are still a lot i haven't published here.

i hope we continue to be together in 2025 too. i'll continue to write for both of us, to have solace in hard times. i bow to you in all ways that i can. thank you for being good to me!!! i love you all. this is kayu signing off for 2024. please have a lovely and wonderful new year and i'll see you on january 2025 <33333

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if you want to, tip! <3

══════════════════

EVEN AS A CHILD, YOU THOUGHT THAT HE BELONGED TO YOU. It was a childish little thing, you knew that much. But the moment you met Nanami Kento at the park when you were five years old, you just knew he was going to be your best friend.

And no one else could claim that from you. It wasn’t something you decided after a long debate in your head. If anything, it was instinctive, instant, like the way a flower turns toward the sun. What surprised you even more was that he didn’t seem to mind it.

That day, Nanami Kento was sitting on the swings, looking unusually serious for a kid. His little legs dangled, barely brushing the ground, and he rocked back and forth so slightly it was as if he wasn’t even moving. It was odd. 

Most kids treated the swings like they were flying machines, pumping their legs wildly, laughing as they soared. But not Kento. He just sat there, his small hands gripping the chains, his gaze fixed on the ground as though it held all the answers to the universe.

It wasn’t sadness—not exactly. He didn’t look miserable or lonely. No, it was more like he was... satisfied. Content in his little bubble of silence, where the noise of the playground seemed to slide right past him.

You, however, were not content with his quiet. What could a kid possibly have to think about so deeply? Why wasn’t he running around, chasing someone, or shouting nonsense with the other kids? How could he stomach sitting there alone for so long?

The questions buzzed in your head, but more than that, you felt a pull. You wanted to know him. You wanted him to talk to you, to share whatever thoughts were hiding behind those serious brown eyes. And if he wouldn’t come to you, well, that was fine. You’d go to him.

You had the kind of confidence that only comes from being five years old and utterly fearless. The kind of confidence that didn’t know rejection or hesitation, only the certainty that the world would say "yes" if you asked it nicely enough.

So, you marched right up to him, your pigtails bouncing with each determined step. You put on your brightest smile, the kind of smile that has always gotten adults to bend down and coo. “Aren’t you just the sweetest?”

"Hi!" you announced, planting yourself firmly in front of him like he had no choice but to acknowledge you. You told him your name, grinning at him. 

He blinked, startled out of his deep, secured thoughts to the sight of you. It took a while, but he  lifted his caramel gaze to meet yours. For a moment, he just looked at you, like he wasn’t sure if you were real. No one has ever approached him before, well not as brazenly as this. Then, finally, he answered you back. 

"Hi….I’m Kento."

“Kento, huh.” you said, testing the name again like you were rolling it around in your head, trying to get the feel of it. After a moment, you nodded, satisfied. 

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“That’s a good name.” You declared it with the authority of a five-year-old who had decided someone was officially worth their time.

“Your name’s okay too... I guess,” Kento replied, his tone so nonchalant it was almost teasing.

“Huh? It’s pretty!” you retorted, your hands flying to your hips, a slight pout settling on your lips. “My mom thought hard about it, you know!”

“So did mine.” Kento shot back, a flicker of mischief lighting his normally serious face. Then, in a tone that was just a little too smug, he added, “It’s a good name too.”

For a second, you just stared at him, caught off guard by the slyness in his tone. Then, to your own surprise, you burst out laughing. It wasn’t just the words that got to you—it was the way he said them, so calm and deliberate, like he was throwing you a challenge wrapped in politeness.

“You’re funny, you know that?” you decided, grinning widely.

Kento raised an eyebrow at that, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Well, you are.” you said firmly, as though your opinion was final. “So, Kento, what do you wanna do? We could swing, or climb the jungle gym, or—oh! We could build a sandcastle!”

He blinked, caught off guard by your rapid-fire suggestions. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, like he wasn’t used to making decisions for playtime.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand without a second thought. “Then we’re doing the sandcastle! Come on, you’re gonna love it.”

He let you pull him along, his steps falling into rhythm with yours. “What if I don’t?” he asked, his voice so soft you almost missed the challenge in it.

“You will!” you said confidently, already imagining the crooked towers you’d build together. “Because I said so.”

Nanami Kento didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a quiet laugh, the sound so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. But you were paying attention, because something about this boy made you want to see every little detail he kept hidden in that quiet bubble of his.

From that moment, Kento Nanami became yours.

He knew that just as much as you did, even then.

And he was certain you were just as much his from then.

It wasn’t long into your days of playdates before you started staking your claim. You didn’t mean to—well, maybe you did. That really didn’t matter. What mattered was that you and Kento were having fun. Like the time some other kids approached while you and Kento were hard at work in the sandbox, trying to make your castle less crooked.

"Hey, kid!" one of them called, pointing at the little shovel in Kento’s hands. "Can I borrow that?"

"No way." you said firmly before Kento could even open his mouth. You shot the kid a look that clearly said back off. "We’re using it."

"But—"

"Nope. Sorry. It’s ours to play with." you cut them off, turning back to your castle as if the conversation was over. "Right, Kento?"

Kento hesitated for a second, glancing between you and the other kid, before quietly nodding. "Right."

The other kids' faces were filled with harsh looks at what you said. But you didn’t care. All they could do was huff and puff until they were blue in the face. You would never budge, not even if they wanted you too. 

You were a tough girl. And you always got what you wanted. And you wanted your new friend and his attention only on you. So you didn't care what you did. You’ll keep your friend, no matter what they want. 

Soon enough, they gave in and went to wander off. You can only smile. You didn’t feel the slightest bit bad. If anything, you had wished that they had left much sooner. 

You turned to Kento with a satisfied smile. "Good. They’d just mess it up anyway. It’s better if we play together, only us!"

Kento tilted his head, watching you with that quiet curiosity he always seemed to have. You seemed to be content about playing just by yourself, by his side. Not many kids seem to be content about wanting to do that at all.

"Why don’t you let other kids play with us?" he asked.

You looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious. "Because you’re my friend. I found you first. That means you’re mine."

For a moment, he just stared at you.

Then, slowly, that tiny, barely-there smile returned.

"Okay." he said simply, like he didn’t mind one bit.

══════════════════

YEARS DRAGGED ON IN A FLASH FOR BOTH OF YOU. From that day forward, Nanami Kento was your shadow. Or maybe you were his—it often depended on who was asking and whose ego needed inflating at the moment.

But that was just how it was between the two of you. And you were content about how that goes. You knew he was just the same. Not because you went around declaring it (okay, maybe you did once or twice), but because your actions left no room for doubt.

The two of you were inseparable, and everyone knew it. In a way, both your parents were both glad and concerned about it. Glad that you both were in each other’s lives, nurturing and caring for each other. That means you both weren’t lonely, and you both were happily playing with each other day in and out of school.

But concerned that you weren’t letting each other find any other people in your lives and explore other friendships. But that hardly mattered to the two of you. Both of you didn’t budge. You didn’t need anyone else. If anything, you only need each other. You were both content with that. 

If there was a school project, Nanami Kento was your partner. No debates, no negotiation. You made sure of it every single time. It got to the point where teachers didn’t even bother asking anymore. By third grade, the class roster might as well have been printed with your name and his own written in bold under "Partners" for every project.

“Do you guys ever work with anyone else?” a classmate once dared to ask.

“Why would we?” you replied, looking genuinely puzzled. “He’s the best at making the physical parts.I don’t need anyone else.”

Kento, standing beside you, simply shrugged. “She’s good at explaining the messy, hard parts.” he said, so matter-of-factly it left no room for argument.

At lunch, it was no different. You always saved him a spot, waving him over like a VIP guest being ushered past the velvet rope. And no one dared sit with the two of you. Not after The Incident.

There was one time where a new kid made the mistake of sliding into the seat next to Nanami Kento before he got there. You didn’t even hesitate to act as quickly as you could. 

“Excuse me, new kid.” you said, your voice sugary sweet, but your eyes narrowing dangerously.

“What?” the kid asked, glancing up at you.

“That’s his seat.” You pointed toward Kento, who was still in the lunch line, entirely oblivious to the showdown brewing at the table.

“Seats are for everyone in the school.” the kid said, with all the defiance of someone who didn’t know better yet. “I can sit wherever I want.”

And that’s when you did it. You reached out and swatted their hand as they tried to open their milk carton. You glared at him, almost as cold as the North Pole. He gulped at your glare. You were terrifying for a middle schooler.

“Go. Somewhere. Else.” you said, every word punctuated with a glare that could have sent a grown man packing. “That’s HIS seat!”

The new kid was terrified and immediately scurried off, muttering something about "territorial weirdos." — that was another thing for the school to whisper about in their past time. But you didn’t care. 

By the time that he got out of the boy’s toilets, Nanami Kento got to the table, his spot was as clear as always, and you were already peeling the wrapper off the sandwich your mom made for him like nothing had happened.

“Thanks.” he said, sitting down without even asking why the kid from earlier was now eating on the other side of the cafeteria. He saw that of course. But he didn’t dare ask. “Thank your mom for me, about the sandwich.”

“You’re welcome.” you replied, sliding his sandwich over to him. You smiled as he opened his own lunch bag and started to pull out chocolate pudding in a tupperware. “Ohhhh, your mom thought of dessert!”

“Hm, I asked her.” Kento retorts back to you, smiling softly at your excitement. “Since you like chocolate pudding.”

“Thank your mama for me, okay?”

“Hm, I will.”

But of course, your protectiveness didn’t stop at lunch seats. If anything, you were protective of him to the point that it was already insane. If anyone so much as thought about teasing him, you were on them like a hawk. It didn’t matter if it was a stupid nickname or a poorly aimed joke. Nanami Kento wasn’t going to deal with any of it, not on your watch.

“Hey, Kento, why are you so quiet all the time?” one boy snickered during recess, his tone dripping with mockery.

Before Kento could even respond, you were already there, hands on your hips and glaring like you were ready to call down the wrath of the heavens. You glared at the kid as though he was meeting to face a thousand suns. 

“Maybe he’s quiet because he doesn’t waste time saying dumb things like you do.” you snapped, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow for maximum effect. “Stop being a weird waste of space and leave him alone, you freak!”

The boy tried to stammer something in response, but you didn’t wait to hear it. You didn’t care for what they said. Only for what Kento says. You rolled your eyes at the kid, as though he bored you and looked away. Soon enough, you turned back to Kento, your expression softening immediately. 

“Come on, Kento.” you said, grabbing his hand. “We’re going to the swings.”

Kento didn’t say much about that. But later, when that same boy made a malicious face at you from across the playground and had made a plan to chase you with a bottle of water to throw, Nanami Kento was the first to sense a threat against you.

He sighed heavily and without even looking up from his picture book muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “She’s faster than you, you know? She would wet your hair and make fun of you for it. So, I wouldn’t try it.”

The boy stayed far away after that.

And you could only giggle at what he said.

Nanami Kento knew you all too well.

But just as much as you were ready to fight Nanami Kento’s battles, he was ready to fight yours. And while you often took on challenges with the energy of a charging bull, Kento’s approach was quieter, deadlier—like a knife slipping between ribs before anyone even noticed it was there. He was just that type of kid, you think.

You first realized just how far Kento was willing to go for you one day when a group of older girls decided to target your ponytails. It wasn’t a big deal to you at first; you were used to the occasional teasing. But this time, something about their tone, or maybe the way they crowded around, everything about it had made your stomach twist.

“Why do you always look like you just rolled out of bed?” one of them sneered, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Her friends burst into laughter, as if she’d just delivered the punchline of the century. You bristled, the words forming on your tongue to snap back. But before you could speak, Kento appeared, slipping between you and the girls like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why do you care?” he asked, his tone calm, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

It was such a simple question, but somehow it silenced the entire group. The girl blinked at him, thrown off by his directness. Kento yawned, as though he was already bored with her. She had never expected anything from him. Kento was quiet and reserved. 

He was also popular and quite a handsome young boy that people had a crush on. Even when he didn’t talk or pay any mind to any of them. You glared at this girl, as though she was the worst of them all. She’s always been trying to take Kento from you.

“Uh, excuse me?” she said, attempting to regain her composure.

“You heard me.” Kento’s gaze was steady, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was an edge to his voice that made it clear he wasn’t messing around. “Why do you care what she looks like? Or are you just bored?”

The giggling stopped. 

“Well, I—” The girl floundered, her cheeks turning pink. 

“She looks fine to me.” Kento interrupted smoothly, tilting his head slightly as if he were assessing them. “Better than you, anyway. I mean, those pants with that shirt? What are you thinking? Does your mom even love you if she allows you to wear something like that?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop at what he had said. You look at him, blinkingly. Before finding yourself bellowing at laughter at how blunt he had worked everything. The girls gasped, their mouths falling open in perfect synchronization. One of them muttered something about “rude boys” and then, just like that, they were gone, retreating with their tails between their legs.

You stood there, stunned, as Kento turned back to you like nothing had happened. You finally straightened yourself from your laughing form. You wiped your eyes as you turned back at him. You grinned at his words. 

“Better than her?” you repeated later as the two of you walked back to class. You were trying not to laugh, but the corners of your mouth kept twitching upward.

“It’s true. You already know that.” he said simply, not bothering to look up from the book he’d already opened, as if the whole thing hadn’t even fazed him.

“Aw, you think I’m cute, don’t you?” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“Don’t push it.” he replied dryly, but the tiny smirk playing at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

══════════════════

BUT OF COURSE, THIS ONLY INTENSIFIED ONCE YOU BOTH GREW OLDER. Entering this new environment, in high school — one could say nothing had ever changed. If anything, it has only grown more concrete that you and Nanami Kento, no one can separate the two of you even if they tried. 

If one were to describe how you both were, it would be like being a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Inseparable. And even when people questioned it, you turned them down just as easily. Little by little, people barely questioned it anymore. 

You had long since reached the point where your friendship was so solid that it seemed like a fact of life. If anyone tried to ask about it, the answer was already clear: You two were a package deal. And while you liked it that way, not everyone seemed to get the memo.

It didn’t take long for the attention to roll in once high school started. You were used to it by now. After all, you and Kento had always been a pair of conspicuously close friends, so naturally, people were curious. 

But this was a different kind of curiosity, the kind that came with stares and whispers behind your backs. Everyone seemed to have suddenly developed a keen interest in your best friend, and you couldn’t decide if it was because of his brooding good looks or that deep, mysterious aura he carried, but maybe, probably both.

It started with the girls, as it usually did. They would hover around Kento in class, a little too eager to engage in conversations about anything—his favorite books, his thoughts on the weather, even the random things he’d written in the margins of his notes. It didn’t matter what they brought up; they were just looking for an excuse to get a reaction out of him. 

They wanted to be the one to crack the mystery that was Nanami Kento. And of course, they expected him to open up, to smile, to laugh, to do something that would confirm they were special enough to make him forget his usual quiet, studious demeanor.

But Kento, being the stoic, no-nonsense guy he was, would respond with quiet politeness, barely even registering their presence. He would tilt his head slightly when they asked questions, look at them through the edge of his glasses, and give just enough of an answer to keep things from getting awkward.

The girls would often stare at him a little longer than necessary, hoping for a second of warmth or acknowledgment. But no matter how many times they tried, all they got was that polite, impersonal smile that didn’t reach his eyes. And it wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was just that he didn’t care about them, not in the way they wanted. 

To Nanami Kento, it was all just noise. So, he’d just keep his focus on what mattered, which was probably the latest algebra problem or his ongoing internal monologue about the best way to prepare his next snack.

Even as an emo guy with that black hoodie, messy blond hair, brooding eyes that screamed ‘don’t talk to me, but if you do, be prepared for my sarcasm’—people still flocked to him. It was almost unfair, you thought. He had this combination of boy-next-door charm and detached, almost tragic mystique that girls couldn’t resist. 

He was a pretty boy, you knew that much. You’d known him long enough to appreciate the way his eyes glinted in the sunlight, how his messy hair always looked effortlessly perfect, how he somehow made a monotone voice sound like the most hypnotic thing in the room.

And it wasn’t just the girls, either. The guys were starting to notice, too. Sure, they didn’t hover the same way, but they’d get a little too chatty when Kento was around, laughing a little too hard at his dry jokes, trying just a bit too hard to be friendly.

Everyone knew he wasn’t the type to just buddy up with anyone, and that mystery only made him more desirable. So when they’d get too close, you’d notice the slight twitch of Kento’s eyebrow, the way he’d lean just a little bit further away to make it clear that he was not interested in their company.

But the one thing you didn’t doubt was this: Kento was really polite. He never outright rejected anyone, and that politeness was a plus. Sure, it drove you a little crazy when they’d swarm him like bees to honey.

But you had to admit that his politeness was a rare commodity in a world where most people had no issue turning someone down rudely or making them feel uncomfortable. Kento didn’t do that. He’d simply nod back at people and get back to whatever it was he was doing, never making a fuss about the attention.

Well, it was better than over half the school, that’s for sure. You’d seen the way people treated each other, cold and snide, brushing off others without so much as a second thought. Kento was a rare gem in that regard. He was a gentleman, even in the face of all the attention he was getting, and that made it all the more frustrating. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want people to admire him; you just didn’t like the thought of anyone thinking they could replace you. You and Kento had this bond, a strong one, one that didn’t need words to be understood. But here was the thing—everyone else didn’t get it. And that was where the fun (and by fun, you mean sneaky sabotage) began.

After all, who else could say they knew all his little quirks? Who else had shared so many quiet lunches under that same oak tree, or been the one to force him to eat a full meal instead of staring at his book? You were his best friend, and that meant you had a certain, special claim on him, no matter how many girls wanted to make themselves part of his world.

But, like the selfless best friend you were, you’d keep that fact under wraps. No one needed to know you had a stake in him—especially when you were also the one helping him avoid the chaos of all his newfound admirers. Let them keep fighting over who could be the one to crack Kento's cold exterior; you'd be the one to keep it safe.

But that wasn’t enough. No, they wanted more. They wanted to peel back the layers, crack open that cool exterior, and find whatever hidden treasure lay beneath. And that was where you came in. That’s where you always have to come in. He was your best friend, after all.

