— my boyfriend, his stupid plants, and that bitch with the bangs
feat. nanami kento
summary. you don’t get jealous — people get jealous of you. so why are you crying in a cinema bathroom over nanami kento explaining photosynthesis to another girl? after an emotional meltdown worthy of an award, nanami steps up to prove you’re his priority—setting boundaries, choosing you loudly, and holding you through every tear and tantrum. slowly, painfully, beautifully, you relearn what it means to be loved without having to perform for it.
triggers/warnings. non-sorcerer au x college au, jealousy, emotional breakdown, crying in a public bathroom, mild emotional manipulation (unhinged brat behavior), swearing, threats of violence (mostly botanical-themed), possessiveness, and unhealthy coping mechanisms that eventually lead to healthy communication and comfort.
the day was offensively bright, the kind of sunlight that made glass buildings glitter like they were mocking anyone who couldn’t afford to exist beautifully, and you—obviously—were the exception; if the universe had taste, it would put a spotlight on you the moment you stepped out, and today felt like one of those days where the pavement should’ve rolled out a red carpet simply because your shoes touched it.
the campus was buzzing in that nauseatingly enthusiastic way students got after midterms, everyone acting like sun exposure and iced coffee was enough to cure the generational trauma of academia, and god, just breathing the same air as these people felt like charity work.
still, you strutted down the pathway leading to the campus café—miu miu cropped knit in a red so sinful it should’ve come with a warning label, the tiny matching buttons straining against the shape of your chest in a way you knew made nanami rub his forehead like he suddenly had a migraine from “dealing with you,” which translated directly to “you look too good and it stresses him out.” your black alaïa pleated mini skirt swayed with each unapologetically privileged step, wolford sheer tights hugging your legs like a second skin, white miu miu socks folded just right above your glossy chanel mary janes, each click of your heel on the pavement sounding like a verdict—everyone else was underdressed.
you held your iced latte—oat milk, two pumps of vanilla, and emotional superiority—raised delicately between manicured fingers as if the cup itself was beneath you, but unfortunately necessary for survival. the tiny vintage chanel handbag slung over your shoulder bounced against your rib as you walked, and you didn’t even bother pretending you were rushing because punctuality was for people with nothing better to do. truthfully? you didn’t even go to class today. like hell you were going to drag your soul out of your egyptian-cotton-bed cocoon before noon just to listen to some underpaid academic talk about things google could teach you in five minutes. but nanami didn’t need to know that. your boyfriend would give you that glare—the one that could make a country surrender—and you really weren’t in the mood to be lectured by the only man who could make discipline sound like intimacy.
you approached the café, a place plagued by the aesthetic curse of trying too hard to look indie and failing spectacularly. the outdoor seating was crowded with students who thought reading murakami made them profound, but your eyes zeroed in on the table by the glass wall—the round one far too small for six people, which was exactly why those idiots chose it. gojo’s white hair was like a flag of chaos even from a distance, geto lounged like the cult leader he could easily become, shoko looked chronically done with everyone including herself, and haibara radiated optimism like a deranged labrador. but none of them mattered the second you saw nanami’s back.
the black short-sleeved knit polo you picked for him stretched over his shoulders like the fabric was praying for mercy, the sleeves hugging his biceps tight enough that your teeth tingled with the urge to leave evidence. his arm rested on the table, forearm flexed casually, veins visible—disgustingly attractive. he sat so straight, so composed, like he personally invented posture and everyone else should pay him royalties. even from behind, you could sense that irritating calm aura of his—your own personal grounded planet you orbited, even if you’d rather die than admit it out loud.
you didn’t slow down. you didn’t greet them like a normal person. no, normalcy was too cheap for you.
your free hand slid onto nanami’s shoulder the moment you reached them, fingers pressing into the warm, firm muscle like you were checking if heaven was solid. you leaned forward just enough to cast your shadow across their conversation, smiling like a disney villain in silk gloves.
“afternoon, children,” you said, voice honeyed and teasing, because you knew how to command a room without even trying.
gojo looked up first, his grin instantaneous. “look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” he said. shoko muttered something you didn't bother to hear, but you were already sliding into place, which meant you didn’t have to answer.
nanami turned, eyes already giving away that quiet mix of exasperation and affection he reserved solely for you. you leaned down, pressed a kiss against his cheek like you were marking territory, murmuring, “hi, baby.”
he hummed low in his throat, one arm looping around your waist in automatic surrender. the other hand—warm, steady—rested on your thigh, thumb brushing over the sheer fabric of your tights like he was reminding you to behave, though you both knew that was a lost cause.
“you’re late,” he said quietly.
“i’m fashionable,” you corrected, twisting slightly so you could face the table, still perched neatly on his lap. “there’s a difference.”
gojo snorted into his drink. “yeah, about three hours’ worth.”
“you can count? proud of you, sugarcube.”
haibara laughed, bless his innocent heart, and geto just smiled behind his cup like he’d seen this play a hundred times before. nanami’s fingers tightened on your thigh, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that the show had an audience.
you tilted your head, looking down at him. “you missed me?”
he didn’t look up, but the smallest smirk tugged at his mouth. “you were gone for four hours.”
“and that’s four hours too long,” you said, leaning in until your lips brushed his jaw. “don’t be shy, you can say it.”
his eyes flicked to you—sharp, restrained, golden under the café light. “behave,” he murmured, just for you.
you smiled sweetly. “no.”
shoko groaned. “if you two start making out, i’m leaving.”
“then leave,” gojo offered. “less witnesses.”
“you’re all disgusting,” shoko said flatly, sipping her drink anyway.
you grinned, cheek lean on nanami’s head. “we’re adorable.”
“you’re unbearable,” nanami corrected.
but his hand didn’t move from your thigh.
you basked in the warmth of him, the way his presence steadied you even as you tried to poke holes in it. he was too serious, too controlled, and you were everything he shouldn’t have fallen for—spoiled, dramatic, perpetually five minutes away from chaos. it wasn’t that you wanted to make him jealous or tired or undone. it’s just that you loved watching the cracks form in that composure. loved being the one person who could unmake him.
the conversation at the table moved around you—movie plans, class gossip, haibara’s endless optimism—but your focus stayed where it always did. the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the quiet flex of muscle under his sleeve, the pulse that beat steady against your thigh.
gojo squinted at you over the rim of his iced matcha like a nosy suburban aunt pretending to be subtle, which, obviously, he wasn’t. his sunglasses were perched unnecessarily on his head despite being indoors, because he had a disease called “attention-seeking,” and he leaned forward with that shit-eating grin that made you want to shove his face into the table.
“question,” he announced, finger pointed at you like a courtroom accusation, “why didn’t i see you anywhere on campus today? don’t tell me you skipped again.”
you didn’t react at first. you simply blinked, slow, turning your gaze towards him as if he had personally offended your bloodline. then, with the grace of a woman who knew silence was powerful, you dragged your eyes from gojo to nanami—very slowly—because if anyone was going to kill the mood, it was the tax-paying adult you were dating.
nanami’s profile was stoic, but his head turned just a fraction, not enough to be dramatic, just enough to say: i heard that. answer correctly if you value your life. his hand remained on your thigh, thumb frozen mid-stroke, waiting. he didn’t speak—nanami didn’t need to. his expectation sat in the air like a guillotine.
you shook your head quickly, too quickly, a little too eager to throw the lie forward before anyone could breathe. “no,” you said, voice falsely innocent, like a kid denying stealing cookies while covered in crumbs. “i did not skip class, actually. thanks for the concern, satoru, really. very touching.”
your friends reacted like you’d just given the worst performance in the history of lying. haibara tried to hide his laugh behind his hand, geto smirked into his drink, and shoko—who didn’t believe in sugarcoating unless it was on donuts—snorted so loud the table next to you turned.
“you definitely skipped,” shoko said flatly, deadpan as if stating the weather. “i was looking for you in lecture earlier and you were nowhere. not even in the bathroom pretending to cry so someone would comfort you.”
you gasped at the accusation and placed a hand on your chest, clutching invisible pearls because real pearls would’ve required more wardrobe planning this morning. “excuse me? i did fucking not skip.”
geto didn’t even look up. he just lifted a brow lazily. “yeah? then where were you?”
your mouth opened… and absolutely nothing came out. your brain went to file excuses and found the cabinet completely empty except for a metaphorical moth. you inhaled sharply, turned away from all the eyes staring at you, and reached for nanami’s drink like it was diplomatic immunity. you took a sip—an unnecessarily long sip—as if green tea could save your soul from the social execution happening around you.
nanami let you drink it, which should’ve been a red flag in itself. he only let you touch his drink when he was either (1) too tired to argue or (2) preparing to lecture you.
you placed the glass back, very gently, very slowly, the way one disarms a bomb, and then turned to face nanami with your sweetest, most weaponized smile—the one that got you out of legal consequences once.
“baby, listen—”
he didn’t raise his voice. nanami didn’t need theatrics. his disappointment alone could level civilizations.
“you skipped class.”
“i— no, i didn’t skip, i just… didn’t attend,” you argued, hands moving in useless little gestures as if rearranging air could make your excuse sound less idiotic. “there’s a difference.”
nanami blinked once. slowly. the way a man does when mentally calculating if prison is worth it. “and what,” he said, tone calm to the point of terrifying, “is the difference, sweetheart?”
gojo leaned in like a hyena. “yeah, educate us, princess.”
you shot satoru a look that could curdle milk. “the difference,” you said, straightening your back on nanami’s lap, as if delivering a thesis, “is that skipping sounds intentional and irresponsible. i simply chose peace and preserved my mental health by not exposing myself to academic distress. self-care. you should try it.”
shoko wheezed. geto covered his smile with his hand like a scandalized victorian woman in church. haibara actually clapped quietly, the traitor.
nanami stared. “you overslept.”
“i—” you lifted a finger, offended, “no. i rested.”
“until one in the afternoon,” nanami clarified, because of course he checked.
you clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes and looking away because you refused to be wrong in front of an audience. “god, you say that like it’s a crime.”
“it is when you’re paying for courses you don’t attend,” nanami replied, adjusting your position on his lap like he was grounding you into sanity. “do you intend to graduate, or do you plan to survive on generational wealth alone?”
gojo grinned. “i vote for generational wealth. it suits her.”
“shut up, satoru!” you snapped, smacking his arm across the table.
nanami caught your wrist mid-swing—gentle, firm, thumb pressing into your pulse like a warning. he leaned in, voice low enough that it curled down your spine like expensive silk. “behave.”
and your friends, the demons you called family, burst into laughter like they’d been waiting for that exact moment.
your face heated—not embarrassed, because you didn’t do embarrassment—just… strategically annoyed. “are you all done enjoying my suffering, or should i perform a tap dance too?”
geto raised his cup. “please do, bonus points if you fall.” you scowled, sinking further into nanami’s chest, arms crossed like a brat, mumbling, “you’re all mentally ill.” shoko took a drag from her vape and exhaled smoke right over your hair. “and yet, we go to class.”
six of you slipped back into conversation, the kind that required zero brain cells—mostly gojo lying, geto enabling it, haibara believing it, and shoko regretting her existence—but it was comfortable chaos, and nanami’s arm around your waist grounded you, thumb tracing slow circles on your thigh in that absent-minded you’re mine, don’t start way he did.
and then she appeared.
a girl materialized beside the table with the unwanted presence of an unsolicited ad popup. weird bangs—like she cut them during a psychotic episode or let a blindfolded toddler do it—long black hair, cardigan buttoned wrong like a cry for help. she beams at gojo first, all teeth, dimples, and misguided optimism.
“gojo-kun! hey!”
of course she knew him. everyone with bad decision-making skills did.
gojo lit up like a dumb golden retriever who just saw its leash. “ohhh, utahime! guys, this is utahime! she’s in my and nanamin’s major.”
you zoned out at the name because it sounded like a villain from a discount fairytale. irrelevant. what wasn’t irrelevant was gojo pulling out a chair for her—the chair right across from nanami.
oh. so this is the type of day we’re having.
“utahime, this is geto, shoko, haibara, and—” gojo gestured vaguely at you and nanami, “—nanami and his girlfriend.”
you lifted your hand with the grace of royalty blessing peasants. “hello.”
she glanced at you for half a millisecond, uttered a bland “hi,” then turned fully to nanami like you were an aesthetic prop that came with the table.
“nanami, right? i think i’ve seen you around in the literature department.”
you stared at her like she’d grown a second head. you were literally sitting on his lap and she still managed to mentally crop you out of the frame like a bad ex. the audacity smelled like drugstore perfume.
nanami nodded politely, because unfortunately he was raised with manners. “yes, we share a few lectures.”
she smiled at him. smiled. like she had teeth specifically for him. “i thought so. you always look very focused. it’s impressive.” your eyelid twitched. impressed? what was he, a circus act?
nanami, oblivious to your growing homicidal aura, replied with that calm, respectful tone that made professors love him. “i just prefer not to fall behind.”
gojo elbowed geto under the table, whispering loudly, “she’s so into him.”
geto hummed. “dead on arrival. she has no idea who she’s messing with.” shoko exhaled smoke into the shape of a middle finger. “she’s brave. or stupid. likely both.”
utahime didn’t hear—tragedy. she settled in, and somehow, like a cursed domino effect, the conversation shifted. you were mid-complaint to shoko about how leggings weren’t pants when you noticed nanami and utahime were… talking.
like, actually talking.
animated.
engaged.
she asked about some assignment or some book, and nanami—your nanami, the man who rationed his words like they were wartime supplies—responded with actual sentences.
you narrowed your eyes. suspicious.
you tuned back in when you heard utahime say, “you’re part of the campus horticulture and sustainable agriculture society, right?”
you blinked. the campus what?
nanami nodded. “yes. the horticulture and sustainable agriculture society—HSAS. we’re focusing on soil health improvement this semester. most students ignore the foundational care required for—”
“soil health,” you repeated blankly under your breath, like the words themselves gave you indigestion.
shoko chuckled. “oh look, your boyfriend’s having his plant ted talk.”
utahime leaned in, elbows on the table, chin in hands, like nanami was reciting poetry in italian. “that’s fascinating. i’ve been wanting to grow herbs in my apartment but everything i touch dies. what soil do you recommend for beginner plants?”
nanami actually warmed up. warmed up. his voice gained depth, like she just unlocked npc dialogue level two. “well, herbs require well-draining soil. most beginners overwater because they assume more water means faster growth, but it increases the risk of root rot—”
you stared. root rot? this man barely used more than five words with anyone and suddenly he was the david attenborough of basil plants?
gojo leaned toward you with a grin that deserved jail time. “look at nanamin go. bro’s flirting plant-style.”
you hissed, “one more sound and i will shove your matcha straw so far up your nose you’ll taste grass.”
haibara laughed nervously. “guys, be nice…”
geto sipped his drink, amused. “this is fantastic. i’ve never seen nanami talk so much to anyone who wasn’t her.” he tilted his head at you. “how does it feel to be replaced by fertilizer talk?”
you glared at him, jaw tightening. “i’m not bothered.”
you were absolutely bothered.
it was like watching your golden retriever boyfriend suddenly become conversational with a passing pigeon. who the fuck was she to get this much dialogue from him?
nanami continued, utterly unaware of the storm brewing on his lap. “if you’re new to plants, start with mint or rosemary. they’re resilient and don’t require much intervention.”
“wow,” utahime said softly, eyes big enough to irritate you on a spiritual level, “you know so much.”
you could feel your soul leave your body, hover above the table, and consider flipping it.
shoko leaned over and whispered, “you gonna let her herb-flirt with your man like that?”
“i’m unbothered,” you repeated, nails digging into nanami’s thigh hard enough to pierce through his soul. nanami’s hand tightened on your waist—not painfully, just enough to say behave without interrupting his fucking spinach seminar.
geto smirked. “you look seconds away from committing eco-friendly homicide.”
you whispered through a closed-teeth smile, maintaining your princess composure, “i swear to god if that girl asks him one more plant question, i’m ripping the rosemary out of her hypothetical garden and making her eat it.”
gojo cackled. “i will literally pay to see that.”
and nanami, sweet plant-talking, politely smiling nanami—was still answering her question about sunlight exposure like he wasn’t currently sitting under a girlfriend-shaped nuclear bomb.
you inhaled, slow, deliberate, eyes narrowing as utahime leaned closer to him again.
your grip on nanami’s thigh tightened, nails sinking in.
he paused mid-sentence, finally turning his head just enough to look at you, brow slightly raised—only a millimeter, but on nanami that equaled what are you plotting.
you smiled, all teeth.
if he didn’t stop this herbal bonding session soon, you were about to water that girl with holy water and bury her in “well-draining soil.”
as everyone left the café to walk toward the cinema, the situation deteriorated with the same speed as your patience. what was supposed to be your afternoon—your boyfriend, your friends, your post-class movie date—had now been hijacked by the bangs-gone-wrong herbal witch who somehow glued herself to nanami’s side like an unwanted sticker on a luxury bag.
you should’ve known gojo was capable of this level of treason. he was skipping ahead like a golden retriever who found a ball, proudly leading utahime into your circle as if he’d discovered fire. the bitch was now walking in front, beside nanami—beside your nanami—talking about plants. still. they were still talking about the horticulture club (you mentally renamed it the horti-culture-of-ruining-your-day-club), her voice full of curiosity and fake academic interest, while nanami nodded and responded like he was a responsible mentor in a children’s education program.
normally, nanami would hold your hand, walk beside you, adjust your pace like you were the center of his orbit. now? you were behind him. behind. like a side character. a background extra. a cautionary tale.
gojo slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning like he was waiting for popcorn to watch you combust. shoko walked on your other side, hands in her pocket, already scrolling her phone. behind you, geto and haibara chatted about something that wasn’t nearly as important as your personal crisis.
you crossed your arms over your chest, eyes drilling holes into the back of utahime’s skull. maybe if i stare hard enough, a giant plant pot will fall on her head from a cosmic balcony and she’ll go back to photosynthesis permanently. you were not wishing for her death—you were merely manifesting a gardening accident poetic enough to send her away.
gojo glanced down at you, smirk widening. “you look like you’re planning a homicide using fertilizer.”
“don’t tempt me,” you muttered, voice low, venom-dipped. “i’m one intrusive thought away from repotting her six feet under.”
shoko snorted without looking up. “you’re dramatic.”
you whipped your head toward her, offended. “i am realistic.”
gojo gasped in exaggerated betrayal. “so you’re jealous.”
you turned slowly, face blank, tone flat but dangerous. “jealous? of who? of that… bangs-with-a-personality-disorder? please. the only thing i envy is the delusion she has that she belongs here.”
geto actually choked on air behind you.
gojo wiggled his eyebrows. “she’s just talking to nanami. they’re bonding.”
“over fucking soil, satoru. soil.” you hissed, voice cracking like your sanity. “tell me why my boyfriend is suddenly the plant whisperer for an outsider? what is he, some kind of agricultural tinder? people swipe right and he waters their basil?”
shoko sighed. “you’re spiraling.”
“i’m descending,” you corrected, gesturing passionately with one hand while the other murderously clutched your chanel bag. “this is a free-fall.”
nanami glanced back briefly—just a fraction—to check if you were keeping up. normally that look would soften you, but today it made your rage glitter. he didn’t even offer his hand. he just turned back to the demon-spawn herb girl and resumed discussing mint infestations like he was the ceo of oregano.
you leaned in to your friends, voice dangerously polite. “look at them. walking together. talking. breathing the same oxygen. disgusting.”
haibara, sweet innocent soul, tried to reassure you. “i’m sure nanami is just being polite—”
“polite?” you snapped softly. “he is my boyfriend. the bare minimum is him being rude to other women. loyal men don’t discuss rosemary ratios with anyone except their girlfriend. i should be the only herb in his life.”
gojo wheezed. “you did not just call yourself a herb.”
“shut your mouth before i season you with salt and eat you alive.”
utahime laughed at something nanami said. oh, she laughed. she laughed like she understood him. like she had the right. your eye twitched so hard it could’ve powered a light bulb.
“i hope,” you said calmly, like a villain making a vow, “she tries to plant basil and it sprouts a fungus. i hope her rosemary wilts. i hope her soil becomes a cursed wasteland. and i hope nanami’s watering can leaks all over his shoes so he remembers this betrayal every time he walks.”
shoko stared at you. “…girl. therapy is right there.”
you ignored that. “and him.” you gestured toward nanami, voice rising an octave of offended royalty. “he should know better. he shouldn’t look at other women—”
“he’s not,” haibara pointed out gently, “he’s literally staring at the pavement while talking.”
“bare minimum!” you shriek-whispered. “he shouldn’t talk to other women either! silence is free!”
gojo hummed. “so you want nanami to be mute to everyone except you?”
“yes,” you said without hesitation. “and to plants, apparently, since that’s his thing now.”
geto laughed quietly. “you’re insane.”
“i’m in love,” you corrected, nose in the air. “there’s a difference. love makes you gracious and kind.”
shoko stared. “you literally manifested a potted-plant accident five minutes ago.”
you shrugged. “compassion has levels.”
ahead of you, utahime giggled again—at something plant-related—and nanami, sweet oblivious nanami, slightly nodded along like he was a guest speaker at a gardening conference. you inhaled sharply. “i’m about to photosynthesize rage.”
you kept walking, seething so loudly it was a miracle the concrete under your feet didn’t crack from the sheer force of your offended aura. the world should’ve stopped. the sky should’ve darkened. alarms should’ve gone off. your boyfriend was talking to another woman—and about botany, of all the unsexy, grandma-coded subjects—and everyone around you was acting like this wasn’t a catastrophic betrayal of romance, loyalty, and personal branding.
you sped up half a step so you could hear them better—because how dare he have a conversation you weren’t the main character of—and the words “nitrogen fixation” drifted back to you like a personal insult.
you gagged dramatically. “jesus christ, he’s talking about soil nutrients. does he want to get cheated on? because that’s how men get cheated on.”
gojo raised both brows, arm still lazily over your shoulder. “wow. plants are now infidelity?”
you turned to him, eyes wide with religious conviction. “plants are a gateway drug to emotional affairs, satoru. first it’s rosemary, then it’s sharing gardening tools, and next thing you know she’s repotting her heart into his hands.”
shoko made a noise that was half-laugh, half-choke. “you’re sick.”
you ignored her diagnosis.
up ahead, utahime tucked her limp tragic hair behind her ear, leaning a little too close to nanami as she asked something about photosynthesis like it wasn’t common knowledge taught to six-year-olds with crayons and carrot sticks. nanami answered with that calm, informative tone he used when guiding lost children or explaining tax forms to you so you wouldn’t cry.
he didn’t look at her—no eye contact, bare minimum, congratulations—but he responded. willingly. completely. as if she deserved personalized nanami tutoring services.
you stared at the back of his head like you were trying to set his hair on fire telepathically.
“i can’t believe this is happening,” you muttered, crossing your arms tighter, suffocating in betrayal and your own expensive perfume. “this was supposed to be our movie time. our date. our quality time with the background characters we call friends. and now?? now we’re the supporting cast in gojo’s charity show-and-tell featuring some stray cat with bangs.”
gojo snorted. “be nice, she’s new.”
“and she can stay new,” you shot back. “new and far away. new and outside the group. new as in return to sender.”
geto chimed in from behind, amused. “you realize she can’t hear you, right?”
you whipped around so fast your hair nearly slapped him. “trust me, if she could, she would compost herself on the spot.”
haibara, ever the sunshine idiot, tried to calm you. “maybe she just wants to make friends?”
“oh, please. look at her.” you gestured violently at utahime’s back, nearly elbowing gojo in the ribs. “she’s walking like she’s auditioning to become the new moral compass of this group. we don’t need a moral compass. we barely need a compass. we are lost and we like it.”
shoko raised a brow. “you? moral compass? please. you’d sell this group for a birkin bag.”
you blinked. “shoko. don’t be ridiculous.” you paused. “it would have to be a limited edition birkin. crocodile leather. gold hardware. preferably one-of-one.”
“see?” shoko mumbled.
you ignored the truth because it was inconvenient.
you focused on your boyfriend again—your gorgeous, infuriating, plant-talking boyfriend who should’ve been holding your hand, kissing your temple, ignoring every female organism in a 50-meter radius—and instead he was giving unsolicited gardening advice like some attractive greenhouse consultant.
you hissed under your breath, “he shouldn’t be talking to her. he shouldn’t be talking to anyone. he should be carrying me like a princess and stepping on rose petals while doing it.”
gojo actually laughed. “you want nanami to be your servant?”
“i want nanami to act like a man in love,” you snapped. “not a walking national geographic episode.”
geto added, “you could just walk next to him, you know.”
you gasped as if he suggested you lick hospital floor tiles. “i will not chase him. i am not a golden retriever. i am the ball. people chase me.”
shoko pinched the bridge of her nose. “you are not the ball.”
“i am the ball, the player, the coach, and the entire damn tournament. everyone attends because of me.”
you said this right as utahime laughed again at whatever nanami said and your blood pressure skyrocketed so hard you nearly astral projected.
“i hope,” you said with the serenity of a cursed prophet, “that she wakes up tomorrow and every plant she owns is dead. i hope the leaves turn black. i hope her basil commits suicide. i hope her fertilizer expires. i hope her watering can cracks. and i hope nanami—”
gojo perked up. “ooo, what do you hope happens to nanamin?”
you inhaled deeply. “i hope nanami’s plants grow mold. i hope his little gardening gloves shrink. i hope his stupid herb club—”
“horticulture society,” haibara corrected softly.
“—i hope his STUPID herb club,” you emphasized, “loses funding and they have to sell carrots on the street like failed vegetables.”
shoko stared at you, dead-eyed. “seek help.”
you ignored that. again.
“he should only discuss plants with me,” you muttered, wounded, betrayed, dramatically heartbroken. “i don’t even like plants. but he should only talk to me about them.”
and with that, you stared ahead, at the back of your boyfriend walking beside another woman, and you thought, in the most poetic, dostoevsky-meets-deranged-princess way possible:
if this is what love is, no wonder russian literature is full of suffering.
when you all reach the theatre entrance, the neon lights flickering like a cheap attempt at glamour, gojo’s arm is still slung over your shoulder, the weight of it both grounding and irritating because it wasn’t the arm you wanted. nanami was still walking beside utahime, still talking, still breathing the same air as her, and your eye twitched so violently you were convinced you developed a new facial tic.
gojo followed your burning stare, eyes darting from nanami to you, and with a dramatic sigh—like he was babysitting a rabid raccoon in couture—he tugged you toward the ticket counters. “come on, princess,” he muttered, steering you away, “let’s just forget about him. ignore him too.”
he didn’t even wait for your response, just dragged you away, and you let yourself be pulled only because your body had entered that numb, offended, heart-bruised autopilot that happened once every blue moon—specifically when nanami kento, the one man in the universe who never, ever, not even for one second, failed to give you attention—shifted it to someone who wasn’t you.
you looked over your shoulder at them, your steps slowing, just to witness nanami tilt his head slightly toward utahime as she spoke, his hands in his pockets, posture polite but relaxed—not intimate, not flirtatious, just… engaged. it wasn’t even what he was saying. it was the absence of what he usually did with you—glancing at you, checking if you were next to him, adjusting your bag strap, brushing your hair behind your ear, telling you to watch your step, holding your waist in crowded places.
those things didn’t exist right now.
you faced forward again, jaw locking. you tried not to care, truly, you tried to swallow it with the dignity of a queen who refused to crumble in public, but the petulant, deeply spoiled part of you—the part nanami privately adored and publicly tamed—was clawing at your ribs like how dare he.
nanami had never denied you. not attention, not affection, not his time. you were the center of his carefully organized galaxy and he orbited you with steady devotion. and now? one afternoon of neglect and you felt like the moon had been kicked out of the solar system.
and the worst part? beneath the rage, beneath the jealousy, beneath the desire to poison a plant so it symbolically represented your emotional suffering—there was something softer, uglier, something you hated admitting even to yourself: it hurt.
after gojo paid for the tickets—because you sure as hell weren’t taking out your card for anything under a thousand dollars—he pulled you toward the concession stand where shoko, haibara, and geto were gathering with popcorn and drinks.
the moment they saw you approach—quiet, stiff, lips pressed together—they exchanged glances like doctors diagnosing a terminally ill patient who still thought she had the flu. geto’s eyes flicked over your shoulder, confirming the sight of nanami still with utahime before his gaze returned to your face.
he leaned closer, voice low, non-judgmental but smug enough to rankle. “are you actually upset about them?”
you didn’t trust your voice, so you hummed—short, flat, unimpressed—lifting one shoulder like an attempt at nonchalance, but the tension in your jaw exposed you like a confession written in blood.
geto hummed back, almost sympathetic, handing you a drink like it was medication. “then talk to nanami. if you feel ignored, tell him.”
of course, gojo—diplomatic as a drunk pigeon—ruined the moment.