It wasn’t that you hated the attention Kento was getting, but it was yours, wasn’t it? You didn’t want anyone to think they could just stroll up and waltz into the little bubble you and Kento had created. And you know he agreed. He doesn’t really need anyone else, he’s said that to you numerous times.

So naturally, you and Kento found creative ways to sabotage any admirer who dared to get too close. It wasn’t malicious, exactly. Well, not to you or Kento. it was more like you were just “protecting” him, and, on occasion, he did the same for you.

It started with the simple things. You'd hover near him during lunch, casually tossing your snacks at him in a way that made it obvious you didn’t want him interacting too much with anyone else. It was like a game of cat-and-mouse between the two of you. Both of you pretended you weren’t doing it, but everyone knew exactly what you were up to.

For example, when this girl from the other class named Yuki asked to sit with Kento one day during lunch time, you quickly swooped in, plopping down next to him like you were the most important thing in his world. You grinned at him and he hummed.

“Hey, Kentooooo!” you said, dropping your lunch tray in front of him. “Did you get those history notes I gave you this morning?”

Yuki opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, you continued to talk to him with a brighter grin. You nonchalantly handed your strawberry milk carton to him and he started to open it for you with the same amount of cool. 

“I was thinking of making brownies this weekend. You like chocolate, right? The ones that we used to buy at the mart? It hasn’t changed, right?” You sent her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I know it's probably too sweet, but it’s his favorite.”

Kento nodded back at you as he placed your strawberry milk carton on the side. You thanked him happily as you started to drink with happy sounds. Kento simply looked at Yuki with the politest expression he could muster and muttered back at her. 

“Sorry, I’ve got a study group with her after school. Maybe next time.”

Yuki didn’t even bother trying to argue, just nodding stiffly before retreating. You shot Kento a quick grin, but before you could say anything, he just sighed and went back to his book.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” he muttered under his breath. “Could have handled that myself.”

“But I have to. You know that.” you said with a grin, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth. “You’re my best friend, not hers.”

One day at lunch, as you and Kento sat under the shade of the old oak tree, munching on your usual snacks, a girl named Mia from your history class walked by. She glanced at Kento, then at you, then back at Kento, before finally stopping a few feet away.

"Hey, Kento!" she called, her voice way too sweet for your liking. “Mind if I join you guys?”

You didn’t even have to look up from your crackers. “Sure, but he doesn’t bite.” you said, not even looking at Mia. “I mean, I don’t think so...”

Kento, who had been engrossed in a textbook the size of a brick, glanced up at you before looking back at Mia. "I can sit alone, you know." he said, a little too casually, not even bothering to hide the fact that he didn’t care much for the attention.

Mia, undeterred, tried again. “Are you sure? I heard you like this band, too. Maybe we could—”

But before she could finish her sentence, you leaned forward, dropping a half-eaten cracker dramatically into your lap as if to make your point clear. 

"If you want to talk about music, you’re gonna have to take it up with me right now, okay?" you declared, giving her your best “this is my turf” look. "Kento here’s more into his book right now, not whatever band you think you have in common with him."

Kento blinked slowly, clearly trying to figure out why he was being pulled into this, but didn't argue. He just glanced at you and nodded, an expression you knew meant, I’m not getting involved in this one.

Mia looked between you and Kento, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay, fine.” she muttered before turning around and walking off, her face flushed red.

"Good job, hero," Kento muttered under his breath, voice dry.

You smirked at him. "You’re welcome, sunshine."

Of course, it wasn’t like you were the only one who was possessive. Nanami Kento hated that you were constantly getting hit on. It drove him absolutely insane. Apparently, teenage boys had this ridiculous notion that your consistent rejections made you more appealing. The more you turned them down, the more determined they became, like you were some kind of prize to be won.

Nanami Kento of course, naturally, found this logic baffling—and irritating. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you to handle yourself; he absolutely did. He hated everyone else, maybe most of all the men around him and of course — you. 

But watching those guys swarm around you, trying to impress you with their lame jokes or over-the-top compliments, made his jaw tighten and his grip on his pen just a little too firm. Oh, he hated men even more like that. And, well, Kento was never one to sit back and let something annoy him for too long. Not when it comes to you.

But of course, there are things that come as unexpected too.

Maybe it was because Nanami Kento was too perceptive.

Maybe he was just good at dissecting situations happening.

He doesn’t know how this happened, or how this came to pass.

But today would change his life for good, that was certain.

A week after one particularly bold senior cornered you after class to “ask for your number” Kento decided to return the favor—not with dramatics, of course, but with his usual understated, calm assertiveness.

You were sitting in the library, animatedly telling Kento about your latest sketch. It was a concept you were certain would win the upcoming art contest. He was actually paying attention, nodding slightly as you explained your technique, when suddenly, a guy from the senior class decided to interrupt.

“Hey, you’re the girl who draws, right?” the senior asked, leaning against the edge of the table with a grin that screamed overconfident.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah, that’s me.”

“Well,” he continued, practically oozing smugness, “I was thinking, maybe you’d want to collaborate on some sketches sometime. You know, we could—”

Before he could finish whatever weak line he’d rehearsed, Kento smoothly slid into the seat beside you, his broad shoulders cutting off your view of the guy. He didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, he turned to you, his voice calm but laced with just enough edge to make his point.

“I’m pretty sure sketching is a solitary activity.” Kento said matter-of-factly. “You know, for concentration… unless, of course, you want a distraction?”

The guy blinked, clearly caught off guard by Kento’s sudden presence. “Uh, no, I—”

Kento didn’t let him finish. “You know….” he continued, still not looking at the guy. “It’s actually better if you’re alone when you’re working. Less… interruptions.” 

He then picked up your sketchbook, flipping through it with the kind of casual indifference that somehow made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. Your jaw dropped at what he’s done.He’s silly like this sometimes, you think to yourself. 

“Kento!” you half-laughed, half-scolded, reaching for your sketchbook. “That’s my sketchbook!”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” he replied nonchalantly, not even pretending to give it back. His attention wasn’t on your sketches anymore, though. His eyes were fixed on the poor senior, who was now fidgeting uncomfortably under Kento’s unnervingly calm stare. 

“Do you mind?” Kento said coolly. “She’s busy.”

The guy stammered something unintelligible, his confidence evaporating faster than a spilled soda in the sun. “Uh… yeah, maybe another time, I guess.” he mumbled before slinking off, clearly realizing he was no match for Nanami Kento’s level of subtle intimidation.

Once the guy was gone, you turned back to Kento, crossing your arms with a mix of exasperation and amusement. You giggled to yourself for a moment. He sighed, looking at how amused you were. It was always like this with you, getting giddy when he does things like this.

“Nice one, Kento.” you said, smirking. “You do know I could have handled that, right?”

Kento raised an eyebrow, setting your sketchbook back down and leaning back in his chair like nothing had happened. You take it back from him, giving him a small thanks. He couldn’t stop looking at you. But when you looked up again, he'd already looked away.

“Sure.” he said, his lips curling into that faint, almost-smile of his. “But it looked like you were busy… talking to him.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. “What was that even about? You’re not my bodyguard, you know.”

“I wasn’t being a bodyguard.” he replied, his tone annoyingly calm. “I was just... pointing out how distracting he was being.”

“Right, right.” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “And that had nothing to do with you hating that he interrupted us?”

Kento didn’t answer right away, but the way his eyes flickered with quiet amusement gave him away. He never likes admitting it out loud, but he feels glad. He feels glad when he makes sure you both are alone. You were all he needed after all.

“Maybe.” he finally admitted, his voice as casual as ever. “Or maybe I just wanted to look at your sketchbook.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you talk too much.” he countered, eyes shining softly against your own.

You giggled back at him, your lips smiling beautifully at him. Beautifully more than ever before. “But you like it that way, don’t you?”

Huh, what was that? He thought to himself.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Was that his heart beating like that just now?

For a moment, he stops and looks at you. You were unaware about what happened just now. Instead, you were back on your sketching, humming to some song you were obsessed with right now. Kento swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how he was looking at you. He cleared his throat. 

“We should get going.” he said finally, his voice a little quieter than usual. “The library closes soon.”

You nodded, falling into step beside him as you always did. But as you walked, Kento couldn’t help sneaking a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. He’d always thought of himself as someone who was good at keeping his emotions in check, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Is this what it feels like? Kento wondered as he watched you walk off in front of him. 

He stops. He takes in the sight of you. You were laughing, hopping on the tiles one by one. The sun glows behind you like a beacon leading him to the direction of life. You nearly fell, making him jump forward. But you held your balance. 

And then you laughed. Laughed so beautifully that he doesn’t know what to do.  He could feel every fiber of him turning warm, warmer and redder than ever before. His heart beating out of rhythm again. 

Ah, shit. Kento once more thinks to himself. I’m screwed.

══════════════════

HE DOESN’T THINK TO SAY ANYTHING. How could he, when he’s scared about the outcome? But as the time flew by as fast as it could, he knew he can’t keep being a coward about it. He had to say something. He should do it soon.

It was going to come out anyway. College was looming on both your shoulders. And with that, a lot of uncertainty came. If he says something, at the very least there would be something certain, concrete as your friendship. 

The two of you sat cross-legged on the floor of Kento’s family home, a single bottle of sake between you. Neither of you had much experience with alcohol, but the thrill of being eighteen and toeing the line of rebellion was too tempting to resist.

Kento poured carefully into the mismatched cups you'd found in his cupboard, his movements precise, even in the low light.

"Cheers, cheers!" you yell with that bright eyed grin, raising your cup to him.

"To...?" he asked, his brow arching slightly, always wanting things to have a purpose.

"To us!" you said simply, eyes sparkling with mischief.

He hesitated, his breath catching in his chest, before clicking his cup against yours. "To us."

The first sip was sharp, burning its way down, but it wasn’t long before the alcohol began to work its magic with swift effectivity. You laughed more freely, leaning closer to him, and your words came faster, your thoughts unfiltered.

"You know, Kentooooo." you said, poking his shoulder with a pout. "You’re, like, ridiculously handsome, right?"

Kento froze mid-sip, his ears instantly turning as pink as your sweater. "W–what?"

"I mean it! You’re so... ugh…." you groaned, tossing your head back dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus when you look at me like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, his voice soft, betraying the nervous flutter in his chest.

"Like you’re trying not to smile, but your eyes are giving you away." you teased, your grin widening as you poked his cheek this time.

Nanami Kento could feel his heart pounding so loud he was sure you could hear it. Every word you spoke chipped away at his usual composure, and he could feel himself unraveling under the weight of your drunken admiration. In just this moment, you wholly outwit him. You make him come undone. Only you can have that effect on him. Only you. 

"You’re unbelievable, you know that?" he muttered, trying to look away, but you caught his chin, turning his face back to yours.

"Admit it already, won’t you?" you said, your voice lower now, but no less playful. "You like me. Maybe even a little too much."

Kento stared at you, the world blurring slightly around the edges, whether from the alcohol or the way you were looking at him, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to do it like this. He didn’t want to put up his hopes that you would be sober enough to know the truth. Or for you to have sober truths pouring out of your sharp grinning lips. 

"I think…" he began, his voice steady but his heart anything but.

“You think?”

"I’m falling for you. More and more. Every second."

You blinked at what had just shifted in the air, your teasing expression softening as you processed his words. Then, to his surprise, you smiled—not mischievously this time, but gently, sweetly. Full with a merry drink, you smiled.

"Good." you whispered, leaning in so close he could smell the faint sweetness of the sake on your breath. "You said really good words.”

Kento barely had time to breathe before you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, leaving his face on fire and his heart completely, utterly yours. Kento froze, the warmth of your lips lingering on his cheek like a brand. His breath hitched as your words sank into the alcohol-drenched air between you. 

“I think I’m already there.”

He stared at you, his usually composed mind now an unsteady swirl of emotions—exhilaration, disbelief, and a flicker of hesitation. Your gaze was soft, dreamy, and undeniably sincere, but the alcohol in your system clouded everything. He said it out loud. But are you sure? How could you be, with how merry the drink is in your belly?

"You don’t mean that." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though saying it too loud would shatter the fragile moment.

"I do. I do." you said, your expression serious despite the light flush of intoxication on your cheeks. You reached for his hand, holding it with a gentle firmness that made his heart stumble in its rhythm.

Kento's fingers curled instinctively around yours before he could stop himself, but his grip was careful, steady. "You're drunk. I just…you can’t say that drunk." he pointed out, his voice more tender than reprimanding.

You frowned, tilting your head like you were trying to understand him through the haze. "So? That doesn’t mean it’s not true."

He sighed, looking down at your joined hands. He wanted so desperately to believe you, to let his heart leap completely into your words, but his rational side, his ever-present voice of reason. It held him back.

"It matters. It matters to me." he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. "If you mean it, I need to hear it when you’re sober. When you’re sure."

"But I am sure, Kento." you insisted, leaning closer, your warmth almost overwhelming him. Your free hand reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and he felt the breath leave his lungs in a rush.

Kento shook his head, his smile faint but aching with restraint. "Not like this." he murmured. "You’ll wake up tomorrow and—"

"And what? Pretend this didn’t happen?" you interrupted, your brows knitting together. "Do you think I’d forget how much I lo—"

His hand shifted, gently pressing a single finger to your lips to quiet you, though it was more for his sake than yours. He wasn’t sure he could take it, hearing those words from you while your judgment was fogged.

"Stop. Please." he said, his voice barely steady. "Don’t say it now. Not tonight."

Your eyes searched hisfrustration flickering in their depths before softening. You saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way he looked at you like he was holding back an ocean of feelings.

"You're such a romantic, aren’t you?" you murmured, a teasing lilt to your voice as a lazy smile spread across your face.

He gave a quiet chuckle, his fingers brushing against your cheek now without realizing it. "Maybe." he admitted, his tone gentler than ever. "But I want this—want us—to start right. I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me again."

You let out a small sigh but didn’t argue. Instead, you leaned into his touch, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as your eyelids grew heavy. You always liked this, taking in his warmth. You don’t think there was any other place you belonged in but his arms.

If you were being honest, you were afraid. He was right. Your words could mean something, and maybe it wouldn’t be as clear as his own. You were drunk. You were really drunk. And feels hazy in your head. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to your Kento. Not like this.

"Fine." you murmured, your words slurring slightly. "But you’d better be ready for me to say it a hundred times tomorrow. Maybe a thousand."

Kento chuckled again, the sound low and warm in his chest, as he rested his chin lightly on top of your head. "I’ll be ready." he promised, even as his own heart thudded wildly at the thought. “I’m always waiting for you. Always.”

And as you drifted off, still clutching his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, Kento silently vowed to himself: when the time came, he’d tell you how deeply, how completely he felt for you too. He just needed to be sure you knew what it meant.

The morning after that night, you woke up on Kento's couch, the faint remnants of sake lingering in the air. Your head throbbed lightly, and your memories were fuzzy around the edges. Kento, ever thoughtful, had left a glass of water and some aspirin on the table beside you.

"Rough night?" he asked from the kitchen, his voice steady but carefully neutral as he busied himself making coffee.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "What did I even say last night? I barely remember anything."

He hesitated, his hand tightening briefly on the handle of the coffee pot. He looked over at you, your half-asleep face free of the weight of your drunken confessions. For a moment, he considered saying something, but the words got caught in his throat.

"Nothing too embarrassing," he said instead, forcing a faint smile.

You laughed, your cheeks reddening slightly. "Good. I’d hate to think I made a fool of myself in front of you."

Kento gave a small nod, but his heart felt heavy. You didn’t remember, and he couldn’t bring himself to remind you. Not like this. So, he lets himself break apart. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t let you have guilt. Because if he did, how is that loving you?

So Nanami Kento buried those words, locking them away where they couldn’t touch the fragile balance between you. He told himself it was better this way. But he hopes, maybe one day — just one day. You’ll see him too. Sober with your love for him.

══════════════════

THINGS DID CHANGE A BIT WHEN YOU WENT TO COLLEGE. Of course, you both got into the same university. But there’s a rough difference between not only being in different departments, but also being in different campuses. It was a rough travel back and forth. But Nanami Kento was determined to go and visit you.

You often feel a little bad when you look back on those days. Engineering classes were no joke. Too many long hours, grueling projects, and the constant pressure to keep up left you drained most of the time.

You barely had the energy to go out, even when you wanted to. But Kento never minded. He understood in the quiet, steady way that only he could, and instead of waiting for you to have time, he made sure to visit you instead.

It didn’t matter where for him. Whether it was the bustling campus lunch hall, where the two of you would share a plate of something warm while you tried to finish an assignment, or your dorm room, which was always a little messy with textbooks and half-drunk cups of coffee.

What mattered to him wasn’t the place or even what you were doing. What mattered was just being with you.

And that thought? It never fails to make your heart skip a beat. Even now, after everything, it feels just as special as it did back then. You still held dearest to him after all this time. Ever since you were kids, you were his everything. And you were sure, more than ever now, that he was yours too. In all sense of the word.

It’s been a year and a half since that time, since you confessed to Kento. Well, technically, drunk you confessed to him. It was late, and you’d had just enough to drink to make your heart bolder than your brain. You didn’t want to say a word. And you think that Kento was just as much waiting for you to say something.

You were ready to die of embarrassment when you remembered that you had said that. But then you remembered, with just as much horror and embarrassment — he’d confessed too. With that same calm sincerity, he told you he’d felt the same way for a while.

Looking back, it was a little messy, maybe even a lot embarrassing. But it was also sweet, earnest, and so perfect for you two. And honestly? You wouldn’t change a thing. You had said something that clarified things for you.

After all, that drunken confession was the start of something that would make all the challenges of those days worth it, every late-night study session, every coffee-fueled conversation, every stolen moment in between. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

You were falling for Kento more and more every day, and it was starting to feel like a problem. A big problem. How were you supposed to act normal around him when everything he did—from the way he fixed his tie to the way he said your name—made your heart do backflips?

It wasn’t fair, really. How was it possible that the same person who once laughed so hard he choked on a piece of rice during lunch was also the one making you reconsider your entire perception of love? He was your best friend, and now you couldn’t even look at him without overthinking every little thing.

And to make matters worse, he was visiting you today.

You had approximately 15 minutes to get your life together before Kento arrived, which was nowhere near enough time to deal with the tornado that was your dorm room or the emotional hurricane swirling inside you.

“Okay, okay, calm your tits.” you muttered to yourself, grabbing stray socks off the floor. “Just play it cool. It’s just Kento. You know him best. Real well. He’s been here a million times. No big deal. Totally normal.”

You shoved a pile of notebooks into your desk drawer, praying it wouldn’t jam, and quickly rearranged the pillows on your bed. By the time you heard the knock at your door, your dorm was passable, well barely. And you were mostly sure you didn’t look like a total disaster.

When you opened the door, there he was, Nanami Kento in all of his huge handsome stature, standing there with his usual calm demeanor, holding a bag of snacks. You yelped quietly as you looked at him. Your roommates must have let him inside. 

“Thought you might need these.” he said, giving you one of those small, knowing smiles that made your brain short-circuit.

You blinked at him. “Nanami Kento, are you a psychic?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, but you texted me at 2 AM complaining about running out of your favorite chips, so I figured this might help. You still have some paperwork to do, right? And you won’t eat unless I come by to remind you. So, I got it.”

“Oh.” You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous croak. “Right. Thanks. You’re, uh…you’re a hero.”

He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Did a tornado hit your room? It was clean last time I came by.”

“What? No!” You crossed your arms defensively. “I cleaned! Mostly.”

Kento gave you a skeptical look before setting the bag of snacks on your desk. “If this is what ‘clean’ looks like to you, remind me never to see it messy.”

You threw a pillow at him, and he caught it effortlessly, smirking. “Careful. That’s my best throw pillow. If you damage it, I’ll charge you emotional damages.”

“Noted, little miss engineer.” he replied, setting the pillow down with exaggerated care. “What’s the rate for emotional damages these days?”

“Depends. How many snacks did you bring?”

“Enough to keep you from suing me.” He tells you with a grin. “Still have some in my car, just in case you wanted more.”

The two of you laughed, and for a moment, it felt like old times. A little bit easy, comfortable, effortless. But then, as Kento sat down on the edge of your bed, something in your chest tightened. How had this annoying, perfect, infuriatingly kind man become someone you couldn’t stop thinking about? Someone you don’t think you could live without?

He looked up at you, tilting his head slightly. “What’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face?”

“What? No!” You blinked rapidly, your cheeks heating. “I was just—uh—zoning out. Engineering stuff. Very complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Right, right.” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because I’m definitely not the one who helped you with that last project.”

“Details, details, Nanami Kento. Don’t get bogged down in the details.”

He chuckled, and the sound was so warm and familiar that you almost forgot why you were freaking out in the first place. Almost. Kento takes a moment. He then looks at you as though examining you with careful abandon. Kento wanted to take in the sight of you, after not seeing you for a while.

“You’re weird today, do you know that?” he said, leaning back slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, totally fine. Super fine.” You waved a hand dismissively. “Just tired, you know? Engineering. It’s a grind.”

Kento studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Your stomach flipped, and you forced a laugh. “Who, me? No way. I’m like…a professional liar. Best in the business.”

“Uh-huh.” He hums back in retort.

He didn’t press further, but the way he looked at you. Everything about his caramel gaze was gentle, understanding, like he already knew what you weren’t saying. Everything about it, everything about him made your heart squeeze.

You sighed internally. How were you supposed to handle this? You couldn’t just blurt out, “Hey, Kento, I think I’m in love with you, and it’s driving me absolutely insane!”

But as he opened the bag of snacks and handed you your favorite, you couldn’t help but think maybe, just maybe, he already knew that you knew. And that maybe he knew that you felt deeply about him. You sighed. Maybe you’re just imagining it.

As the minutes ticked by, Kento made himself right at home in your dorm, sitting cross-legged on your bed and munching on the snacks he’d brought. Meanwhile, you had plopped into your desk chair, scrolling on your phone under the pretense of “taking a break.” 

But in reality, you were desperately trying to distract yourself from the way he looked way too good just casually existing in your space. How could he look that good even as a law major? How can he have time to make your heart feel like this?

As you flicked through your social media feed, you stumbled upon a post that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a picture—Kento, smiling (smiling!) with a group of classmates, apparently from earlier that day. Some of them were girls. Really pretty girls. Those really pretty preppy law girls!

Your first thought was When does Kento even smile like that? He never smiles like that around me!

Your second thought was Who’s the one leaning so close to him? Is she, like, whispering in his ear or something?

You shot a quick, subtle glance at him. He was still on your bed, completely unaware of the emotional spiral you were going through. He crunched on a chip like it was the most normal day in the world.

“Did you have fun today?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Kento raised an eyebrow. “Uh…what?”

“Today. You were with…people from your department.” you said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

His brow furrowed toward you slightly. “I mean, yeah, I had a class project meeting. It was fine. Why?”

“Oh, no reason.” you said, voice a little too high-pitched. Fuck, you  were too obvious. You looked back at your phone, scrolling furiously to hide your face. “Just…wondering. Looked fun.”

“Wait.” Kento’s tone shifted. Suddenly you felt his gaze on you. “How do you know about that?”

Your heart dropped. “Uh, I saw it. Online. A picture. No big deal!”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, amusement clear in his voice. “Are you…jealous?”

“What?!” Your head whipped up so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. “Me? Jealous? Of what? Why would I be jealous?”

Kento’s lips quivered into a rare, brat–like smirk, and you immediately knew you were in trouble. “No reason at all.” he said smoothly. “Just seems like you’re a little…interested in what I’m doing when I’m not here.”

“Interested? Pfft, no. I was just—just checking to make sure you’re not hanging out with the wrong crowd.” you stammered, flailing for a decent excuse. “You know, bad influences. Peer pressure. That sort of thing.”

“Right, I see.” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because I’m the type to fall victim to peer pressure.”

“Well, I don’t know that part of your life right now!” you snapped, feeling your face heat up. “Maybe one of those girls was trying to…to make you join a pyramid scheme or something!”

Kento leaned back on your bed, folding his arms behind his head, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” you shot back, spinning your chair around so you didn’t have to look at him.

There was a rustle of movement, and then suddenly, he was right behind you, his hand resting lightly on the back of your chair. You could feel your ears redden at the feeling of him. You squeaked, loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re really bad at lying, too. How come you haven’t evolved at lying? It’s been years and somehow, you’re still bad at it.” he said softly, his voice just teasing enough to make your heart race.

You spun around to face him, glaring. “Okay, fine! Maybe I was a little jealous. Are you happy now?”

Kento blinked, clearly surprised by your sudden outburst. But then, to your absolute horror, he started laughing—actual, full-on laughing. He hadn’t expected for you to just come out and say it like that. You were a prideful little flower, you always have been. 

“You’re laughing at me?!” you cried, swatting at his arm.

“I’m not laughing at you, you know.” he said, still chuckling. “I just didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”

“Well, I did!” You crossed your arms, trying to look annoyed even as your face burned. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Kento’s laughter softened into a small, fond smile, and for a moment, the teasing disappeared. He didn’t know how much he missed you until now. Somehow, the world seemed like it was in proper orbit when he’s with you like this.

“Nothing, nothing.” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Because you don’t need to be jealous. If I wanted to spend my time with anyone else, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting as he straightened up and walked back to the bed like he hadn’t just casually wrecked you with one sentence. You looked away, crossing your arms as though to shield yourself from him. But he could still see the redness of your ears.

“Well….” you muttered under your breath, plopping dramatically onto your desk. “Now I’m jealous of myself.”

Kento paused mid-bite of a chip and turned to you with an amused look. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you said quickly, sitting up straight like you hadn’t just been caught having an existential crisis.

But of course, Kento being Kento, he wasn’t about to let it slide. “No, no, go ahead.” he said, his smirk returning as he leaned back against the headboard. “Explain how you’re jealous of yourself. This, I have to hear.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Forget I said anything. It’s dumb.”

“I doubt that at all.” he replied, his tone annoyingly smug. “But fine, I’ll drop it. For now.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, only to find him watching you with a mix of amusement and something softer, something that made your heart flip all over again. You wanted to throw a pillow at him or maybe yourself—just to get rid of the growing warmth in your chest.

Instead, you grabbed the bag of chips from the desk and walked over to him, shoving it into his hands. “Here. Eat some of the snacks and stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I wasn’t psychoanalyzing you.” he said, popping another chip into his mouth. “But you’re making it very tempting.”

“Unbelievable, Kento.” you muttered, plopping down onto the bed beside him. “This is why I can’t stand you sometimes, you know that?”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “So much so that you admitted to being jealous of people spending time with me. Makes perfect sense.”

You huffed, grabbing a handful of chips just to give your hands something to do. “Okay, fine, you got me. I was a little jealous. Big deal. You’re my best friend. It’s normal to feel weird about you hanging out with other people, right?”

“Is it?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes studying you closely.

“Yes!” you said, refusing to meet his gaze. “Because we’re close. And I don’t like sharing, okay? You’ve known that since we met!”

“Hmm, hmm.” he said thoughtfully, leaning a little closer. “So what you’re saying is, you want me all to yourself?”

You choked on your chip, coughing violently as Kento sat back, looking far too pleased with himself. “You—ugh! Don’t say things like that!”

“Why not? I’m just repeating what you said to me.” he replied innocently.

“That is not what I said!”

“Sounded like it to me.”

You glared at him, your face burning. “You’re the worst.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, smiling slightly. “But I’m your worst.”

And just like that, you were done for. Completely, utterly done for. You threw a pillow at him once again. Because what else could you do to him like that? He wasn’t wrong. Sure enough, he caught it effortlessly, laughing rather softly as he set it down beside him.

“Stop overthinking about it.” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now. “I’m here because I want to be. No one else matters, okay?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” he said simply, reaching into the chip bag again like he hadn’t just made your heart implode for the second time that evening.

And you sat there, staring at him like an idiot, thinking that maybe, just maybe, falling for him wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all.

══════════════════

IT WAS ONE OF THE RARE OPPORTUNITIES WHERE YOU HAD A DAY OFF. So of course, you took the time to call Kento and ask him to hang out with you. And as usual, all he had said was that short, sure yes and nothing more.

He’d pick you up in thirty minutes, like usual. And of course, Nanami Kento was never late. If anything, he was always ten minutes early. He couldn’t have you waiting, after all.

The bar was warm and lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. You and Kento had decided to spend your day off together, and while the original plan had been something low-key like a café or a bookstore, somehow you’d ended up here, nursing a drink and trying to act normal around him. 

He’d never been here before, but he saw it from across the road and if the cafe or bookstore was closed — an afternoon at a bar wasn’t going to be a bad idea for college kids wanting to have some adventure beyond the campus walls.

Normal. Just normal. Yeah, act like you do. Well, whatever normal looks like to you now.

You could only mentally sigh as your peripheral was only stuck on him more than usual.

As if that was possible when you were utterly, hopelessly in love with the man sitting across from you.

Kento, of course, looked effortlessly composed, like he always did—leaning back in his seat, one hand resting on the table, the other holding his drink. He wasn’t a flashy guy, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made it impossible not to stare. And you were staring. Again.

“You’re staring at me again.” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

“I am not!” you shot back, quickly taking a sip of your drink to cover up your flustered state.

“You’ve been doing it all evening.” he continued, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, no.” you muttered, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “I was just…zoning out. Thinking about…stuff.”

“Stuff. You sure….about stuff as an excuse?” he repeated, his tone skeptical.

“Yes, stuff.” you said firmly, glaring at him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He chuckled softly, and you were both annoyed and utterly charmed by the sound. Why did he have to be so effortlessly perfect? It wasn’t fair. You hated how good he is at being everything you love. As you tried to regain your composure, a voice interrupted your thoughts. 

“Hey there, sweetie–pie.” a man said, sliding up to your table with a confident grin. “Mind if I join you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh…”

Before you could say anything else, the man pulled up a chair and sat down, clearly not waiting for permission. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. You felt disgusted by the way he looked at you. He wasn’t your type at all. And moreover, he’s creepy as hell.

“I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room.” he said smoothly. “You’ve got a great smile.”

“Um, thanks?” you said awkwardly, glancing at Kento.

Kento’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a subtle shift in his posture. He sat up a little straighter, his jaw tightening just slightly. Kento’s eyes were glaring hard enough that you could find those eyes were blades cutting you whole.

“So, what’s your name?” the guy asked, ignoring Kento entirely.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Kento beat you to it. 

“She’s not interested in you.” he said flatly, his voice calm but with an edge that made the guy pause.

The man glanced at Kento, raising an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Person she’s with.” Kento replied smoothly, though his tone made it clear that he wasn’t just a friend. “Who also happens to know she’s too polite to tell you to leave, so I’ll do it for her. What else are you waiting for? Leave.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was Kento…jealous?

The man hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether to push back, but something about Kento’s steady gaze seemed to make him think twice. With a shrug, he stood up. He wasn’t going to get anything out of you. Lest he wants to get bitten by a tiger waiting to eat him. Well, at least he’s smart about that.

“Alright, alright. No need to get territorial.” He winked at you before walking away.

You shuddered at his wink.

Have men always been weird?

You shake it off quickly, drinking your pint.

You turned to Kento, your cheeks burning. “Territorial? Really?”

Kento shrugged, taking a sip of his drink like nothing had happened. “He was bothering you. I handled it.”

“I could’ve handled it myself, you know.” you said, crossing your arms.

“I’m sure you could’ve.” he replied, setting his glass down. “But I didn’t feel like watching you pretend to be polite to someone who clearly couldn’t take a hint.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. “But at least you don’t have to deal with him anymore.”

You huffed, turning back to your drink. But as you took a sip, you couldn’t help but notice the way Kento’s gaze lingered on you, softer now, like he was trying to gauge your reaction. You drink your pint once again in some somber silence. 

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes.” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You glanced at him, your heart doing that stupid fluttering thing again. “Why?”

Kento held your gaze for a long moment before replying. “Because I don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they can have what’s mine.”

Your brain short-circuited. “W-what?”

He didn’t elaborate, just leaned back in his chair with that same calm composure, as if he hadn’t just wrecked your entire evening with one casual sentence. You stared at him, utterly flustered and more in love than ever, wondering how on earth you were supposed to survive the rest of the night without completely losing your mind.

For the rest of the night, Kento didn’t let you out of his sight. He was subtle about it at first—the way he leaned in whenever someone walked by, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair. But as the minutes passed, it became glaringly obvious: Kento was on high alert, and every glance from a stranger only made his protective aura grow stronger.

When a group of guys walked by your table and one dared to look at you a second too long, Kento’s hand dropped from the chair to your shoulder, the weight of it warm and grounding. He didn’t even glance at the guy, his focus entirely on you, but the message was clear: Don’t even try it. Back off.

You tried to act normal, but it was impossible. Sitting beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you were acutely aware of every little thing about him—the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to show his forearms, the way his voice dropped into a lower register whenever he spoke to you.

“You’re quiet again.” he said, his voice low as he leaned a fraction closer.

“I’m fine, Kento. Really.” you mumbled, staring into your drink to avoid looking at him.

“Liar.” he murmured, his tone edged with amusement. “You’ve been squirming all night.”

“I have not!” you protested, but the way your voice cracked didn’t help your case.

Kento just smirked, and that was the last straw. You stood abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Not alone, you’re not.” he said immediately, rising from his seat with an ease that made you want to throw something.

“What, are you my bodyguard now?” you snapped, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his possessive tone.

“If that’s what it takes, then yes.” he said simply, his gaze steady and unyielding.

Before you could argue, he took your hand—firm, unrelenting—and led you toward the exit.

“Kento, the bathroom’s that way.” you pointed out, trying to tug your hand free.

“We’re leaving.” he said without looking back.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I’m done watching people think they can look at you like you’re up for grabs.” he said, his voice calm but with an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your protests died in your throat. Nanami Kento rarely raised his voice or lost his composure, but there was something in his tone now. It was something raw and unmistakable. And every bit of it just left you speechless.

The car ride was silent, tension thick in the air. When he pulled into a quiet, empty lot, he turned off the engine and finally looked at you. His gaze was dark, intense, and it sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Kento, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You.” he said, his tone low and rough. “You’re what’s going on. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit there and pretend I’m okay with watching other people look at you like they have a chance?”

Your breath hitched. “I… I didn’t think you—”

“Didn’t think I’d care?” he interrupted, leaning closer. “Didn’t think I’d notice? God, you drive me insane, you know that?”

“Kento…”

“You’re mine.” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ve always been mine. You always have been since we were kids. I just didn’t want to scare you off by saying it out loud again.”

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I— I….I know.” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But I thought you wouldn’t say it again and I just…maybe with time passing… I thought I was the only one now.”

His lips curled into a dark, almost predatory smile. “You’re not. Never. Not when I’ve marked you since we met at that playground when we were kids.”

Before you could process his words, Kento leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was animalistic, it was wanton. It was full of possessiveness, claiming, as if he were branding the truth into you.

You matched his intensity, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, and any hesitation you’d felt earlier melted away, replaced by a burning need that had been building for far too long.

He broke away just long enough to murmur against your lips, “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” you whispered, your voice shaky but resolute.

“You belong with me.”

You looked at him with your doe like eyes. “I belong with you.”

“Good.” he growled, pulling you into his lap without hesitation. His hands gripped your waist firmly, his touch both grounding and electrifying. “Because I’m done holding back.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T EXPECT HIM TO BE THIS HUNGRY FOR YOU. But with the way he’s going at it. Kento has been hungry for you for a very long time. Kento’s lips linger, soft and insistent, as if savoring every inch of your skin.