“oh please,” he scoffed, snatching a handful of popcorn with his free hand, “she feels ignored when a houseplant gets more sunlight than her. miss spotlight here needs constant admiration or she wilts.”
you elbowed him in the stomach, sharp and precise, making him grunt. “shut the fuck up, satoru, before i rearrange your ribs into modern art.”
shoko snorted into her drink, haibara coughed to hide a laugh, and geto smiled behind his cup like he was enjoying a theatre show that didn’t require tickets.
you inhaled sharply through your nose, lifted your chin, and let the dam break.
“he should give me attention,” you snapped, keeping your voice low enough not to cause a public scene but sharp enough to cut god, “he is my boyfriend. my boyfriend. i shouldn’t have to beg for it like some charity case. i shouldn’t have to tap him on the shoulder like a fucking waiter asking for the bill. attention is part of his job description. loving me includes looking at me.”
your words were venom-wrapped silk, but your fingers—clenching your straw, the slight tremble at the tips—betrayed the vulnerable thread under the rage.
geto exhaled through his nose, head tilting, his voice kinder this time, “it makes sense you feel that way. you’re used to him being… very present with you. he set that standard, so it’s normal you expect it.”
you blinked at him, thrown off for a second by the emotional validation that hit you like someone offering you a blanket mid-tantrum.
but geto wasn’t done.
“just… maybe give him a minute? she’s new, he’s trying to be polite—”
you scoffed instantly, an unhinged, offended laugh escaping. “polite? no. no. absolutely not. nanami does not get to be ‘polite.’ he is not a community library. he is not available for public use. if he wants to be polite he can hold the door, say thank you, and move the fuck on. conversation is intimacy and intimacy is mine.”
gojo burst out laughing, a hand slapping his knee. “oh my god. you sound like a medieval king guarding his royal concubine.”
you raised your cup and pointed the straw at gojo’s throat with threatening precision. “say one more word and i will introduce your face to the popcorn machine and butter you like a croissant.”
gojo, shaking with laughter, held his hands up in surrender. “fine, fine—jealousy looks adorable on you. like a chihuahua guarding a yacht.”
“i’m a rottweiler,” you growled.
“you’re a poodle with diamond fur,” he corrected.
you glared at him, then turned to geto, voice dropping, unfiltered, raw, but still dipped in drama.
“if my boyfriend wants to suddenly audition for earth’s next top botanist with bangs mcgee, he can enjoy watering plants alone in his dorm for the rest of his natural life. because i swear, if i have to tell my boyfriend to notice me? to look at me? to choose me? i would rather swallow fertilizer.”
shoko blinked slowly. “please don’t.”
you shrugged. “depends on how long they keep talking.”
and geto, annoyingly calm, annoyingly wise, annoyingly right, just corrected quietly, “you don’t have to ask him to choose you. he already does. every day. you just haven’t told him you feel ignored.”
you hated that logic.
you hated that he was right.
you hated most of all that it made your anger taste like sadness. and you crossed your arms, chin raised, choosing violence over vulnerability—for now.
the popcorn machine hummed behind you, the smell of butter thick in the air, sticking to your skin and your mood alike, and you stood there rigid, spine straight, arms crossed so tight across your chest your bracelets dug into your skin, like your body was trying to hold your ego together before it shattered on the sticky cinema floor. geto’s words lingered like a bitter aftertaste—annoyingly sensible, nauseatingly calm, the verbal equivalent of someone placing a warm blanket on you while you’re trying to commit arson.
you stared at him, lips curling, because if there was one thing you hated more than utahime’s haircut, it was being psychoanalyzed correctly.
“oh look at you,” you muttered, shifting your weight onto one leg, jutting your hip out, your manicured nails tapping sharply against your bicep, “dr. phil reincarnated with a man bun. how poetic. how wise. how about you diagnose my foot up someone’s ass too while you’re at it?”
geto didn’t flinch—he never did, which made him infinitely more punchable in moments like this. he held your gaze, eyes soft, voice level, his cup cradled loosely between his palms like he was warming his hands on the heat of your fury. “you’re allowed to feel ignored. anyone would be upset if their partner suddenly shifted attention. it’s valid.”
you scoffed, dramatic and sharp, head tossing back as if you’d been insulted by god personally. “oh great, thank you, priest suguru, for telling me my feelings are valid. how groundbreaking. next you’ll tell me water is wet and gojo is stupid.”
gojo, who was now sipping his drink like he was watching a romcom unfold, lifted a lazy hand. “both true.”
you ignored him and leaned closer to geto, your voice lowering into that venom-laced whisper reserved for emotional emergency or homicide, whichever came first. “validation doesn’t fix shit. i don’t want to feel better about being ignored. i want him to stop fucking ignoring me.”
you felt your throat tighten—not enough to show, never enough to show—but enough to force you to look away, down at your own fingers gripping your cup like it might explode if you loosened your hold. you repositioned your stance, shifting the weight of your body just slightly so you leaned against the counter, but even that wasn’t relaxed; it was defensive, closed off, chin tilted up in futile superiority.
geto exhaled through his nose, elbows resting on the counter, leaning a little closer so you couldn’t run from the truth he was about to drop like a boulder onto your fragile, dramatic ego. “you’re hurting because you expect the version of nanami who’s always glued to you. but he’s allowed to exist as his own person too. you want devotion, not a hostage.”
your brows flew up, disbelief etched across your face as you pointed your straw at him like a weapon. “first of all, how dare you speak logic to me when i’m actively spiraling. second, nanami being obsessed with me is not hostage behavior, it’s romance. third, don’t stand there with your jesus hair and tell me to be understanding. i’m rich. i don’t do understanding. i do receiving.”
gojo wheezed.
shoko pinched the bridge of her nose, already exhausted.
haibara looked like he was watching a car crash in slow motion.
geto, still impossibly calm, still infuriatingly kind, lifted a hand in surrender. “fine. you don’t have to understand. but talk to him. he doesn’t know you feel this way yet.”
you gave him a slow, sarcastic blink. “wow. brilliant. stunning. inspiring. what a fabulous idea. i should talk to my boyfriend. how revolutionary. no one in the history of existence has ever thought of communication before. should we hold a press conference? maybe write a thesis?”
geto raised a brow. “so you won’t talk to him.”
you inhaled sharply through your teeth. “of course i will not talk to him. talking requires vulnerability. vulnerability requires humility. i have neither.”
gojo cackled. “at least she’s self-aware.”
you snapped your head toward him, eyes blazing. “self-awareness is not the virtue you think it is. it’s the burden of the elite.”
geto sighed but the corner of his mouth twitched, because even when you were insufferable, you were entertaining. “he cares about you. deeply. you know that.”
you bit down a bitter laugh. your throat felt tight, your stomach twisting, nails scraping lightly against your arm through your sweater sleeve. “yeah? well he should show it. i shouldn’t have to perform emotional gymnastics to earn the attention he used to give freely. if i wanted to beg for scraps, i’d date a man who makes minimum wage.”
shoko actually choked on her drink this time, coughing. “jesus christ.”
geto stared at you. “you do realize nanami is allowed to have conversations with other women, right?”
your head snapped toward him so fast your hair whipped over your shoulder like a weapon. “and you do realize i don’t give a singular microscopic fuck about what men are ‘allowed’ to do, right? he is my boyfriend. my emotional support adult. my legally binding emotional investment. if he wants to discuss rosemary with another woman, that woman better be me in a wig.”
haibara blinked slowly. “why would you need a wig?”
you waved him off. “for dramatics, haibara, please keep up.”
and there it was—the truth sitting on your tongue, bitter and humiliating, but ready to spill because no amount of sarcasm could bury it forever.
you exhaled shakily, your voice dropping half an octave, quieter but no less sharp. “i just… i shouldn’t have to ask to be seen.”
and the silence that followed was loud—accompanied only by the violent popping of kernels in the machine behind you, like applause for the tragedy of your own making.
the waiting area outside the theatre was cramped and buzzing, the kind of space where the floor was sticky with decades of spilled soda and regret, circular tables placed close enough that strangers’ conversations bled into each other. all six of you crowded around one of those round tables, chairs stolen from nearby like barbarians claiming land. the digital screen above the hallway flickered with “screen 4 – seats cleaning, please wait”, and everyone settled into that pre-movie limbo — except you, who sat with your back painfully straight, pretending nanami wasn’t sitting right beside you with his hand on your thigh like he owned real estate there.
you tried to ignore him. ignore the warmth of his palm through the sheer wolford tights, ignore the weight of his fingers curving around the top of your thigh like you were his favorite page-turning novel, ignore the small absent-minded circles his thumb drew — gentle, steady, familiar — the exact type of touch that usually melted you, soothed you, tethered you to him.
but right now? it felt like salt on a wound.
because while his hand was on you, his attention wasn’t. nanami was still talking to utahime. still. like the universe hated you personally.
you stared at the table, chin tilted slightly away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your eyes, while on your left, geto raised his brows at you, a silent talk to him written across his face. you shook your head once, small, stubborn, your lips tightening, and he sighed, leaning back like he was watching a predictable tragedy unfold.
nanami didn’t seem to notice your emotional apocalypse. his posture was relaxed, other hand resting on the table, his voice low and polite as utahime asked him something about club meetings or plant pots — you didn’t care, you refused to care, but it clawed at you anyway.
you snapped.
you slowly leaned in, one elbow on the table, your body turning toward nanami, your hair falling like a curtain over your shoulder, your voice dipped in honeyed poison. “what were you two talking about?”
nanami turned instantly — and god, you hated that your heart reacted before your brain could block it. his gaze softened the moment it met yours, that small, warm smile appearing — the one that was just for you, the one that made you feel chosen, the one that usually cured every storm inside you.
his knuckles brushed your cheekbone, tender, affectionate, familiar enough to make your inhale stutter. “just some things about the plants,” he dismissed gently, thumb brushing your skin like he was smoothing your irritation away. “utahime is thinking of joining the horticulture club.”
the club again. as if the word itself didn’t sound like an allergy.
you hummed, but your eyes didn’t soften, and your jaw was wired tight. “what things?” you asked, voice light to the untrained ear, but razor-edged if anyone listened with their soul. “tell me.”
it wasn’t a question. it was a command masked as a request. you wanted him to elaborate, to include you, to bring you into the conversation where you belonged — beside him, not outside of him.
nanami exhaled, a small barely-there laugh from his nose, the kind a man makes when he thinks you’re cute for being ridiculous. “you wouldn’t understand, sweetheart,” he murmured, tone meant to soothe, not belittle — yet it sliced through you cleanly anyway. “don’t stress your pretty head about it.”
and then — the fucking bastard — he turned his attention back to utahime as if you hadn’t just spoken. as if your opinion, your presence, didn’t demand the gravitational pull it always had.
you froze.
your frown carved in deeper, lips pressing so tightly together your lipstick nearly cracked. your chest hollowed in that humiliating, nauseating way pride bleeds when pricked. and from the corner of your eye, you caught it — the smallest twitch of utahime’s lips. not a smile. a smirk. subtle, fleeting, but you saw it. the kind of expression one makes when they think they’ve been chosen over someone else.
you bit the inside of your cheek so hard the metallic taste of blood bloomed on your tongue.
nanami kento had just dismissed you. in public. in front of people. for plant girl.
humiliation and fury tangled inside you like barbed wire.
you didn’t speak. you couldn’t — because to speak now would be to either cry (never allowed) or stab (socially frowned upon). your pride was a spoiled, overfed beast, raised in luxury, pampered with attention, never starved a day in its life — and suddenly nanami had fed someone else first. your ego didn’t know how to process deprivation. it was built on the unshakeable fact that you were the exception to rules, not subject to them.
nanami had always been one of those things placed into your palms without effort — not because he was easy, no, he was one of the only things you actually wanted badly enough to hold with care — but because he chose you endlessly, without hesitation, without question, making you believe his devotion was fixed, guaranteed, unshakable.
and now? now he had shifted his attention for a moment too long, and it felt like a throne had been pulled an inch from under you. not enough to fall — just enough to wobble, enough to threaten your crown.
your voice finally emerged, low, venom-soaked, each syllable enunciated like a curse. “you know,” you said, staring at the table because if you looked at him you’d either combust or kiss him and both would be humiliating, “i must be delusional to expect my boyfriend to act like he gives a shit when i’m sitting right next to him.”
nanami blinked, head turning slowly back toward you, brows gently knitting, confusion and concern surfacing in equal measure. “i do give a—”
you cut him off, a cold laugh escaping you, sharp enough to slice the air. “really? because you’re acting like i’m some decorative throw pillow you keep around for aesthetics. should i sit on the floor so you can focus better on your little garden club recruitment?”
geto sucked in a breath. shoko mumbled “oh, fuck.” gojo was already grinning like a hyena at a feast.
nanami’s hand on your thigh tightened, firm, grounding, not rough but authoritative enough to demand your gaze — so you turned, finally meeting his eyes, and god, you hated that the warmth there made your chest ache.
“i wasn’t ignoring you,” he said softly, calmly, trying to stay level-headed like he always did with you. “she asked questions. i answered. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out.”
you tilted your head, smile slow and poisonous. “well congratulations, you failed. gold star. ten out of ten on the ‘make my girlfriend feel like a side character in her own life’ scale.”
nanami sighed — not annoyed, not angry — but patient, because of course he was patient. “i’m sorry you felt that way. but you know you’re important to me.”
your lips curled again, a mocking echo of sweetness. “important? i’m not asking to be important, nanami. i’m asking to be prioritized. you can’t treat me like the main course one day and a mint garnish the next. pick a menu.”
and even as you stabbed him with your words, your chest throbbed with something awful, something you didn’t allow to surface: you were scared. scared of being replaceable. scared of indifference. scared because nanami was the one person you didn’t know how to exist without winning.
he held your gaze, thumb rubbing soothing circles again — this time not absent-minded, but intentional. “i should’ve paid more attention to you,” he admitted quietly.
you wanted that to fix it.
it didn’t.
not yet.
and that line — “i should’ve paid more attention to you” — should’ve knocked the fury out of your bones, wrapped you in silk, lulled you into that soft spoiled-brat slumber where you win simply because nanami surrendered first. it should’ve been enough to stop the spiral dead in its tracks.
because nanami didn’t deny you, didn’t gaslight you, didn’t tell you you were “doing too much.” he validated you. he handed you the crown back with his own hands, kissed your ego gently and placed it on the throne again — no resistance, no argument, no double meaning. pure, steady sincerity.
but you?
you were a dramatic piece of shit.
your entire existence was built on ego the way temples were built on sacred ground — your pride wasn’t a personality trait, it was the spine you walked with. one microscopic moment of humiliation felt like being stripped naked in public. you weren’t wired to crumble gracefully. you were wired to explode, self-destruct, resurrect, and then deny it ever happened.
you prided yourself on being untouchable, above nonsense, above insecurities. you prided yourself on being that girl — the one who didn’t flinch, didn’t break, didn’t chase. the one who ignored gojo’s existence for an entire freshman year because he annoyed you and you refused to give his ego oxygen. you were a monument of indifference when you wanted to be.
so admitting something got to you? that a girl with tragic bangs shook your composure enough to make you feel?
fucking humiliating.
you were supposed to be the one people cried over — not the one hiding tears.
and the worst part was knowing utahime heard you argue, saw you demand attention, witnessed the crack in your armor. she should’ve been the one feeling threatened by you — not you feeling anything over her.
your chair scraped back sharply, the sound slicing through the table’s chatter. nanami’s hand instantly reached for your wrist, instinct kicking in, but you jerked your hand away like his touch burned. the shock that flickered across his face — brief, quiet, wounded — nearly broke something inside your ribcage, but you bit down on it, rose to your feet with your chin high, spine rigid, and walked away.
you didn’t look back.
you refused to give them the image of your eyes shining.
you could hear footsteps behind you — one pair, steady, controlled (nanami), another lighter and lazier (gojo), and a third too bored to hurry (shoko). you prayed it wasn’t nanami, because if he saw your eyes, saw the crack, saw the tear that fought to slip free, your pride would shatter so loudly the universe would hear it.
you pushed the bathroom door open with more force than necessary, the fluorescent lights too bright, mirrors too reflective for fragile emotions. it was empty — stalls open, silence echoing off the tiles — a sanctuary for humiliation to decompose in peace.
you braced your palms on the counter, head tilted up toward the ceiling like you were begging gravity to pull the tears back into your skull instead of down your face. you grabbed tissues, folding them like they were fine linen napkins, pressing them beneath your waterline carefully — because you would rather die than let mascara betray you. ugly crying on top of public humiliation? no. you had standards, even in breakdowns.
your shoulders trembled once — quickly — the way a spoiled princess shakes only in private, only for a second, only before putting the mask back on.
the door creaked open. shoko entered, leaning against the sink beside you, arms crossed, chewing her gum like she was watching a circus she didn’t buy tickets for.
“that was dramatic as hell,” she sighed, like this was episode twelve of a show she couldn’t stop watching. “even for you.”
you snapped your head toward her, eyes glossy but sharp, whisper-hissed so your voice wouldn’t crack, “shut the fuck up, shoko, unless you want to be the next victim in my emotional homicide spree.”
she raised both brows, unimpressed. “i’m just saying — storming off mid-conversation like a telenovela villain after her husband cheats with the maid? iconic, but dramatic.”
you glared, aggressively patting the tissue under your eyes with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. your voice was tight, vibrating with swallowed rage. “i am trying not to cry, okay? if uta-fucking-hime makes me cry just by breathing in the direction of my man, i’ll bury her in the community garden next to the fucking carrots.”
shoko huffed a laugh, shaking her head as she grabbed another tissue and handed it to you. “you’re insane.”
“i’m territorial,” you corrected sharply, dabbing at the corner of your eye, making sure your eyeliner stayed crisp. “and i refuse to let some no-name, middle-class herb girl with a discount shampoo routine see me cry. she will not get that satisfaction. i will set myself on fire first.”
shoko shrugged, leaning next to you in the mirror. “you know nanami didn’t mean to hurt you.”
you threw the tissue away like it offended you. “he dismissed me, shoko. me. in front of her. do you know how humiliating that is for someone with my upbringing? i grew up in a house where the sun rose when i woke up. i am not emotionally equipped to be treated like… like fucking background noise!”
shoko sighed, but there was something gentler in it this time. “you felt replaced for a second. it happens.”
you clenched the edges of the sink, knuckles white, nails digging into porcelain. “i don’t get replaced.”
your voice broke on that line — just slightly, enough that shoko’s gaze softened — and you sniffed, anger and vulnerability tangling in your throat like poison.
“i don’t get replaced,” you repeated, quieter, like you were reminding the universe. “especially not by basil-enthusiast barbie.”
shoko handed you another tissue, her tone flat but honest. “you won’t be. nanami’s obsessed with you. it’s gross.”
you swallowed hard, eyes lifting to your reflection — furious, wounded, beautiful, trembling. you whispered, voice shaking but trying so hard not to break, “then why did it feel like i was… optional?”
the door creaked again, interrupting the moment before your throat could fully tighten around the confession, and a voice—annoyingly recognizable, obnoxiously casual—floated in:
“you’re not optional.”
you closed your eyes like god was testing you personally. shoko didn’t even react—meaning she expected this circus act.
gojo stepped in, sunglasses pushed up on his head like a headband, hair a mess like he styled it with electricity. he took in the scene—your glossy eyes, shoko leaning like a bored therapist, tissues everywhere—and he sighed dramatically.
“jesus, you’re really in here having a main-character mental breakdown in a bathroom,” he muttered, walking closer. “and not even a luxury bathroom. this is tragic. i expected better from you.”
you glared at him, voice already cracking with rage and humiliation. “fuck off, satoru.”
he didn’t. he reached out, plucked the tissue from your hand with surprising gentleness, and guided your chin upward with two fingers so you were forced to look at him. his movements were slow, almost annoyingly tender, as he dabbed beneath your lashes to catch the tears before they could fall.
“nanamin is disgustingly obsessed with you,” he said, tone matter-of-fact, almost bored. “like, clinically. it’s gross. if he could lock you in a little glass display case so no one breathed the same air as you, he would. he’s feral about you.”
you scoffed, voice trembling not from disbelief but from how badly you wanted to believe him. “this is my fucking fault,” you muttered, shoulders curling inward as you snatched the tissue back just to shred it between your fingers. “all my fucking fault.”
gojo hummed. “yeah. kinda.”
shoko’s head whipped toward him. “satoru—”
but you raised a hand sharply to stop her, because weirdly, you needed the honesty, even if it sliced. “no. he’s right. it’s my fault because i let myself get… bothered.” the word felt dirty, like weakness, like rust on a crown. “i shouldn’t be this… affected. i shouldn’t fucking care. i’m me. i don’t do insecure. i don’t do threatened. but here i am—crying in a fucking cinema bathroom like a side character in a netflix teen drama.”
you gestured around wildly, voice rising again, hysteria bubbling because once you started, you couldn’t stop. “and not even a nice bathroom! do you see the tiles? this place looks like it was decorated by a depressed cockroach. if i have to emotionally collapse in public it should at least be inside a hotel restroom with marble counters and a couch.”
gojo nodded seriously. “you deserve chandeliers with your breakdowns.”
“exactly!” you snapped, pointing at him like he was the only person with IQ in the room. “i am too expensive for this kind of emotional scenery.”
shoko leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you unravel like yarn. “you’re spiraling.”
you shot her a glare through the mirror. “i am aware. now shut up and let me spiral with dignity.”
you turned back to gojo, eyes burning. “and it’s your fault too.”
gojo blinked. “my fault? how did i enter the chat?”
you jabbed a finger into his chest with the force of an entitled squirrel on caffeine. “you brought that farm-fresh disney side character into our group. you let her tag along. you encouraged her. and now i’m crying over miss herbal-essence-reject because she dared to breathe within ten inches of my boyfriend.”
gojo’s lips twitched. “okay, fair, i’ll take partial responsibility for releasing the eco-friendly demon into our circle.”
shoko snorted.
you ran both hands through your hair, pacing a small circle, your heels tapping aggressively against the tiles, movements sharp, emotional energy radiating like static. “i am so embarrassed. do you understand? embarrassed. i do not feel. i make other people feel. i do not chase, i get chased. i do not compete, i get worshipped. and suddenly i’m… this.” you gestured to yourself like you were a cursed portrait. “this pathetic puddle of emotional goo because my boyfriend decided to talk about fucking plants with someone who isn’t me.”
gojo placed a hand on his chest, tone solemn. “plants are disrespectful like that.”
you nearly laughed—almost—before the ache returned, tightening your throat.
“i hate that i care,” you whispered, eyes dropping again, thumb rubbing at the tissue in your hand like you could scrub the feeling away. “i hate that she got under my skin. i hate that he let her. i hate that she saw me crack.” you swallowed, voice thinning with raw embarrassment. “she’s not even on my level. i shouldn’t feel anything. she should feel inferior, insecure, irrelevant — not me.”
and there it was again—your truth, ugly and spoiled, but honest.
gojo’s voice softened just slightly, just enough to cut through your tantrum. “you care because he matters. that’s not pathetic. it’s just… love. the messy, vomit-inducing kind.”
you clenched your jaw, lip trembling despite your effort to kill it. “i don’t want love to make me look stupid.”
shoko spoke this time, voice dry but real. “yeah, well… that’s kind of the default package. love fries brain cells.”
you stared at your reflection. eyeliner still sharp. mascara intact. lipstick only slightly smudged. you looked angry and beautiful and fragile and terrifying all at once. you exhaled shakily, like forcing out poisoned air, “if loving someone means i cry in a public bathroom that smells like buttered trauma, then i want a refund.”
gojo stared at you for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes dimming just enough to reveal something almost… human. sympathy, guilt, the faint wrinkle of someone realizing oh shit, i accidentally kicked a puppy while trying to pet it. he let out a breath, long and uncharacteristically genuine, his hand settling briefly on your shoulder—not heavy, not mocking, just there.
“okay,” he said quietly, “i’m sorry. i didn’t think bringing her would… you know, make you feel like this. i didn’t mean to dump emotional compost on your royal garden of delusion.”
you sniffed, wiping the corner of your eye with a new tissue as if dabbing at expensive wine spilled on silk. “as you should be sorry.” your voice was hoarse but sharp. “you’re lucky i’m emotionally unstable right now or i’d be charging you for emotional damages. and trust me, my invoices come with interest.”
a small laugh puffed out of him, but he nodded. “i know. you come first. always. dramatic loyalty oath or whatever.”
you flicked your wrist like a queen accepting tribute. “good. as you should choose me first. imagine picking her.” you scoffed like the idea itself was beneath language. “ew.”
gojo leaned back against the sink next to shoko, crossing his arms, shoulders slumping, expression turning thoughtful in a way that made him look borderline competent. “you know,” he said, head tilting, “if i did actually like her—like like her—I’d be spiraling, too. probably worse than you.”
you gestured at him with the damp tissue. “exactly. you are the blueprint of being a dramatic clingy bitch in this friend group. i learned from the best.”
shoko snorted, arms crossed as she leaned beside him. “he’s dramatic, not psychotic. your issue is… more advanced.”
you didn’t hesitate. you threw the crumpled tissue at her face with perfect aim.
“shut the fuck up, shoko, or I’ll flush your vape down the toilet.”
she caught it mid-air, dropped it in the trash, and exhaled like dealing with you aged her in dog years.
you turned back to gojo, brows furrowing as you wiped under your eye again carefully, preserving the wing of your eyeliner like it was a fragile national treasure. “seriously, though. how are you not losing your shit? miss herbal shampoo is out there flirting with nanami in 4k, and you’re just… breathing. like normal. aren’t you supposed to be performing a one-man telenovela by now? throwing yourself dramatically over the concession counter? faking a fainting spell? something?”
gojo shrugged, pushing his sunglasses further into his hair as he examined his nails like he was filing his feelings away. “i mean, i don’t really care-care. she’s cute, but not ‘cry-in-a-bathroom’ level. the crush wasn’t crushing, you know?”
you gawked at him, scandalized. “so you brought a girl you didn’t even like like into our sacred circle of dysfunction? you contaminated the ecosystem for a lukewarm crush? are you deranged?”
he lifted both hands, palms out. “in my defense, my standards are confusing even to me.”
you threw your hands up. “so you emotionally derailed me for absolutely no fucking reason except your brain short-circuited and thought ‘hey let’s invite the human embodiment of a compostable tea bag to movie night’?”
he opened his mouth. closed it. then nodded. “yeah that sounds about right.”
you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest like a heart-broken victorian widow. “i swear to god, satoru, if i ever commit a felony, you will be the reason.”
shoko muttered under her breath, “you’ll commit a felony no matter what.”
you shot her a look. “not the point.”
you turned to the mirror again, tilting your head to assess your reflection—puffy waterline, makeup still salvageable, lashes intact, lip gloss slightly faded but fixable. good. you could still walk out there and look untouchable. but the humiliation? still boiling.
your voice softened—not weak, but the kind of softness anger uses when it starts eating itself.