The warmth of his breath trails higher, leaving behind a delicate ache where his mouth was. His hands rest firmly on your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You’re trembling.” he murmurs, his voice a rich baritone, teasing but laced with tenderness. He looks up, his gaze heavy with desire, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he speaks. “Do I make you nervous?”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips, betraying your composure. “Not nervous... just—” Your words cut off as he presses another kiss, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone low and deliberate, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. His hands slide upward, thumbs drawing small circles that make your heart race.

“Kento.” you breathe his name like a plea, your voice catching as he moves closer, the space between you charged with electricity.

The dim glow of the streetlamp filters through the windshield, casting golden lines across his sharp features. The intimacy of the confined space amplifies every touch, every sound between the two of you in these leather seats. The soft rustle of fabric, the quiet hum of his breathing, the slap of flesh against flesh.

“I love when you say my name like that, you know?” he says, voice dark and velvety. His mouth moves with purpose now, leaving faint marks of love on your skin, each one deliberate, each one staking his claim. “I love hearing it like that. Wanton f’r me.”

You gasp, your head falling back against the car seat, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently. He groans at the sensation, the sound sending heat coursing through you. How has he ever been this good at getting under your skin?

“I want to hear more from you.” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a mix of command and yearning. His lips hover for a moment, teasing you with their proximity. “But only if you’re ready.”

Kento’s lips trail higher, each kiss softer yet more possessive, leaving warmth that lingers long after his mouth moves on. He pauses for a moment, his breath hot against your skin as his hands tighten slightly on your thighs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles.

“Don’t hold back your noises from me, okay?” he murmurs, his voice a sultry whisper that sends a shiver racing through you. He looks up, his golden-brown eyes locking with yours, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I want to hear you clearly.”

The command in his tone makes your pulse quicken. You bite your lip, but the sound escapes anyway, a soft, breathy whimper that only seems to spur him on. Kento’s touch made you feel as though a thousand flames were burning all at once.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and he chuckles darkly when your hips shift involuntarily toward him.

“Kento.” you gasp, your voice trembling with both restraint and longing.

“Hm?” he hums against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you. “I told you—no holding back.” 

His hands glide upward, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, anchoring you in place as his mouth continues its slow, maddening journey lower and lower. You could feel your lips mutter a weak groan against him. 

The dim light of the streetlamp catches the sheen of his messy blond hair, illuminating the faint smile on his lips as he drinks in every reaction you give him. The intimacy of the moment wraps around you both, the world outside the car fading entirely.

“Kento, please.” you whisper, your voice raw with need, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He pauses, his lips hovering just above your skin, his breath ghosting over you. He takes in the sight of you, almost as though a hunter to a prey. Nanami Kento is your hunter, he always has been. And he’s been keeping this inside him for way too long. This desire, for you. Only you.

“That’s what I wanted to hear from you.” he murmurs, his tone dark and full of promise, before pressing another kiss, softer this time, but no less consuming.

Kento’s words hang in the air, thick with authority and desire, as his lips return to your skin with renewed purpose. He’s slow, methodical, as if every kiss, every graze of his teeth is a language only he can speak—and you’re utterly fluent in his meaning.

“Such sweet sounds from you, hm?” he murmurs against your thigh, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through you. “Don’t hold them back from me. Let me hear what I do to you.”

Your breath hitches, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and the way his lips curl into a grin tells you he’s satisfied—but not done. His hands are firm but gentle as they slide further up your inner thighs, fingers brushing dangerously close to where you want him most. 

His touch sets your skin alight, the heat pooling low in your stomach as your chest rises and falls in uneven rhythm. You could feel his long fingers making their journey to that space, their cool touch melting you whole in a pleasurable moan.

“Kento.” you whisper, barely able to find your voice, your hands trembling as they clutch at the seat beneath you.

He glances up, his caramel eyes catching the faint glow of the streetlight streaming through the windshield, giving him an almost otherworldly allure. His gaze is dark, hungry, but there’s a softness there too. There was that endless reverence in the way he looks at you, as though you’re something precious.

“Yes, my love?” he asks, his voice laced with feigned innocence, though the smirk pulling at his lips betrays him. Your heart drummed at your new nickname from him. It was real. You were lovers. Doing what lovers do. “Tell me what you need. I want to hear it.”

You let out a shaky exhale, your fingers threading into the lower depths of sandy blond undercut for stability as much as desperation. Slowly, it trailed down on his neck, your touch sleuthing through him. Temptingly, almost like a wanting vixen.

“I need you… closer.” you admit, voice breaking, the vulnerability of the words making heat rise to your cheeks.

Kento hums in approval, the sound low and pleased at your words. He leans closer and his fingers echo deeper and deeper into you. Your head throws back hard against the leather’s pristine touch. He playfully moves inside. One moment in a circle. One moment a thrust. Over and over again, rinse and repeat, force and pleasure. And all you could do was surrender.

“Good girl of mine, my love.” he murmurs, his praise sending a wave of warmth coursing through you. 

That had surely made you even more wet inside. His lips press higher against your jaw, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He continues on and on. You don’t know where he learned it. How he got so good at knowing how to take you to paradise. BUt you could hardly care. You were focused on how deep his fingers were in you. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, my love.” he continues, his voice velvet against the charged air. His hands grip your thighs tighter, pulling them apart just enough for him to settle more firmly between them. “Completely undone for me.”

A sound escapes you, part moan, part plea, and his response is immediate. There was a broken groan deep in his chest as he nuzzled against you, the vibrations of his voice making your whole body tremble and shake as  he rushed more and more, in and out, with his masterful fingers.

“That’s it. Go on, my love.” he breathes, his voice dark, dripping with satisfaction. “Just let go for me, honey. No one else is here. Just us. Just me and the way you fall apart under my touch.”

The world outside the car feels impossibly distant now. The soft flicker of the streetlamp, the faint hum of passing cars. It’s all drowned out by the thrum of your heartbeat and the way Kento’s lips, and his fingers worship every part of you they touch, in and out.

“Kento, Kento.” you gasp again, your voice a desperate whisper.

His name on your lips seems to be his motivation, pushing more and more as his fingers tighten inside of you as he shifts closer, his movements becoming more deliberate, more consuming. You could only feel your tears rush in pleasurable waterfalls on your cheek.

“Say it again, my love.” he demands softly, his lips grazing the edge of your hip. “Say my name like that again.”

And when you do, your voice trembling and raw, and broken — he lets out a sound that’s pure need, his control slipping as he loses himself in you entirely. His fingers dug deeper and deeper until they couldn’t anymore. Your slick brushing through his fingers as he repeats it over and over again.

Kento’s name spills from your lips again, breathless and aching, and he growls softly against your skin. There was a sound that sent a ripple of heat straight to your core. You cry out loudly as you come undone on his touch, so hard that you see stars. 

“You’re trembling so much, my love.” he murmurs, his voice molten and rich. “Is it because of me, hm?”

His fingers slowly exit through your crevices, slick and full of you. He looks satisfied with the mess he made of you. It doesn’t matter if you pool your pleasure on his leather seats. The sight was satisfying to look at. Because you’re his. And this was proof.

Your answer is a shaky exhale, your head falling back against the seat as your hazy gaze saw him slowly eat at the slick of your pleasure. You had just come undone from his touch and now you could feel yourself wanting more. You were wanton for more. Only he could make you feel this way.

“Words in full, my love.” he coaxes, his tone teasing but firm. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Kento.” you admit, voice breaking as you finally surrender to his command. “It’s you—only you.It’s always been you.”

And with that, he kisses you as he finds himself wanting more of you, as much as you wanted more of him. You gave him everything, and he gave you everything. You wanted to be whole, consumed by the existence of the other.

The air thickens with desire as his touch shifts from lingering to deliberate, the rhythm between you growing more urgent.  You brace yourself, your body trembling in anticipation, and then, with a careful, controlled movement, he enters you. 

A sharp inhale catches in your throat, the sensation overwhelming as he fills you completely. You gasp, every inch of him stretching you, pushing you to the edge of something deeper, something more consuming. Your body trembles in the wholeness of him. 

He began to move at a slow pace and then soon enough, with that eager speed. Your legs crossed against his back, and your arms crossed against his shoulders. You could only hold on for dear life as he pushes in and out of you in a pace that took your breath away.

Every inch of him stretches you, each motion slow yet intentional, designed to leave you breathless, wanting more. Kento’s gaze never leaves yours, intense and searching, as though he’s reading the unspoken desires written in the way your body responds. The heat between you builds steadily, a slow burn that makes your pulse quicken, your limbs aching with the need to surrender to him entirely.

Everything felt so good.

He made you feel good.

Only he could do it like this.

"Are you okay?" His voice is low, almost reverent, as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. 

There’s a softness in his caramel eyes, a tenderness beneath the storm of desire that mirrors the vulnerability you feel. His breath is heavy, and yet there’s a careful concern in his touch, as if he's trying to read you, to make sure you're ready for what comes next.

You nod, but words fail you, the overwhelming sensations clouding your ability to speak. Every inch of your being is attuned to him now, to the heat of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, yet all that fills your senses is him. The scent of him, the taste of his skin, the press of his chest against yours. Your slick blending against his own. It was all consuming. How you both fit together. How you were made for each other.

"More, Kento." you whisper, the word barely audible but laced with desperation. It’s not just a plea. No, you were saying it as it is. “Faster.”

You needed him. Every bit of him, every part of him. You wanted it all. The craving in your voice is clear, raw, and unfiltered. The desire that had been simmering between you both is now an undeniable force, impossible to resist.

His lips curl into a small, knowing smile, and something in his gaze shifts, darkens. Without breaking eye contact, he presses forward again, moving with an intensity that speaks of his own growing hunger. His movements are deliberate and calculated, even with the speed he was going at. 

It was as if  he was savoring every inch, every moment with you. Each stroke is measured, calculated, and yet there's an undercurrent of urgency, as though he's trying to pull you deeper into him, deeper into this shared space where only the two of you exist.

His gaze is intense, a silent communication passing between you both. It's not just about the way he moves or the way he touches you. Everything about it felt like magic. It's how he reads every subtle shift in your body, every small intake of breath, every whisper of need. 

He’s attuned to you in a way that goes beyond words, understanding the unspoken pleas you can't voice. It’s like he knows you better than you do yourself. It’s like he’s memorized every part of you. He just knew how to love you whole, completely.

You cried out as he hit that pleasure spot, in and out. The car windows were fogging up with the hot breath echoing out of your lips over and over again. You were certain that just as much, people had noticed the car shaking and rearing with activity at the stop. It was too obvious to see.

The heat between you builds steadily, a slow burn that makes your pulse race, that quickens the rhythm of your heart. You feel it in the way your body responds, how the pressure inside you grows with every shift, every stroke, until it feels like the world is narrowing down to just the two of you. You both were lost in this rhythm of connection, of craving, of surrender. This was all that there was, this universe of you, together.

Your body aches with the need to give in completely, to let him take you fully, to become lost in the feeling of him, of the shared moment. He looked at you and leaned forward, letting his lips take yours. His tongue pushes through against your own in a delicious melee of pleasure. You hummed against his lips as his thrusts got deeper, faster. More desperate. 

When he parts from you to gather air in his lungs, he slows for a bit and pulls out, earning a whine. But then in a steady shock, he pushes back in, his hands straying to your back, pulling you closer to him. It was as though he wanted you to melt and blend with his flesh. To become one. He thrusts deeper and deeper, harsher than before. You cry out against his ear. 

"Let go, my love." he murmurs, his voice a low, breathy whisper against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’ve got you." 

There’s an assurance in his words, a promise that you can surrender, that he’ll be there to catch you, to guide you through whatever comes next. And with those words, everything inside you snaps. The tension, the anticipation, the desire. 

Everything unravels in a wave of release, a deep, consuming surrender. You cry out so loud that you think that you were gasping for air for the first time. Nanami Kento hit on your body with a harsh desire last time and felt his own hot pleasure flow through you with a loud roar.

Your body trembles beneath his touch as you lose yourself in him, the rhythm of his movements pulling you deeper into the moment, into the raw intensity of it all. Your grip on him tightens involuntarily, fingers digging into the hardness of his skin, anchoring yourself to the sensation of him. 

Each breath comes quicker, more erratic, as you struggle to keep up with the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Your eyes flutter closed, and a few tears escape, blurring your vision. But the tears are not from pain. They are from the overwhelming satisfaction, the complete surrender of everything you’d been holding back.

For a moment, you can’t see anything, your body entirely consumed by the sensations coursing through you. It’s like you’ve been plunged into a haze, where nothing exists but the pulse of his touch, the heat of his body against yours. You feel your senses heighten, every movement, every sound reverberating inside you, making your heart race.

And then, slowly, your sight begins to return. Everything is foggy, distorted at first, the edges of the world softened by the force of your pleasure. But as the fog clears, everything sharpens, every detail comes into focus. 

And in that moment, it feels like you’ve stepped into something infinite. The universe itself is laid bare before you, and standing at the center of it all, consumed by the same overwhelming force, is him. Everything felt like enlightenment. Life started here.

Kento’s eyes are locked onto yours, dark and intense, holding you captive with every glance, every word unspoken. His face, usually so composed, is now etched with a mixture of hunger and satisfaction, his own breath coming in ragged pulls. You are drawn to him, to the way he fills every corner of your mind, your heart, your body.

"You're... breathtaking, my love." he murmurs, his voice rough, barely audible as he moves against you, his hands cradling your face gently. "So beautiful, at this moment."

The words make your heart ache, the vulnerability in his tone striking you deeply. Your gaze never wavers from his, even as the pleasure inside you begins to coil again, threatening to pull you under once more. It’s not just his touch, not just the way he moves inside you. It’s the way he sees you, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only one who matters in the world.

"You’re mine. You always will be." you whisper, your voice trembling with the truth of it. The words come from somewhere deep, primal, raw. You don’t even know where they’ve come from, only that they’re true. 

“Am I really?” He snickers, pecking at your jaw with small peppering kisses with exhaustion.

You nodded shyly, smiling at him. "I need you... like this. Always."

Kento smiles at your confession. His grip tightens around you, his lips pressing against your forehead in a soft kiss, almost reverent. For a moment, it was like he’d fallen in love with you again for the very first time again.

"And you have me, my love." he responds, his voice low and full of promise. "All of me. Always."

[navybrat817]

Since we see this mentioned in Game Nights, what does it take for Bucky to stab John and how does the team react?

That is an excellent question, Cole! I'm so glad you asked.

Don't Look or Touch

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky isn't having a good day and John suffers the consequences.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Stabbing (yes, Bucky stabs John), arguing, humor, kissing, implied smut, Thunderbolts spoilers, we love Bob, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: We have Not Exactly a Secret, Game Nights, and now this for our Tower Shenanigans. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the inspo!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't in a good mood today.  He claimed he didn’t need as much sleep as the average person, but he still needed to get some shut eye and he hadn’t slept well the night before. Too many things were running through his head. You wished he woke you up to talk or help take his mind off things, but you knew he hadn’t wanted to disturb your rest. Had the roles been reversed he would’ve wanted you to wake him up first thing. 

“I’m your girlfriend, Bucky. If something is bothering you, it bothers me,” you reminded him. “So, please, wake me up next time, okay?”

It didn’t matter how big or small of an issue it was, you’d help him through anything and everything.

“You need more sleep than I do,” he tried to argue, a ghost of a smile on his face when you narrowed your eyes. 

“I can always catch a nap later,” you said.

“If you say so,” he said, sounding in better spirits than he had moments ago.

But that didn’t last when he started fighting with Sam via text. He didn’t like fighting with his friends and it wore on him as the day went on. You saw it in how he carried himself. If that weren’t enough, Alexei accidentally shot a paint gun in the common room and hit Bucky’s thigh. The flare in his nostrils told you he was two seconds away from losing his shit when John laughed.

You half expected Bucky to punch John, but he silently got to his feet and went to change. “So sorry!” Alexei called after him, also leaving the room.

“Did you have to laugh?” you asked John. Sure, you all gave him a hard time, but he dished it out as well and it was clear that Bucky wasn’t in the best mood.

John shrugged, not at all phased. “He’ll live.”

“You won’t if you keep pissing him off,” you teased, going to get Bucky’s jacket while you waited for him to come back. 

Bucky returned a minute later, somehow looking more pissed off. Maybe it was because John scooted closer to you once you sat back down. As much as you adored Bucky’s signature grumpy stare, this was different. That look was on his face because of his bad mood. Your heart went out to him, and what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t try to cheer him up? 

“Hey,” you smiled, holding out a hand so Bucky could help you to your feet. You gave him a quick kiss once you were close enough and handed him his jacket. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“A ride?” he asked, closing his eyes when you brushed his hair back.

“Yeah, a ride,” you smiled. As much as you both loved being in the tower, he needed to get out and you were more than happy to join him. “And maybe we can stop off at that bakery you love?”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. Between a ride with you and stopping off to get a treat, he’d be in a much better mood. “Let’s go.”

“Hang tight for just a minute. Just need to grab something,” you said, sneaking in another kiss before you headed toward your room. You wondered how much Bucky would argue if you tried to pay for the treats. He was always such a gentleman when it came to-

“FUCK!”

You stopped at the sound of John’s loud and piercing scream. It wouldn’t have been the first time he yelled, but that was typically done out of anger or frustration. This scream, however, sounded like pain.

“Oh, shit,” you mumbled, rushing back to the common room.

Your eyes went right to your boyfriend since he was always at the forefront of your mind. You took a step forward when he locked eyes with you, the coldness in the blues almost making you shiver. He happened to be right beside John who was a bit more pale than usual and gripping his arm like a lifeline. Your mouth fell open when you realized the former Captain America had a knife in his hand. And he wasn’t holding it, oh, no. Bucky’s knife was through his hand. You knew it was Bucky’s knife because you bought it for him. 

What the fuck happened, and why did that excite you?

Ava phased beside you, likely drawn by John’s scream. Yelena and Bob came in seconds later though Yelena didn’t seem too concerned. “What are you…” she trailed off with a snort. “That’s not good.”

Ava sighed. “And we just got the blood out of the sofa from the last incident.”

“No fucking shit this isn’t good! And who gives a shit about the blood on the sofa!” John snapped, screaming again when Bucky yanked the knife out. 

“You’ll live,” he muttered. 

Your eyes went wide. Super soldier hearing and all, had Bucky heard John mutter his earlier comment? “What happened?” you asked. You had only been out of the room for a few seconds. What possibly happened during that time to cause this?

John scrambled to find something to wrap his hand with. “Your fucking boyfriend stabbed me!” 

“Yeah, America’s Asshole, I stabbed you.” Sitting back on the sofa, Bucky got a cloth out of his pocket to wipe his knife. He stabbed John. He really did it. But why? “And you have the serum. You’ll be fine.”

You made the mistake of looking at Ava who had a smirk on her face. It didn’t do you any good to look at Yelena either since she also looked pleased. Only Bob looked concerned. And where the hell was Alexei?

“Okay, Bucky,” you began, trying to keep the laughter out of your voice because you had to be the mature one. “I know you threatened to stab him during Uno.”

“He put down Draw Four…” He sneered at John. “FOUR times.”

“I know, I know. Dick move. And I know I threatened to stab him because he raised his voice at Bob because, well, we don't yell at Bob.” You gave Bob a smile when he dipped his head. “But-”

“He’s lucky I didn’t cut this tongue out,” your boyfriend growled.

You tried hard not to whimper, which was tough since the sound was sexy as hell. “But why-”

“You can still cut out his tongue,” Yelena encouraged, taking out one of her own knives. “Allow me.”

You put your hand out while John took a few steps back. “No, Yelena. Not today,” you said, which earned you a pout in response before you turned your attention back to Bucky. “Just tell us why you stabbed him, please.”

“He talked about putting his hands on your ass!” Bucky snapped, wincing when he realized how loudly he said it.

You could hear a pin drop from the silence that followed. Your eyes darted between Bucky and John, seeing the mixture of anger and discomfort. There was no way John was dumb enough to say something like that in front of your boyfriend. Right?

“He what?” Yelena asked for you.

“Ew,” Ava whispered. 

“But she… she’s not your girlfriend,” Bob added.

“I didn’t say I’d put my hands on your ass!” John defended himself, taking a breath when everyone stared at him. “Look, all I said was ��I’d never leave my bed if I could get my hands on an ass like that’ and that’s it! That’s all!”

You were thankful you didn’t take a drink of something because you would’ve spit it out. As admittedly smart as John could be when it came to missions, he could also be an idiot. “Bucky, put the knife down,” you ordered when his grip tightened on the handle. You couldn’t have him stabbing him again. 

Though it was kind of hot that Bucky stabbed someone in your honor. 

“I might stab his other hand,” he said. 

“Do it,” Yelena encouraged. 

John sputtered when Ava nodded in agreement. “What the fuck?”

“Okay, one, Bucky, we both know I’d never let John touch my ass. Sorry, but. No,” you said, shrugging at the bleeding agent. Your ass was off limits to him. “Two, it doesn't sound like he said he was going to put his hands on my ass.”

“I don't care.” Bucky carefully inspected his knife. “As far as he’s concerned, you don’t have an ass.”

The girls scoffed with you and you weren't sure if you should've felt flattered or offended. “Okay, old man, so I have no ass now? Do I not have tits either?”

You held your breath when Bucky slowly got to his feet, his jaw clenched. It wasn't fair how hot and bothered that stance made you. “Did he look at your tits?” he asked in a low voice.

John quickly shook his head out of the corner of your eye. You felt for the guy, but you weren’t going to lie. “He may have glanced at them when I leaned over the other day.”

“Oh, when you were wearing that black top?” Ava asked, humming when you nodded. “Oh, yeah. He looked.”

“What the fuck, Ava?!” John shouted. “You looked, too!”

“I didn’t look,” Bob said immediately, his hands up in surrender. He was too pure for this world.

Bucky swung his head toward John. “Forget your other hand. Let’s see if that serum helps you grow your eyes back.”

Oh, shit. Maybe you shouldn't have said anything. “No! No more stabbing today!” You moved to block Bucky’s path. The mood he was in, you had no doubt he’d stab him again if he got the chance. “I appreciate you defending my honor and I always will, but we are going for a ride. Now.”

The former assassin pouting shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was. “But he-”

“You didn’t sleep well, you’re in a bad mood, and you need a breather,” you gently said, framing his face so he’d only see you. Your touch took most of the anger away. “Please, let’s go. We can go right to bed when we get back.”

Sex, cuddling, sleep, all of it, you’d give him whatever he needed later.

Bucky huffed, but put his knife away. He recognized that your tone wasn’t one to argue with. “He better not look again or try to touch you.”

“He won’t,” you said for John, looking over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Jesus, it was meant to be a compliment,” he told you, daring to glance at Bucky. “You have a good looking girlfriend, okay?!” 

“Stop talking,” you begged when Bucky tensed up. You had just calmed him down.

“If you want to compliment him or her, tell them how murderous they look,” Yelena suggested, looking to the others for support. “That’s cool, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ava said.

“Um, Bucky?” Bob asked. 

“Yeah?” he answered, slipping an arm around you. 

Bob swallowed a little. “If she looks nice, am I allowed to say so? Or should I just avoid looking at her?”

You giggled. Bob deserved the whole world. “You can say whatever you want,” you replied. Bucky would agree. 

“Okay,” he smiled a little. “I just. I-I don't want to get stabbed.”

“No one will stab you, Bob,” Yelena promised, ever the protector. 

John looked around the room and asked, “So, Bob can say whatever he wants, but I can’t?” 

“Yes,” everyone answered in unison. Bob wasn’t an asshole like John.

“Now apologize to each other so we can leave,” you said. The longer you stayed, the bigger the chance that Bucky would snap again.

The men stubbornly refused to look at each other, like children being scolded after a fight. John broke first when you cleared your throat. “Sorry for complimenting your girlfriend, I guess.”

“Sorry for not stabbing both of your hands,” Bucky mumbled.

“And we’re leaving now. Try to behave while we’re gone,” you announced, pulling your boyfriend away. Chances were that they’d start arguing over dinner or dish duty. “I can’t believe it.”

“What, that I stabbed him?” Bucky asked, grinding his teeth. “He gets under my skin.”

They were teammates now, but it didn’t get rid of the bad blood or the past. You sympathized with that. “I know he does, and I can’t believe that it took this long for you to stab him, but maybe try not to do that again?”

His warm laughter brought a smile to your face. “I’m surprised it took this long, too, and I’ll try not to again, but I’m not sorry that you were the tipping point.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Bucky Barnes stabbed a man because of me.” You weren’t exactly sorry that you were the tipping point either. “In his defense, my ass does look good in these pants,” you smirked.

Bucky waited a beat before he smacked your ass, making you shriek. “He still isn’t allowed to look or touch.”

Hadn’t you made it clear earlier that you’d never allow John to touch you? Even if you weren’t Bucky’s girlfriend, that would never happen. “So possessive, but I love that about you,” you teased.

His eyes softened, the look making your heart race. “I’m not too much?” 

Your gaze softened, too. “You’ll never be too much,” you assured him, almost to the elevator when Alexei waltzed by in his robe.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“I stabbed John,” Bucky answered.

The Red Guardian looked stricken. “And I missed it?”

The last thing you heard before you and Bucky stepped into the elevator was John yelling, “What the fuck?!”

“Right to bed when we get back?” Bucky smiled, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it.

“Right to bed,” you smiled back.

He pulled you against him to give you a deep and thorough kiss, one that left you breathless and yearning for more. “And thank you.”

“For what?” you asked breathlessly.

“For trying to cheer me up,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “And for being mine.”

You leaned into his touch, thrilled to be his. “Thank you for being mine, too,,” you said, hoping the ride and treat would make him feel much better before you went to bed. Maybe tomorrow he could hash things out with Sam. And maybe you’d look through the footage later so you could see for yourself that Bucky stabbed John. 

And maybe, just maybe, you’d make a copy of the footage for Bucky if he ever needed a laugh after a bad day.

So, did John deserve that? What other shenanigans do we think this group gets up to? ! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[starmapz]

hiromi higuruma is your divorce lawyer, and he thinks you might be the most beautiful person he's ever laid eyes on. ❦ cw ; mdni. 18+ only. f!reader. divorce themes. fluff. p in v. fingering. oral (f!receiving). slight body worship. unprotected. creampie. kinda hurt/comfort if you squint?

masterlist

divorce lawyer!higuruma who makes a point of not dating clients, but he can’t help but think that you’re gorgeous.

divorce lawyer!higuruma who feels his blood boil during the first meeting with your husband- ex-husband- and his lawyer as the asshole tries to defend himself for cheating. he can hardly bear to see the way you cover the fact that you’re holding back tears with nothing more than a glance at the table and a dejected smile.

divorce lawyer!higuruma surprises you when he suggests a more aggressive split of your belongings, favoring you of course. it wasn’t previously discussed but you don’t argue and when the opposing side agrees, you feel a weight lifted off your shoulders knowing you can support yourself.

divorce lawyer!higuruma doesn’t say a word when you return to his office and cry. he’s no stranger to having those recently divorced cry in front of him, but this time there’s a very real and raw pang in his chest.

divorce lawyer!higuruma offers to take you for drinks. it’s not a date, no formalities, just his way of offering you some comfort. you tilt your head so cutely as you contemplate his question, wiping your tears with the back of hand as you decidedly nod.

divorce lawyer!higuruma feels his grasp slipping on his self-imposed rule to not date clients. you’re so kind, so caring, so beautiful, that he wonders how your sleazy ex-husband ever let you go.

divorce lawyer!higuruma pays for all of your drinks and your uber, much to your dismay, insisting it’s the right thing to do.

divorce lawyer!higuruma looks forward to your next meeting, in spite of the fact that he’ll need to see your ex-husband. there’s a sort of pride blooming deep within his chest when you speak of the divorce to your ex, but look to hiromi for encouragement. he offers you nods and smiles and you relax somewhat, seeming much more at ease and confident.

divorce lawyer!higuruma who has a smile on his face walking out of the meeting with you as your ex-husband seethes over the fact that you’re squeezing more money out of him, and doing it with a smile.

divorce lawyer!higuruma doesn’t even think twice about accepting when you insist on taking him for dinner as a thank you once the proceedings are finished. he intends nothing more than to have a friendly dinner with you, but after several hours and his insistence to make sure you get home safe, you find yourself sharing a kiss.

divorce lawyer!higuruma hasn’t even had a drink, but he thinks he’s drunk on you. you’re so saccharine sweet and the way you sweetly invite him in with bright eyes is irresistible. he doesn’t even mind potentially being a rebound if it means getting the chance to show you what it means to be taken care of by a real man.

divorce lawyer!higuruma carries you so confidently to your guest room that you just giggle when you tell him it’s the wrong room, directing him to your bedroom. there’s something so sweet and charming about the whole situation, the way you’re able to laugh together, that he hopes he isn’t just a rebound. but for you? he will be, if that’s what you want.

divorce lawyer!higuruma spends the night practically worshiping your body. he takes his time kissing each and every inch of your skin, so gentle and caring even as his cock absolutely throbs in the confines of his slacks, because he wants to show you exactly what you’ve missed out on.

divorce lawyer!higuruma absolutely snaps when his tongue is buried in your pussy and you begin to beg him to cum as his ministrations are so slow, drawing your pleasure out. it’s like he’s a different man when he meanly strokes long fingers against your g spot while he sucks your clit until your body is trembling with pleasure.

divorce lawyer!higuruma’s words when he talks dirty send you into a spiral as he asks if your ex-husband could get you off like he is, if he knew how to make you beg and scream and shake while he pounds your poor cunt in a mean mating press. what sends him into a frenzy is the way you tell him he’s the best you’ve ever had.

divorce lawyer!higuruma doesn’t relent as your moans turn to babbles and your nails rake his back. he relishes in the sting, knowing he’s hitting your sweet spot with each stroke as white hot pleasure courses through your body and with a cry you hit your climax. You cling to him as your arousal coats his cock, your walls tightening around his length and with only a few more thrusts, he fills you with his seed when you beg him to cum inside.

divorce lawyer!higuruma still fears being a rebound, but there’s something satisfying in seeing him seeping from your folds and soaking the sheets beneath you.

divorce lawyer!higuruma takes his time caring for you, cleaning you gently with a towel as he asks if you enjoyed yourself before he lifts the sheets and blankets over you, comfortably holding you against his broad chest as though you belong there, and he wonders if you feel that sensation too.

divorce lawyer!higuruma who tries to leave early in the morning, as a courtesy to you, under the assumption that he’s a rebound. a delicate hand around his wrist has his eyes widening as he tries to step out of the bed, but you don’t let him, a hurt expression on your face as you ask if he’s leaving.

divorce lawyer!higuruma who realizes he’s underestimated you in every way as he comfortably holds you against his bare chest again in the early hours of the morning, basking in the feeling of being wanted. the feeling of being wanted by you, nonetheless. he wonders how your ex-husband ever let you go, how any man could possibly bear to not see the entire sun, you, each and every morning upon waking up.

divorce lawyer!higuruma relaxes into you, forgetting about your ex as he falls into a deep slumber, silent plans to take you on countless dates and spoil you rotten floating in his mind if you’ll allow him to. little does he know, you’re as smitten with him as he is with you.

masterlist

❦ a/n ; just a lil something for hiromi while i work on my last kinktober piece and my sukuna college au ♡ as always, likes, reblogs, and comments super appreciated!

[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[minastras]

him, revisited (how much i believed in the future) // jake

You didn’t realise your ex-boyfriend Jake Sim was still your emergency contact. Or that he’d show up when you needed him.

at a glance: exes to lovers, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader, jake best boy

words: 2.6k

warnings: hospital setting, y/n has an unspecified medical condition, mentions of iv drips and blood (very mild), swearing

@k-films

——————————

The light above you is too white, too sharp, a blinding fluorescent harshness that forces your eyelids shut the second you open them. A steady beep in the background. The sharp smell of antiseptic. A sting in the back of your hand.

You open your eyes again, slower this time, and feel around you. Your palm glides across the thin, crinkly surface of a hospital bed, only to be pulled back by something attached to your hand. An IV drip, tangled in a mass of wires and cords you can just barely make out through your blurred vision.

“You’re awake.”

Even from deep within your haze, you recognise his voice immediately.

“Jake?”

Out of focus, a figure makes its way to the side of your bed.

“Hey,” he says softly, as if afraid his breath will knock you over. “How do you feel?”

You push yourself up on shaky elbows and a bolt of pain instantly shoots up your spine, sending you falling back down onto the bed.

Jake catches you, his hands on your back to cushion your fall. “Careful.”

In his strong grip, your weak form seems to turn to clay. He gently sits you upright and inclines your bed with the crank of a handle and props your pillows up for you to lean against.

It takes a few seconds for your vision to stop spinning, for the pain in your head to ease slightly, before your eyes focus enough for you to actually see him.

“Jake? Why are you… what’s going on?”

He looks the same as when you last saw him — six months ago, in his kitchen, breaking up with you. When he told you he couldn’t be what you needed, couldn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved. Even though he was the only man you’ve ever wanted to follow to the end of the world, to the peak of a mountain, anywhere he wished.

“I don’t know. They called me,” Jake says, adjusting one of your pillows. “I came as fast as I could.”

A throbbing ache sits just behind your eye sockets, making it supremely difficult to register anything he says. And the constant beeping of your heart monitor only makes it worse. You glance around the room, at him, at the chair beside your bed with his black bomber jacket thrown over the back of it. The one he used to wrap around your shoulders on cold nights.

How long has he been waiting for you to wake up?

“They called you?” you ask, your mind still lagging about ten steps behind his.

Jake breathes in slowly, like he doesn’t want to give you an answer, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I was your emergency contact,” he says. “Or I still am, to be exact.”

“…Oh, I’m sorry. That’s embarrassing,” you mumble. Another lash of pain radiates up the back of your neck, a tongue of fire searing your vertebrae.

Six months. Six whole months have gone by, and you haven’t changed your emergency contact.

Noticing you wince from craning your neck to look up at him, Jake pulls the chair closer and sits down right beside your bed, fingers curling around the metal bed rail.

“No, it’s not,” he says. Kind, quiet.

It’s a strange feeling, seeing him again after half a year — this person who’d been the centre of your world for so long before vanishing into the ether all at once — and learning you still remember every contour of his face. The angles of his brows, his nose, his chin, the warm brown hue of his eyes that crackle like firewood, the delicate slant of the corners of his lips.

“You could’ve just called Siah,” you say, face flushed, “but thank you for coming.”

Jake smiles. “Of course. It’s good to see you.”

You pull at your scratchy hospital gown and attempt in vain to tidy your hair, wondering which mythical forest gremlin you look like the most. “It’s good to see you, too.”

You probably weren’t ready back then for that serious a relationship, too eager to throw yourself head first into the lake that was Jake Sim. And neither was he. He seemed almost frustratingly well-adjusted compared to you, maybe everyone did — but you needed him and he needed to feel needed. You like to think you’re more sensible now. More self-sufficient. Less difficult to love.

“So…” Jake begins, scratching the back of his neck, “are you okay?”

The IV in your hand shifts, stings, makes you flinch. Beneath the clear adhesive dressing holding it in place, your skin prickles. You lift your hand and squint to see swelling around the site and a small amount of blood flowing back up into the line.

“I think so. I don’t remember what happened,” you admit, scratching around the edges of the dressing. “This thing is so fucking itchy.”

Jake pushes your other hand away and presses the call button by your bed. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” you insist, but your voice is weak. “I just…”

His hand circles gently around your left wrist, holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. His touch is grounding, soothing, in a way only he can manage.

“Let me help you,” he whispers, and it sounds more like a plea than an offer.

Your love for him has faded somewhat. It’s become a sort of dull ache that sweeps across your heart whenever you think of him, which is often, and whenever you miss him, which is always. But the ache is bearable. You’re used to it, the scars of first love.

Except maybe it isn’t bearable, because as you watch him examining your IV site, eyes brimming with worry, gentle fingertips brushing across the back of your hand, the ache returns — stronger than you remembered.