“i just… i hate that someone like her got under my skin,” you admitted, picking at your thumbnail, your reflection looking back at you like a stranger you didn’t consent to be. “i hate that i cracked over something so… beneath me. she’s not even competition. i shouldn’t have felt anything.” your throat bobbed, your pride bleeding slowly. “i’m supposed to be the storm. not the one caught in it.”
gojo bumped your shoulder lightly with his. a rare, gentle gesture. “storms still get tired.”
you stared at him through the mirror, eyes narrowing as if evaluating whether to accept the comfort or set him on fire.
“i don’t get tired,” you muttered.
he arched a brow. “you’re literally crying next to a hand dryer.”
you inhaled sharply, scanning your reflection once more, lifting your chin a millimeter higher, as if that alone could glue your dignity back into place.
“fine,” you said, swallowing pride like poison. “maybe i got… temporarily… inconvenienced by emotion.”
shoko snorted. “inconvenienced? you sprinted out of there like nanami announced he was marrying utahime on wednesday.”
you pointed at her again. “keep talking and i will bite your face.”
but your reflection didn’t lie: you were shaken, cracked, and scrambling to rebuild the throne inside your chest before anyone else saw the fracture.
you weren’t done spiraling—but you were done being seen falling apart.
and just as you braced your palms on the sink to steady yourself, the bathroom door opened again.
this time, footsteps were steady. familiar. slow.
nanami.
the sound of those footsteps—measured, unhurried, familiar in their quiet certainty—slithered under the bathroom door crack and hit your spine before the door even opened. nanami’s footsteps always sounded like intention, like calm inevitability, like consequences arriving dressed in beige and self-restraint.
the door pushed open with a soft click. gojo and shoko both straightened, not out of respect but because nanami Kento entering a bathroom while you were mid-breakdown was the emotional equivalent of a nuclear inspector walking into a live warzone.
nanami stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him, his eyes scanning the room until they found you. his posture was composed, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared yet soft, like he was approaching a frightened animal he didn’t want to spook. his gaze moved from your blotchy waterline to the tissue shreds on the counter, and something in his expression shifted—pain, regret, a flicker of guilt tightening the muscles of his jaw.
gojo cleared his throat, stepping slightly in front of you like a bodyguard wearing clown shoes. “hey, we’re having a very important emotional meltdown here—private screening, by invitation only.”
nanami didn’t look away from you. “step aside, gojo.”
gojo opened his mouth to argue—then saw the look in nanami’s eyes and decided he valued his life. he lifted both hands in surrender. “roger that. therapist daddy mode activated, we’ll leave.” shoko followed him out, but not before patting your shoulder like she was petting a traumatized cat.
the door shut again. silence fell, thick and suffocating as expensive velvet.
nanami took one step closer. you instinctively straightened, lifted your chin, wiped the corner of your eye with a sharp swipe like erasing evidence. your arms crossed over your chest, your body angling away from him—not quite running, not quite ready to forgive, suspended in the ugly in-between of pride and pain.
he spoke first, voice low, steady, the kind that softened even when saying hard things. “you walked out. can we talk?”
you scoffed, avoiding his gaze in the mirror, fixing an imaginary smudge on your eyeliner. “wow, you noticed. truly a christmas miracle.”
he exhaled slowly, stepping closer but leaving enough space so you didn’t feel cornered. “i noticed the second you stood up.”
“congratulations,” you muttered, tossing the ruined tissue into the trash with surgical precision. “a little late though, don’t you think? maybe if you had noticed i existed five minutes earlier, we wouldn’t be starring in this bathroom drama.”
he ran a hand through his hair—once, a small tell he was gathering patience. “i wasn’t ignoring you.”
you spun around to face him fully, arms still crossed, heart still bleeding but covered in barbed wire. “you dismissed me, nanami. in front of her. i asked you to include me and you basically told me to go play with crayons because my stupid little brain couldn’t understand your plant science shit.”
nanami’s brows knit, genuinely pained. “that’s not what i meant. i wasn’t belittling you. i thought you were frustrated already and—”
“oh, so now i’m fragile? delicate? mentally allergic to academia?” your laugh was dark, humorless. “please, enlighten me, professor horticulture—explain how telling your girlfriend ‘don’t stress your pretty head’ while turning your back to her isn’t dismissive. i’ll wait.”
he closed the distance by half a step, hands lifting but not touching you yet, as if waiting for permission you would never verbally give. “i was trying to keep the conversation light, not make you feel inferior.”
your throat tightened. you hated how badly you wanted to believe him. how much you wanted him to fix the bruise he caused.
you turned away again, pacing a small line near the sinks, heels clicking like punctuation to your rant.
“do you have any idea how humiliating that was?” your voice cracked before you forced it steady again. “i don’t do… this.” you gestured angrily to the bathroom, your face, your reflection—your vulnerability. “i don’t get affected. i don’t compete. i don’t chase attention. i am the attention.”
nanami’s voice softened. “you are.”
you ignored the way that hit you. “and suddenly i’m crying in a public bathroom that smells like expired mops because some random girl dared to speak to my boyfriend like she—” your breath wavered, “like she was entitled to his time.”
nanami’s shoulders softened, and he stepped closer again, slow, deliberate. “you are not optional. you are not second to anyone.”
you snapped your gaze to him, eyes burning. “then why did i feel like a placeholder? like a side character sitting there while you entertained fan mail from some herb-obsessed homewrecker apprentice?”
nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling, then met your eyes again—direct, unwavering. “i should have put my attention on you. i should have noticed you were upset. i got caught up in answering her questions and didn’t see how it affected you. i’m sorry.”
his apology wasn’t defensive. wasn’t performative. wasn’t sugar-coated.
it made it worse.
because now you had no villain to fight but your own fear.
you scoffed to keep from letting it soften you. “sorry doesn’t un-humiliate me. sorry doesn’t make her forget she saw me beg for attention like some common mortal.”
“you didn’t beg,” he said firmly. “you asked. because it mattered to you.”
you bit back the ache behind your teeth. “well, it shouldn’t have. i shouldn’t care this much. tears over plants? is this what i’ve become? an emotionally unstable salad?”
nanami’s lips twitched—not mocking, but like he wanted to smile at the sheer absurdity of you. “you care because you love me.”
you rolled your eyes so fast you saw heaven. “don’t say it like that. it makes me sound weak.”
“loving someone isn’t weakness.”
you scoffed, pacing again, resorting to sarcasm like armor. “easy for you to say. you weren’t the one crying next to the tampon dispenser.”
nanami took another step, closing the gap, his voice low. “i love you. i am allowed to talk to others, but you are the one I choose. always.”
you swallowed, hating how your pulse reacted to hearing him say it plainly.
you lifted your chin, clinging to the last shard of drama left. “you better. because if i have to keep sharing your attention with some botanical disney princess, i swear i will uproot her entire bloodline, replant them, and watch them wilt.”
nanami nodded, dead serious. “noted. i’ll make it clear to her that we won’t be having more one-on-one conversations.”
you blinked. “…oh.”
your ego perked up like a spoiled cat being offered caviar again.
his hand finally reached for yours—slow, giving you time to pull away if you wanted—but you didn’t. he held your fingers carefully, like they were something precious he almost dropped once and refused to lose again.
“you come first,” he said quietly. “if i made you feel anything else, i’ll fix it.”
and for once, you had no witty comeback ready.
your pride hated how good that felt.
and yet—because you were you—you sniffed, wiped under your eye again, and muttered, “you better, because i refuse to cry in a 2-star bathroom twice in one day. my reputation can survive one mental breakdown per quarter at most.”
but here’s the universal truth mothers should stitch into baby blankets so no girl grows up delusional: men are fucking liars. even the good ones. even the morally-upright, self–righteous, tax-paying, cardigan-wearing, philosopher-souled species of man. the ones who read books without pictures, the ones who sort their recycling, the ones who speak gently to old people and cats.
yes—even nanami kento.
your precious boyfriend, the man who lectured you about honesty like it was a religion and he was the last pope standing—turned out to be a man with a mouth capable of lies. small ones, yes, but lies nonetheless. lies sprinkled in moral salt. lies marinated in good intentions. but lies.
because after all that cinematic bathroom telenovela meltdown, after all the comforting, the forehead kisses, the “i’ll fix it,” the “you come first”…
utahime was still there.
not only there.
everywhere.
the bitch multiplied like mold in humidity.
somehow, she burrowed into nanami’s horticulture club like a tick with a dream. and because the club wasn’t just weekly—it was meetings, garden maintenance, farmer’s market volunteering, seed exchange events, greenhouse cleanup, weekend plant fairs—she was suddenly permanently glued to his schedule like ivy choking a wall.
every time you turned a corner on campus—she was there. carrying a watering can. laughing too loudly. holding seedling trays like they were newborns.
every time you looked out the window during class—you saw her walking with nanami to the greenhouse.
every time you checked instagram—someone posted a story of the club and guess who was standing too close to him?
every time you waited outside his lecture—she walked out with him, talking, giggling (yes, giggling—like you didn’t threaten to bury her under a basil farm).
she joined the same library study group.
she sat two rows behind him in lectures she didn’t even take.
she suddenly found “reasons” to be in the cafeteria when he got lunch.
the girl was haunting your life like a stalker ghost with bangs.
and worse? nanami didn’t shut her down like he promised he would.
so you did what any self-respecting spoiled princess with injured pride and an inflated sense of self-worth would do:
you ignored him.
full commitment. full silent-treatment olympics. gold medal performance.
you didn’t text first.
you didn’t sit next to him in class.
you left his messages on read and sometimes—just to inflict psychological warfare—delivered.
you walked past him in hallways with your chin up like a widow attending the funeral of a husband who died in dishonor.
and the audacity of nanami?
the man noticed and chased.
today, he cornered you outside the library, hand gently curling around your wrist—not forceful, just enough to halt your dramatic strut. his voice soft, tired, laced with concern.
“you’ve been ignoring me.”
you turned slowly, sunglasses on despite being in the shade, chewing gum like violence, your posture dripping with aristocratic disdain. arms crossed, hip popped, chin lifted—your entire body language declared: try me, peasant.
you took a long, theatrical breath. “ignore you? no, darling, i simply redirected my attention. i’m sure utahime is thrilled to receive the overflow.”
nanami’s jaw flexed—a tell. “you know it isn’t like that.”
you barked a dry laugh, head tilting with enough sarcasm to slice a man. “really? because from where i stand, it looks exactly like that. she’s glued to your side like you’re the last functioning brain cell on this campus.”
his brows knit, his hand loosening slightly on your wrist so he wouldn’t hold you if you pulled away. “she keeps approaching me. i’m not entertaining anything inappropriate. i’m just being courteous.”
you ripped your hand out of his hold, stepping back like his touch burned. “courteous? you were supposed to make it clear—your words, not mine—that there would be no one-on-one interactions. ring a bell or do you need me to write it on your forehead with permanent marker?”
nanami sighed through his nose, the way he did when he was trying so hard to remain patient with your unfiltered psychopath era. “i didn’t want to embarrass her in front of the club. she’s new. she hasn’t done anything wrong.”
your head snapped back as if slapped by the stupidity of that sentence. “not done anything wrong? existing near you is wrong enough for me. breathing your air is a felony in my book.”
“you’re being unreasonable,” he murmured gently.
your spine straightened, chin lifting a millimeter higher, eyes narrowing into slits of diamond-cut rage. “don’t you dare call me unreasonable. i am extremely reasonable for a woman who hasn’t committed aggravated assault yet.”
he stepped closer, voice lower. “i understand you’re upset. but i’m doing my best to handle this without causing unnecessary conflict.”
you scoffed, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “newsflash, nanami: conflict is necessary. humiliation isn’t. and you let me look like a clown that day. so now? i’m protecting my dignity.”
his expression softened in that maddeningly stable nanami-way. “you’re not a clown.”
you shrugged, indifferent mask slipping back on. “maybe not. but i felt like one. and you didn’t stop it.”
a beat of silence.
the truth sat between you like a wounded animal.
nanami’s voice came quieter, careful, the way a man sounds when stepping on emotional landmines. “i should’ve set boundaries more firmly. i thought I could handle it politely, but I see now that it hurt you. I’m sorry.”
and god, he made it so hard to stay angry when he did that—when he offered accountability instead of excuses.
but you weren’t done bleeding yet.
you clicked your tongue, looking him up and down like he was a disappointing purchase you were considering returning. “sorry isn’t enough this time. fix it. or i swear i will start a rumor that you and your plants are in a polyamorous relationship.”
nanami blinked. “that… doesn’t even make sense.”
you smirked coldly, leaning closer, voice dropping to a whisper of rich, spoiled poison. “watch me make it make sense.”
and then, because pride demanded a dramatic exit, you turned on your heel and walked away—leaving the scent of expensive perfume, ego, and emotional carnage in your wake.
but here’s the cruelty in the universe that no one warns you about because it would make little girls grow up violent: men will swear on their grandmother’s grave that they won’t do something… and then go do that exact thing with clean conscience and a student-discount coffee in hand.
and nanami kento — your nanami, the man built from ethics and moral consistency, the man who looked like he’d file a police report if he saw someone cut in line — turned out to be a man, too.
a man capable of promising and then failing.
after the cinema meltdown, after the bathroom breakdown, after nanami held your hand and said the equivalent of you’re my priority, after he placed metaphorical rose petals on your ego and vowed to do better…
utahime didn’t disappear.
no, the bitch multiplied.
like she was photosynthesizing off your rage.
and the worst part? she wasn’t just present. she was strategic.
she was everywhere nanami was — like she subscribed to his personal movement calendar.
everywhere, meaning: when you went to meet nanami after class? utahime was there, “coincidentally” packing her bag slower than a glacier melts. when nanami had club duty in the greenhouse? she was already inside with gloves on, hair clipped back all “i’m such a hardworking little plant fairy” aesthetic.
library study sessions? somehow she “didn’t understand the homework” and asked nanami for help. she sat next to him — next — not across, not diagonally. group lunch with your friends? she slithered in like a side character trying to make herself relevant, tray in hand, pretending she “just happened to be here too.”
and your friends saw it. gojo saw it first (and enjoyed it like live theatre). geto sighed like a disappointed parent. shoko made nicotine-laced commentary. haibara tried to “give her a chance” until you threatened to drown him in fertilizer.
you did what any self-respecting, pride-soaked, ego-driven, spoiled girlfriend with an image to protect would do: you went full cold war.
if nanami wanted politeness, he could enjoy silence instead. you ignored him with the elegance of a duchess excommunicating a traitor. and nanami noticed immediately because you didn’t just ignore — you withdrew.
you didn’t sit next to him in class — you sat between gojo and your bag like a chastity belt.
you didn’t touch him — no hand on his arm, no kiss on the cheek, not even a hair tuck.
you didn’t text first — and when he texted, your responses were so short they were practically Morse code:
him: are you free after class?
you: busy.
him: can i call you?
you: no.
him: are you upset with me?
you: ask your club member.
you left his “goodnight”s on read.
you left his “are you okay?” on delivered because read would be too generous.
in the group, it was worse — because nanami tried public damage control, which was humiliating for you and painful for him.
like earlier today, all of you were at your usual table in the campus café. you arrived last, sunglasses on, iced latte in hand, a picture of uninterested royalty. nanami pulled out the chair beside him for you — your usual seat — and you walked right past it and sat between shoko and geto instead, crossing your legs like a throne had been rolled under you.
nanami’s hand hesitated mid-air before lowering. everyone saw.
a muscle in his jaw ticked, but he said nothing — at first.
then, after ten minutes of group chatter, he tried to join your space.
he leaned slightly toward your side of the table, voice low enough for you but audible to others, “you’re quiet today.”
you didn’t look at him. you sipped your drink, adjusting your sunglasses, and responded with a tone dry enough to produce drought:
“maybe i’m photosynthesizing.”
gojo choked on his muffin. shoko coughed to hide a laugh. geto stared into his drink like it was a portal to escape reality.
nanami inhaled, patient but cracking. “can we talk later?”
you smiled — cold, polite, corporate-HR-email kind of smile. “why? so you can politely ignore me again in favor of plant girl? i’m busy later. very, extremely, unprecedentedly busy.”
“you’re upset,” nanami said softly — and god, he sounded like he was trying not to touch a wild animal, “and I understand why, but i told you, i’m not entertaining anything. she’s new and i’m trying to be decent.”
you turned your head just enough to look at him over the rim of your sunglasses — only the lower half of your gaze visible, dripping with contempt and luxury.
one brow lifted. “decent? don’t use words you clearly don’t understand. decent would’ve been keeping your promise.”
geto winced. haibara whispered “oh no.” gojo grabbed popcorn like entertainment had begun.
nanami kept his voice steady, though his fingers tapped once against his cup — a tiny crack in composure. “i didn’t break the promise. i haven’t spoken to her alone outside of club responsibilities, and when she—”
you cut him off with a laugh — sharp, cruel, aristocratic. the kind a queen gives when a peasant offers excuses.
“club responsibilities,” you repeated, mockingly. “what a sexy phrase. truly. i’m so thrilled you found a morally sound loophole in your vow. maybe next you’ll say ‘we only breathed air in the same vicinity for charity reasons.’”
his brows pulled together — he was trying, really trying. “you’re twisting my words.”
“no,” you said, leaning back with one arm draped over the back of your chair, looking him dead in the eyes, “i’m repeating them. just slower. so they sound as stupid as they actually are.”
nanami exhaled, steady but strained, and the worst part? he still validated you because he loved you like it was a discipline. “i understand why you’re hurt. you’re right to feel neglected. i should’ve enforced stronger boundaries.”
you shrugged, inspecting your nails like the conversation bored you. “words, words, words. if i wanted rehearsed accountability, i’d date a politician. i wanted results.”
nanami’s voice dipped lower. “i’m trying to fix it.”
you stared at him, expression blank, voice sugar-poisoned, “try harder.” and after that, you went back to ignoring him — because you weren’t done punishing him yet. your pride demanded interest.
nanami kento, for all his monk-like patience and buddhist-level self-control, was still a man with limits, and you—blessed, cursed, loved, unbearable you—had been kicking those limits like a toddler on a sugar high. he missed you. painfully. he missed the chaos, the clinginess disguised as entitlement, the way you demanded affection like it was your birthright, how you’d climb into his lap without asking because why the fuck would you ask, the iced coffee orders you shoved into his hand when he picked you up, the kisses you gave like they were currency and he was the only bank that accepted them.
he missed you so much it made him irritable, and nanami kento being irritable was a rare supernatural event—like the northern lights or a government official being honest.
so he did the only logical thing: he showed up at your stupidly large house.
the house you didn’t call a mansion because “mansion sounds tacky” but where the staff wore uniforms and the ceiling height legally required a parachute. the kind of house that had wings—plural—as in east wing, west wing, wife’s-attitude-control wing.
the workers knew him by now. the butler gave a respectful nod. one of the maids greeted him by name. none of them questioned the expensive, tall, blond man walking through the front door like he paid the mortgage. nanami climbed the spiraling staircase—custom marble, cold under his palms when he used the railing—and walked the long hallway to your room at the far end, because of course the princess needed isolation and acoustics for dramatic exits.
your door was ajar just enough for him to push gently, and he entered quietly.
there you were.
sitting in the center of your ridiculous, king-plus sized bed like a pissed-off deity. silk pajamas clinging to your shoulders, the color soft and expensive, the kind of fabric that looked like it refused to touch poor people. your hair damp from a recent shower, strands falling around your face, lashes dark against your cheeks, skin still warm from steam. you looked soft enough to hold and sharp enough to stab—your default state.
you looked up, saw him, and rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle you didn’t see your brain. you didn’t say a word. not “why are you here,” not “go away,” not even “fuck off.” nothing. the silence itself was an insult.
nanami closed the door behind him with a quiet click that echoed in the large room, and walked further in, footsteps slow, gaze steady on your face—even if your expression screamed i hope you step on lego barefoot for eternity. he took a moment to just look at you, as if memorizing your resentment was better than not seeing you at all.
you snapped, voice sharp and flat: “what.”
nanami hummed, that infuriatingly calm, deep hum of his. “can we talk?”
you scoffed, leaning back on your palms, chin tilting with aristocratic disgust. “i don’t talk to pieces of shit. and you’re a big one. like, family-sized. extra value pack.”
nanami blinked once, head tilting a fraction, absorbing the insult without flinching. “i’m a piece of shit?” he repeated, tone so soft it made the words sting more.
you crossed your arms tight over your chest, silk rustling. “yes. obviously. congratulations on finally joining the rest of your gender.”
instead of defending himself like most men would—loudly, stupidly—nanami did something worse.
he accepted it.
he quietly dragged one of your chairs—one of those stupidly soft velvet ones meant for “decorative reading” you never actually used—across the floor and set it directly in front of you. he sat down, knees spread slightly, forearms resting gently on his thighs, posture straight but not intimidating. it was the posture of a man prepared to listen, not fight. which made your chest tighten and your temper spike—because you wanted to be angry, not understood.
he met your eyes, unwavering, voice low, even, heartbreaking in its steadiness.
“then tell me why,” he said. “why am i a piece of shit?”
and just like that, the floor was yours—your stage, your arena, your battlefield. and nanami kento sat there, ready to let you stab him with every word.
you stared at him for a long moment, the kind of stare that wasn’t silent—no, it was loud, screaming, accusing, trembling at the edges with wounded pride you refused to show. your jaw tightened, your fingers curled into the silk pooling around your thighs, and when you finally spoke, your voice came out low, cracked with disbelief and venom.
“do you ever think,” you began slowly, eyes narrowing at him, “how fucking humiliating it was for me to sit there—your girlfriend—fighting for your attention against nobody but uta-fucking-hime?”
nanami didn’t flinch, but his throat bobbed.
you continued, leaning forward, one finger stabbing the air at him like you were pointing at a suspect in court, “she’s not even competition. she’s a filler character, a background extra with tragic bangs and soil under her nails. i shouldn’t have to compete with that. i shouldn’t have to try. but there i was, reduced to fighting for scraps like some desperate peasant dog waiting for the king to drop crumbs from the fucking banquet table.”
nanami opened his mouth, but you kept going, steamrolling him because if he spoke now, you’d crumble, and weakness was not on tonight’s agenda.
you huffed a humorless laugh, sitting upright again, crossing your arms tight across your chest, chin lifting with aristocratic disgust. “do you understand how degrading it felt? i don’t fight for attention. i’m used to being the center of gravity. people orbit me. planets shift because of me. i don’t beg. i don’t chase. i don’t sit there like some forgotten decorative pillow while you—” your voice sharpened, “—politely entertain some herb-collecting homewrecker apprentice.”
nanami inhaled, eyes soft but steady. “i never expected you to fight for my attention. i’m sorry you felt you had to.”
you scoffed, rolling your eyes and looking away because his softness was a knife to your ribs. “yeah, well, congratulations, you put me in that position. so yes, you’re a piece of shit.”
you extended a hand toward him like you were listing charges in court, each finger flicking upward with another bullet of rage.
“one: you dismissed me. like i was some stupid little decoration on your arm. like i was a shiny accessory you forgot to polish that day.”
nanami sat straighter, hands clasping gently between his knees, voice calm. “i didn’t intend to dismiss you. i thought—”
“wrong,” you cut him off, glare sharp, “your intentions don’t fucking matter if the result still makes me want to drown myself in fertilizer.”
nanami pressed his lips together, accepting the hit.
you held up a second finger.
“two: you told me you would set boundaries. you said you’d stop the little one-on-one herb therapy sessions with her. and guess what? she’s still glued to you like mold on bread. if this is your definition of ‘boundaries,’ i fear what chaos your freedom must look like.”
nanami exhaled a long, controlled breath. “i did limit our interactions. i haven’t spoken to her outside the club and—”
you barked a laugh that was almost a choke. “oh, outside the club—wow. such discipline. such restraint. truly, a saint among idiots. i’m so touched. should i nominate you for boyfriend of the year or just frame your bullshit and hang it in a museum?”
his brows pulled together, a muscle flexing in his jaw—but he stayed calm, infuriatingly so. “i’m telling you the truth. i’m not entertaining her.”
you leaned closer, voice dropping to a slow, lethal whisper. “you don’t have to entertain her for it to still feel like betrayal. the bare minimum for a boyfriend is to make sure his girlfriend never questions whether she comes first. and you didn’t do that. you left space. you left opportunity. you left room—and she ran into it like a stray dog finding an open door.”
that one hit. nanami looked down for a second, breath steadying, his hands loosening on his thighs as if unclenching invisible tension. “you’re right. i shouldn’t have left any room for doubt.”
and god, the way he agreed so easily made your anger burn hotter—not colder—because part of you needed him to fight back so you could keep throwing knives. his accountability cornered you into feeling instead of yelling, and you hated it.
your voice wavered very slightly, and you looked away quickly to hide it. “and three,” you whispered, throat tight, “you made me feel small. and i don’t get to feel small. ever.”
nanami’s head lifted, eyes on you instantly, body leaning forward just enough to reach you if you needed grounding. “you’re never small to me. not for a second.”
you swallowed, back stiffening, legs crossing and uncrossing because the vulnerability made your skin itch. “well, that’s what it felt like. and feelings are facts now because mine are expensive.”
nanami nodded once, accepting your twisted logic as truth because to you, it was. “then i’m sorry. for every part of this that made you feel less.”
you blinked hard, jaw clenching, because his calm acceptance was suffocating in the most disarming way.
you wanted to stay angry. you wanted to scream. you wanted him to beg. but he just sat there—quiet, steady, unshaken—offering himself as the place for your rage to land, not deflecting it.
and that—somehow—was worse.
so instead of softening, you scoffed again, looking away with a shaky breath, because god forbid he sees the crack forming.
“you should be sorry,” you muttered, voice smaller than you meant, “because if i ever have to feel that kind of humiliation again, i’m burning down the greenhouse with you both inside. i’m not joking, nanami. i will commit arson in the name of love.”
you weren’t done—oh no, your rage had chapters, footnotes, an appendix, and a director’s cut. and nanami sitting there so calmly, giving you space to unravel, only fed the fire.
you pushed off the mattress and sat up straighter, the silk of your pajama shirt sliding against your skin as you hugged your knees loosely to your chest, posture defensive but regal, like a dethroned princess still wearing the crown out of spite. your fingers dug into the soft duvet, knuckles whitening as the words clawed up your throat.
“and another thing,” you snapped, pointing at him again, your voice shaking—not with fear, but with insulted pride, “you made me look fucking stupid.”
nanami’s brows drew in, but he didn’t speak—he knew better than to interrupt when you were winding up.
“do you have any idea how that felt?” you continued, your tone rising in waves, “you made me sound like some brain-dead bimbo who couldn’t comprehend the basic concept of sunlight and leaves. like i’m incapable of understanding the most entry-level plant shit. me. you treated me like i’m stupid.”
nanami shook his head, voice quiet, “that wasn’t my intention.”
“but that’s what you did,” you shot back immediately, not letting softness leak in. “i asked what you two were talking about at the cinema—my boyfriend, talking to another girl—and you dismissed me. like i was some annoying toddler interrupting grown-ups having a cultured conversation. like i couldn’t hold a single fucking sentence about your club.”
your voice cracked, and you hated that it did.
your fingers curled tighter into the blanket, nails sinking into the velvet fabric.