“It’s swollen. And a little red,” he says, calm. Forever the steady anchor to your chaotic ship. “Do you think it’s the same thing that happened last summer? When you fainted and got all that bloodwork done, and that heart tracing.”

“…You remembered,” you breathe. He’s still holding your hand.

“Of course I remembered.”

It’s such a soft phrase that you almost can’t tolerate it. What are you meant to do with it, with the knowledge that someone has carved out a space in their heart just to hold on to the things you’d said and done and gone through?

That summer, Jake spent many a date carrying you home on his back when you were too weak to walk, staying awake with you when you were curled up in bed with excruciating migraines and stroking your hair, singing quietly to you when waves of nausea struck you down and incapacitated you.

If you were Jake, you might have broken up with yourself much earlier. Not because you were sick, but because you were a mess — neglecting your health and throwing yourself head first into your work to (pathetically try to) convince everyone you were fine. Insecure and utterly incapable of believing him when he told you he loved you.

Jake brushes his thumb over your knuckles, a sickeningly familiar action that makes you look up at him in a flash. There had to be a last time he did that, just like there was a last time he held you in his arms and a last time he tied your shoelaces. Before you became strangers, strangers who knew everything about each other. He always brushed his thumb over your knuckles when he had your hand in his, to soothe you when you were nervous or remind you he was right by your side.

Catching you staring, he bites his lip and lets go of your hand as a nurse walks through the door.

“Hello, dear, you’re awake,” she greets with a smile. She’s neither old nor young, perhaps slightly older than your parents, with kind eyes and a soft voice.

“Hi,” you say, your mouth dry.

“I think there’s something wrong with their IV,” Jake says. Protective, worried, because he knows you won’t say it yourself. The thought almost makes you want to pull away from how sweet it is.

The nurse looks at your hand. “It’s just a little bit of inflammation in your vein and some backflow,” she tells you, clearly unconcerned. “I’ll flush the line for you now. You’re booked in for a CT scan, so I’ll hook you back up after.”

She detaches the IV port from the line and pushes a syringe of isotonic saline into your vein, the pressure of the cold fluid under your skin making you wince. Jake takes your hand in his again, runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it comforts you anyway. You remember this feeling; your skin does, a return to form of sorts.

“How long have you been married?” the nurse asks casually, a clear attempt to distract you from the pain.

“Oh, we’re not-”

“I’m their boyfriend,” Jake answers with a sweet smile, cutting you off. He squeezes your hand gently, like it’s easy. Like he does this all the time. Like your hand belongs in his. It had, once.

And with three words he brings it all rushing back. Boyfriend. A title he held with great pride — until he didn’t.

“Don’t ever let this sweetheart go, dear. You should’ve seen him when he came. I’ve never met someone more worried,” the nurse says.

She doesn’t notice the confused glance you cast in Jake’s direction, or the way he looks back at you with nothing but cautious lovelights in his eyes.

“I’ll come back in a minute to take you up to CT.” The nurse begins to leave, turning back only briefly to tell Jake, “You can wait here.”

Jake nods. “Sure, thanks.”

As the door to your room slides shut, slow enough to be just slightly awkward, you prod at the back of your hand.

“Jake…” you trail off, his name leaving your lips before you even know what you want to say next. “You don’t have to stay.”

“But I want to.”

It’s a simple statement, one you instinctively feel compelled to assume is a lie — even though it almost certainly isn’t. He still has those big brown doe eyes, blinking at you from beside your bed. And they still work on you.

Jake, who dropped everything to race to the hospital when they called. Jake, who knew you needed him to be there for you because you wouldn’t let anyone else be. Jake, who reaches over the side rail of your bed to work out the knots in your hair.

Loving, reassuring, dependable Jake. The perfect complement to your neuroses, your high-strung nature, your impatience.

The room is quiet now — the nurse gone, the door closed, your IV line disconnected and no longer beeping every ten seconds. You shift around in the bed, trying to sit up straighter, look more presentable. For him.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Jake asks. A question braced with uncertainty, hope, even.

Your heart races, which is embarrassingly displayed right onto the giant heart monitor screen right beside you.

Which one of these stupid sticker things is doing that? Maybe the- it probably isn’t wise to start pulling random wires and electrodes off your skin and/or out of your body, so you stop.

“No,” you reply, embarrassed, knowing he’s far too polite to point out the spike in your heart rate. But he surely notices it. “Are you?”

“No,” he answers, instantly. He pauses. Waits. Pushes his fingers through his shiny, magazine-ready hair. When your eyes meet his, he looks away. “I- uh- haven’t gotten over you, I guess.”

“You broke up with me,” you say, the pointed reminder flowing out of you before you even have a chance to process what he’s revealed.

That’s the reason Jake has always been too good for you. You’re petty, you hold grudges, you assume the worst of people. He forgives and forgives and forgives.

Jake coughs, touches his hair again; it’s a habit of his. “Yeah, I know. It’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

His voice is gentle and quiet, one of those voices without a single sharp edge, sounding like warm honey even on the exceedingly rare occasions he raises it. But it’s even softer and quieter now, almost confessorial in its vulnerability. It disarms you, completely.

Once it becomes clear your silence has dragged on for far too long, reducing the poor Jake to staring straight down at the floor like his shoes have just transformed into the most interesting things in the world, you tap the back of his hand.

“Can you come here?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to the foot of your bed, trying to ignore the fluttering in your heart when he looks at you. “My neck hurts turning to see you.”

An invitation. Your way of telling him it’s okay. That you’re reaching for him, too, in your own guarded manner.

Jake smiles, only slightly — but it’s so often the nuance that matters with him — and sits down at the end of your bed. He folds one leg under him, shifting as best he can to face you. His lip is red from biting it.

“So, yeah. The door’s still open, if you feel the same way. You-” he hesitates, adjusting your sheets to occupy his restless hands, “You haven’t let my mind since we broke up. Since we met, actually.”

His gaze is trained on you, oddly intimate. You sit up straighter in your hospital bed, eyes glinting. “Neither have you.”

“You don’t have to answer me right away,” he adds, carefully laying his hand on the expanse of your bed between you and him. If you want to hold it, you can, he seems to imply. He smiles again. “I know you have bigger things to worry about. Your health. How itchy your hand is.”

“It’s quite pressing, that itchiness,” you say, trying to sound funny, not painfully earnest. “Once I get out of here…”

And when I look less ugly, you think. Dressed in your Sunday best, not in a hospital gown. With colour returned to your lifeless lips and cheeks. Sallowness gone from the dark crescents under your eyes.

“I’ll take you out,” Jake finishes. It’s effortless, the way you fall back in sync. “It’ll be our second first date.”

He took you ice-skating on your actual first date. He brought an extra pair of gloves for you to protect your fingers from the cold, an extra pair of thick socks to protect your feet from blistering in your rented skates. You laughed at him every time he fell, gave him a kiss on the cheek when he pouted. Kissed him for real when he walked you home.

“I’d like that,” you say, giddy as a fool.

Jake smiles, the same familiar, soft smile he used to give you when you were younger and dumber and wildly in love.

Had either of you actually fallen out of love? The way he looks at you, with his entire heart in his eyes, suggests the answer is no. And all your favourite things about him are still there — and he’s still the only person you’ve ever loved.

You don’t believe in soulmates, divine intervention, destiny. You despise the notion of being a cosmic plaything, your fate all set out in the stars for you to execute. No, whatever you do, you do it deliberately. You fall in love deliberately. You choose deliberately. You would’ve found your way back to Jake eventually.

——————————

thanks for reading!

-minastras <3

[requiemforthepoets]

you say good morning, when its midnight ⟢ OP81 (part 3)

main masterlist | fic playlist | series masterlist

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and oscar grew up together, and despite being neighbors and best friends with her sister, hattie, you never really talked or had a conversation with him. until one day, where he randomly texted you out of nowhere.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, photos are all taken from pinterest, no consistent face claims, fluff, humor-ish, kind of a slow burn fic, inaccurate information, time and date stamps are not relevant, and minor typographical errors

WORD COUNT: none

AUTHOR'S NOTE: part 3! i'm really happy that you like this socmed au for oscar! 🥺 i hope that i'll be able to deliver updates that are up to standards. I'll try to incorporate everything, since tumblr has a limit of 30 photos only per post. taglist for this series is open. enjoy!

hattiepiastri posted in their story!

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, yourmom, and others

oscarpiastri take good care of her

hattiepiastri ?????????

hattiepiastri isn't it supposed to be the other way around?????

oscarpiastri we both know that she's too soft for the chaos you bring

hattiepiastri excuse you???? fyi, remind me or not, i'm always gonna be protecting her

oscarpiastri 👍🏻

nicolepiastri oh my goodness, look at her! she's all grown up. i still remember when you two used to dress up and she would braid your hair

hattiepiastri i shed a little tear when i saw her again in person after so many years

nicolepiastri tell her i said hi, that i miss seeing her around and that she looks beautiful

nicolepiastri i'm so happy that you two are together again!

hattiepiastri will do mum. she says hi back.

hattiepiastri we're now in our bestie singapore honeymoon

yourmom oh my heart! she really made that sign? thank you for posting this, hattie. i might be crying in the kitchen now! 🤣

hattiepiastri she was literally bouncing the moment she saw me!

yourmom please tell her to call me when she settles you in

yourmom and while you're there, please make sure that she eats actual food and not just noodles and bubble teas

hattiepiastri promise!

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

hattiepiastri

📍Haji Lane, Singapore

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and 879 others

tagged: yn.jpg

hattiepiastri week into the bestie singapore honeymoon 🤩

view all comments

yn.jpg look at us, maximizing our joint slay 😮‍💨💖

hattiepiastri indeed 🤩

nicolepiastri you both look so wonderful! enjoy and take good care of her

oscarpiastri like i said hattiepiastri

hattiepiastri no need to tag me???? bc i can literally see the reply???????

yn.jpg 🔒

liked by oscarpiastri, yourmom, yourbrother, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri, and 256 others

tagged: hattiepiastri

yn.jpg all the love, from singapore ♡

view all comments

yourmom why is it that you never smile? but the photos look very stunning, and you are stunning!

yn.jpg 🥺🥺🥺🥺

hattiepiastri i stand by my photography skills, should've watermarked these 😔💔

yn.jpg exquisite photography skills indeed! been staring at how good it is 🥹🤚🏻

nicolepiastri so gorgeous!

yn.jpg auntie! thank you so much, i miss you!

yourbrother ok, gotta admit that this photo of you looks cool af. but i miss the gremlin that i used to chase around the house with a nerf gun. bring her back 💔

yn.jpg you and your dramatic ass! 😭

oscarpiastri you do look different

oscarpiastri in a good way. (sorry, clicked the enter button accidentally)

oscarpiastri the not-smiling thing suits you more than it should

hattiepiastri mate, u good?????

oscarpiastri what? am i not allowed to say that she looks nice?

yourbrother i will die on this hill

yn.jpg okay wow 😭 was not expecting a full family panel in the replies. love u all, but can u all pls calm down? 😭

nathanleong these were worth the wait 😮‍💨

yn.jpg 😂😂😂😂

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

hattiepiastri posted in their story!

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and 23 others

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

hattiepiastri

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, yourmom, nicolepiastri, and 457 others

tagged: yn.jpg

hattiepiastri singaporean nightlife. i'm in love 💖

taglist: @uuoozzii , @freyathehuntress , @littlemisskavities , @elieanana , @rexit-mo , @imagine-it-was-us , @satorinnie , @pessismisticpotato , @milkysoop , @random-movie , @supersanelyromantic , @greantii , @chirpchirp69 , @purplephantomwolf , @mimisweetz , @frogiemushr0om , @angxedxtz , @hevzo8 , @pandora108 , @ms-darcy23 , @sluttybitch , @proudshinsoukinnie , @pinklemonade34 , @gemi-boi , @elizamoe133 , @sideboobrry11 , @mrrayjay , @curlylando , @soleilgrec , @nothingjustaninchidentt , @suns3treading , @dramallama9 , @1-queenofpotatoes-1 , @suibianupyourass , @armystay89 , @verstappen-leclerc-inchident , @landossainz , @martygraciesversion381 , @larkkyoris

[grotesquevi]

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ YOUR LOVE HAS GOT ME GOING ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ LIKE YOU COULDN'T IMAGINE.

cw  #  18+ mdni, stripper!reader + older and divorced!ellie getting all hot and bothered, dirty talk, contains metaphors to addiction and vices, fingering in the bonus side yikes. i'm sorry mutuals, i'm not usually like this but made this everything sean baker’s was dreaming of when he wrote anora with his dick.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ boycott tlou || check out my fic directory

side note  #  i went above and beyond to search for this two motherfuckers, they were not even in tumblr so i thank this to moya since i had to go to the dark places to get 'em aka the wayback machine on internet's archive. if you recognize this? or are you my pillar nonnie? you may be confused but its because tumblr deleted my old account thinking i was a fucking bot, i used to be under the name vicorices. bare. with. me — wonderful art bellow by @nramv

things would be different if you weren't blatantly pressing your ass against ellie's belt, cause those feelings she exhaustingly told herself not to have? — she suffering from all of them.

it may have to be with the outfit or the lack of it, the way your long, pointed nails scratch over her naked arms. but it's the perfect combination to make all this façade of having her life already sorted out fall apart to the ground when she recently signed up her divorce papers and she's there, getting a lap dance from this girl she really, really fucking likes, as if she wasn't slipping dollar bills beneath the thin strip of your underwear.

so she's been in a similar situation before, promising herself she wont ever step a fucking toe back in the club — she's not that kind of person anyway, the kind that salivates over strippers. the club's packed with men, and being the only girl there it's almost shameful as she has this need to go on and ask for a lap dance from you cause yeah she's greedy, greedy, spoiled, ravenous: ellie has now turned into a junkie trying to get more of their vices.

and in the secluded room, she forgets about previous inhibitions cause you're leaning against her, dancing along the sound of the music already sitting in her lap and her mind bubbles around this stupid rule, the one that forbids her to touch you under any sense of the word if she wants to keep her hands attached to her arms, but she's temped, tempted even when the security camera is pointing right in front of you two.

"yeah? that's what you'd like huh?" the sound of your voice is almost normal, a huge contrast when ellie's feeling like drowning, when the bass on the speaker’s so low it resonates in her damn heart, pouring all over her like ocean waves in the sand "want me to be your little spoiled slut? you'd buy me expensive gifts and get me out of this hellhole?"

ellie's glasses rest on the lower part of her nose, almost slipping as she looks up to you, cheeks blushed cause she's hella ashamed of it, hellhole. when she's in the club you almost rejoice in bliss happiness cause she has money, a pretty face, nice hands and more important — she's not a pervert guy.

there's a huge difference between a perverted guy and a perverted girl in your brain — cause while 50-years-old trying to hit on you disgust you, she's in her 30's and in the best fucking moment of her life and you’re struggling to not ask her to touch you.

"i- fuck. i really don't know why i'm here" ellie admitted the first time after seeing your pole routine of a much shorter version of bauhaus's 'bela lugosi's death', conflicted as you're pushed to talk to her because of your boss: business, it's fucking business "don't know how this works."

"you should ask me for a private dance," you reply, of course you want to dance for her, feel her closer and she won’t say no, no when your index finger trail down her collarbone "maybe you can start finding out by that."

there's something insanely hot about the idea of taking a woman so put together completely apart. ellie knows that, you do. so when she comes back again two nights after, and every-single-time after that, she makes sure to ask for you, name loud and clear in her lips as she enters and you know, just know it's going to be a good night — please, fucking pay for me the rest of the night.

wrong. sets back feminism at least 30 years, but ellie's there anyway, seated like she is during various times the week, letting you take control of her cause it's just what she needs, comfortably seated on a velvet couch with you on top; it seems like the cure to all her ruins — how is she not going to be infatuated with you? how is she not going to suffer from withdrawal when she don't see you for days?

"you know i can," she replies, and your skin shivers against the serious tone in her voice, almost recovered from her sore throat as she takes a sip from the heavy glass of neat whiskey in the table next to the seat "i can afford your lifestyle if that's what you're asking. let me take care of you."

she don't know what's so funny, what entertains you so much as you giggle on top of her, but ellie's distracted as she stares at the tiny underwear you're wearing, the friction between you and her as her fingers ache to reach and touch you, make the triangle on your ass to the damn side.

the sound of your laugh catches her off-guard, and she don’t think when her hand gently pushes you down, making you rest your weight against her legs and let yourself rub your thin underwear in her jeans: sin feels good when you do it right cause shit if it's not the best thing in the world when you're taking her hands in between yours, polished and soft, they guide ellie into your sides, allowing her to trail down your body before giving a sly look to the camera, almost afraid you're going to be caught.

leaving her hands in your thighs seems an invitation cause your movements get slower. fuck the song, if someone's looking, let the lucky bastard live enough to see ellie's hand rub circles in the skin of your inner leg, close to the little outfit you're pulling and barely manages to cover your cunt.

your back presses against her chest, resting against her frame as you move your hips in slow circles, making ellie feel the scent of your perfume in her nose, the way it lingers in the air surrounding the private room.

"ask me again," you whisper, and her gaze lingers in the front part of your body as you lay on top of her: the curves on your skin, the silver and glittery fabric that cover your tits — nipples hard beneath as she has the damn need to use her right hand to do something much better than just sweetly touching your fucking leg "i'll be your good new wife, let you whine about your important job, fuck the stress out of you, all domestic and shit."

it's the way you say it, how you move on top of her, the sparkles splattered in your skin that makes you seem almost ethereal, however it makes ellie moan as she's nodding already on an invisible leash you tied around her neck from the very first time she came, intoxicating, her right hand moves from your leg to your hip, back to your navel and up to your very ribs.

"they are going to see that," you said, the camera always a fucking reminder of her ripping need to have a bit of decency, self-control as ellie's cheeks turn red — "you cannot touch me, love."