“before,” you went on, quieter for a second, “when i asked about your club, when i tried to show interest in the nerd shit you like, you’d tell me things. short things, but still things. and i listened. i tried.”
nanami opened his mouth slightly, and you saw the apology forming, but you didn’t let it land—you surged forward, fueled by humiliation you hadn’t digested yet.
“but the moment uta-fucking-hime bats her dollar store lashes and asks you something?” your voice rose again, bitter, sarcastic, acidic, “suddenly you’re hosting a fucking TED Talk on soil acidity and root trauma. suddenly you’re plant Jesus delivering parables. suddenly you found the fucking words you never bothered using with me.”
nanami’s chest expanded with a slow inhale, his elbows resting lightly on his knees, fingers intertwined—not defensive, not reacting, just listening, which somehow made it worse.
you dragged a hand through your damp hair, pushing it back sharply, pacing a few steps in front of him like your body couldn’t contain the indignation.
“do you know how fucking humiliating that was?” your voice trembled as you paced, silk pajamas swaying with every sharp turn. “you didn’t just ignore me. you made me feel like i wasn’t smart enough to be included. like i didn’t belong in your world when i’m the one who’s supposed to be in it the most.”
nanami finally spoke, tone soft but steady, “i didn’t share more with her because she’s special. i did it because she asked specific questions, and i—”
you spun on him, eyes burning. “so when i ask, what? my questions aren’t specific enough? sorry for not speaking fluent Plant Nerdish. should i learn latin and photosynthesis formulas to earn basic politeness?”
he shook his head immediately, “that’s not what I—”
“because it sure as hell felt like it,” you spit out, arms crossing again, hugging yourself without wanting to look like you needed comfort. “felt like i wasn’t worth the same energy. like you didn’t think i’d care. like you assumed i’m too shallow to understand anything that isn’t shopping, lipstick, or chaos.”
nanami’s eyes softened further—the exact softness you avoid because it disarms you. “i never thought that of you. i know you can understand anything you want to. i just didn’t want to bore you or overwhelm you when you already seemed upset.”
you stared at him, chest rising and falling quickly, the fight still trembling inside you like a caged animal.
he continued gently, “with utahime… i wasn’t thinking about you in that moment the way i should have. i should’ve noticed how it made you feel and prioritized you instead. i’m sorry.”
and because your pride was a skyscraper—tall, expensive, reinforced with ego—you refused to let his sincerity dissolve your anger.
you scoffed, wiping under your eye with the back of your hand before the tear could fall. “you better be sorry. because if i ever have to watch you give some other girl a powerpoint presentation while i get the toddler-version explanation again, i’ll personally make sure your precious rosemary never sees sunlight again.”
nanami actually huffed a quiet breath—half a sigh, half a disbelieving laugh.
you leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing like a warning blade, voice low and lethal:
“try me, kento. i’ll turn your little greenhouse into a botanical graveyard.”
he stared at you gently, the smallest curve at the corner of his lips—not mocking, but full of something unbearably tender.
“i believe you,” he said.
and for a split second, the room pulsed with something that wasn’t anger—but you shoved it back into its cage before it could soften you.
you sat down on the very edge of the bed, like the mattress might swallow you whole if you dared to sit properly, silk pajamas pooling around your thighs, your spine stiff and your hands gripping the duvet so tightly the fabric bunched under your fingers. your legs were tense, knees angled inward, like you were holding yourself together through sheer ego alone. your chin trembled—not enough to expose you, just enough to betray the strain of holding everything in.
your eyes burned, lashes wet, vision blurring in that humiliating way that felt like defeat. you blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall because crying in front of him felt like handing over your crown—but your voice betrayed you, coming out raw, cracked, furious.
“do i have to learn fucking plants now?” you snapped, glaring at the floor because looking at him would break you. “is that it? i have to memorize soil pH and fucking photosynthesis just so you don’t have to talk to uta-fucking-hime?”
nanami inhaled, slow, steady, as if bracing himself to not crumble at the sight of you unraveling. “no,” he said gently, “you don’t—”
you cut him off with an unhinged laugh, bitter and broken at the edges. “because apparently that’s what it takes to get your attention these days. maybe i should start growing basil out of my ass too. will that help?”
nanami’s eyes widened a fraction—not at your vulgarity (he was used to that) but at the complete sincerity under the sarcasm. he took a slow breath, leaning slightly forward in the chair, hands clasping together, his voice careful. “you don’t need to learn any of that. i don’t want you to change. you don’t have to pretend to care about something just because I do.”
your head snapped up at that, eyes flashing, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “aren’t i already pretending?” your voice wavered, then steadied through force. “i sat there, listening to you talk about leaves and soil and mint like it was the fucking cure to cancer, trying so goddamn hard to look interested, to support you—because it mattered to you, so i made myself care.”
nanami’s face softened, guilt pooling in the lines of his expression, but you continued before he could speak.
“and the one time—ONE TIME—I ask to be included, to be part of your little plant world, you shut me out like i’m some airheaded idiot you have to protect from botany knowledge.” your hand flew to your chest, pressing there like the pressure could keep your heart from cracking open. “what is that? what do you think i am?”
nanami’s voice dropped, quiet but urgent, “i didn’t shut you out because i think you’re stupid—”
“no?” you snapped, leaning forward, your anger trembling with hurt. “then why did you treat me like i’d break a nail if you explained what fucking soil is? why did she get the encyclopedia version while i got the kindergarten summary with sparkles and crayons?”
his brows pulled together, jaw tightening, but his voice stayed gentle—too gentle. “i thought I was making it easier for you. i didn’t want to overwhelm you with details when you were already upset.”
you scoffed again, wiping under your eye aggressively with the heel of your hand, smudging nothing because your skincare was too expensive to budge. “then you should’ve shut up, not dumb it down. i don’t need you to simplify the world for me like i’m some fragile porcelain doll who’ll shatter if exposed to big words.”
your throat tightened painfully, words spilling before pride could stop them.
“i’m not broken,” you whispered, then louder, sharper, “i’m NOT stupid.”
nanami’s face softened entirely, his voice warm and low and infuriatingly tender. “i know you’re not.”
your lips trembled, but you forced them still.
he tried to reach for your hand, slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away—but you did, snatching your hand back to your lap, your body curling slightly inward, shoulders tightening, like you were trying to shrink away from the hurt without letting him see the wound.
“i don’t want to learn about plants,” you spat, voice thick with tears you refused to let fall. “i don’t want to join your stupid club. i don’t want to talk about soil or herbs or whatever the fuck rosemary trauma you deal with. i just…” your breath shook, “i just want you. and i shouldn’t have to study for the role of being your girlfriend.”
nanami’s eyes softened further—dangerously, heartbreakingly so—and he leaned forward just a little, elbows on his knees, voice steady in a way that threatened to unravel you completely.
“you already have me.”
you laughed—ugly, shaky, self-mocking. “do i? because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it when you were looking everywhere but at me.”
the tear finally escaped.
you swiped it away so fast it barely had time to fall.
he saw that tear—just one, microscopic, fast—but nanami was the kind of man who could feel an earthquake from a single tremor. his expression shifted, softened, his breath leaving him in something almost pained as he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped loosely like he was holding the weight of this carefully, terrified of crushing it.
“i’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice low, raw, without any of the neat composure he’d tried to maintain. “i hurt you. i shouldn’t have dismissed you, and i shouldn’t have allowed room for you to feel replaced or lesser. that was my failure.”
you scoffed instantly, curling further away from his sincerity like it burned. “oh, wow. an apology. revolutionary. should i clap? maybe roll out a red carpet? you want a medal for saying sorry like a big boy?”
nanami accepted the jab without flinching. “i’m not asking for praise. i’m telling you the truth—i’m sorry.”
“yeah, well,” you muttered, sniffing harshly as you dragged the sleeve of your silk pajama top across the corner of your eye before the next tear could betray you, “sorry doesn’t erase the fact that i looked like a fucking clown.”
nanami’s brows pinched at the word, but his voice stayed steady. “you didn’t look like a clown.”
you laughed—sharp, bitter. “don’t lie to me now. i humiliated myself for a man—you, unfortunately—and she watched. that’s worse than death. i should fake my own disappearance and move to monaco under a new name at this point.”
he shook his head, leaning closer on instinct, like his body couldn’t stand the space between you. “you reacted because you care about us. there’s nothing humiliating about caring.”
you snapped your gaze to him again, fury flaring through the heartbreak. “stop saying caring like it’s cute. it’s pathetic. i don’t do pathetic. i’ve never been pathetic. i don’t cry over boys. boys cry over me. that’s the natural order of the universe.”
nanami’s voice softened even more—a tone you hated because it saw right through you. “you’re not pathetic. you’re hurt. because I made you feel like you weren’t valued. that’s on me.”
you shook your head fiercely, hair falling forward, fingers tugging at the silk on your thigh like you needed something to anchor you. “you made me feel like some… irrelevant, dumb, useless accessory. and i know i’m spoiled and dramatic and ridiculous but—” your breath broke again, “but i shouldn’t have to beg to matter to the one person who’s supposed to love me most.”
nanami swallowed hard, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, thicker. “you never have to beg for that. you never should have felt you did.”
you scoffed again, but weaker, because his sincerity was cracking your armor. “well, congratulations, you made me feel exactly that. you can add it to your achievement list: hurt your spoiled girlfriend enough to make her almost learn about basil.” you sniffed deeply, then glared at him like it was his fault oxygen existed. “do you know how low that is? i almost googled plants for idiots. that’s rock bottom.”
nanami blinked, then exhaled a breath that was almost—almost—an amused disbelief, but he restrained it because he knew laughing now was equivalent to suicide. “you don’t need to learn anything for me. i don’t want you to pretend interest for my sake.”
“but she asked,” you hissed, leaning forward, hands dropping to the mattress, gripping the edge as if the bed would levitate otherwise, “and you gave her the whole encyclopedia of plant shit like you were teaching a masterclass. meanwhile, when i ask, i get don’t stress your pretty head. do you hear how insulting that is?”
nanami closed his eyes briefly—guilt flickering across his features like a shadow—and when he opened them, he held your gaze firmly. “you’re right. that was condescending. i thought i was protecting you from stress, but i see now that it sounded like I was belittling you. that wasn’t my intention, but it doesn’t change how it made you feel.”
you stared at him, breath shaky, throat tight, and your voice dropped into something almost small—but still edged with venom because you refused to hand him the pure version of your pain.
“i don’t need protection from information. if i don’t understand, i’ll ask. i’m not fragile.”
nanami leaned forward more, hands loosening, as if fighting the urge to reach for you but respecting the invisible wall you kept between you. “i know you’re not. you’re strong, sharper than anyone I know. i should’ve respected that instead of trying to soften things for you.”
the compliment, the acknowledgment, the correction—it hit somewhere deep you didn’t want him to reach, so you snapped, defensive:
“you should have. because now? now i look like the stupid girlfriend who can’t keep up, while miss horticulture homewrecker gets the professor edition.”
“you’re not stupid,” nanami repeated, firm enough to anchor the air around you.
you looked away again, jaw clenching, your voice barely above a whisper: “but you made me feel like i was.”
he inhaled deeply, voice steady but pained. “then i failed you. and i’m sorry.”
this time, the apology didn’t feel like words— it felt like weight. and your pride, your last line of defense, forced your chin up, even as your voice cracked, “you should be. because if you ever make me feel like that again, i’m ending us both. emotionally, socially, and possibly legally.”
he apologized again—soft, steady, without flinching—and you opened your mouth, ready to snap back with one of your signature lines that would absolutely emotionally assassinate him and then ruin your life five seconds later, but he lifted a hand ever so slightly.
not commanding.
not silencing.
asking.
“can you… listen to me first?” he said, voice low, gentle, the kind that didn’t demand obedience but somehow earned it.
you hated that tone.
because for all your unhinged chaos, you weren’t heartless—you weren’t immune to the way nanami spoke when he genuinely needed you to hear him. his voice dipped lower, his posture leaned in—not towering, not intimidating, not challenging—just close enough to show sincerity, far enough to give you space to breathe.
you clenched your jaw, eyes narrowing, but you nodded once—sharp, reluctant—like you were granting an audience to a criminal on trial.
your body language screamed i’m listening against my will, but you stayed quiet, arms still folded, nails digging into your silk sleeves, your chin tilted up just a fraction as if to remind him you were still pissed, still wounded, still royalty on her throne of spite.
nanami exhaled, relieved you didn’t storm out or throw a pillow at his head.
his voice stayed calm, steady—because he was talking to a hurricane, not a person, and he knew it.
“i didn’t handle things correctly,” he began, his tone soft but anchored. his hands rested on his thighs, fingers relaxed now, not clasped tight like before. “i thought I was doing the considerate thing. you were upset that day, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you with details or make you feel out of your depth. i thought simplifying things would help. i see now it came across as dismissive and condescending.”
your lips twitched—because yes, that’s exactly what it was—but you held yourself back, biting your tongue, letting him continue because you agreed to listen and your pride wouldn’t let you break your own rule.
he kept going, breathing slow, every word careful:
“with utahime, I didn’t realize how it looked. she kept asking questions, and I answered because I thought I was being polite, not because I found her more deserving of my time.”
he swallowed once, eyes softening as they held yours. “but intention doesn’t erase impact. and the impact was that you felt second. that’s on me.”
the words hung in the room like incense—heavy, honest, impossible to ignore.
you shifted on the bed, uncrossing your arms just to cross them again tighter, because your heart tried to soften and your pride screamed no, not yet. your foot tapped once against the floor—restless, emotional energy leaking out in movement because sitting still with feelings was dangerous territory.
nanami continued, leaning in a little—not invading, just closer, grounding:
“you felt replaced. dismissed. stupid. and that’s the last thing I ever wanted you to feel. you’re the person I respect most. you’re the person whose attention I cherish, not hers. you matter to me more than anyone else does.”
your throat tightened. you looked away, staring at the edge of your vanity table, anywhere but at him, because if you looked directly at the warmth in his eyes you would break.
he let the silence settle a moment—not awkward, not rushed—just enough for his words to land, to breathe, to reach the place in you that still cared through all the rage.
“i should’ve shut the conversation down sooner,” he admitted quietly. “i thought staying polite would avoid unnecessary tension, but it cost you peace instead. and that isn’t worth it to me.”
your hands loosened just a little in your sleeves—barely—but enough for him to notice.
nanami breathed out, voice softer:
“I’ll fix it. properly this time. not just with words, but with action. I won’t let you feel sidelined again.”
you sat there in silence for a few seconds, your heart pounding against your ribs like a prisoner demanding release, your pride fencing every emotion like a guard dog on steroids.
and because you can never sit in vulnerability without throwing a knife to feel balanced, you finally muttered, voice low, biting, but thinner around the edges:
“if you start defending her, i swear to god i’ll shove your plants up your ass root-first.”
nanami blinked, then nodded, dead serious, as if you hadn’t just threatened him with horticultural assault. “i’m not defending her. i’m explaining myself to you, because you deserve that.”
your jaw clenched again, and though the rage was still there, the ice around it had begun—just barely—to crack.
you sighed, dramatic, exhausted, wiping at your lower lash line with your thumb like the tears were dust you could remove and pretend never existed.
“okay,” you muttered, still refusing to fully face him. “go on. i’m listening. finish the monologue before i change my mind and kick you out.”
and nanami—ever patient, ever steady—continued. and the more he spoke, the harder it became to keep your armor intact. his voice wasn’t trembling or begging, he wasn’t groveling or panicking — no, that would’ve been easier to reject. instead, he spoke in that devastatingly calm, steady, nanami way, the way that slipped past your defenses because he wasn’t trying to win, he was trying to understand you.
“you don’t deserve to share space with doubt,” he said, tone low, warm, maddeningly sincere. “you don’t deserve to question your place in my life. you are the person i choose, every day, in every room. i should’ve made that impossible to doubt — especially for you.”
you swallowed, your throat clicking, jaw locked so tightly that your teeth ached. you looked everywhere but at him: the chandelier reflection in your mirror, your perfume bottles arranged like a shrine to your vanity, your silk pillowcases, the edge of your nail on your thumb — anything that wasn’t his eyes because you knew one direct second of eye contact would flatten you.
nanami didn’t move closer, didn’t reach out, didn’t try to touch you before you allowed it — and that alone made your chest twist painfully. he knew pressure would make you bolt, so he simply sat there, giving you space to break at your own pace.
“i love you,” he continued, voice smoothing out like velvet pulled taut, “and i don’t expect you to hide your feelings or pretend you’re unaffected. you feel deeply — loudly — and it’s overwhelming sometimes, yes, but it’s also one of the things i adore most about you. you love in color. in flame. in extremes. i would never want to dim that.”
your lip trembled — actually trembled — and you pressed your teeth into it to physically punish the weakness.
nanami’s voice gentled even more, if that was somehow possible. “i will make sure you never feel like a second option again. i will be clearer. firmer. i will not leave room for anyone to assume my attention is available. i’m yours. you don’t need to fight for that.”
you breathed out — a fragile, uneven sound that almost wasn’t a breath at all. something in your ribcage shifted.
your shoulders sank an inch.
your fists loosened.
your vision clouded.
you hated it.
you hated how easily he could peel your rage back and expose the soft, shaking thing beneath. hated how his calm didn’t belittle your chaos — it held it. hated how he didn’t match your fire with ice or irritation, but with something worse: understanding.
you blinked, and a second tear slipped — traitorous, slow, warm against your skin. you swiped it away angrily, like it offended you. “fuck you,” you muttered — not hateful, not sharp — just broken. “fuck you for talking like that. i can’t stay mad when you talk like that.”
nanami’s gaze softened so achingly you had to glance away again. “i don’t want you to stay mad. i just want you to feel safe with me.”
your breath hitched — actually hitched — and suddenly the space between you felt unbearable. the absence of his touch felt like a scream against your skin.
you slid forward on the bed — once, hesitantly, like pride was clinging to your ankles — then again, knees brushing his, breath shaky, silk whispering across your thighs. nanami didn’t move, didn’t reach first, didn’t break the fragile consent of your approach — he waited, letting you choose him.
you moved that final inch — your knees between his legs, your hands trembling as they reached for his shoulders — and then you climbed into his lap, settling with your legs curled around him, your forehead pressing into the warm column of his neck like you were hiding in him, not hugging him.
the moment you made contact, nanami’s arms came up — slow, careful, then firm — wrapping around your waist with the kind of hold that said i’m not letting you go unless you ask me to. one hand cradled the back of your head, fingers sinking into your damp hair, the other anchored at your spine, steady, grounding, warm.
the first sob was silent — a sharp inhale into his shirt, your nails clutching at his shoulders like you were falling and he was the only surface left on earth. the second made a sound, a small broken one, like a wineglass cracking.
nanami tightened his arms around you, one thumb stroking the back of your head, his lips brushing your temple, voice low against your skin. “i’ve got you. i’m here.”
you hated how safe it felt — hated how quickly you melted — hated that after all your swearing and threatening arson and botanically themed murder monologues… you were crying in his lap anyway.
you sniffed against his neck, voice muffled, angry even through tears: “you’re still a piece of shit.”
nanami nodded into your hair. “i know.”
you curled tighter into him, your pride bleeding into his shirt, your voice cracking, “but you’re my piece of shit.”
his hand stroked your back, slow, intentional — the kind of touch that rebuilt things quietly. “always.”
and just like that, the storm inside you finally collapsed — not because he forced it to, but because he sat in it with you until you could breathe again.
it took a while—long enough for your breathing to steady, long enough for your fists to unclench in the fabric of his shirt, long enough for the heat behind your eyes to settle into a dull throb instead of a storm. you stayed in his lap even after the crying slowed, face tucked into the warm crook of his neck, your weight fully resting on him now like your body had finally surrendered to the truth that you felt safest with the same man you threatened to bury alive with his plants.
his palm stroked your back in slow, absent circles, the kind that weren’t meant to hush you but to anchor you. it was disgusting how much it worked.
after a long stretch of quiet—your kind of quiet, the heavy kind where pride is still limping around the room—you exhaled against his skin, voice rough, reluctant, and grudgingly soft.
“…i shouldn’t have… lost my shit like that.”
nanami didn’t speak, just hummed, a subtle vibration against your cheek that meant i’m listening.
you shifted slightly on his lap so you could look at him, but you didn’t move far—you stayed close enough to breathe the same air, your fingers still curled lightly over his shoulder, your forehead almost touching his. your voice stayed low, as if it would break if you raised it.
“i was fucking mean,” you muttered, eyes darting away because eye contact made honesty more painful, “i insulted your hobby like it’s stupid and i know it’s not stupid. it makes you happy. it gives you peace or whatever. and i shit all over it like a bitch having a tantrum.”
nanami cupped your jaw with one hand—not forcing you to look at him, just holding you gently, thumb brushing your cheek with steady warmth. “you were hurt. you reacted from that place. i don’t take it personally.”
you rolled your eyes with a watery scoff, wiping your face with the sleeve of your silk top, smearing your expensive moisturizer but not caring for once. “you should take it personally. i called you soil jesus. who even says that? what the fuck is wrong with me?”
the corner of his mouth twitched—the ghost of a smile—but he kept it small, respectful of your fragile dignity. “you’re passionate. and dramatic. it’s part of who you are.”
you glared half-heartedly. “that’s a diplomatic way to say i’m a fucking menace.”
“you are,” he agreed evenly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear with maddening tenderness. “but you’re my menace.”
you inhaled sharply, offended at how easily that softened you again. “stop saying things like that. it makes it hard to stay mad and i deserve to be mad for at least another six business days.”
nanami leaned in just enough that his forehead almost touched yours, his voice dipping lower, sincere in a way that stripped you bare. “you don’t need to punish yourself for feeling jealous. or threatened. you’re human.”
you clicked your tongue. “i don’t want to be human. i want to be a god. untouchable.”
nanami’s thumb stroked your cheek again, slow, grounding, annoyingly gentle. “i don’t want an untouchable goddess. i want you. spoiled, dramatic, sharp-tongued, mean when you’re hurt, soft when you think no one is watching—you.”
your chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t painful, it was warm and terrifying.
you sniffed once, shifting again in his lap to hide the growing softness in your features. “i’m still sorry for being… like that. insulting your club. your plants didn’t deserve that verbal abuse.”
“no,” nanami said calmly, “they didn’t.”
you glared, offended that he agreed so easily. “you’re supposed to say ‘no, baby, you were totally valid in threatening my rosemary.’”
nanami’s lips curved slightly. “you weren’t valid in threatening my rosemary.”
“fuck you,” you muttered, but it had no heat. “i’ll poison your basil first.”
he nodded, indulgent. “i know.”
you sighed—heavy, dramatic, collapsing your full weight against his chest like the universe exhausted you. your fingers fisted lightly in his shirt for stability as you mumbled into his collarbone, voice muffled:
“i am such a bitch sometimes.”
nanami’s hand slid up your back, resting at the nape of your neck, his thumb rubbing small, rhythmic circles there that made your muscles melt one by one. “yes,” he said softly, honestly. “you can be… very mean.”
you jerked back just enough to glare at him, eyes still glossy, mouth open in disbelief. “you’re supposed to disagree, you emotionally constipated goldfish!”
nanami held your glare without flinching. “you asked me to listen and be honest.”
you blinked at him, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. “…i hate that you’re right.”
“i know,” he repeated, with infuriating calm.
you stared at him a second longer, lips parted, then shook your head slowly, your voice lowering into something almost vulnerable, almost small.
“and you still want me? like this? spoiled, mean, psychotic gremlin behavior and all?”
nanami didn’t hesitate. not even a breath.
“i like my girl spoiled and mean,” he said, voice warm and sure, eyes steady on yours. “i love you exactly as you are.”
something inside you cracked again—but this time it didn’t shatter into sharp pieces.
it softened. melted.
you swallowed, heat burning behind your eyes again, but you didn’t fight it this time as you leaned forward and rested your forehead against his, your voice breaking in a whisper, “you’re still a piece of shit.” nanami smiled—small, real, adoring—and whispered back, “i know.”
you end up horizontal without even remembering the transition — one moment you were sitting on his lap falling apart like a wet cupcake in the sun, the next nanami was lying beside you on your absurdly large bed, both of you under the soft weight of your overpriced duvet. the room was dim now, only the soft bedside lamp on, throwing a warm gold across his cheekbone and making him look disgustingly gentle, the kind of gentle that made your chest ache in that embarrassing, sentimental way you would sooner die than admit in daylight.
you were curled against him, your head on his chest, your leg thrown over his like you owned every square inch of him (you did), and his hand was in your hair — fingers combing through the damp strands slowly, over and over, like he was memorizing the texture of you. his other arm was wrapped around your waist, palm splayed over your back, thumb tracing slow circles beneath the silk that made your skin warm.
your voice came out small, muffled against his shirt, “are you staying tonight?”
you hated how you sounded — soft, almost shy, like a child asking if the thunder would stop — but nanami didn’t tease, didn’t smirk, didn’t make you regret vulnerability. he tightened his arm around you, his nose brushing your hair as he answered, voice low enough to settle into your bones,
“yes. i’m not going anywhere.”
you exhaled, long and slow, your fingers fisting lightly in the fabric at his chest, not in anger this time but in that instinctive don’t leave yet way that made your throat squeeze. “good. because if you left after all that emotional nonsense i’d actually pull a juliet and poison myself.”
he huffed a laugh against your forehead — quiet, warm, fond — and pressed a soft kiss there, his lips lingering like he was sealing the promise into your skin. “please don’t poison yourself. it would ruin the sheets.”
you swatted his chest weakly, raising your head to glare at him with no heat left in your body. “i hate you.”
he tipped his head slightly, eyes half-lidded, soft in the lamplight as his thumb brushed your cheekbone. “you love me.”
your lips twitched. “tragically.”
he smiled — a real one, warm and a little tired from the emotional hurricane you put him through — and he pulled you closer, tucking you just under his chin so he could speak against your hair. “i love you more than i know how to say. more than anything.”
his fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, not stopping for even a moment, like he needed the contact as much as you did. you let yourself melt into him fully now, all the claws retracted, all the sharpness dimmed. it was embarrassing how good it felt to be held like this — safe, wanted, adored — and you hated how much your body relaxed because of him.
“i missed you,” you murmured into the fabric of his shirt, and this time your voice didn’t come out defensive or dramatic — just honest, soft in a way only nanami ever got to hear. “i was so pissed at you and i still missed you the whole time.”
he angled his head down, his lips brushing your temple again, then your hairline, then the corner of your forehead — as if he was following a map of where to place comfort. “i missed you too. more than i expected. i didn’t like the distance. not from you.”
you shifted up just enough so that your face hovered near his, your nose brushing his jaw, your fingers moving to lightly trace the line of his throat — slow, absent, intimate. “you better never do that again,” you whispered, soft threat with no teeth left behind it. “i can’t handle missing you and being mad at you at the same time. it’s emotionally exhausting. i could’ve died.”
nanami smiled into your hair, one hand sliding down from your back to your hip, resting there with a protective weight that made your heart turn into warm pudding. “i won’t. i’ll do better. i promise.”
you sniffed, leaning up to press a tiny, barely-there kiss at the corner of his jaw — feather light, like your lips were shy now that they weren’t arguing. “good. because you’re mine. and i’m yours. and i don’t share.”
his grip tightened at your hip, gentle but firm, like the words hit him somewhere deep. “i know. and i don’t want you to.”
you hummed, content now, your body molded against him like you were crafted to fit there. his hand drifted up again, sliding into your hair, fingers massaging your scalp slowly, like he wasn’t even thinking about it — just needed to touch you in some way, any way, constantly.
“you’re very clingy,” you whispered, eyes growing heavy.
he kissed the top of your head again — slow, deliberate, warm.
“only with you.”
you smiled — soft, sleepy, safe — and buried your face in his chest again, breathing him in like warmth, like home. for once, you didn’t feel like you had to perform, or prove, or defend, or win. you just existed in his arms, and he held you like that was enough.
it turned out nanami wasn’t just a man who talked pretty—he actually followed through, which was infinitely more dangerous for your heart because now you couldn’t even stay mad at him for fun. the very next day, when you showed up at the greenhouse after class — not because you suddenly cared about plants, but because you needed to see his promise in action — he proved himself in 4k HD.
you arrived looking like sin among seedlings: hair perfect, lip gloss expensive, outfit curated to silently declare “i own the man in charge here”. the greenhouse smelled like damp soil and mint and academic overachievement. nanami was inside, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing while watering something green you didn’t know the name of but decided to internally call “future pesto.”
he noticed you instantly — his entire posture softened, jaw unclenching like you were oxygen. he put the watering can down and walked straight to you, one hand sliding around your waist with a confidence that made your pride purr. he pressed a brief kiss to your temple in greeting, low enough for only you to hear when he murmured, “hi, sweetheart.”
and then—she appeared.
utahime and her tragic bangs, holding a notebook like she was auditioning for a role in “botany for people with no charisma.” she approached, clearing her throat, and launched into yet another question, voice way too chipper for a woman who should’ve learned fear by now.
“nanami, can you explain again why the rosemary is wilting even though i watered it twice? i think i’m still doing something wrong—”
nanami didn’t even let her finish.
he turned slightly, keeping you tucked to his side, his hand on your waist tightening possessively — polite, but unmistakably boundary-marking — and said in a level, courteous tone that somehow carried a scalpel:
“i’ve explained that twice already. i’m spending time with my girlfriend now — you can ask one of the senior members for help.”
the silence that followed was delicious, like a gourmet dessert made of karma.
utahime blinked, startled, clearly not expecting the polite brick wall. “oh, i— right. sorry, i didn’t mean to—”
you smiled sweetly, leaning your head onto nanami’s shoulder, nails tracing along his forearm as you added, voice dripping with honeyed poison:
“maybe try listening next time. watering every time you feel emotional isn’t how plants work, babe.”
utahime stiffened. nanami squeezed your waist — warning, but gentle — though you could feel him trying not to laugh. she retreated toward some other helpless club member, and nanami turned his face into your hair for a second, exhaling like he was holding back amusement.
“be nice,” he murmured.
you scoffed, pulling back to look at him. “i was educationally constructive. i’m contributing to the learning environment.”
he kissed your cheek. “you’re impossible.”
you smirked, looping your arms around his neck. “and you like it.”
later that week, the friend group witnessed Proof #2: nanami’s boundary olympics.
you were all at your usual table — coffee, snacks, gossip, geto reading something philosophical he didn’t understand. you sat on nanami’s lap, his arm around your waist like a permanent seatbelt, your legs draped over his like you owned the throne and the king.
utahime walked into the café — of course — and spotted you all. either god hated you or you were starring in a sitcom. she approached, smiling like she wasn’t the antagonist in your personal novella.
“oh! i didn’t know you guys were here. do you mind if i join?”
already pulling a chair. already delusional.
before you could unsheathe your verbal knives, nanami beat you to it — politely, gently, firmly.
“we’re having quality time with our friend group right now,” he said, voice almost warm but with an iron spine. “maybe another time.”
shoko, sipping her iced coffee, didn’t miss a beat. “yeah, we’re trauma-bonding. it’s exclusive.”
gojo grinned with all teeth, draping himself over the back of his chair. “also we’re at maximum capacity for straight-laced energy. one more person with no sense of humor and we’ll combust.”
geto added thoughtfully, “we reached our quota of new people three years ago.”
haibara waved apologetically, “maybe next time! like… next century.”
utahime froze, blinked, and did the walk of shame back to the counter.
you leaned in, whispering into nanami’s ear with prideful satisfaction, “i could kiss you right now.”
nanami didn’t hesitate — he turned and kissed you softly in front of everyone.
gojo gagged loudly. “okay but i didn’t mean in front of me, have some respect for my single trauma.”
you flipped him off without looking.
and the thing is — nanami didn’t just do it once for show.
he kept doing it.
day after day, little actions stacking like bricks rebuilding trust. when utahime approached him during club, he redirected her to literally anyone else. he kept you close — hand at your back, fingers intertwined, lips brushing your hair, gentle touches that said mine without needing to say it
he included you deliberately in plant conversations, explaining things properly — not simplified, not dismissive. he sent you photos of his plants with captions like “this is thriving. like us.”. when people asked about his schedule, he said, “i’m with my girlfriend,” like it was a valid unbreakable appointment (it was). he texted you good morning and goodnight like rituals of devotion. he left club early to walk you to class, iced coffee in hand, your order memorized down to ice quantity and foam thickness
and slowly — painfully, annoyingly, wonderfully — your anger had nothing left to feed on. nanami didn’t leave space for doubt anymore. he made it obvious — to you, to your friends, to utahime, to the plants, to the universe — that you were his priority.
one evening, as you curled into his side again, your voice barely above a whisper, you muttered, “…you’re still a piece of shit.”
nanami kissed your forehead, fingers tracing your spine.
they give you a massage (sylus, caleb, xavier) / you give them a massage (zayne and rafayel).
mdni. 18+ only. fingering. handjob. oral (male and female giving and receiving). dry humping. creampie. overstimulation.
sylus
You've had a busy week at work and your body has been terribly sore, so Sylus offered to give to a massage.
Instead of feeling relaxed like he said you would be, you're gripping the bedsheet and biting down the back of your own hand, completely flustered and tensed.
Sylus knows exactly what he's doing with his hands and yet, he refuses to admit to his crimes by playing clueless.
As if you can't see his smirk after accidentally brushing his hands against the sides of your breast for the third time in just five minutes.
"What's wrong, sweetie? Didn't I tell you to relax? Just close your eyes and trust me. I'll make you feel good."
You're cursing Sylus so hard in your head.
You're on his bed, lying on your stomach with absolutely no cover.
You've once gotten a massage from an actual professional massage therapist before, so you know removing your clothing is just protocol.
What's different from the massage you're getting right now are all the 'accidental' touches that your unofficial massager has been doing.
Sylus is hovering over your figure with his knees on the sides of your hips and planted on the mattress while his hands are kneading your figure.
On one hand, the oil that he's using smells wonderful, and his strong hands really does wonders when he's pressing down and pulling at your tensed muscles the right way.
On the other hand, he's teasing you so much that you can't even feel at peace.
It started off with brief, almost unnoticable brushes on the sides of your breasts as his hands roam around your torso, feeling up your sore spots.
It wasn't until his hands began to linger a little too long on your ass that you grew suspicious of his actions.
You gave him the benefit of the doubt and kept quiet, closing your eyes and burying your face against the soft pillow. You thought, maybe, you can just fall asleep while he gives you a massage, even if he has to keep himself entertained along the way.
But you learned quickly that you will certainly not be able to fall asleep for as long as Sylus' hands are on you.
As he's stroking the back of your thighs, his hands traveled up to your ass once again, and this time his thumbs had gotten lost to graze the folds of your vagina.
Your head shot up in shock.
Sylus pretends not to notice.
He starts to hum a song while his hands slide down to your aching calves, giving them a good squeeze that had you wincing.
Only then did Sylus give you a look. "Something wrong, sweetie?"
"You...."
"Hmm?"
"You know what you're doing." You narrowed your eyes at him accusingly.
He tilted his head. "I'm not a professional, but of course I know what i'm doing. You have nothing to worry about."
You scoffed and put your face back down on the pillow. It looks like you're just going to have to deal with all the antics. You'll get your revenge later on.
Or so you thought.
The little not-so-accidental touches soon became more obvious and unbearable.
After several more minutes of Sylus' game of mixing in actual good massage techniques with lecherous caresses, he stopped trying to be subtle.
His fingers now had their undivided attention on your core and making their way inside you. Your hips reflexively raised as the wave of tingling sensation took over, and Slyus gently pushed them back down against the mattress.
"You're tensing up, sweetie."
There was that smirk again.
"And whose fault is that?!"
"Yours, obviously. You wouldn't need a massage if you didn't overwork yourself."
You hate that he's right even when he's trying to deflect your accusations. "Hmph."
After giving him a playful smack on the chest, you rested the side of your face against the pillow and closed your eyes.
Not a second later, his fingers are moving deeply in and out of your pussy, now wet with oil and from your arousal.
Your breath hitched at his fast pace, gripping the sheets of the bed with while listening to the lewd sounds of his sticky fingers going inside your oil-covered slit.
Your right arm reached behind you to capture his hand. You wanted to make him pause for a moment just to give yourself a moment to breathe before you burst right then and there.
He was quick to figure out your intention, so Sylus got your wrist first and pinned it on your back, just with one hand.
The bed shook slightly as he lowered his hips onto you. His placed his other hand on the mattress, right by the side of your chest to support his weight so that he's not crushing you.
His cock is pressed up right against your ass.
You were so distracted by his fingers that you failed to notice when he had pulled down his pants and boxers. Now, he's throbbing and rubbing his pre-cum on your skin.
Sylus took a moment to wipe a drop of sweat on your forehead before kissing it.
"This...isn't a massage, Sylus."
"I told you, didn't I? I'll make you feel good."
He slowly went into you.
And almost immediately, you clenched up at how good he felt. Sylus took a sharp breath before lowering his chest on your back and wrapping his left arm around your neck.
Not tight enough to choke you, but just so he could keep your face against him as he starts to move faster and harder.
All the oil he put all over your body during the massage had now been spread onto him too as every inch of him connected to you.
The air around you becomes heavy. His low groans and your muffled moans mingle with the sound of your bodies roughly colliding repeatedly.
He didn't stop for a second. Not until he was out of breath. Not until you came first. Only then did Sylus allow himself to come, right on your ass and back.
"Sylus...."
Out of breath, you flipped over as Sylus looks down at you while running a hand through his sweaty hair.
"You better not be giving anyone else a massage like the one you just gave me."
He chuckled. "Of course not, kitten. That special service is reserved only for you."
"Good." You winced as you felt your hips twinge. "Because you kinda suck. I'm now more sore than before the massage - hey, can you at least try not to look so proud?!"
zayne
It's not unusual for Zayne to be overworked, given his highly demanding job. That's why you often find yourself pampering him on his days off. This time, you decided to give him a massage so that you could help to relieve his tensed muscles.
You're not a professional, but you have learned from Zayne himself how to properly give a decent massage, as he had given you one a couple of times before. He was describing to you what he was doing and explaining what it does to your joints and muscles, so you can at least do the basics.
Right now, he's lying down on the white couch of his living room, stripped down to his boxers and facing the ceiling. You're by his side, kneeling down on the floor and sitting on the back of your feet so that you're in the same level and can easily move around.
His glasses are off and his eyes are closed, enjoying the way your hands are pressing his biceps while listening to you ramble about what you've been up to at work.
"Oh! and I just remembered something annoying that happened the other day!"
As you broke into a rant, you failed to notice that your hands had increased their strength as they moved around Zayne's lower abdomen.
Your fingers squeezed his abs, though your mind was mostly focused on giving Zayne the full details of a particular problem you had at work.
You didn't catch the way Zayne's heart skipped a beat, and the way his breath started to become uneven as your hands moved on to his thighs.
You were so distracted with your own thoughts that your ears didn't pick up the quiet groans coming out of Zayne's mouth as you rub down his quads.
His legs twitched as your fingers darted to the inside of his thighs, and he let out a cough when your fingers brushed against his bulge behind his boxers.
And yet, you still haven't caught on.
Zayne started to sweat nervously as he tries to keep his thoughts and his body tamed: to stop blood from rushing south.
But it's already too late.
He's already hard and throbbing.
Especially when you're patting him down all around the one place that's begging for your attention.
"Darling..."
"- and then I was like - huh?"
You snapped back to reality when one of Zayne's hand caught your right one.
"...here..."
Your gaze shifted from his red ears, to his adam's apple that bobbed as he gulped, and down to where he placed your hand, which was right on the big tent that formed in his boxers.
At last, you understood what he wanted and immediately granted his wish.
You tugged on the band of his boxers and pulled it down to his calves, and Zayne fully discarded it by moving his own feet and kicking it off him.
You wrapped one hand around his cock and rubbed your thumb against its tip, spreading the pre-cum that oozed out of it.
His stomach tightens up as your fist moved up and down, and low grunts emerged from his lips as you picked up your pace.
The sight of his flushed, swollen cock had your mouth and your core soaked with hunger.
You squeezed your thighs together as you placed your weight on your knees, then you moved your face towards his hips and ran your tongue from the tip to the base of his cock.
Zayne took a sharp breath once your mouth swallowed him down. He ran a hand across his chest, feeling his own heart racing as he watched your head bob up and down, with some strands of your hair falling out of place.
He closed his eyes as you moved faster. His hips jolted up reflexively, making you take even more of him. He forced himself to hold back on thrusting into your mouth, but you were the one that pulled him even farther down your throat while your hands took care of the rest that you couldn't reach.
Your name falls out of his lips before ropes of cum suddenly shoots into your mouth, spilling out from your lips.
Zayne's moans did nothing to your clenching cunt as you watch his cock continuously twitch, even after his release.
Though you didn't have to wait for long because without even giving himself time to recover from his orgasm, Zayne sat up and pulled you onto his lap.
His mouth desperately meets yours while his hands are already working on undressing you. "...need you..." he mutters between kisses.
You complied and helped him get rid of your underwear, then you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Still, you paused for a moment to ask, "Aren't you sore though? I don't want you to feel even more tired. I'll - "
"I'm fine." Zayne cuts you off with certainty in his tone and desire in his eyes. "I just want to feel you."
As a silent response, you kissed his lips and locked your thights around his hips. Zayne adjusted himself before his cock penetrates you completely.
You wanted to spare him from moving, since, despite of his reassurance, his muscles really are overworked. You swayed your hips against him, but it seems that Zayne couldn't stay still either because he continued to push his cock into you.
He buried his face against your neck and his mouth sucks off your skin while his hands grips your ass hard. His heavy breaths stutter as both of your strengths increase, causing your flesh to clash at every second.
You re-adjusted your steady grip on his shoulders before taking control by grinding down his cock hard and fast.
Zayne catches one of your breasts into his mouth and lightly bites your nipple, earning a loud gasp out of you. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and the noise you made had echoed from his own mouth.
"C-coming...!"
You reached your climax around the same time. Zayne didn't have time nor power to pull out and your hips felt stuck against his, so all of his load was shot inside of you.
Zayne softly pressed his lips on your left shoulder before resting his forehead against it as he catch his breath.
You combed your fingers through his hair before attempting to get off of him. Zayne, however, kept you trapped against him with his hands remaining on your ass, pressing you down on him.
"Let's just stay like this.... for a little longer...."
caleb
The very second he arrived at your apartment and saw your overall worn out appearance, Caleb declared himself as your butler for the weekend. Not only did he do all the cooking and cleaning, he also decided that you needed a massage.
So here you are, lying face down on your bed, only wearing your underwear, with Caleb hovering over you with his knees on the side of your hips, running his hands throughout your body to fix your aching muscles.
He's actually doing an amazing job. Only a few minutes after he started and you're already feeling your body loosening up.
"Have you ever given anyone else a massage before?" you asked curiously, lifting your face from your pillow for a moment.
"Nope." Caleb grins. "You're my very first customer, pip-squeak. Don't forget to rate me at the end of my service, okay?"
"Mhmm."
You assume he just did his research very well, as always. Since you're in good hands, you decided to give in to the warmth and comfort he's providing and closed your eyes for a little nap.
Little did you know...
Caleb couldn't be more glad you're not looking at him right now.
He's having a big problem and it's demanding to be freed and inserted into something. Into someone.
He truly did have the full intention of giving you the best massage you'll ever have. He noticed that your body isn't in good condition because of your work, and the least he could do is make you feel relaxed with a massage.
The good news is that it seems to be working well, and you're even starting to fall asleep, which means your body is relaxing.
The bad news is that he underestimated his self-control. He had taken showers with you without popping a boner, and yet....
The sight of you lying so beautifully underneath him only in your red bra and panty had gotten his mind wandering along with his hands.
Every time he massaged the insides of your thighs, his eyes automatically flickers to your crotch as he gets a glimpse of your pussy behind your underwear.
He wanted, so badly, to bury his face between your thighs and have a taste of you. But even more, he wanted your body to feel relaxed. He didn't want to disturb you right now, so Caleb suppressed his desires.
It's not the first time, anyways. Before you were aware of his feelings, before you became an official couple, he always had to hide his sexual urges from you.
So, this is nothing. That's what Caleb repeatedly told himself as he continues to give you a massage.
Still....
It's okay to adjust himself once every while, right? His boxers and pants are getting uncomfortably tight, after all. He just needs to adjust it for a second.
Caleb stuck a hand in pants to get rid of the discomfort.
Then, he pumped his cock a few times.
'Fuck...'
He lets out a shaky breath before withdrawing his hand and resting it on the small of your back. His own actions only made things worse because now, he's throbbing uncontrollably and his thighs are pulsing. His hands are sweating, his stomach is clenching, and his face is burning.
He forced himself to keep going with the massage, but he was only torturing himself. The more he touched you, the more he wanted you.
"Hmm? Caleb, are you done?" you asked as his hands no longer made contact with your body.
"I..." Caleb's incomplete response came out low and deep.
Suddenly, his chest fell against your back and his lips grazed your right ear. His heavy breaths tickled you before his lips softly met your skin.
"I need you."
He rutted his crotch against your ass and your eyes widen at the feeling of his stiff cock through his pants.
He growled under his breath before moving faster, causing your body to bounce against the mattress of your bed.
"Caleb..."
You raised your hips to meet his, and his hands quickly latches to your waist before humping you even harder.
You slowly turned around and put your hands on the back of his neck, then you kissed him deeply and pulled him down with you.
Caleb moans into the kiss while his hands quickly removed his pants and boxers. You pulled away for a moment to help him undress, then your bodies re-attached like magnets soon after.
He wasted no time putting his cock inside you, spreading your thighs farther apart so he could pound as much of him into you as far as possible.
Your bed creaked and shook at every moment he made. The air around you feels hot, and you found yourself gasping loudly and clutching onto his back as he picks up the pace.
You cried softly against his neck as you came, and your toes curled as he relentlessly chased after his own high, drilling into you while clasping your hands. Soon, his hips stutters and he pulls out right before shooting his load right across your chest.
After using his shirt to wipe your chest, Caleb collided beside you, catching his breath as he stares at the ceiling.
You propped on your elbow and faced him sideways with a grin on your face.
"Hey, Caleb." Your fingers toyed with the pendant of his necklace. "You wanted me to rate your service, right? I'd give it a 4.5 out of 5."
He lets out a laugh, catching your hand and kissing your fingers. "What was the 0.5 deduction for?"
"...need another round..."
"Oh?" Caleb raised a brow, unable to hold back a smirk at your flustered expression. "Weeeell then, please allow me to compensate."
rafayel
Rafayel accepted your offer to give him a massage, especially since his back and shoulders have been tensed after painting for days with very little to no rest.
You had been away for work so you couldn't scold him properly to take breaks, and now you want to make up for your absence by helping him relax.
Not even five minutes after you started, Rafayel wondered if he had made a bad decision.
Today, for some reason, he's extra sensitive and not just emotionally, but physically, too.
Earlier, you breathed too close to his neck and he got chills, and not out of fear. You put your hand on his chest for thirty seconds and his heart wanted to jump out of his body. You slid your fingers down to his stomach, and blood rushed below his hips.
Rafayel shifted nervously on his bed. He's only wearing a single towel wrapped around his hips, and he's facing down against the mattress so that you could have easy access to his back and shoulders.
As you heavily but carefully drew circles on his upper back, Rafayel groaned against his pillow. You took that as a positive sign that he's feeling good from your massage, so you continued.
You pressed down to his lower back and giggled at the way he twitched.
"I didn't know you're ticklish here, Raf."
"...I'm not..."
Your thumbs moved in circular patterns just above his hips, slightly nudging the towel covering him. He lets out another sigh of relief, so you exerted more pressure down to his muscles.
Your eyes darted to his face for a moment and you wondered why his ears have turner red. Was it because of the massage?
"Rafayel, am I doing okay? If you want me to stop, just tell me - "
"No, don't stop!" he replied a little too quickly. "I mean.... keep going. You're doing great, cutie!"
"If you say so. Just making sure I'm not hurting you, that's all."
"Not at all!"
Rafayel stiffens as your hands returned to his back, as that's where he told you is the most painful part of his body is.
However, he needed your hands somewhere else.
Rafayel took a deep breath before turning around to face the ceiling. He's doing his best to breathe calmly, but his thoughts are making it impossible.
"What's wrong? did I - "
Rafayel grabbed one of your hands and guided it to his chest and let it travel down to his stomach, then right below his hips. His cock was standing tall through his towel, aching for your touch.
"It hurts here, too. Will you help me?"
You silently agreed with a nod, unable to take your eyes off his reddening cock, feeling as if you're in a trance.
Wrapping your hands around his shaft tightly, you slowly began to stroke him. A shaky, quiet moan comes out of Rafayel's lips.
Just a brief touch and he already feels like he's going to burst. He's unable to stop himself from fucking your hand, legs spread out and fingers grasping the bed sheets.
Rafayel cursed under bis breath as he came faster than he'd liked. He had come right on your hand and some had gotten to your face.
You licked the cum that got lost to your lips and Rafayel's face flushed at such a lewd image. He pulled you into the bed and embraced you sideways to cover your neck with passionate kisses
While he distracted you by leaving hickies below your jaw, his hands got rid of your shorts. You gasped as his fingers made contact with the crotch of your panty.
You grinded your ass against his hips to encourage him to continue, and so Rafayel moved your underwear aside and put his cock in you, at the same time his fingers massaged your clit.
His name comes out of your mouth as your body curls up with pleasure, allowing him to fuck you at a better angle.
"So good..." he pants against your ear, struggling to move at a slow pace.
He wanted to take his precious time to feel you, yet he also wanted to go fast just like what his throbbing cock in desperate need for release wants him to do.
In the end, he managed to keep things slow and sensual, appreciating every inch of you without a rush.
You rolled your hips back against him to meet him half-way, coating his cock with your slick as you struggle to contain your own desire for him.
Rafayel whines from behind you as you feel him picking up speed. "C-coming..." He tightened his hold on your hips before losing all his control and hammering into you, causing you to match the loud moans that he was letting out.
He quickly pulls out and rubs his cock against your legs before painting your skin with strings of his cum.
After coming not a minute after him, you turned around to face him. You brought a hand to his hair and brushed some sweaty strands away from his face, then you kissed his nose.
"So this is what happens when you get a massage."
"...only from you." he pouts. "Now, I feel even more tired. I'll have to stay in bed all day tomorrow. You'll stay with me, right, cutie?"
"Hmmm... nope."
"Why?! Is it because you don't love me?"
You flicked his forehead with your fingers. "Someone has to stop Thomas from barging in the room to see my lazy, exhausted fishie slacking off."
"Ah." He smiles and hugs you tightly, nuzzling his face against yours. "my hero."
xavier
It's not that you're ticklish.
There's just something about the way Xavier is kneading your body that makes it difficult for you to suppress amused giggles.
It might have something to do with his soft touches that doesn't help much with your sore muscles, although it does make bring you lots of warmth, comfort and joy.
That's why you allowed Xavier to give you a massage. He insisted that he gives you one after reading online that it'll help with tensed joints and muscles, so he watched some tutorial videos beforehand.
Now, you're on your couch, lying down facing the ceiling. According to Xavier, the less clothes, the more effective the massage will be. So, you decided to strip down completely but put a small towel over your breasts and crotch.
You're not even really sure why you bothered to cover up, considering Xavier has seen you naked more than enough times to feel shy.
In fact, when he saw you with the towels, he looked a little confused, though he never asked about it. He only told you to lie down and get comfortable.
After following his instructions, Xavier's first step was to give a few drops of oil on your stomach. It's slightly warm on your skin, and its scent was something similar to the fragrances that you frequently use.
He gave your tummy a few rubs, and you couldn't help but smile at how careful and gentle he was being.
When it was time for him to take care of your sore spots, you bit the inside of your cheek to stop your laughter.
You did feel some pressure, which felt nice. It just didn't last for long, as Xavier didn't exert the right amount of force.
It's not that he doesn't have enough strength - of course, he does; he is a strong hunter, after all. More likely, he's unsure of how much pressure to apply, at what angle, and for how long.
While it's not the best massage you'll ever get, he's still making you feel happy and relaxed in his own way. That's all that matters.
"You're not hurt, are you?" Xavier asked as he pressed on your hamstrings.
The way his face lit up had you melting and wanting to cuddle him. He's just too precious for his own good.
"...."
Ten minutes later, your eyes snapped wide open as you felt something....different, touch your thighs.
"What was that...?"
You looked at your legs and caught Xavier red-handed, pressing his lips on your inner right thigh.
"It's fine." He smiles at you. "It's part of the massage."
"...is it?"
"Mhmm. Just relax. It'll make your body feel better."
He resumed on applying pressure with his hands on your legs, so you brought your head back down on your pillow and closed your eyes for a little nap.
A minute later, you felt another kiss on your other thigh. You decided not to question him and let him do whatever he wanted.
But after the third kiss, which was slightly higher than the previous two, your muscles tensed up. Particularly, your pussy clenched as his lips lingered dangerously close to your core.
He does it a few more times, and the moans he's muffling against your skin absolutely didn't help your case: it only made you wet. And with Xavier being so close, he might notice.
He's over here, sacrificing his time and energy to help you feel relaxed, and yet you're getting turned on.
No, no, no. You'll have to control yourself. At least, wait until after he's done.
"Ngggnnhh,,,"
Oh god, he's doing it again.
This time, his kisses are even louder and higher. His hands are holding up your thighs so he can make space for himself.
You didn't even notice until now that Xavier no longer stood by the side of the couch, but he's now on it, too. He's right between your legs.
While you're looking down, Xavier met your gaze and your held your breath for a second. You know that look. It's the same one he often gives you in the bedroom during intimate activities.
"Xavier...."
"...I'm adding my own special techniques in the massage."
He scooted closer to your hips and lowered his face to give your thighs more kisses.
"This might be more effective."
Your face burned as you felt his tongue slide against your sensitive skin. You were unable to look away from Xavier's intense gaze directly on you.
"It feels good, right?"
You failed to come up with a coherent response as the towel that poorly covered your crotch had been dropped on the floor.
"I know you're still sore, so just stay like that." Xavier lowered himself so his chest is not too far from touching the couch. He's propped on his elbows and peeking at you between your legs. "I'll help you relax."
With that, Xavier's mouth rams into your cunt. His tongue feels your folds while his hands clings onto your thighs, spreading them wider.
You arched your back and hissed at his actions. One of your hands reached to down Xavier's face, but he caught it with his left and intertwined his fingers with yours, letting it drop to your side.
He gave you no time to calm down; his lips and tongue worked fast on making you fall apart just within a few minutes, but only because he had other things in mind.
Xavier pulled down his pants and boxers and brushed his cock against your pussy, not a minute after your orgasm. You were still sensitive, so when his tip traced around your folds, you were unable to keep your volume quiet and your insides felt like exploding.
"Xavier!"
He put the back of your legs over his shoulders, giving himself more space before grinding dick right between your folds. His breathing quietly picked up at the feeling of your core that's soaked just for him.
His eyes darted over to your face for a moment to flash you a smile.
And as much as you love Xavier, you were cursing him in your head.
How could he smile like you like that, as if he's not teasing and torturing you and calling it a 'massage'?