"to be fair at this point club 976's alive thanks to me" draining her money cent by fucking cent, she’s sure she keeps the place rolling during the week "so let them be pissed, m'snatching their best worker and takin' her away from this dump anyway."

it must be evil, should be if it isn't, cause just like you landed on her lap you're swiftly turning to face her as you dance, dragging your nails across her chest as from this angle, she becomes aware of your barely covered pussy that grinds against her legs; yeah, she has a much better view of your fingers slipping beneath her belt, of you basking in bliss almost unaware of how stupid ellie’s left when you're around.

"you really mean that?" you ask almost like it's a secret, and she’s smashed with this need of pulling you into a kiss, get lost in the threads of your hair “don’t fuck with me ellie.”

"i'll pay for your nails," her words are warm, her breathing now heavier as her fingers toy with the hem of your underwear: one little tug and it will surely let ellie see your soaked folds, sure you're wet when she see's the splotch in your underwear, the darker hue right between your legs "your clothes, fuck. i'll take you to fancy restaurants anything you want, just- just say you let me."

she can’t pay for interest, that reaction you got when moving on top of her, that almost silent moan you make as you dance or grind to seek for more friction. fuck it, she really don’t know it at this point.

“that’s enough for fifteen minutes,” she’s not aware also of the other people in the room until you’re standing up and she’s going to whine about the lack of touch until you’re screaming at the guard that’s yanking her outside the club — “respect the girls or don’t fucking show up here, got it?”

“outside,” she manages to says to you as she’s being pulled away “ah fuck off man- i’ll wait for you outside!”

the biggest surprise of the night though? she was serious, dead fucking serious; so when you’re leaving the club at almost five in the morning, she’s smoking there, back against her black mercedes as she tilts her head satisfied you’re looking out for her.

yes, ellie williams’s leash is tied to this pretty stripper she has in her sheets, spread over her kitchen island, under the cascading water of her shower, wearing her shirt, eating her food, taking her life — hand-cuffed.

i totally envision it and i’m getting brainrot about rich and divorced!ellie whos ex wife hates you when noticing how fucked up you have her already, wrapped around your finger — ellie’s important to her clearly and you’re quickly becoming a distraction: too much weed, late nights talking, buying you clothes, not picking up the damn phone. shocking cause makes ellie miss up work one morning since you convinced her to call in sick: yeah she’s important to the company, but why can’t she spend just one little morning with you? just one. cross your heart cause you’ll make her time worth it.

she likes it even when you’re a danger to her lifestyle, when you’re slipping inside her office after your collage classes (same ones she’s already offering to pay), and you go there sitting on her lap as ellie tries to be concentrated in reading this paper about the growing insides of the economy for tomorrow, but you’re making it hard to keep her attention in her best behaviour when you’re leaning to see more of her work curious about it, and she has the best view she could ever ask from your bare back and those pajama shorts you use to roam around her penthouse.

so politely fuck work. ellie’s planting some wet kisses on your back, her fingers tug on your crop top and suddenly, you’re leaving wrinkles over her papers cause you’re gripping the wood desk too hard in hopes to hold onto anything, anything that connects you to earth and prevents you from spiraling. shit, shit, shit. how did it end up like that? how she’s so quick to make you stand between her legs? to bend so she can shove her fingers on your already wet pussy? it’s so easy for her to reduce you to this state, this plain mess. her gaze seems to burn holes in your skin, wanting to say something about you ruining her work, yet her mind does not function when she cannot say nothing more than, — “that’s it- can you bend for me? cheek against the desk baby.”

her free hand holds on the fabric of your short and your panties to the side, keeping them hooked in a finger as she uses it to make you move, a gentle pull that invites you to roll your hips back to meet her digits again before she’s slowly shoving a third finger inside and yeah, work can wait.

“faster,” you ask, a lewd sound filling the air when your arousal drips on her hand, coates her palm and makes your folds glisten in evidence of your needs, only gaining a needy sound in return when she’s compelled to follow your orders, keep you satisfied “fuck ellie- s’good you’re filling me so damn good.”

it’s dangerous cause she’s driven by your words, those sounds she loves to hear, the way you seem to suck her fingers deep inside until she’s curling them to rub on your velvety walls, that spot you overly enjoy and ellie discovered during the week: sure.

work can wait for an hour or two, she has better things to take care of now.

[sunflowerwinds]

try it | v.a

summary: when you get partnered up with the most irritating and cocky soccer player on campus, you wonder why she has girls fawning over her left and right when she’s so… insufferable. not that you would want to know… right?

next part -> bite it

pairing: fem!cheerleader!reader x soccer player!vi

contains: modern!au, reader isn’t aware of her sexuality (yet…) but it’s not specified what sexuality the reader is, mature content (MEN & MINORS DNI 18+) — oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), choking, cocky-kind of douchey!vi, brat!reader (quickly turned sub!reader), dom!vi, morally wrong in a sense, mentions of reader being in previous relationship with a man (very brief!)

word count: 5.1K

a/n: cocky vi, save me! also thank you a MILLION @venomvalley & @strawberrykidneystone for reading this over and helping me edit it <3 u guys are angels. would y’all like a messy ass pt. 2? let me know! comments & reblogs are appreciated, lovelies <3

With every fiber in your being, you despised Violet.

You had seen her around your campus your freshman year of college. At first, you were undoubtedly intrigued by her neck tattoo and the fact that she was talking to one of your good friends and fellow cheerleader, Caitlyn. It was in passing on the way to one of your basics and for a second, she had caught your eye.

The way her eyes raked up and down your figure caused your skin to blaze, becoming uncomfortably flustered.

You knew Caitlyn was into women; not that it had bothered you in any way. You just didn’t understand why she was talking to someone who had trouble keeping their eyes on her.

The epitome of a narcissistic soccer player.

You would hear Caitlyn gush about her for the next month as you stretched before practicing the routines, visibly flushed at the thought of the girl.

One day, Caitlyn dropped you as you were coming down from flying as she seemed to be focused on something other than practice. Thankfully, it was just the football field but it still infuriated you. She explained how this Violet character had asked her to just be friends after they had slept together. The team consoled her and told her she wasn’t worth it, she deserved better and that she was way out of her league until your coach blew her whistle to get everyone back on track.

You hated to admit it but you were sort of relieved you wouldn’t have to hear about the pink-haired girl anymore.

Every single time Caitlyn had brought her up, you sort of tuned her out.

Not on purpose, but you didn’t really need to hear about how amazing Violet’s tongue felt. You had set in your mind from that point on you would be free of anything even remotely related to Violet.

To your surprise, walking into your 10 AM English Lit class your sophomore year, there the familiar girl sat in the third row of the stairs of seats and desks. You pause your steps before rounding around to the other side of the classroom, not wanting her to be in your eyeline.

You shake your head to yourself as you sit down on the fifth row where it had been scarce of students. The professor has yet to arrive to the class so you begin working on an assignment from your class from the previous day. As you scribble your name on top, a soft ‘psst’ fills the room.

You ignore it in hopes it isn't aimed at you. A few seconds of silence follow before a hand smacks the top of your paper, a ‘hey’ leaving their lips. Your lips purse in aggravation, inhaling a deep breath before tilting your head up at the person.

Violet’s face stares down at you with a slight head tilt and a skeptical smile.

“Yeah?” You raise your brows impatiently, wondering when the hell she even got up from her seat.

“I know you from somewhere,” she states, pointing the blunt end of her pencil at you accusingly.

You shrug your shoulders, shaking your head slowly. “I, uh, I’m not sure. We’ve never met before.”

Which is true. You know way too much about her from your cheermate, but the two of you have never formally met.

“Are you in my chem class?” She questions, her presence becoming more and more bothersome.

You suck in a deep breath, blinking up at her from your seated position.

“No. I don’t take chem.”

“Huh. Well,” the professor clears her throat which captures Violet’s attention, stopping her words before motioning over to her original seat. “I’ll leave you.”

You send her a more irritated grin, thankful that the professor was able to intervene.

“As I was saying,” your professor clears her throat again as her eyes flicker to every student. “It was posted this morning in my announcements the link to the list of partners for our final project. Please make sure to check it so that you can reach out to your partner to get started as this is 40% of your grade. The deadline is also in the syllabus. Do not wait until the last minute.”

Out of curiosity, you open your phone to press on the megaphone icon on her page to see the link that she had just mentioned. You watch the bright screen load to the list. Once it fully develops, you scroll down to find your name.

An uneasy feeling settles in your gut when you see the name typed in bold right next to yours.

Violet Lanes.

Your stomach churns at the sight, and you want to immediately beg for the professor to pair you up with anyone else in the class. You suck in a deep breath as you mentally prepare for her to figure out who you are. The duration of the class passes in the blink of an eye, the eerie feeling of what you’d have to endure with Vi lingered in the back of your mind.

As class is dismissed, you walk out of the door and are met with Vi leaning against a wall as she types something on her phone. You shake your head as you adjust the strap of your backpack before walking up to Vi with as genuine of a smile as you could muster.

“We’re partners for the final project.”

Vi looks up from her phone, blinking her… (actually, quite pretty) blue eyes at you.

“Really? You’re–”

“Yes. So,” you suck in a deep breath as you peer down the halls to make sure no one you knew was lingering around. “We could meet up at the library whenever we’re both free for, like, an hour or two so we can hopefully get this done before the due date. Then we won’t worry about it.”

And so I don’t have to be around you for more than I need to be, you thought.

Vi’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “Sure, princess. What’s your number?”

Your face prickles with heat, your irritation spiking at the nickname. What is with her calling you that?

After you offer your number, you bid her goodbye and walk away before she could keep you there for longer than you wanted. Yeah, maybe it's a little immature but, gods, being around her makes your head ache.

A few days later, you get a text from Vi saying she would be free on Wednesday after her soccer practice. You agree to that first meet-up at the library as you, too, would be out of cheer practice by 3.

It was a nightmare.

Every time you tried to get her back on track, she would flirt openly with the girls who were passing by, slipping them her number with a wink. They flushed and giggled at the confidence radiating off of her. Your face contorted in annoyance with every interaction.

Clearly, she can't be trusted in a public space to stay focused. After the second work meet-up, you turn to her with a flat expression.

“We’re going to my place from here on out.”

Vi’s brows furrow for a moment before slyly smiling. “Why?”

“You get easily distracted with people,” girls, “around. It’ll be better for the both of us if we start working on this at my place.”

Vi would make a douchey comment back, but it's clear in her compliance that she knows you're right.

“Fine. Text me your address. I’ll see you next Wednesday, princess?” She grins as she begins walking backwards, away from you.

“Sadly.” You call after her with an eye roll as you watch her chuckle at your response, before turning back on her heels to walk in the opposite direction.

You, for a split second, stare at her back from a distance, furrowing your brows at the ink peeking out from her compression tee. You blink and realize you were… checking her out. No, no, you were just wondering what her tattoo was.

Yeah. Just the tattoo.

After hanging out at Caitlyn’s place across the way, you catch Vi walking to your dorm.

“Hey, princess,” her eyes trail down to your outfit before locking gazes with you. “Don’t you look pretty? Come back from a date?”

You adjust your falling tube top as you avoid her eye-line, scoffing at her half-ass flirting.

“No. I was hanging out with my friend. Practice was cancelled for the day.”

“Well, I guess you can lead me to yours. I’ll follow you,” Vi motions in front of her to the concrete walkway.

You pause at her words before continuing forward, sucking in a deep breath as you try to not think about how you were just with Caitlyn. Why do you feel so guilty? You and Vi were assigned to be partners in this project: it was out of your control.

You must’ve gone silent, as Vi bumps your shoulder with a whistle.

“Hello? You just stopped talking mid-conversation. Are you okay?” Her brows raise with confusion and a hint of concern.

You blink then stare up ahead as you approach your dorm building. Ignoring her question, you reach into your purse to retrieve the key.

“This is me. Come on.”

Your steps speed up as you hold up the key fob to the electronic lock, watching the red light flicker green. Surprisingly, Vi grabs the door for you and motions for you to head in first.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

Vi nods with a soft ‘you're welcome’ before letting the door shut behind her.

“So you’re a cheerleader?” Vi questions as you two make your way to the elevator.

Your brows furrow as you lean forward to press the up button, glancing at Vi.

“Uh, yeah. What about it?” You wonder where she’s going with this.

“Nothing, dollface,” she shakes her head as she waits for the elevator with her arms folded in front of her chest.

You ignore how much her biceps bulge and focus on the fact that she’s given you another pet name. You sigh in relief as the doors open with a soft ding, a few students stepping out before you two step in.

“I feel like I’ve been here before,” Vi says softly as her brows furrow and her eyes follow around the small space.

You side-eye her but keep quiet as your thoughts immediately cloud over with a thought: it could’ve been one of her one night stands or other girls that she led on for weeks or months until she got what she wanted from them.

“A friend?” You flatly question.

Vi shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah, a… friend.”

Kill me now, you think as the doors finally open.

You both step out and Vi walks beside you, glancing down either end of the hallway. The second you approach your front door, you press your key fob onto the similar electronic lock.

You unlock your front door, hoping that your roommate, Sky, isn't home. She was usually at the lab around this time of day, but you had to make sure there was no one here. Vi lingers behind you as you twist the handle and use your shoulder to shove the old, heavy door open. You peak into your apartment with a relieved sigh to see no sign of her.

“Why are you looking around? This is your apartment, right?” Vi teases from behind you.

An angry heat rises up your spine at her words.

“Yes,” you seeth as you turn around to face her. “I was checking to see if my roommate was home.”

Vi merely grins at your flared nostrils and tense figure as she tilts her head at you.

“Aw, you ashamed of me, princess?”

You stare at her, unable to comprehend how girls just flock to her. You ignore her obvious attempt to press at your buttons as you suck in a deep breath, motioning to the still open door behind her.

“Could you close the door and lock it?” You ask her calmly.

Vi huffs out a breath before smacking her lips. “You know, a ‘please’ goes a long way.”

You're so close to shoving her out of the door and working on the project by yourself.

“Can you close the door, please?” You ask once again with a tight-lipped smile.

Vi presses her palm onto the heavy door and twists the silver lock with a soft click. She straightens her back so that she is next to you; somehow much closer than just a few moments ago. You swear for a moment that her long fingers brush past your own.

“Only because you were so nice about it,” she teases.

The amount of willpower it takes to hold back the eyeroll itching at you. You suck in a stabilizing breath to calm yourself.

“My bedroom is this way.”

Vi’s eyes widen at your words for a moment, tucking her hands into the front pockets of her baggy jeans.

“Wow. I didn’t think you were so easy, princess.”

You stop walking down the dimly lit hallway, turning on your heel to glare at Vi.

“If we’re going to get any work done, could you let up with the jokes?” You borderline sneer at her.

The only sort of reaction that you can emit from Vi is a cocky smirk. You're reacting exactly like how she wants you to; pushing you to see how far she could.

“Alright. I hear you loud and clear,” she holds her palms up in mock defeat, waving her white flag (for now).

You huff before, again, making your way down to your bedroom. You hold up your key fob and watch the light switch to green with a loud click. You’re hit with the airy scent of cinnamon and vanilla from your wallflower near the door.

“Damn. You cheer girls have nice ass rooms.”

You twitch at that. You cheer girls. Was she talking about Caitlyn? You shake it off as you walk over to wear your backpack that had been thrown on the ground near your bed, bending down to retrieve your notebook and grabbing your laptop from your desk from the other side.

Getting comfortable, you lay down stomach first on your bed.

“Let’s just… start, please.” You sigh as you flip your hair over to one side, huffing as you flip open your laptop to pull up your presentation.

Her hands go up again before she sets her own backpack down on the swivel chair in front of your desk.

“Jesus, okay. I promise the only person I’ll pay attention to is you, princess.”

You look up from your laptop, sucking in a deep breath.

“I’m the only other person in the room, Vi. And I have a name, you know.”

“I’m well aware, princess,” Vi says with a knowing grin.

You can’t believe how easy it is for her to get under your skin, but you can’t help but empathize with Caitlyn’s devastation with getting friendzoned.

“Whatever,” you murmur under your breath and turn your attention back to the matter at hand: the project that you are desperate to already be done with.

Vi shrugs her shoulders, grinning down at you before settling down to sit at your desk. You open your mouth to tell her to come sit next to you but catch yourself. She can stay across the room for all you care.

“Okay, so, I did a little bit of research on some of the most influential authors. I got some Shakespeare, Austen, Dickens. All of them. We could compare them?” Vi tells you as she flips through her notebook, completely taken aback by her words.

You take a beat before letting out a soft ‘yeah’. “We could do that. Like their writing styles?”

Vi nods as she looks from her notebook to catch your wide-eyed gaze. She scoffs and shakes her head.

“Don’t act so surprised that I did some work, gorgeous,” she leans back in your swivel chair, placing her sock covered feet on your bed.

“Well, before, you didn’t seem too interested in the work, so I think I’m allowed to be,” you snip back, again, ignoring the flirty compliment.

“What do you mean?” Vi questions as she tilts her head at you.

You roll your eyes before typing onto the PowerPoint presentation. “Don’t be stupid. You would flirt and hit on pretty much every girl who looked your way.”

Vi mutters a soft ‘oh’, a hum following.

“Well, don’t act jealous, princess,” she grins cockily. “You have my full attention now.”

You scoff at her before simply shaking your head.

Surprisingly, you're able to get a good amount of work done. You weren’t expecting Vi to be so… cooperative with you. The two of you bounce ideas off of each other without bickering. You can actually stand her for a moment.

Sadly, that lasts merely an hour before Vi stands up and stretches out her back before perusing around your room to look at everything that decorates your walls: photos of your friends, your cheer bows, a few posters, etc.

“Vi, what are you doing?” You sigh.

“Taking a small mental break. It’s great for cognitive function.” Vi hums as she holds up a little Sonny Angel that sits on your dresser top. “Do you ever do that or are you just always this tense?”

Your mouth falls open for a moment before shutting. Because you make me tense, your mind echoes.

“I’m not tense,” you slowly shut your laptop, as you want to make sure she doesn’t touch anything she’s not supposed to.