You can't even hate him because every cell in your body craves for him in every way possible. Anytime he smiles at you, you're on your knees for him - sometimes, literally.
"Ah!"
You were pulled out of your trance as soon as Xavier put himself inside fully you in one hard thrust.
His face flushes and his eyes are fixed on your breasts, watching them move along with the rest of your body as he repeatedly snaps his hips against yours.
The couch budges and the wooden floor creaks at Xavier's heavy plunges. The grunts leaving his parted lips joins your cries of pleasure and the sounds that your bodies are making as they collide.
Xavier is too far from your reach and there was nothing for you to hold onto, so you ended up running your hands down to your chest and squeezing your breasts as you gasp for air.
He let out a low growl under his breath as he watched your movements. He fucked you even faster at the same time he lowered his face down to your chest.
He captured your hands and pinned them by your sides before his mouth sucks in your left breast, with his tongue circling around your nipple.
He then switched to do the same on your right breast, though his teeth slightly nipped you as he felt his hips tingling.
Xavier made sure to push his cock in the deepest part of you before cumming. His voice echoes throughout your living room as he released every drop inside you while still his rolling his hips, slower and slower until his stamina is drained.
Your release quickly followed after his cock was pulled out. Xavier rested his body on top of yours, with his face on your chest, listening to your racing heart.
While you breathe heavily, your index finger traced the shell of his left bright red ear. His skin is slightly glowing with white light, too, as his evol sometimes acts up during or after he has an orgasm.
You'll never not be in awe of him.
"Hey, Xavier. Are you feeling tired?"
"Mhmm..."
He's sleepy now.
"Do you...want a massage?"
He opened one eye to catch your teasing grin "....if it's like the one I gave you...yes, please..."
"By the way, what kind of massage tutorial videos did you watch? They're kinda not that effect- "
the kiss we silently swore never to talk about again...
summary: years ago, on your birthday, you & caleb shared a forbidden moment. it isn't until his birthday that all those hidden desires are finally indulged in.
★pairing: caleb x fem!reader
★wc: 3.5k
★content: fluff & smut. drunk first kiss & grinding in the memory, caleb panics, a tiny bit of angst. sloppy makeouts, spit kink, dry humping, coming in pants, desperate & subby caleb, overstimulation. caleb calls reader pipsqueak, baby, honey and love. reader calls caleb baby.
★a/n: I love that theory that the kiss they don't talk about happened when they were younger, and then I thought ooo I could do a parallel with this. it was supposed to be sweet and it turned smutty, but it's still sweet. I'll probably do a more intimate version of their first time once his card is out!
★masterlist ★read on ao3
You couldn't believe you had actually gotten Caleb to go along with your plan.
When you'd told him you needed a break from your college campus, and that you wanted to go out and get drunk in Skyhaven for your birthday, he was already nodding along on the video call.
"Alright, pipsqueak," he agreed with a grin. "I'll tag along and take care of you. Gotta make sure you're staying hydrated."
"No, no, no." You shook your head, grinning wickedly when he cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. "You're going with me."
He arches an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Uhh, earth to pipsqueak, did you not hear what I just said? I am going—"
"Nooo," you interrupt, wagging your finger. "You're going drinking with me."
He'd sputtered, complained and argued all he wanted, but he had agreed to every one of your terms by the time you hung up the call.
And here you were, tipsy and laying back on the floor of his Aerospace Academy assigned studio apartment, watching the ceiling fan spin while you both giggled over something you can't quite remember.
You glance over at where Caleb's sprawled out beside you, smiling at the happy, hazy look in his eyes that surely matches your own. It was impossible to see him ever completely loosen up, and this was the best birthday gift you could've asked for.
Then your thoughts immediately take a different direction when he licks his lips.
They're too dry. You know because you'd jokingly held him down as you swiped your own chapstick across them countless times.
And you'd caught him running his thumb over his cracked bottom lip, tongue darting out across the lingering taste of you when he thought you weren't looking.
Your whole face feels too hot suddenly, blood rushing so fast through your ears that you can't even hear the idle sounds of Skyhaven late at night that drift up through the cracked window.
You wonder what it would be like to kiss someone.
To have their lips press to yours, all tentative and sweet. To know that liking them wasn't in vain, that hoping they felt the same way wasn't just a daydream you'd kept hidden for years. To see the adoration in their eyes when they pull back and caress your cheek.
Purple eyes with an orange sheen.
You wonder what it would be like to kiss Caleb.
"Caleb," you whine, watching the dopey smile grow on his face at your voice. "Am I too old to have never been kissed?"
Caleb's eyes widen, flashing to yours.
"I—" he blinks rapidly, and you giggle at the rare occasion of having caught him completely off guard. "What?"
"Kiss-ing," you draw out, tapping your lips with each letter you spell out for him, "k-i-s-s-i-n-g."
Caleb watches each tap with rapt attention, so captivated that his own lips slowly part. A bit of drool collects at the corner of them, and your vision goes hazy before he quickly looks away.
"Oh." He sounds breathless, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Uh, I dunno, pipsqueak. I mean, I'm older than you and I've never kissed anyone. Is that weird?"
He gives a little laugh, but you hear the stiff edge to it, can see the uncertainty haunting the façade of his easy expression.
"Really?" you roll over onto you stomach, propping your chin onto your palms.
Your legs kick behind you, and he glances at you and away again.
After a stretch of awkward silence, he turns onto his side, meeting your gaze.
"I mean, yeah," he mutters, shrugging one shoulder. "Why would I?"
You look down at his never-been-kissed lips, feeling your blood rush to your head when he bites them.
Your eyes dart back down, watching his necklace brush against the floor from the angle he lays at.
"Sooo…you've never wanted to kiss anybody?" you ask, trying to seem casual, even as your fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt when he shifts closer.
"I didn't say that," Caleb mutters, and you go rigid.
"Oh."
You flop back onto your back, glaring up at the ceiling fan before he can notice how your brows have pinched, your mouth pressed into a firm line.
"Pips?" Caleb pokes at your cheek, and you pout, turning on your side away from him. "What's got you all frowny-faced?"
"Nothing," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Uh-huuuh."
He pokes at your back, then your side, until his fingers are lightly tickling at your ribs. You giggle, kicking your feet out at him.
"Caleb, stooop," you whine, pushing back at him as he tries to tug you back over to face him.
"C'mon, pips," he teases, pinching your waist, and you squeak. "Why won't you look at me?"
Flipping over to smack him, you accuse with totally justified, totally sober and coherent anger, "I'm mad at you, dummy!"
He blinks, and you try and not melt at how cute he looks like this—drunk and flushed, with those big confused puppy dog eyes.
"Why?"
Instead of answering him directly, you ask, "Was it the girl in your chemistry class?"
"The—" Caleb blinks again, shifting back in surprise. "What?"
"That you wanted to kiss sooo badly." You frown, crossing your arms again. "The one who copied off your homework, and you were too nice to stop her. Or was it the guy who always tried to beat your track record?"
"Pips—"
"Or the cheerleader captain? Or is it somebody at university, huh? Are you sneaking around making googly eyes at the other pilots?"
"Oh, quit it." Caleb rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead with an unamused huff. "I didn't want to kiss any of them. I don't want to."
"Then who?" You push yourself up, and he sits up to match your restless energy. He always rises to that familiar challenge in your eyes, pulling when you push. "Who exactly is just so damn special that you're still saving that kiss for them?"
Caleb's eyes flash, and he leans up and over you until his large frame is surrounding you completely.
"Maybe it's someone I like with a bratty mouth," he snaps, gently pinching your lips shut between calloused fingers.
Your wide eyes meet his blazing ones, and you both freeze.
His fingers loosen on your lips, and your lashes flutter.
He watches your eyes dilate, then looks down to where he gingerly brushes his fingers along the seam of your lips, his breath audibly hitching when they part for him.
Caleb's lids fall heavy over his darkening gaze. Your breath speeds up in your chest. He looks from your lips to your eyes, then back down to your lips again.
And when you glance down at his own mouth, you're both crashing into each other.
Your first kiss with your childhood friend, your best friend, was anything but the magical one you had just been daydreaming about.
This was sloppy and needy, all tongue and spit and teeth. Years of emotion you didn't know how to unpack began to unravel at the seams, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you fall back onto the floor.
Neither of you knew what you were doing, only that you were desperate for more. His hands grab at your waist, slipping down to your thighs briefly, and snapping back up when he realized what he was touching.
Then his arms are wrapping around you, corded muscles tightening to hold you close to him as you squirm from all the years of pent up tension.
Your lips meet his again and again, needy sounds filling the air. His own spit dribbles down your chin as Caleb licks into your mouth and moans against your tongue.
Your foot trails up his leg, wrapping around his calf, and he mindlessly grabs at it, hoisting it up until it was wrapping securely around his hip. The fabric of your skirt rides up, and you jolt when you feel the growing bulge in his jeans rub against the thin fabric of your dampening panties.
The sensation is brief, then harder, until you're rolling against each other in a delirious haze of desperation.
He's mumbling something incoherent into your lips, teeth sinking into the soft flesh until you feel it start to break, and you moan his name.
Caleb jerks back, eyes wide and pupils swallowing all the purple except for the thinnest ring around the edge. His chest heaves, kiss-swollen lips forming soundless words.
Lips swollen from your kisses.
You whine, reaching for him as he begins to panic, de-tangling himself from you.
"No," you beg, trying to tug him back as he gently pulls your grabbing hands away. "No no no—"
"Pips, you're—" his voice is ragged, and he sucks in a deep breath.
His eyes are wild, darting around at everything but you, even as he tugs your skirt back down around your waist. His cheeks blaze red when he steals another quick look at the ruined panties underneath, the soaked fabric with a lacy band, before he turns away in shame.
"You're drunk," he breathes, shaking his head sharply.
"I'm not—"
"I'm drunk." Caleb laughs, disbelief coating the sound, long fingers running through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "Shit. Fuck. This wasn't—this wasn't supposed to happen—"
Your body begins to defensively curl inwards, and you blink quickly to try and keep the sudden sting of tears at bay.
Caleb finally dares a glance back at you, going from flushed to shockingly pale in seconds.
"No, no, pipsqueak—"
"No, it's fine," you sniff, pushing yourself up and scooting back against the floor. "I get it. You…you didn't want it to be me. I get it."
"No, no no no," he keeps mumbling the word the entire time you're moving away, and suddenly Caleb's on his hands and knees, crawling after you with those big, sad puppy dog eyes. "No, pips, that's not what I meant—"
"It's fine, Caleb."
"It's not fine," he insists, resting the side of his cheek against the top of your knees. His eyes are wide and wet, begging for you to just look at him. "You heard what I said. Who I said. Who I…wanted."
His voice gets impossibly quiet, and Caleb's honest gaze begs for your attention.
But you're too fixated by the dark indentation your teeth had left in his lips, the shine on them that could've been your saliva or his.
"It's just not a good idea, pips," he whispers, and you flinch, followed by his own grimace. "Shit, no, that sounded bad. It's just because—"
He stops, shaking his head, palm covering his face.
"I can't think straight," he mumbles, peeking at you through his fingers. With a sigh, he drops his hand onto your knee, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. His voice is so gentle, so Caleb, but it still grates at your sensitive nerves right now. "I think we both just need to sleep this off. We'll talk about it later, okay?"
You sniff, still not meeting his eyes completely.
"No, we wont," you mumble, even as you let yourself be gently directed towards his bed.
He's silent as he helps you prepare for sleep, even as he moves to sleep on his little couch, opting for his long legs to cramp up on the furniture instead of cuddling with you. The tension radiates off him at your accusation—because he knows you're right.
"We'll never talk about it again."
But here you are, years later, in the same situation as before.
You're both sober this time. You're older, maybe wiser, and scarred from being torn apart before coming back together.
But the way Caleb looks at you has never changed. Like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the moon the sun chased with every morning.
He doesn't shy away when you look at him just the same. He doesn't pull back now, doesn't keep his longing locked away when your thumb brushes his lips, collecting the residue of the candy you'd fed him.
You wanted today to be a special birthday for him. You wanted to give him everything he'd ever wanted.
"Remember when you kissed me?" you breathe, and his eyes flash in surprise at what you'd silently sworn to never speak of again, beautiful lashes fluttering at your exhale across his lips. "On my birthday?"
He laughs, a little quiet huff of air, and his shock melts to something knowing. Something you'd both always known, deep down.
"You kissed me," he accuses, all low and sultry in his teasing, and you shiver.
You smile, your thumb caressing the corner of his lips.
It didn't matter who had kissed who anymore, who pulled back from who. You'd still ended up where you both belonged.
Caleb gazes up at you, awestruck when your eyes darken.
"Then you knew I wanted it," you whisper, nose bumping against his. "So why did you stop?"
You lean in slowly, giving him a moment to pull away if he still wanted to, if he still needed time. He'd given you all the time in the world, after all. You'd happily wait for him, too.
But then Caleb's lips are on yours, and everything finally feels right.
He tastes like sour lemon candy, and you whine, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. He moans, fingers digging into your hips.
"Fuck me," he groans under his breath, and you laugh between the kisses that heat up between you.
"If you insist," you murmur, smirking into his mouth when his hips jerk up into yours.
The whimper that leaves his lips is quiet and needy, and you eagerly swallow it down.
"Don't tease me like that, baby," Caleb rasps, and your own hips roll in his lap at that low huskiness to his voice.
His hands tighten on your hips, stilling you. You pause, wondering if you'd taken it too far.
But then he's directing you, pulling your legs around to straddle him completely. He guides you into a deeper roll, and you both moan.
You sink down onto him with slow grinds, the hem of your dress hiding just how quickly your panties were getting wet. In the rosy haze of growing pleasure, you wonder how long it'll take to soak that erection he's been sporting since you walked in the room.
"Didn't even try and hide how hard you were when I came in," you whisper into your languid, sensual kissing. "Did you?"
Caleb's hand slips down, cupping your ass easily in his rough palm and long fingers. You moan when he squeezes it, followed by a squeak of surprise at his gentle, experimental smack to it.
"You can't talk like that, pips," he pants, head tilting back against the couch. His voice is that delicious shade of darkness when he adds, "God, you can't make those sounds either. I won't last long if you do."
His eyes are hazy as he watches you lean down, kissing along the elegant slope of his neck. You stop at the harsh bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps, and your teeth graze along it, humming at the moan you feel vibrate there.
"I've thought about that kiss for years," Caleb gasps, hand sliding up your back to keep you pressed to him. His hips lazily roll up into yours, his eyes rolling back into his head when he suddenly bucks up once. "Every time I—"
He cuts himself off, biting at his already swollen lips with a blush.
You smile, devious in your intent, and his mouth falls open when your hidden possessive streak unfolds.
"Every time you—" you leave your question hanging, letting the way you begin to bounce in his lap be the answer.
"You—" Caleb chokes, gripping your hips.
His eyes glue to the motion of your hips flexing under your dress, ass coming up and smacking back down against the strength of his large thighs. You feel him twitch through his jeans, and you moan along with him.
"F-fuck," he groans, mouth hanging open, the tip of his tongue falling out.
You lean forward, collecting the saliva in your mouth. Realizing what you're doing, Caleb tilts his head up and sticks his tongue out, eyes wide and dilated.
You let your spit pool onto his tongue, and he takes it eagerly, swallowing it down with a whine and a thrust of his hips.
"I've thought about it, too," you breathe, and his lidded eyes flicker between your face and where you're shamelessly humping him. "Every single time. Even when I'm not trying to. But when I'm touching myself—"
"Oh fuck—"
"And I'm trying to come, all I can think about is how warm you were and your spit in my mouth—"
"B-baby," Caleb stutters, his head lolling to the side, unfocused eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head with each dry slap and grind of your hips against his. "Please, please—"
"I always think of kissing you when I'm coming—"
"Coming," Caleb gasps, and you think he's just mindlessly repeating you until you notice how rigid he's gotten, completely still and flushed bright red as he moans, "oh, fuck, I'm coming—"
And you can feel it, the sticky warmth flooding into the front of his jeans, seeping into you as you gasp. You grind down against his throbbing cock underneath the stifling fabric, wishing you were taking every drop of his cum instead, not letting a bit of it go to waste.
Caleb whines, crying out softly as you roll your hips, and you swallow every pretty sound with hot kisses until your clothed clit catches on his ruined jeans just right.
"Oh fuck, there—" you gasp, lips messily attached to his. You feel the tears of pleasure and overstimulation streaming down his face as he bucks up into you still. "Caleb, Caleb—"
"Come," he begs, and your eyes meet his. Your hips falter at the unadulterated affection there before you speed up, breath hitching when you feel yourself being to crest over into mind-numbing pleasure. "Come for me, honey, please come for me love please—"
Your eyes pinch shut, and you cry out for him when the orgasm hits you all at once, all your limbs seizing up as you convulse in his lap.
"Oh fuck there, there it is," Caleb grunts, grabbing at your trembling thighs under your dress, moaning when he feels your slick that had dripped down them. "You're coming, you're actually coming—"
Your pussy flutters and tightens in your soaked panties, and you moan, wondering what it would have felt like if you had had the foresight to tug his cock out of his pants, if your precious Caleb had filled you up before you came around him.
Next time, you think in a haze, giggling breathlessly when you realize there was an endless number of next times now.
Caleb's lips meet yours, and you meet each kiss as they slow into something lazy and content. He keeps leaning closer and closer to you, his hand cupping the back of your head, protecting you when you both end up weakly tumbling to the ground, and you laugh.
Your eyes are warm and shining with joy when you look up at him, pulling him down for another kiss, and another, because they were all yours now. Every kiss, every moment.
It was the same messy meeting of tongue and spit and teeth from that unspoken moment years ago, except this time, he wouldn't pull away.
"When do we get to do that again?" you gasp, and he laughs too, bright and happy and maybe, finally at some semblance of peace.
"Whenever you want it," Caleb hums, pulling back to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheekbone, your eyelashes, all the way up to your temple and back down to your lips again.
"Well," you start, grinning as your loop your arms around his neck. He smiles down at you in befuddled admiration, like he couldn't believe you were really here. "You're the birthday boy."
There's a subtle shift in his eyes, suddenly shining with vulnerability when he asks, "But you want it?"
"Oh," you whisper, brushing at the leftover tears that cling to his long lashes. You kiss them when his eyes shut, your nose nuzzling against his.
Dummy, you think fondly. Worried you didn't want any more when you just had the best orgasm of your life, just from dry humping his lap.
When you'd been dreaming of doing this for years. When you would've been happy if all he wanted was just a kiss.
But his post-nut shyness was sweet, even if coupled with that deep-rooted fear that when he closed his eyes, you'd disappear. And your heart was too full of love not to reassure him.
So you banished the shadows that haunted the corners of his mind with another gentle kiss, pressing all your love for him into it.
"Of course I want it, Caleb," you murmur, smiling up at him. "You're all I've ever wanted."
He sighs, his lips meeting yours in another kiss. This one is unhurried, an intimate promise between you.
"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, and he smiles.
husband and wife, at the pinnacle of their love. on a night filled with wonders, you will know that he sees only you and everything that you are
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, explicit smut: slightly rough & drunken sex, fingering, missionary. you and zayne have a daughter (her name is meirin!)
note:
god what have i written... the anniversary banner pv made me do it T^T anyhow, this is also a direct prequel to the upcoming angst fic in the name of love :))
“Whoa, so that’s Dr. Zayne and his wife...”
Soft whispers rippled through the crowd the moment you and your husband stepped into the pristine ballroom, all eyes subtly drawn to your arrival.
Tonight, you were accompanying Zayne to Akso Hospital’s anniversary dinner party. His sharp gaze and immaculate three-piece suit made a striking impression. Naturally, you matched his sophistication in every way—your flowing black dress accentuated your figure, while your hair styled into an elegant updo.
A sight for sore eyes, that was what the two of you were.
“Mind your step,” he murmured softly, his voice reassuring as the two of you gracefully ascended the stairs. His left arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but notice the envious gazes of the ladies fixed on you.
“How does such a perfect couple even exist?”
“She’s so pretty… Of course, Dr. Zayne only wants the best.”
“Oh! And I’ve heard they already have a daughter too!”
A smile curled on your lips, a subtle boost of confidence washing over you as their murmurs reached your ears. You felt giddy too—on most days, you were a hunter in a life-and-death situations, rough and rugged. But tonight, draped in elegance and arm-in-arm with Zayne, you felt like a princess.
“Don’t smile that wide...” he suddenly whispered to your ears, a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “You’ll look like Meirin when she’s munching on her cookies.”
You shot him a frown. “Wha?”
“All those praises are going straight to your head.” Even in a prestigious event like this, Zayne couldn’t resist teasing you. “Sooner or later, it’ll get too big for me to handle.”
Fixing him with an unimpressed glare, you deadpanned, “Shush, you!”
When you reached the main hall, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, blending with the elegant music playing in the background. The hospital director, an elderly man with a warm smile, greeted you both along with his wife.
"Zayne, thank you for coming," he said, shaking your husband's hand and giving him a light pat on the shoulder. His gaze then turned to you. "Ah, this must be the stellar hunter wife of Dr. Zayne. You look absolutely radiant, madam."
"Ah, please don't call me that..." You mustered your most polished facade, supplying a soft, graceful laugh.
The director's wife grinned and added, "Why didn’t you bring your daughter here? Everyone’s looking forward to finally meet her already."
"She's a handful," Zayne immediately replied with a smile, his tone warm and affectionate. "And she gets fussy when her bedtime nears, so we decided to leave her with my in-laws tonight."
The director let out a hearty guffaw. "No matter how fussy she is, she must be really adorable with a mother this beautiful, eh?"
Throughout the night, it was a compliment you frequently heard. While you were flattered, a thought lingered in the back of your mind—what were your husband's true thoughts about all this attention to you?
Zayne was keenly aware of how captivating you were.
There was a surge of pride whenever he had you on his arm. Just like any man out there, he too wanted to show his hot wife off and flaunt her so everyone could see, as if saying: This is my woman.
But he too knew that it was in a human's nature to covet what they didn't have. And it was rightly proven when he stepped away for just a moment, only to return and find you engaged in conversation with a man.
The hospital director's son, no less.
"Miss, I've heard you're part of the Hunter Association?" he asked you inquisitively. "What a noble profession it is! Keeping all of us here safe on daily basis."
You responded demurely, "And those in Akso do the same, don’t they?"
Your conversation was harmless, and Zayne was a rational man, so he didn’t feel the need to intervene. He just made sure his gaze was on you every so often.
But when the director’s son began persistently offering you drinks, filling your glass time after time, Zayne's patience began to wear thin. The sight of the man’s insistence grated on him, stirring a possessive unease he couldn’t entirely ignore.
. . .
You could’ve sworn your vision swam a little after the third glass of alcohol. The warm buzz coursing through you also made everything seem a little brighter, and left you feeling just slightly off-balance.
"Miss, the white wine here is the best—" the man standing before you declared with a convincing grin, swirling the bottle in front of you. "Don't you want to try some?"
"Ah, no, sir..." you replied with a polite laugh, raising a hand in subtle refusal. "I've already had whiskey and gin just now—"
"Just a little! You really have to try it!"
You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck as the alcohol already coursing through your system made your cheeks flush. You didn’t even like alcohol much and only drank socially, but this was the very son of your husband's boss. Refusing outright seemed rude—
“Can you kindly not make her drink too much?”
Or so you thought, until your knight in three-piece suit suddenly stepped in and saved you from your plight.
Zayne’s tone was gentle yet firm, his words striking an authoritative balance. He flashed a placating smile. “My wife doesn’t have a very high tolerance.” Swiftly, he grabbed the glass from your hand and, without missing a beat, downed its contents in one go.
“If you’re looking for a drinking partner, let it be me instead.”
You knew better than anyone that your husband didn’t have a particularly high tolerance for alcohol either. Yet, for the next 30 minutes, you watched, equal parts impressed and concerned, as he matched the man drink for drink, deflecting further offers directed your way with a subtle, protective grace. Though Zayne’s words remained measured, you could see the flush creeping up his neck.
And soon, you’d witness just how far his limits had been pushed.
“Zayne! Are you alright?”
Worry laced your voice as you placed both hands on Zayne's cheeks, your brow furrowing in concern. Somehow or another you managed to drag your husband away and led him to the hotel room.
The warmth of his skin was unmistakable, and his face contorted in discomfort as the vertigo hit him full force. “Oh no, what have you done? Why did you even drink that much!?”
“I’m fine,” Zayne grumbled, his voice thick.
“You’re drunk!” You couldn't help but scold him as you started pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt, trying to help him breathe easier. “You can’t even handle alcohol properly, and yet you’re trying to keep up with him...”
To Zayne, your voice somehow felt comforting. His mind was hazed, but your touch—your hand against his neck—felt like a cool splash of clarity.
His pretty wife... The dizziness was making it hard to stay upright, but the sight of you grounded him, and he instinctively leaned into you—
“Zayne—!”
You barely managed to catch his weight, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. He was so warm against you, his breath uneven, not to mention the slight tremor in his body. "Are you alright?!" you asked in a flurry. "Oh, let me get you some water—"
"You talk too much..." Zayne murmured, his words slurred as everything around him swayed.
Gripping your shoulder to steady himself, his unfocused gaze lingered on you, drawn to the curve of your lips, the delicate line of your neck, and the outline of your cleavage.
How can he have a wife this ravishing and do nothing?
And suddenly, he was sober. Very sober.
Or maybe not. It was simply just him finally giving in to his desires.
In one go, he seized your wrist, yanking you against him with sudden force— and with a quick tilt of your startled, precious face, he devoured your lips in heat.
"—!" It was like a spark igniting, burning through every thought. His mouth was urgent, demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second to feel the rush of your closeness. His kiss was intoxicating—almost overwhelming—as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to gain better access.
Zayne's hands moved to your back, pulling you into him, so close that the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then those sinful hands wandered to your hips, guiding you toward the desk. With reckless urgency, he swept everything off the surface, sending objects crashing to the floor with a sharp clang and made you sit on it.
"Ah, Zayne, you—!" You accidentally pushed him back, and he growled the moment your lips parted.
"Are you trying... to escape?" His gaze turned dark with lust, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Why? Isn't this exactly how you wanted me to be...?"
In that moment, you gulped as your heart thundered in your chest. What was even happening now? How did it escalate into this?
You stuttered, eyes widened, "Z-Zayne..."
But your husband had shed all traces of his usual composed self. In the haze of his muddled thoughts, he was driven purely by need. He swiftly removed his glasses, tossing them aside without a second thought, and this time—
His lips went straight for your neck, which, unbeknownst to you, had looked so enticing to him all evening.
"Hahh..." His breathy grunts were hot against your skin and his touch no longer gentle but firm and possessive. His mouth moved with a mix of hunger and desperation, and you struggled to contain the moans as his hands slipped inside your dress, and—
A shiver ran down your spine when he spread your legs, and you couldn’t help the titillating gasp that escaped when inserted his two of his fingers in you all at once, edging you.
"Ungh, ngh! Hah—" Your body jerked and you clung to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Zayne wasn't usually this brash, but tonight it was as if a screw had come loose.
"Louder," he commanded in your ear, and your heart pounded at his authoritative voice. He pushed his digits deeper as if punishing you, that you yelped. "Do not hold back."
He lifted you by your waist, effortlessly pressing you against the small table by the window. You were on the 20th floor, the world below far out of sight, but the thought that anyone might catch a glimpse was somehow... thrilling.
"I-I'm close—" you stammered, and the moment you did, your husband vigorously moved his fingers inside your squelching folds, "A-ah!"
The room felt smaller, the air thicker. The way your walls took his fingers alone made your thoughts scatter, and when you came undone on him, you latched onto him, your head resting against his chest as your breaths came in shaky, uneven gasps. "Z-Zayne... please..."
He pulled out his fingers, looked at your cum coating them, and brought them to your lips. You, still trembling, sucked the essence off with teary eyes.
Sweaty, disheveled, lips swollen and cheeks flushed... how he had reduced you into this state was gratifying.
Zayne’s gaze darkened, his breath heavy as he stared down at you. "Are you ready to take me now?"
You nodded.
He gave you a small smirk, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw gently. "Good girl."
He lifted you over to the bed, and you gasped in surprise as he tossed you onto the soft sheets, the motion quick but not unkind. You barely had time to react before his intense gaze locked onto yours, his presence domineering above you.
“Spread your legs.”
Was this man really your husband? Sometimes, you still struggled to reconcile the tender part of him and the man consumed by a unrestrained intensity before you now.
By now you had swallowed all shame and did so. You wanted to look away, but then unable to when the sight before you caught your breath—
All the while, he had his eyes on you. Zayne pulled at his tie with deliberate intent, then he shed his suit pieces, casting them to the floor with a casual abandon, before undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt, revealing his bare chest altogether.
Your husband looks so hot. The way he gazed at you throughout it all too...
He glanced at the space between your legs. “Wider.”
You complied, letting your face burn impossibly hotter, anticipating him.
He eased in slowly, starting with just the tip. You whimpered at the intrusion.
"Hurts?" he questioned with a frown.
"No," you refuted quickly, desire too burning in your gaze as you met his eyes. "I can take more."
You arched your back as Zayne sank deeper, his full length filling you. A moan tumbled from your lips as your walls clenched in response, and he pushed himself completely inside you.
"Hah..." You inhaled sharply, giving yourself a moment to adjust to his entire length, and seeing you like that, your husband cradled the side of your face with his palm.
"So beautiful..." Zayne whispered, his glazed gray-hazel eyes fixed on your spent face. His other hand clasped yours, pinning it beside your head. "My wife... is so incredibly beautiful."
It was heart-fluttering to know that your husband found you pretty. Everyone might compliment you the same way, but his were the only one that truly mattered. After seven years of marriage, your heart still skipped a beat every time he held your gaze like this.
Without warning, Zayne started to move his hips. Your moans got louder and unabashed as his movements were slow at first, before he picked up the pace and thrusted in and out of you with fervor.
"Ahhh!" You threw your head back as his thick cock messily dragged itself against your walls. In, out, in out— Stars began to blur your vision, your nails digging into his shoulder as you reached for him.
You could see that excited glint in his eyes, the lust exploding at the sight of you. He watched you intently, savoring the way unbound desire twisted your face, each mewl you made filling the air. Your thoughts turned into puzzle pieces—
Thrust. So full, you are.
Thrust. What if... this time— you become pregnant again?
Thrust. That would be... nice. You can call it “New Years’ baby.”
Everything was incoherent. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, each hit to that one spot sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, pushing you to the brink of tears and screams.
Then, unexpectedly, he reached his climax first. His cum shot through, filling your womb to the brim in spurts after spurts, and you cried, trembling beneath him. Your release followed suit though, and you went limp in the aftermath.
Zayne collapsed on top of you and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in the crook of his neck, his name still falling off your lips as a whisper in his ear, a gentle song laced within moans. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, panting heavily against you.
“I love you.”
The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in a tangled web of desire.
The first thing he heard was your whimper.
With a groan, Zayne cracked his eyes open the morning after, instantly recognizing the dull ache in his head—it was a hangover. But before he could press his hands to his temples, his gaze fell on you, curled up in a blanket next to him.
And the whimper came again, and it tugged at something deep inside him.
“What’s... wrong?” he asked in a groggy voice, turning toward you, his hand instinctively reaching for you despite the pounding headache. “Are you alright...?”
You blinked up at him, a flicker of resentment in your gaze, and Zayne gathered you into his arms. The events of last night came back to him in fragments, and realization dawned on him.
“Are you... sore?” he murmured, concern edging his tone.
“I hate you,” you retorted in a scratchy voice, mushing your head in his shoulder. Zayne widened in slight surprise, pulling you closer into his embrace.
“Is that it...? I’m sorry...”
He gently patted your head and back, trying to soothe you. The sight of you—vulnerable and distressed—made his heart tighten with a pang of guilt. Just how rough had he been with you last night?
“There, there, it’ll pass...” he said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s normal... because we went longer and more vigorous than usual... Probably just mild irritation in your—”
“Don’t pull medical facts on me,” you muttered sullenly, weakly punching his chest. A smile made its way to his face at your mini attack.
“But it’s true though?”
How endearing. He couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, his heart softening at the sight of you, even in your grumpy state.
And in that moment, Zayne thought, nothing could've possibly ever shatter his world ever again.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷feat. xavier is determined to get your virginity before leaving philos.
His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you open for his relentless assault. "Look at how deep I am," he panted, watching as he pistoned in and out of your tightness. "Look how well we fit together."
c.w spoilers to xavier's myth, dubcon, groping, scummy!xavier, coercion/manipulation, cherry popping, handjob, fingering, licking fingers after jizzing on them, jealousy, 4k+ words, halfway proofread
On the night of Xavier’s Gladius ceremony, he returned to the palace with a newly discovered understanding. Amidst the celebration, he pulled his father, the king, aside for a private conversation. He presented an irregular protocore to his father, its life force still pulsating in his hand.
“Shouldn't the protocore warrant a formal inspection?” Xavier asked, voice laced with suspicion.
“The lightblade deemed you worthy,” his father replied dismissively, his fingers absently tracing the protocore.
Xavier pressed, “Is there no need for formalities? Or are you unwilling? A heart was once in this protocore–am I mistaken?”
A flicker of tension tightened the king's jaw as he pocketed the protocore. “...I knew you'd catch on.”
The king immediately caught Xavier off, witnessing the disgust in his son’s eyes. “However, it is a necessary duty of the crown prince. It is also the king's responsibility.”
Xavier's mouth widened, and for a minute he stood there in silence. He then turned sharply, storming out without looking back, ignoring his father’s calls. His decision was already made.
He strode into the crowded hall, hoping to shake off his father’s gaze when he spotted you. His eyes darkened.
You were laughing at a joke some man had made, holding a flute of champagne. The dress you wore barely skimmed your knees, and Xavier noticed the man's eyes were fixed and imaginative, longing to see it up to your stomach.
You were a lamb among a den of wolves. If he left too soon, the pack would descend upon your fresh meat. He couldn't leave Philos without sinking his teeth into you first, marking you as his territory to warn others until his return.
He maneuvered toward you, brushing off congratulatory pats and embraces along the way. At one point, Jeremiah slung an arm around his shoulders, only to be harshly shrugged off, as Xavier’s focus remained locked on you. Jeremiah noticed his gaze and, not wanting to interfere, took a long sip of champagne and slipped away.
When Xavier finally reached you, he wrapped a hand firmly around your arm, his eyes flashing a silent warning to the other man.
“Come with me.”
"Hm? Why?”
Xavier's jaw clenched, his frustration mounting. Did you not notice how the other man had been ogling you?
“I have something I need to show you. It's urgent.”
Without waiting for a response, he guided you out of the ballroom, his hand gripping your arm firmly. He guided you out of the ballroom and steered you through the corridor of the palace, his steps determined and purposeful. His hand remained on your arm, his grip firm and possessive. When you reached his room, he ushered you inside.
You perched on his bed, still holding your champagne, swinging your legs. “So?” you asked, a playful smile on your lips as you twirled the drink in your hands. “What’s so urgent?”
Xavier shut the door with a soft click, then slowly turned to face you, a strange expression on his face. He reached over, took the flute from your hand, and placed it on his dresser. “Don’t drink that.”
You frowned, almost pouting. “Hey!”
He ignored your protest, “he could’ve slipped something into it.”
He strode to the window, pausing. “Besides, I want you clear-headed for what I’m about to show you, that's so urgent.” He pulled open the curtains, revealing a brilliant, star-studded sky. The sight drew you to your feet, and you stepped over, awestruck.
Xavier stood close behind you to make space. His chest brushed against your back as he rested his chin on your head, his warm breath fanning over your hair.
“There’s one more thing I want to show you,” he whispered, voice low in your ear. He pointed upward, guiding your gaze. “See? Just above the dipper—that’s the star of our planet.”
A smile tugged at your lips as you spotted the tiny glimmer in the sky, remembering your talks about eloping there. You’d joked about it, but seeing it now made your heart ache with a longing. “It’s beautiful…”
Xavier chuckled, the low sound making your skin tingle. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer until your body was pressed flush against his.
Your breath caught, your heart thudding wildly. “X-Xavier…”
He held you tighter, his hand splaying across your waist. "You should be more careful," he murmured. "Don't you realize how many men in there were looking at you the same way I was?”
“The way you…?”
“—Like a piece of meat.” He was unaware he was contradicting himself. “You're too naive and innocent, and they were preying on it. If I hadn't taken you away..."
He leaned down, his lips just inches away from yours. He hesitated, as though he might ask permission, a question lingering in his darkening gaze. It died as he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a gentle yet assertive kiss. He drew you closer, his tongue exploring with confident ease.
He was desperate; you could feel it in the way his body pressed against yours, in the way he kissed you as if he was starved for you.
You melted into the kiss, your hands lifting to cradle his face.
Encouraged by your response, he gently lowered you back onto the bed, his forehead resting against yours as he followed you down. His body pressed against yours, and you could feel the deep, unspoken yearning in his touch.
“Xavier—” Your protest was cut off as he deepened the kiss, his lips capturing your voice, drowning any resistance as he poured himself into the moment.
You was a bit tipsy, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions, making you pliant beneath his touch. Xavier's lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a blazing path of desire on your flushed skin. He pushed you down, straddling your hips as he drank in the sight of you splayed out before him.
“X-Xavier…?”
Your clothes were rumpled, your hair tousled, your cheeks stained with a becoming flush. Xavier swallowed hard, his pulse racing as he finally had you right where he wanted you. This was what he'd been fantasizing about, dreaming of, for so long. And now, with you soft and willing beneath him, he couldn't hold back any longer.
His hands roamed your curves, slipping beneath your clothing to caress the silky skin beneath. He needed to feel you, all of you, with no barriers between you both. His fingers found the zipper of your dress and tugged it down but you pushed his chest, knocking him out of his delusion.
He blinked, as if surprised you would do that.
"What's the matter?" He murmured, his voice gruff. His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, pushing it up, revealing more of your skin.
"X-Xavier..." You repeated, flushed. You scooted further into the bed, away from him until your back pressed against the headboard.
He followed, his hand slowly trailing back up your thigh, sending shivers through your body. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice coaxing. "No one has to know. It can be our little secret." His fingers reached the hem of your dress, slowly inching it up.
“N-No…” you stammered, reaching down to hold your skirt in place. “I… I don’t…”
Xavier’s face fell, his fingers curling into the fabric, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “You don’t want this?” he asked, voice low. “I though…–You were kissing me.”
“You kissed me back, you let me…” he continued, his voice trailing off as he looked away, shoulders slumping. “Why did you let me, just to pull away?”
You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt. “I… I didn’t mean to lead you on. I thought… it was just a kiss. Then it got too fast…”
"Too fast? Why was it too fast?" He glanced up, his brows knitted in frustration. "We've known each other for a while. We're alone. Why are you acting so shy all of a sudden?”
"I, I don't know..." I whimpered. "I don't... I don't know... Xavier, I…”
"You don't know, you don't know," he repeated. "You've been teasing me all this time, sending me mixed signals. And now, when I'm finally giving you what you want, you're pushing me away?”
You opened your mouth but closed it again, struggling to find the right words. “Xavier, it’s not… I just… You’re a prince…”
His lips pressed together, eyes dimming, reminded of the title he hated. "I'm a prince, so what?" His voice was soft, almost resigned. "Do you think that means I can't have you? That I don't have any feelings? That I can't desire you like any man would?”
“It’s not that… you're just…” you stammered, cheeks heating. “You’re meant for someone else, Xavier…”
"Someone else? Who are you to decide that? I don't want someone else, I want you. I've always wanted you." His expression softened, though his frustration was clear. He traced circles with his thumb on your foot. "Don't you want me?”
You bit your lip, finally looking up at him. “I… I like you, Xavier. More than… than I probably should.”
“Then why push me away?” he asked, voice thick with disappointment. “If you like me… then let me have you.”
“I… I don’t know, Xavier…”
He sighed. "You don't know again. Why don't you know?”
"Because I'm scared, Xav…”
"You're scared?" he echoed, his eyes softening. "Scared of what? Me?” Perhaps you've heard the rumors of him frightening away any students who showed interest in you; his father who showed an interest in your heart.
"N-No, that's not true," you pouted, fumbling nervously with your fingers. "I... I've never done it... This before... I…”
"So... you're scared because it's your first time?"
You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat. “Yes…”
He remained silent for a moment, his fingers lightly caressing your hand. "I didn't know," he whispered, though it was a lie. In truth, he was well aware. It was he who had kept you pure, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to claim your innocence for himself. He would never allow another man to take what rightfully belonged to him.
“But Xavier… I’m not sure I’m ready…”
His body tensed again at your refusal. He wanted you, and he was determined to ease your hesitation.
"Why not?" he asked, his voice warm and reassuring. "You like me, I like you. You don’t want anyone else, and neither do I. Wouldn't it feel right to do it with someone who’s been by your side your whole life, someone you love and could trust, instead of a stranger?"
He held your gaze, "those other men... they wouldn't take care of you like I would. They wouldn't be gentle–they wouldn't take their time with you. They'd just use you, Y/N.”
In your silence, Xavier took it as a small victory. Seeing you listening to him, processing his words, gave him hope that he was getting through to you, that you were listening to his reasoning. He pushed forward, continuing in a low, husky tone.
"They wouldn't treasure you like I would. They wouldn't make love to you the way I would. They wouldn't want to... to protect you, and cherish you, like I do.”
He could see the hesitation in your eyes, feel nervousness in your body as his fingers continued their path up your thigh, caressing your skin softly. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his voice a low plea.
"Please... let me show you what it could be like... with me.”
Xavier's lips slowly melded into yours, breaking the final barrier of your resolve. His tongue brushed softly against your lips, testing, seeking entry as he drew you deeper into the kiss, making it clear he wanted all of you. When your mouth opened, he slipped in without hesitation, claiming the moment entirely. He explored each part of your mouth, tasting and savoring, leaving no doubt of his intent. His body pressed against yours, his weight grounding you, pinning you with a warmth that left you breathless.
His hands roamed your body, caressing your skin. He gripped your hips, pulling you closer to him, as if trying to merge your bodies into one.
He could feel your body trembling beneath his touch, the way your hands clung to his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself. He reveled in your response, the way you whimpered and mewled in his mouth, the way your body reacted to his every touch.
The heat of his mouth seared your skin as he trailed kisses down your neck, each one more intense than the last. Your head lolled back, giving him better access as he nipped and sucked, marking you as his. The sting of his teeth on your sensitive flesh sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core.
His hands roamed your body with a desperate urgency, as if he couldn't get enough of you. They slid under your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your stomach before cupping your breasts. You gasped as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.
"G-Gentle…" you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Sorry," he murmured, his voice rough. "I'll make it up to you."
His hands roamed your curves, one cupping your breast through the silky material. With a swift tug, he pulled the dress and your bra down, freeing your breasts from their confines. They spilled out, immediately pebbling without the warmth of your bra.
His eyes darkened with lust as he drank in the sight of you. He wrapped his arms around your lower back, pulling you flush against him as he dipped his head to capture a nipple between his lips. He suckled greedily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.
His other hand came up to massage your neglected breast, kneading the soft flesh. He switched between your peaks, lavishing each one with attention until you were writhing against him, desperate for more.
Xavier released your breast with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your nipple. He trailed kisses up your chest, between your breasts, along your collarbone, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking against yours as he deepened the kiss.
One hand tangled in your hair, angling your head to give him better access. The other slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, before dipping between your thighs. He cupped your mound, his fingers rubbing slow circles over your clothed sex, inciting a hiss from you.
"You're so wet already," he smiled, his voice a low murmur.
He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. You lifted your hips to assist him, the cool air infiltrating from the open window hitting your heated skin. “X-Xavier…”
He smiled as he saw how wet you were. He spread your legs apart and ran his hand along your inner thigh, spreading them wider. "So pretty," he whispered, his eyes locked on your glistening pussy. He reached out and rubbed his thumb over your clit, making you jump.
“Relax," he whispered, his voice gentle. His touch became firmer, his thumb slowly rubbing circles over your hot, swollen nub. He watched your face intently, memorizing every gasp, every flush of your cheeks, every dilation of your pupils. "Have you touched yourself before?"
You nodded.
"Show me," he demanded, his voice low. He wanted to see what you liked, what you didn't. He wanted to know everything. He brought his other hand up to play with your breasts, pinching and rolling your peaks as he continued to toy with your core.
You peered up at him incredulously. "Xavier…–!"
"Please," he whispered. "I want to know. I want to know what you like, what feels good. Show me, please." His touch was hentley, coaxing.
Slowly, tentatively, your hand drifted downward, brushing over the soft curls at the apex of your thighs. Xavier's breath hitched as you parted your folds, revealing the glistening pink flesh beneath. "That's it," he encouraged, his gaze locked on your movements.
Your thighs clamped shut around your plunging fingers, but Xavier forcefully pried them apart. "Keep them spread," he instructed.
You let out a desperate whine, groping your breast as you frantically pumped your fingers in and out of your dripping slit.
"Shh," he soothed, his eyes never leaving your hand. "Add another finger. Stretch yourself for me."
"I-I can't..." you protested weakly.
He nodded his head as he slowly pushed one of his alongside yours, stretching you deliciously wide. "Yes you can," he breathed. His digit trailed down to join yours, stroking that spongy sweet spot deep inside. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around the stretch.
"Right there?" he asked, his voice low. He crooked his fingers inside of you, pressing against that spot over and over again. He watched your face contort in pleasure, your mouth falling open as you gasped. "Come for me.”
Your back arched off the bed as ecstasy crashed over you in waves, your inner walls clenching around his fingers as you reached your peak.
His dark eyes were transfixed, watching with rapt attention as his hand worked you through your release, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed back against the sheets, spent and trembling. Slowly, he withdrew your slick finger from your dripping core and brought them to his lips. His tongue darted out, curling around your fingers as it lapped your essence, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss.
He leaned down and kissed you hard, his tongue sliding into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him. His hands flung to his pants and began to unfasten his belt with eagerness.
As his pants fell away, your eyes widened at the sight of his impressive manhood standing at full attention. The swollen head glistened with pearlescent drops of precum, the color a striking contrast to the milky smoothness of his skin. Prominent veins ran along the underside, pulsing with his heartbeat. He was magnificent, a work of art sculpted by stars itself.
"Sit up.”
You complied, your movements languid as you propped yourself up on your knees. Your breasts swayed enticingly with the motion, nipples pebbled and begging for attention. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily, drinking in every curve and valley.
He took your hand and guided it to his throbbing member, wrapping your fingers around his impressive girth. "Touch me," he breathed, "like this.” He showed you, moving your hand up and down his length.
As your fingers closed around him, he let out a low groan, his hips thrusting forward slightly. "Just like that," he encouraged.
You swallowed hard, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. "Is this okay?" You asked softly, his length growing even harder in your grip.
"Squeeze a little tighter," he instructed, his voice strained with pleasure.
Focusing intently, you squeezed just as he asked, marveling at the way his shaft pulsed in your palm. Your eyes were glued to where your hand met his flesh, watching in fascination as you pumped him, his swollen head disappearing and reappearing with each stroke.
He hissed through his teeth, his head falling back. "Just like that," he praised. His hips jerked forward, his body tensing. "Harder," he groaned. He brought your other hand up to play with his balls, showing you how to gently roll and squeeze them.
He gripped your wrist, his breathing growing ragged. "Keep...keep doing that," he hissed. He thrust into your hands, his movements growing jerky. "I'm… I'm going to..." He broke off, his whole body convulsing as he came in your hands.
He threw his head back, tendons straining in his neck as he gulped. Releasing your hand, he gripped his own thighs, fingers digging into the firm flesh.
You gazed at your palm, glistening with his copious release. Mimicking his earlier actions, you brought your hand to your lips, tongue swirling around your fingers to lap up every drop of his thick, salty essence.
His eyes were riveted on your display. With a sigh, he asked you to lay back once more. Seizing your hips, he yanked you towards him, his face flushed and debauched, mouth agape. He reached out and gently spread your thighs, stepping between them, the swollen head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance.
“Condoms…!” You cried out, “Xavier, what about–”
"Shh, don't worry about that now," he said. "I'll pull out, I promise.”
His hungry gaze raked over your quivering form, committing every dip and swell to memory. "Don't look so nervous," he crooned. “I'm right here.”
"Be gentle..." You breathed. “Please.”
He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. You were adorable. "I'll be gentle.”
His fingers delved between your thighs, parting your slick folds to reveal your glistening entrance. He groaned at the sight. "So pretty.”
He then rubbed his thick head against your wetness, coating himself with your fluids. He pressed against your hole, his hips slowly pushing forward. He watched your face, his own contorted in concentration. "Breathe in," he instructed softly.
And before you actually could, he thrusted in.
“A-Ah!”
Tears streamed down your face as he gradually pushed deeper into your tight heat. He paused, allowing you a moment to acclimate to his impressive girth stretching you open. His fingers tenderly caressed your cheek, wiping away the salty drops. "You're doing so well," he praised softly. "Just a little more." With one powerful thrust, he hilted himself fully inside you, breaking through your barrier.
A sharp cry escaped your lips at the sudden sting of pain mixed with overwhelming fullness. Your nails dug into the sheets as you gripped them for dear life. "Wait... ngh... I can't..." you whimpered, trembling beneath him.
Xavier captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries. "Shh, you're okay. I'm all the way inside now," he murmured against your lips. He held still, letting you adjust to the intense new sensations as your body stretched to accommodate him. "Open your eyes. Focus on me and you'll forget the pain."
"Hmgh..."
He began to set at a slow, rhythmic pace, his hips gently rocking against yours. He grunted each time he bottomed out inside you. "Look at me," he commanded gruffly. "Open your eyes and look at me." He reached out and gently tilted your chin, forcing you to look up at him.
Your body clenched around him, the initial sting of pain gradually melting away into waves of pleasure. A breathy moan escaped your lips as you felt yourself surrender to the newer sensations.
Xavier's face tightened, and his head fell forward between his shoulders. "God, when you do that…" he hissed through gritted teeth. He continued to pump his hips, his rhythm growing faster. "Wrap your legs around my waist," he instructed hoarsely. "I'm gonna go a little faster."
You complied and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer. When he mentioned he was going to pick up the pace, you weren't prepared for the relentless pounding that followed.
Bracing himself on his hands, he began to ruthlessly slam into you over and over again. Leaning down, he claimed your mouth in a rough, dominating kiss, muffling your desperate moans. His hips moved like a machine, driving into you with animalistic cruelty.
"G-Gentle...! Mgh–! P-Please!" you whimpered against his lips.
But Xavier was lost in his own pleasure, ignoring your pleas as he continued his merciless assault on your body. "You can handle it," he huffed. Gripping your hips, he adjusted your position, allowing him to plunge even deeper inside you. "You're too tight… I'll be gentle after I'm finished breaking you in."
"X-Xavier…! Xav–Ngh!"
He reached between your legs and grabbed your wrists, pulling them above your head as he continued to ravage you. His face was a mask of intense concentration as he continued to thrust into you, his hips moving like a piston. "You're so loud," he hissed, his voice thick with passion.
"Xavier! Xavier!"
His thrusts slowed to a torturous crawl, allowing you a moment to catch your breath before he hoisted your legs up onto his broad shoulders and folded you nearly in half. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, the thick head of his cock kissing your cervix with each powerful stroke. Your back arched off the bed as your arms wrapped around his neck, nails digging into his sweat-slicked skin. A strangled moan tore from your throat.
His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you open for his relentless assault. "Look at how deep I am," he panted, watching as he pistoned in and out of your tightness. "Look how well we fit together."
"It's too much… please... please..." You babbled, your voice hitching with every thrust to your cervix. "Xavier... it hurts…!"
"It's supposed to," he grunted. "It feels good, though, right? Just bear it a little more. I'm almost done." He let your legs drop, pushing your knees to your chest as he pounded into you.
Your nails raked down his back, leaving long, ten crimson trails in their wake. Xavier grunted in pain, his face contorting as he thrust into you harder. "Mark me all you want," he huffed. "I'll mark you right back." He buried his face in your neck and bit down hard, sucking on your skin as he continued to thrust into you.
"Ahh! Yes! Fuck!" you cried out, your words dissolving into incoherent babble. "You prom–eh…! you promised…!”
Xavier's eyes were closed, his face buried in your neck as he fucked you without a care in the world. The sound of his hips slapping against yours echoed in the room, mixing with your screams and pleas. "God… fuck, fuck," he chanted to himself, his voice muffled against your skin.
"You're so meannnn," you whimpered, drawing out the word as a sob caught in your throat.
Xavier's eyes flashed, dark and feral, as he lifted his head. "I'm mean?" he growled, voice dripping with mock hurt. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you flush against him. "You're the one getting off on this, aren't you? I can feel how wet you are." To punctuate his point, he reached between your legs and rubbed your clit roughly, making you gasp and arch into his touch.
He gripped your chin firmly, forcing your gaze to meet his intense stare. "Look at me," he commanded, voice low and dominant. "I want to see those eyes glazed when I make you come undone. When I claim every inch of you as mine.”
Xavier groaned, his thrusts becoming even more brutal. "You're gonna make such a pretty mess."
The words were like a match to gasoline, igniting the inferno raging inside you. With a keening cry, you shattered, your walls clamping down and bursting as ecstasy consumed you.
Xavier's eyes widened as he felt your walls clench around him, your orgasm triggering his own. "Ah! Yes…–yes!" he cried, his hips stuttering. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came, his hot seed spurting against your cervix.
Xavier let out a low groan, his body trembling as he filled you. His grip on your thighs loosened, his hand caressing the marked skin gently. As he came down from his high, Xavier's pace slowed, his hips rolling forward in shallow thrusts as he milked the last of his release into you.
Your eyes fluttered shut, the world fading away until only the pulsing pleasure remained. With a final shuddering gasp, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, your consciousness slipping away.
His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you went limp beneath him. He peppered your face with gentle kisses, his touch at odds with the rough way he'd just taken you. "Shh, sleep now," he murmured softly, "You did so well.”
As much as he didn’t want to leave, he gently began to slip out of bed, his body trembling, spent. He pulled the blankets up around you, making sure you were wrapped warmly before crossing the room to close the window. Quietly, he turned to his closet, carefully reaching for his lightseeker uniform and slipping it on, moving with a gentle but determined grace.
He searched for his sword, finally spotting the star-tasseled handle hidden under the bed. Just as he reached for it, he felt a soft weight on his head, your hand, draped sleepily over him.
He froze, worried he might've woken you–worried he would have to explain he wasn't abandoning, but saving you–, but then you let out a soft, contented snore, and he couldn’t help but smile. Slowly, he lifted your hand, pressing a tender kiss to the back before leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead, damp with extertion.
“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “I love you.”
☆--- summary: Your marriage to Sylus has been a challenging one because of your long distant status. Sylus is determined to remind you that distance can't diminish what you share. He reassures not only your mind but also your body, reminding you why you're meant for each other.