Vi snorts. “Sure. You got a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? Someone to help ease whatever is up your ass?”

You squint your eyes at her as the word ‘girlfriend’ leaves her mouth. Your stomach tightens at the thought but you shrug it off in an instant.

“Boys are… just no. Not something I need to be wasting my time on.” You admit.

Which is true.

“And girls?” She rebuttals immediately.

You feel your throat dry up as you look down at your laptop cover to hide your face, avoiding eye-contact.

“Yeah, uh, not something I think about either,” you lie.

You have. A lot recently. You couldn’t tell if it was being around Vi every week or– Well, you don't know what else it could be.

“Hm. Well, since we’re still taking that break,” she walks back over to your queen bed, standing at the foot of the headboard. “I could help you relax.”

A sense of vulnerability settles in your chest as you peer up at her from your laid position, pressing up on your forearms.

“What do you… want to do?”

Your voice, for the first time around Vi’s presence, isn't snippy. It's soft and hesitant; your nerves showing as something in the air between the two of you shifts .

“Do you want me to help you?” Vi’s hand reaches out to brush a falling strand of hair from your face.

Your answer could change everything between the two of you. Is it stupid to hook up with your friend’s ex-situationship and your project partner? Incredibly. Probably one of the dumbest things you’ll ever do.

And yet, you nod slowly.

“No, gorgeous. Tell me,” Vi’s lips twitch as her thumb rubs over the plush of your bottom lip.

A gentle whisper leaves your lips. “Yes.”

The second Vi gets that confirmation, her hand leaves your face and she makes her way around the bed. Your heart thumps so fast that the sound clouds your hearing. You watch her every move with anticipation, not knowing what she plans for you.

“You’ll tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable, yeah?” She hums as she kneels on the mattress, the age of the mattress showing as it creaks from the springs.

Why couldn’t you come up with anything to snip at her with? The second she touched you, you were done for. Your breath catches in your throat as you mutter a ‘yeah’ and wait impatiently for any sort of touch to relieve that aching.

As you hoped, her hands start at the back of your mid-thigh, dragging up to the bottom of your skirt.

“This is cute,” she says cheekily, tugging at the material. “Panties are cute too. Are these bamboo or–”

“Are you going to be a dick about this or are you going to actually do this properly?” You huff.

A beat passes and you think you’ve fucked up. Until you hear a gentle chuckle from behind you.

“Oh, I think you like it when I do this. Tease you a bit,” her hands run underneath the skirt to cup both of your cheeks. “Make you want it more.”

Your breath hitches as your pussy lips spread underneath the soft material of your underwear. They weren’t anything too special; black cotton hipsters with polka dots. You're thankful for the color as you knew there was a humiliating wet patch where your slit is.

You hear her shift from behind as she sits in between your legs, her hands coming back down to your thighs to push them open.

The material of your skirt is lifted, resting at your hips. You lift your hips to help her a bit, a boost of confidence washing over you when you hear her mutter a soft curse as she gropes at your ass again.

You shiver when she thumbs right on the wet patch dampening your panties, humming in satisfaction.

“Fuck, princess. Getting your pretty panties all wet for me,” she groans as she seemingly grows impatient.

Her long fingers hook at the waistband of your underwear, pausing for a moment. You mutter an ‘it’s okay’ as she continues to tug them down your legs to toss them on the ground next to the bed.

Almost immediately, she teases at your puffy folds with her middle finger. You inhale sharply as you roll your head to try and keep yourself from pushing your hips up into her finger.

“When was the last time someone did this to you, hmm?” Vi leans over your body so that her lips brush over the shell of your right ear.

Your mind flashes memories of your pathetic ex complaining about his wrist hurting after fingering you for three minutes before he just fucked you until he came.

That was over a year ago.

“Too long,” you admit with a soft moan as she slides her middle finger into you.

You hate to admit how amazingly overstimulated you are by this alone. The feeling of her tits in her loose cut off tee against your bare back and her lips grazing over your ear leaves your eyes shutting to level yourself.

“Aw poor princess.” She taunts as she hums, placing a kiss under your ear.

You grumble a ‘fuck you’ in response, to which she chuckles at.

“Vi,” you grip at your sheets as you whine, a shiver running down your spine.

The squelch of your sopping cunt makes your head drop in embarrassment, but Vi has other plans. In a second, the hand that isn't fingering you wraps gently around your throat to lift your head up. You moan softly as she squeezes your throat once, her thumb pressing against your jaw to make sure you don't dare try to hide yourself.

“No, no, keep that pretty head up for me,” Vi grunts as she pumps her finger in and out of you.

You whine as you arch into her long finger, the feeling deliciously addicting. She only has one inside of you as she teases about how tight you are, but you need to be more full. Full of her.

Your mouth betrays you as a weak and breathy ‘more’ leaves your lips, another shiver tickling down your spine as she curls her fingers.

A deprecating chuckle leaves her lips as she presses a kiss to your hot cheek. You hate how wet it gets you to hear her speak to you in such a taunting tone.

“You want more, princess?” Vi questions, her scarred lip curling into a smirk.

You nod as she slows her pumping down. Fucking asshole, you think, but bite your lip to keep the snarky comment to yourself. She keeps pace at the slowest she can possibly muster.

“What did I tell you about saying ‘please’?”

Oh, you're going to kill her. After you come, of course.

You tilt your head back as she gives your throat another squeeze, panting as she rubs her nose against your jaw.

“Please, more. Fingers, please.” You whimper, submission overtaking you.

“Fuck, you sound so good for me.”

Hand still kept firmly around your throat, she pulls herself back just enough to watch her hand pumping in and out of you. She carefully slides in her pointer next to her middle finger and becomes relentless. Her thrusts send a rewarding burn up her forearm to her bicep.

Getting to see you like this makes it all the more sweet. Timid moans leave your pretty lips at the stretch of her additional finger. She can't believe this was the same girl who would roll her eyes nearly every time she spoke.

Now, she has your eyes rolling back in the way she’s been craving since she first laid eyes on you.

“Vi, oh fuck. I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

A familiar feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you clench down on her fingers, a hot flash running up from the base of your spine to your temple. Vi hums at your broken and higher pitched moans, not letting up as she watches your soaked and puffy folds engulf her.

“Oh, it has been long, gorgeous. Gonna cum for me?” She removes her hand from your neck to tug down the elastic part of your tube top.

Your tits spill out, bouncing as you rock back to match her pace. Your eyes and nose scrunch up as your jaw slacks from the stimulation. Vi’s free hand palms one of your tits, pressing herself up against your back once again to mutter praises in your ear.

“So fucking good for me. Cum all over my fingers, baby. Come on,” she grunts.

You cum with a loud, broken moan as one of your clenched palms moves to wrap around the wrist gripping onto your perked nipple, needing to hold onto her in some way. Your face falls forward and muffles your shaky whimpering as you come down from your high. Goosebumps raise to your skin as she carefully removes her fingers, smiling to herself at the feeling of your cum dribbling down her digits.

Your breathing, as it finally was slowing down, picks up when you feel Vi’s hands grab onto your hips and flip you on your back side. You yelp in shock as you sit up on your wobbly forearms to peer up at her.

“What the fuck?” You breathe out, eyes locked on her own.

“I want to see that pretty face when I make you cum on my mouth,” Vi says simply, like she wasn’t finger-fucking the thoughts out of you. “Unless you feel relaxed enough.”

You let a second pass before shaking your head slowly.

Vi grins cheekily as she raises her hand that was inside of you, holding it up to your bitten lips. Like you’d done it a thousand times before, your jaw opens to take them into your mouth to suck off your cum. She groans as you swirl your tongue around them to get every last drop.

Not bad, you thought. You made a show of it by humming around the skin and grabbing her wrist to gradually tug them out of your mouth with a soft pop.

“Shit, lay back for me.”

You do as you're told and spread your legs without an afterthought. Vi shuffles down your bed so that she lays on her stomach, hooking her forearms around your thighs to tug you toward her face, right where she wants to be.

She still sees the shine of your previous orgasm coating your puffy cunt. She moans as she leans forward to drag her tongue over your slit once to get a taste of you.

Oh, she wasn’t going to stop until her jaw locked.

“You taste perfect, gorgeous” her bright and hazy blue eyes peer up at you from in between your legs.

You hum as you raise a hand to move her falling strands out of her hair, cursing when she uses a hand to rub at your clit. The touch at the sensitive bud causes your cunt to clench around nothing. You miss Vi’s fingers inside of you and you want to strangle her because of it. Her tongue prods at your cunt, smirking when you clench around it for some sort of relief.

Fuck, Caitlyn was right.

“Just like that, Vi, please. Don’t stop,” you breathe out with a whimper.

Vi merely hums against your labia as she sucks on each fold, her fingers not letting up on your clit. The sounds alone drive you insane. She sounds … hungry for you, her motions messy and sloppy.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, you feel another stronger orgasm approaching. One of your hands mimicks her motion from before, groping harshly at your tit to pinch and roll your nipple in between your fingers.

“Vi, oh my god. Please, don’t stop. Shit, f-fuck,” you whine as your other hand finds her hair to grip onto.

Vi doesn’t dare change her movements, lapping her greedy tongue over your clit as your legs clamp around her head. She, with ease, holds back one of your thighs as she hungrily laps at you. Her eyes narrow at your hand, and she holds back her smirk.

She suckles on your clit and you swear your vision turns white as pornagraphic moans leave your mouth. You throw your head back as your hips buck up to chase your orgasm, sweat settling at the crevices of your hips. Your harsh breathing brings you back to reality, realizing how fucking tired and sticky you are. Every limb has become jelly at this point; boneless even.

As you try to stabilize your breathing, you hear Vi from in between your legs speak with a knowing tone.

“See? Breaks are good for you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you slap her shoulder weakly as you let yourself fall back onto your bed.

Vi presses feathery kisses onto your inner thighs. Her soft laughter tickles the heated skin as you wipe a hand over your flushed face.

Maybe she wasn’t the worst partner you could have.

TAG-LIST: @cinnamonmilf @saturnhas82moons @sameshoeally @ferxanda @dosiji @bethowdie @ragoshmog @sawaagyapong @willurms @ellieslittleslutt @leeidk87 @alessabriel @mikellie @drunkenrosesluv @foresityyy @snuffphiliaa @hadesboneyard @rainbowdashparadise @itzsky82 @drunkalex @hitmehardmommy @moodient @chellecunttt @daughterofthemoons-stuff @unear7hly @oidloid @eeseooeos @violetszn @rosieeteaa @pnkreligion @agentsquid12 @satorix (crossed out users are ones it wouldn’t let me tag)

[specialgradefckr]

Satoru Gojo who thinks you're only with him for the money.

He's pretty insufferable, after all. And a shitty boyfriend to boot - always bailing on dates, showing up at weird times, telling you vague stories about his work that don't make sense.

Honestly he's surprised you've stuck around this long.

That you still read every message he spams you when he's bored and lonely fighting special grade curses.

(after all, he always has to go on those missions alone. there's no one who can go with him.)

You still text him back. Open the door to let him in. Smile when you see him, like it's the very first time and he can tell you're just so star-struck by his eyes as he tugs down his blindfold with a grin, "Do I look blind to you?" "Blindingly handsome!"

He'd laughed at that. You're shocked by his appearance, but you're earnest, and so obviously smitten, and he loves a woman with a little humor.

Satoru Gojo who didn't expect you to text him back after the first night, but you did.

cutie pie: omg, those look so good! what flavor? satoru: my favorite, the edamame and cream~ cutie pie: bring some for me next time you visit <3 i'll feed them to you ;)

On a lesser man, that might have sounded presumptuous. To Satoru, it's the perfect come-on. Casual, flirty, and easy to do - all the makings of a great hookup.

He hadn't expected to spend half the night on his knees like a dog, licking at your fingers. Watering over a thumb pressed down against his tongue while you drooled your mochi-sweet saliva straight into his open mouth.

Unexpected, but amazing! Satoru knew then that you were going to be a treat worth savoring.

It was just a shame that he could only enjoy you for one night.

Not even that much, really. He'd been called away in bed; one arm wrapped around your darling naked form, holding you pressed against him.

Left while you were asleep without a word. He'd texted you on the way, a blase little "sowwyyyyy smth came up! u were gr8 last night." and no real expectations of a return.

If you were (reasonably) upset with him, he'd block you - his one act of kindness to a woman he couldn't treat right.

Instead he gets "thanks! you weren't so bad yourself haha" and your enthusiasm is obviously a bit defused, but he can work with this.

He lays it out to you, next chance he gets. Tries to text you often enough to make sure you don't think he's ghosted you.

"I know this might sound like the kind of thing married men say," He says with a big, sardonic smile, "But I have a very demanding job. I don't have time for a relationship. And for personal reasons, I can't agree to be exclusive, either."

There's a look you give him that makes him wonder what exactly you think of his job. Satoru vaguely wonders if you think he's a sex worker.

He hopes you try to find him on porn websites later. Maybe he should film himself jerking off real quick sometime so you can watch it.

"That makes sense," Is what you say, instead of any of the ridiculous thinks he'd imagined.

You don't seem thrilled about it, but you don't look immeasurably disappointed, either. You're a smart girl. You'd probably already figured he couldn't commit.

"But!" He chirps, "I am very very interested in seeing you again. Multiple agains. And I'd like to come to an arrangement that makes that easier for you, since my schedule is so tight..."

For a moment, you stay quiet, and Satoru wonders if he should just offer you cash upfront. But you're receptive, and things go well.

Worryingly well, to be honest. What type of girl are you, exactly? Naughty thing. Get money from a lot of men, do you?

You laugh when he tries to bring it up in bed, "You're one to talk, Mr. can't-promise-exclusivity," you tease, running a hand through his hair while you smile at him.

He likes it when you do that. He likes a lot of things you do.

The real wonder is - although he is absolutely spectacular in bed of course - how much do you like it?

The whole relationship has to happen on his shitty, inconsistent schedule. He can't commit to a relationship or tell you about his job - you're better off that way. Even if you don't know.

Satoru Gojo who pretends to go on dates with other girls sometimes just so that no one watching him thinks he's serious about you. He can't have the Higher Ups thinking of you as a tool to use against him.

He can't even offer you exclusivity. Even if he wants to. Even if he struggles to get it up with those girls - his heart just isn't it in - when he's making sure everyone who's watching him knows you're just one of several people he's having sex with.

After all, the only thing that could be worse than people thinking you were the strongest sorcerer's weakness, was if they thought you might be pregnant with the strongest sorcerer's child.

But if he's fucking around, if he's the whore his so-called superiors make him out to be - then you're safe. Just another girl.

And god, does he take advantage of it.

Texting you late at night. Early in the morning. Times don't mean a lot to him these days.

The most sleep he ever gets is the rare night he spends with you, maybe once or twice a month, five hours in your arms before he pulls himself away and slinks out of bed while you're still asleep like a guilty dog.

He doesn't deserve your warmth or your bed. But he'll take it while you're offering. Eat it all up and beg shamelessly for seconds.

He makes up for it with money, or tries to. Leaves you treats and sweets and other gifts. Spam texts you and facetimes you constantly - when he can.

To be perfectly honest, he's kind of expecting to be dumped any day. He'll take whatever he can get.

If paying your rent or buying you a house makes you feel guilty enough to stay a few days longer with him, that's a good use of his money.

He arranges for you to receive an offer for a remote job, something flexible that will let you meet him whenever he comes calling.

His gifts get more lavish. He's always generous in bed, makes sure you have a good time.

He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

Sometimes he just stares at you when you're asleep. It feels like a waste to spend his precious few hours with you sleeping.

Look at you. All peaceful in his arms. Cuddling up to him.

He can admit, in the dead of night, with no witnesses but himself; the sight makes his heart tug.

If he could, he'd stay. Wake up next to you in the morning. Make breakfast, flirt, joke, maybe even take a little ~morning shower~ and have some fun in there.

It's so clear in his head. How you'd joke back. Smile and giggle and playfully bump against him. Give him a little kiss, a little hug before he leaves for work.

You would kiss his forehead when he got migraines. Hug him when he talks about his difficulties at work.

Your soft smile, your warm lips, your tight hug. It's all so vivid in his head. How you'd look in the morning light, staring at him while you think he's asleep.

Would you stare? What would show on your face, then?

He tries, very hard, not to imagine what your face must look like when you wake up alone every time you sleep with him.

What you think about when he's not there.

Do you wonder if he's with other women? Do you see his flirty texts - "sorry kitten daddy's gotta work late" "babygirl you're not my dad, he goes to bed at 9." - and wonder if he's said that to a hundred other girls?

Because he has. And that's what hurts, really. He could message a hundred girls and get a hundred vapid responses, all those notifications could build up in his phone and he wouldn't care.

But when it's you messaging him?

When you tell him about your day, or text him a picture, or pick up on the rare phone call he gets to make - Satoru's heart skips a beat.

What about you? He thinks about you checking your phone constantly to see anything from him, and it hurts.

You don't show any unhappiness about the arrangement. Every gift, every little arrangement or donation he makes, you accept it all with grace. Everything money can buy is yours, he makes that clear.

As long as you're with him, he'll spoil you rotten. And you were starstruck in the beginning, he could tell.

Expensive hotels, exclusive restaurants. First class flights everywhere, even a private jet if you want it. He brings you custom made jewelry worth more than people make in a year, pulls it out of his pocket and clasps it around your wrist like a passing trinket.

You get used to the constant spa days, the shopping trips. Ordering food for every meal. Living in a city center in a beautiful penthouse with brilliant fixtures. And you're happy like that. At least you look like you are.

But every time he sees you, you're with him. He can't tell if you miss him, if you're sad when he's not there.

He... he sort of doesn't want to know.

Satoru Gojo who loves you. And he hopes to god you don't love him back.

After all, if you did, then you'd want things from him he can't give. Shouldn't give.

But if all you love is his money? He's got tons of it. You can have as much as you want. He can make you happy. He can buy the love he can't afford to earn. He'll never run out of funds.

As long as it's only his money you love, he can have you forever.