☆--- word count: 4.5k
☆--- warnings: mdni, slight angst, there's comfort don't worry, soft!dom sylus, you take a bath together, oral sex, fingering, doggy, back shots, bit of background story, sylus is an eater ok..., (he eats your cum), size kink if you squint, no protection is used (wrap it before you tap it)
☆--- a/n: i had to get this one out quick because rafayel is quickly taking over my brain ngl.
Just a couple of months before, you married Sylus. He has certainly lived up to (and well beyond) your expectations. While he is the perfect loving husband, your current situation is less than favorable. You knew what you agreed to in this marriage, and you knew the first few years would be difficult, but it did not stop you from feeling a pang in your chest when you arrived home, and your lovely husband was not there because, well, he is still in the N109 Zone.
You walked into the front door of your shared home with Sylus, but then again, was it? He is never here during the week. You had both discussed it plenty in the early stages of your relationship, but that did not make the adjustment any easier now that you had moved back to Linkon. Being a hunter was difficult for you, mind, body, and spirit.
Despite your feelings, you fought to hold on until the weekend. You knew Sylus was coming home to you soon. After work tomorrow, you would go home, and your lover would be waiting for you. That thought made you smile.
You strolled into your home through the grand entryway, maneuvering through it to find the living area. Walking through the arch, you looked above your head to see the chandelier suspended above the coffee table. Turning your head, you observed the ceiling-to-floor windows, admiring the sunset.
Your imagination took over, the thought of walking in tomorrow, noticing the lit fireplace, candles throughout the room, and the signature scent of vanilla being carried throughout the room. You’d know without a doubt that he was home. Your gaze would be drawn to the kitchen where Sylus would be standing. Maybe he got a gift for you, he usually does, something that reminded him of you during your signature five days apart.
“I miss him,” you said aloud reluctantly. A sigh escaped your lips, and your hands covered your eyes, leaving you feeling the somber silence around you.
A few beats of silence were interrupted by Sylus’s signature ringtone. Pulling you from your mind, you shifted quickly, searching for your phone. Making your way to your work bag, you pull the phone out of the front pocket before swiping “accept” on Sylus’s phone call.
Sylus: "You have no idea how much I’ve missed this—just hearing your voice, sweetie. It’s been way too long. Feels like forever since I’ve had you all to myself."
You: "I know, baby. I’ve missed you too. Every night, I go to bed wishing you were here."
Sylus: "Soon, though. Tomorrow, it’s all about us. You and me, finally. I’ve been counting down the days."
You: "Me too. I remember the last time we were together…our little movie night… I loved it so much."
Sylus: "Yeah? Well, tomorrow, I plan to make it even better. We’ve got catching up, and I’m not just talking about our dinner date, sweetie. I’ve been thinking about you non-stop. I miss touching you, holding you… just being with you."
You: "I can’t wait. I’ve been thinking about it all week. Just the thought of being with you makes everything feel right."
Sylus: "Good. Because tomorrow, the second I walk through that door, I’m not letting you go. No distractions, no interruptions, just you and me. How’s that sound?"
You: "Sounds perfect. I’ve been dying to just… be with you again. Really be with you."
Sylus: "Good. ‘Cause I plan to remind you how much I’ve missed you in every way."
☆---
"Hey, Sy! Are you almost here yet?" Your voice carried a hint of strain as you focused on dinner preparations. You had cubed some steak, and the hot grease sizzled and popped back at you while you basted the meat with a rich butter-garlic mixture, ensuring each piece absorbed the flavorful glaze.
“Yes, Kitten. I should be there in a few minutes, but check the door; there's a gift for you outside.”
“Oh! Okay, I didn't know. I’ll go look.” You disconnected the call with Sylus and went to the front door of your house. You saw an absurdly large box waiting for you as you opened the door. You maneuvered the box inside, wanting to open it. You grabbed your knife, tearing through the tape on the top. Once opened, you saw the little white note inside waiting for you.
“For our date.” The simple cursive of the letter made you raise an eyebrow till you bent down and opened the box. You found face masks, bath bombs, moisturizers, oils, candles, and anything you could have desired.
“Ah, so he planned a self-care night. How cute!” Then you heard the door creak open, causing you to turn around. You dropped the items swiftly back in the box, overwhelmed with emotion.
“I’m home, my love,” he said sweetly. A large smile instantly plastered your face at the sight of him, and you ran into his arms. You could admit that while you were growing used to your hyper-independence, you missed him. His scent, his touch, his presence. How your days to weeks apart made your heart grow fonder was amazing.
You ran to him, jumping in his arms. He caught you quickly as you gave him a tight hug. “I missed you,” you whispered into his ear, pressing soft kisses to his ear lobe. He shuddered at the feeling of your kiss, his eyes falling closed. You pulled your head back to look into his eyes. The heat of your soft kisses ran through him as he opened his eyes to meet yours. He placed his forehead flush against yours, a smile appearing on his face. His hands tightened his hold on you.
“Oh, sweetie, you don’t want to know how much I wished I could come to you this past week,” Sylus said, his eyes dropping to your lips. Holding you with just one arm, his right hand caressed your face. Your face flushed a bit. The look in his eyes said even more than his words. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, “I missed this,” he said, kissing you languidly, almost like you were frozen in time. “And this,” his hand moved, tilting your chin upwards and to the side, pressing a taught kiss to your jaw. “This,” he tilted his head and kissed your neck slowly, starting where your jaw meets your neck, down to where your collarbone begins, before his teeth found your skin, nibbling on it gently.
A rough breath came from your lips. The feeling of his lips and teeth on you always felt amazing. “Sylusss, let’s finish dinner. I smell it burning,” you said, smelling the cube steak slowly turning into burnt steak.
He kissed you once more and nibbled on the skin by your collarbone. “Okay, we wouldn’t want dinner to burn now, would we?” he laughed, placing you on your feet. You turned around and made your way to the kitchen, still feeling flustered by how he kissed you moments ago.
Sylus followed closely behind, his presence warm and comforting. You carefully plated the meal—tender, butter-basted (slightly burnt) steak cubes, roasted vegetables, and creamy mashed potatoes. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, the perfect mix of savory and satisfying.
"Smells amazing, sweetie," Sylus murmured as he leaned against the counter, watching you with that familiar, teasing grin.
You handed him his plate, the warmth of the food almost matching the heat between you two. Together, you carried the plates to the couch, where the night would begin. The soft lighting in your house casts a cozy glow, setting the perfect mood for the evening ahead.
"Dinner and a show?" he teased, settling beside you, his eyes lingering on yours.
You laughed softly. "Something like that. Let’s just say… we won’t leave this couch for a while."
Sylus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I like the sound of that."
You both dug into the meal, the flavors rich and comforting, but the real excitement lingered between each bite, the anticipation building for the rest of the date.
The movie you chose to accompany your dinner was a sad romantic comedy. It may not have been the best choice because now you are trying to keep tears from falling from your eyes. You wanted to enjoy your time with Sylus, not cry over nothing.
But you couldn’t help yourself. The movie discusses a couple struggling to navigate their careers. They got pulled in different directions and did not end up together… It was eerie; it was too reminiscent of your current insecurities.
You turned your head, looking at Sylus, who was already turned towards you. His brows furrowed in concern. “What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours, hmm?” he said, bringing his hand to rest on your cheek as he slowly stroked your face.
His tenderness and compassion for you were mind-blowing. His never-ending patience was world-shattering. A tear fell from your eye, wetting his hand. “Is this going to work? I don’t want to end up like them, Sylus.” You finally met his fierce eyes, forcing yourself to hold contact as you shared your insecurity with him.
“Listen, this isn’t forever. It's hard now, but it is temporary. I will make sure of that, " he said, his voice strained at the sight of your tears. He pulled you forward to hug him, and his embrace instantly comforted you. “I promise,” he whispered into your ear, placing the softest kiss on your earlobe.
You pulled back ever so slightly to look him in the eyes. “I trust you, Sylus,” you said, sniffling and wiping your face. He smiled at you slightly, and your admission meant much more to him than you’d ever know.
“Let’s continue our date. I found those face masks you’ve been texting me,” he offered. “I saw! Where’d you even find those,” you exclaimed and lightly hit his chest. You both laughed together, feeling a bit lighter now.
You shifted to your shared bathroom, which had quite an industrial feel. The walls were covered with deep blue tiles, and the floor was a patterned blue tile, which beautifully complemented the gold and brown accents throughout the room. Walking on your bare feet, the tiles felt cold under your feet, chilling your whole body and giving you goosebumps.
Sylus followed behind you closely. The brown box rested in his large hands as he placed it on the wide granite counter. He unpacked the box, pulling out the candles, face masks, oils/lotions, and bath items.
You walked behind him, grabbing the candles and placing them around the large bathroom. The scent of a sweet candle promptly filled the air, spreading through the room. You turned off the warm lights, allowing the candles to be your light source.
Further setting your space for the date, you turned on some smooth jazz—something you and Sylus would appreciate. Playing instruments was not an easy feat, as you would know after your multiple failed attempts at playing the piano.
Walking back into the bathroom connected to your primary suite, you saw that Sylus had begun to draw bath water for you two. His hand was wading in and out of the water, monitoring the temperature. You just watched as he worked. He had fresh roses in a plastic bag on the floor next to him. He picked them up, removing the petals. The red roses filled the white bathtub, some resting atop the beautiful bubble bath he made for you two.
“Do you need help getting ready for the bath?” He said suddenly, turning his head to look at you, a slight grin on your face.
“I could use some help,” you said playfully, a pout forming on your cocked head.
Sylus stopped the bath water and was now ready for you two to share. He made his way over to you and stood tall before you. You lifted your arms, and he moved to lift your t-shirt above your head, tossing it somewhere in the bedroom, leaving you in a lacy black bra. You watched his eyes shift downward to your chest before looking you in the eyes. He laughed a bit, knowing you caught him looking.
“Your turn, Sy,” you said.
“Whatever you say, Sweetie,” he replied playfully. He lifted his arms above his head, knowing damn well he was too tall for you to pull the shirt above his head. So, instead, he moved to his knees, making it easier for you. You reached down, pulling his casual shirt over his head, leaving him shirtless, on his knees for you. Your eyes widened a bit at the sight. You’d never get over this.
“Now, these must go,” Sylus said. He was hooking his large fingers into the waistband of your black leggings and panties. He pulled them down slowly, leaving you in just a bra before him. “Always so beautiful for me,” he said, desire filled his eyes.
He reluctantly stood to his feet, standing at full height as he moved to unclasp your bra. “May I?” He whispered tenderly against the shell of your ear.
“Of course, baby,” you said softly. You heard the click of the bra behind you, your breasts falling as they left the support of the bra.
Sylus stepped back, looking over your nude body.
You flushed at his gaze, lifting your arms to cover your body. “The bath is getting cold,” you said, suddenly feeling shy in front of your husband.
“Let’s get in, sweetie,” Sylus said with a grin, swiftly slipping off his sweatpants and briefs. He lowered himself into the bath, the water rippling as he settled in, leaving space for you to join him.
You stepped into the hot bath, the warmth enveloping your legs as the water sloshed with your added weight. Steadying your hands on the tub's edge, you guided yourself in, sinking fully until your back rested against Sylus’s broad chest. The hot water worked wonders on your tense muscles, soothing the stress from both your bodies.
The demands of your careers, the physical toll of your work as a hunter, and the mental strain of being apart all faded away at this moment. This was exactly what you both needed: to be close and together.
Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the side, resting it on Sylus’s strong bicep. You lost yourself in the feeling of him, ignoring the soft glow of candles and the distant music. None of it mattered as much as the sensation of his body against yours. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the hard lines of his abs, the strength in his thighs. Your fingers traced the vein from his bicep to his forearm, grounding you in the moment.
The warmth of his skin against yours was everything—comforting, intimate. You were both aware of his cock pressed against your ass, but for now, you both ignored it, savoring the quiet closeness. In this shared silence, nothing else mattered.
The warmth of the bath pulled you into a sense of calm, but the steady rise and fall of Sylus’s chest beneath you stirred something more. You could not ignore how his hands started to drift, one moving slowly up your arm, the other settling on your waist, his finger tracing gentle circles on your skin. A quiet hum of satisfaction escaped your lips as you shifted slightly, pressing your back more firmly against him.
“You feel incredible, sweetie,” Sylus murmured into your ear, his deep voice sending a shiver through you despite the warmth of the water.
The light touch of his lips grazed your shoulder, and you felt a surge of heat build inside you. His lips lingered, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
You tilted your head back to give him better access, your heart quickening as his touch became firmer, more deliberate. The tension between you that had been quietly building suddenly felt undeniable. His hand slid down to your thigh, squeezing gently, and you felt a low moan escape your lips.
"Sylus..." you whispered, your voice breathless, your body instinctively pressing against him. His cock, which you both had been ignoring, now became impossible to dismiss.
He growled softly, lips still brushing your neck. "I’ve missed this," Sylus whispered, his lips brushing your ear, voice deep and full of desire. "But I think it's time we take this somewhere... a little more open."
Without waiting for an answer, he shifted beneath you, his strong arms lifting you out of the water as easily as if you weighed nothing. Water dripped from your skin, splashing back into the tub as he stood, holding you effortlessly in his arms.
"Sylus!" you gasped, gripping his shoulders as he carried you with that familiar, confident grin. He didn’t speak and just gave you a knowing look, his eyes dark with intent.
He walked you over to the bathroom counter, the cool surface contrasting the heat radiating from your body. Gently but firmly, Sylus sat you down, your wet skin making contact with the smooth countertop, the chill making you gasp.
Before you could fully adjust to your new position, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands tugging you forward, positioning you exactly how he wanted. His gaze locked onto yours as he parted your plush thighs, his breath hot against your skin.
"I told you, sweetie," he growled, eyes filled with desire. "Your wish is my command."
Your eyes widened at the sight of him on his knees before you. You were breathless, waiting for his next move.
Sylus’s fingers slotted between your folds, moving to spread them open for him. Your pussy was already so wet, and his fingers were soaked in your slick just from opening you up. He pressed a firm kiss against your pretty little clit. His kiss was slow, testing your reaction. Your hips bucked from his kiss. He could tell you’ve grown needy for him.
“It seems I'm not taking good care of my wife.” His intense gaze reached yours. His mouth opened, allowing his hot tongue to make contact with your sensitive clit.
A moan fell from your lips. You were quickly feeling overwhelmed. The cold counter, your wet skin, his tongue, his eye contact. You couldn’t help but close your eyes. There was too much going on.
His tongue expertly flicked your clit, and he was messily making out with your cunt. He decided he would spell his name on it. He loved reminding you who you belonged to after your time apart. He moved his index finger, choosing to work your hole while pleasing your clit. His finger stroked your entrance back and forth, dipping inside a bit more each time he made a pass. You moved your hands to grip under your legs, bracing yourself. Your head bent back, resting against the large mirror in the bathroom.
He shifted his expert tongue, closing his lips around your clit. Nibbling on your clit lightly, dragging your attention back to him. It’s almost like he was punishing you for looking away from him.
“Eyes on me, Kitten,” Sylus said, his words sending vibrations straight into your clit, as he pushed his larger finger into you. Beginning to stroke your insides, he found that little sensitive button inside you, pressing it firmly, causing you to squirm beneath him, growing heat in your belly. You could feel the heat going to your face at the sight before you.
Sylus wanted—needed all of you, but more than anything, he needed your attention. He has to know that you share his desire.
“Yes,” you said breathlessly. You fought to keep your eye on him, even as your pleasure began to build up inside you. The heat of his mouth, his fingers pumping into you expertly, just felt so good.
During the days you spent apart, you counted the hours away. The feeling of his tongue on yours, his body against yours, nothing could compare to what you share with Sylus. The spots are the only ones he knows and can only dare to explore. He blew your mind every time.
You shifted one of your hands to grip his white hair. It slotted between your fingers so easily when you tugged it like that. A groan released from his mouth, vibrating your cunt.
“I– oh fuck,” you said suddenly as your hips began to spasm hard against his beautiful face. Your hips lifted at the intensity of the pleasure running through you.
“I know. Come for me, darling,” He purred into you. He kept his mouth on you as you rode out your high. You rode his face, spreading your juices all over him.
Sylus smirked at you. His face was covered in your arousal as you slowly released your grip on his hair. A lazy smile appeared on your face as he stood to kiss you, his hand reaching out, cupping your face sweetly. He kissed you slowly, saving this moment with you. The way he pressed against you sent warmth through your veins.
Reluctantly parting his lips from yours, he lifted you off your ass onto your feet.
“Turn around for me, Kitten,” he commanded you sweetly. And you complied, turning around and facing the large mirror before you in the bathroom. You bent over on the counter, the cold granite causing your nipples to harden against it. You rested on your forearms, making eye contact with Sylus in the mirror. He licked his lips, collecting your remaining arousal on his tongue.
And he held that with you, not daring to look away. He took his cock in his hands, his girth heavy in his hands, and he guided himself to your cunt. Gauging your reaction, he rubbed his cock against your slit, and you squirmed a bit, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.
He pushed into you slowly, agonizingly slow. Your eyes were a bit teary as you bit your lip, watching him tease you. You could feel the burn of him stretching you out. It’d been so long since he fucked you. “don’t tease,” you whined, your lips pouting slightly. You turned back, looking at him directly. “I need you,” you said, your body burning with need.
He kissed you roughly, tilting your head a bit to allow him better access to your lips. At the same time, he sheathed himself fully inside you. A desperate moan fell from your lips, and you tilted your head forward, watching him in the mirror. He took on a slow, deep pace at first, dragging his hips back before pounding back into you.
His hands found your lower back, gripping your flesh, bracing himself as he pounded into you. The intensity of his thrusts caused your body to create friction against the counter. Your breast, your stomach, his hands on your backside. It just felt so good.
He thrust into you repeatedly, and you heard the slap of his heavy erection pounding into you. The slap of his balls hit your clit repeatedly as he kept his rhythm. Breaking his eye contact with you, Sylus's eyes trained on where he was pounding into you. Every time he pulled out, your cunt dragged him back in. Begging for him not to pull away. You kept gripping down on him.
He watched as your juices mixed, the white film appearing around the base of his cock. A sly smile appeared on his lips, sending the desire coursing through his veins. He closed his eyes, focusing on how you felt around him. Your gummy walls sucked him in, asking for him to stay. You kept gripping his cock so well you couldn’t possibly understand what you were doing to him. He could feel every little time you twitched, gripped him, sucked down on him. And the sounds coming from your pretty little mouth were egging him on. Begging him to come in your pretty pussy, and he couldn’t resist much longer.
You felt yourself involuntarily grip down on Sylus again, and you turned your head to look at him directly, his pretty face, the flush on his cheeks. He was driving you crazy, too. He kept hitting that sensitive spot inside you, his heavy balls slapping your clit over and over. You couldn’t help but grip down on him again. You watched his eyebrows furrow as he slightly opened his eyes to look at yours. His eyes squinted as pleasure began to take over his body.
“You feel so good,” he gritted out, his flushed face apparent as you looked at him more closely. The sight is so erotic, a moan released from your lips. You could feel your wetness all over him. Your cunt was dripping at the sight before you.
He began to keel over you. Resting a bit on your back as his thrusts became more sloppy. He laid on top of you completely, “You’ll take my come, won’t you, baby?” he whispered in your ear.
“Y–yes,” you moaned out. His eyes closed as he rutted into you over and over as his ropes of come filled you.
Your hands gripped the counter, steadying yourself until his thrusts slowed up a bit. He was losing his pace and becoming sloppy as he finished riding his high.
His breathing was uneven as he rested his weight on your backside. “You’re always so good for me, Kitten,” he said breathlessly.
He pulled out slowly, trying to keep his seed in you before he got on his knees, and your eyebrows hit your hairline in shock.
“Can’t let this escape now, can we?” Sylus said, slight amusement in his voice as he used his fingers to push his release back inside you before he stood up and licked his two fingers clean. He was looking into your eyes using the mirror.
“Sylus!” you exclaimed at the sight. He’d never done that before. It's a true sight to behold.
“We taste so good together, sweetie,” he remarked casually, causing heat to go to your face as you watched him leave the room.
He returned with a soft towel, wetting the cloth in the sink, furthest from you, so as not to re-wet your now dry skin.
He came back over and wiped your excess shared fluids from your cunt, leaving you slightly damp from the wetness of the towel.
At that, you rolled over, sitting on the counter, before tenderly kissing Sylus on his taut lips. “Thank you,” you whispered to him. He’s always so attentive, you thought. He pressed himself flush against you before wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Let’s lay down now,” he said, picking you up.
You giggled at that. “Yes, let’s,” you said with a large smile. You missed this.
☆---
I feel like Sylus and Raf are the most fun to write for. Their stories always have so much banter idk. THIS IS NOT ZAYNE SHADE, that's my man fr.
pairings. sylus, fem!reader
genre. fluff, smut, biker au, 18+
tags. petnames (kitten), unprotected sex, spitting, hair-pulling, consensual filming, creampie, dirty talk, possessiveness, violence, slight yandere themes, impregnation
notes. ik he’s probably into cafe racers but the sportbike enthusiast in me thinks biker!sylus is the m*tthew w*ods of l&ds, booktok/biketok girlies iykyk
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who collects liter bikes like they’re toys; he’d usually get rid of them as soon as he gets bored, but his current favs are his black & red edition fireblade, m1000rr, and superleggera v4.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who got famous on booktok overnight after posting a video of him riding his bike through the tunnel with a half-buttoned shirt. the view offered a peek on his toned chest and abs, leaving the rest to an innocent girl’s imagination. the comments on that post are wild, and the views went up to 2 mil in a day.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who broke numerous girls’ hearts literally a day after that post, revealing that he already has a backpack (you) and that his sunset and midnight rides are exclusively booked for his girlfriend.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who eventually taught you how to ride your own bike, gifting you a white N400 on your birthday—a bike he calls “too slow” for him, but is actually fast enough for a beginner like you.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who once chased a car for nearly rear-ending you on a red-light. as soon as he saw how the car almost hit you from behind, the loud and chilling roar of his bike bolted you in surprise as he accelerated to chase after the car, breaking the asshole’s side mirror, and teaching him a ‘lesson’.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who always keeps a possessive eye on you, always riding within his acceptable distance because the last time he allowed you to ride ahead of him, some guy on a Ford 150 tried to ask for your number, calling you a hot biker girl he hopes to have a ‘good time’ with. that didn’t end well for the poor guy, because the interaction was cut short when sylus revved his bike, lane splitting between you and the car, and running over the guy’s outstretched arm along the way. he might’ve broken a bone or two, who knows?
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who owns a springfield .45 gun, and claims he has no problems shooting another guy’s head if they dared touch even a single strand of your hair. he’s a very territorial individual and would not think twice on committing a crime if it meant protecting what’s his.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who’s hated by his neighbors, both because of how loud his bike gets in the morning, and how loud his girl can get during the evening. he doesn’t care though, because the sound of your moans were actually music to his hears. he swears he has to hear them every night or he won’t be able to sleep well.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who gets very kissy and touchy whenever you two arrive at home, unable to keep his hands to himself while you’re still parking your bike beside his. his lips would go straight to your neck, placing feathered kisses on your skin, tickling you with his warm breath as he tells you, “you know you’re mine, right?” of course you’d say you’re his. and he always follows up with a reminder, “good, because i’d kill any son of a bitch who tries to steal you from me.”
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who loves to fuck you raw, rough, and fast. he always had you gripping on the sheets, or scratching his back, or screaming out his name in a salacious escape to release your earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm. he always had your legs shaking, your body twitching, your breasts bouncing with each slam as he doesn’t stop pounding into you even after you came. he adores the sight of your beautiful, begging face each time he buries his hardened cock inside of your sweet, sweet pussy. “my kitten’s being too needy, huh?” he’d whisper to your ear before meeting your hips with another satisfying thrust. “always a slut for me.”
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who likes to spit on your mouth, pull your hair, and slap your bum. they’re some of his many kinks, and he can get nastier if he wants to, but he’d often say he’d rather save the best on your wedding night.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who enjoys filming your extremely erotic moments together, claiming that he needed to revisit those videos for when he misses you. his favorite content seems to be when he’s cumming inside of you, shooting every drop of his thick seed straight through your womb. kitten, you’re so tight, he’d think to himself. he goes even crazier for the view whenever he pulls out and sees his own semen dripping out of your swollen entrance.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who makes you breakfast the next morning after a long, passionate night. he always seems to cook the perfect pancakes, like he had specifically mastered the skill after you told him that pancakes were your favorite choice for breakfast.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who proudly displays you on social media, and bluntly rejects every girl who’d leave thirsty comments on his posts. he gets a little too sassy for their liking, but he doesn’t really give a damn about hurting another girl’s feelings if it were to protect yours.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who lets you ‘break’ his masculine ego by allowing you to paint his nails, give him skin care, or place cute, tiny, heart-shaped clips all over his hair whenever you were in the mood to. he’d just stare at you the whole time, amused at how you’d treat him like your own ken doll.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus whose immediate response when you told him you’re pregnant was “do you think it’s a baby girl?” there was no ounce of surprise in his eyes, no scintilla of worry at the thought of being an unexpected father, clearly, because he should already see it coming especially with how sexually active you two are. he really wants a baby girl, too. and a boy next. so while you were nearly horrified at seeing your positive pregnancy test thinking he’d ask you to terminate it, his calm and loving reaction to your unexpected baby was what made you realize that there was nothing else you could ever want in a man.
𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who, on the very next day, asked you to try and test start your bike because he thinks something’s ‘wrong’ with it. you hurried to check your bike, of course. little did you know, the keychain strapped onto your key had been replaced, now with a new, embroidered keychain bearing the words, “marry me?”
♡︎ synopsis: You didn't plan on celebrating your birthday during undercover mission, but Xavier still wanted to surprise you.
A little twist on the 21 Days memory.
♡︎ pairing: Xavier x fem!reader
｡°⚠︎°｡MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)｡°⚠︎°｡
♡︎ cw: birthday sex, fingering, oral (both male and female receiving), creampie, multiple orgasms
♡︎ word count: 3.4k
♡︎ a/n: I call myself Zayne girlie yet here I am posting my fourth Xavier fic. Anyways, Sylus is next.
♡︎ requested by @sadfragilegirl
♡︎ special thanks to my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for reading and helping me with this!
divider by @cafekitsune
The undercover mission with Xavier has been going smoothly so far. You two put up a convincing act of a young couple in love in front of others, and actually got along well behind closed doors. You didn't want to tell him this, but you were genuinely surprised at how good of a homemaker he is. When you heard about the assignment, you were excited that it's him who's going to be living with you, but at the same time anxious. Xavier is a reliable work partner, but what would he be like as a roommate? So far, you had no complaints and actually were looking forward to coming home back to the apartment you and Xavier temporarily lived in for around three weeks.
As you mindlessly stroll around a grocery store, you reminisce about one more cause of anxiety about the mission - your crush on your coworker and neighbor. You're not sure when it started, but it doesn't matter because you made it your own mission to bury those feelings and hope they disintegrate. For a while you considered acting on it and taking the first step, but then you realized you had a lot to lose if it doesn't work out. And you tried to convince yourself that it was just a small crush, because who wouldn't want someone hot and reliable? Right?
A weary sigh leaves your lips and you turn a corner - Party Supplies. Oh. Right, it's your birthday today. You didn't say anything to Xavier because you didn't want to make him feel obligated to buy you a gift or make something today. You two are on a mission after all, and you can get to celebrate it later when it's over.
You pass the party supplies aisle and head towards the check out. You wonder what kind of concoction Xavier cooked today.
₊♡₊˚ 🍒・₊✧
Even though you settled on not celebrating your birthday today, you still wanted to treat Xavier, so you bought a cherry pie from a pastry shop that always smells so good and makes your mouth water every time on the way back from 'work'.
As you fiddle with your keys at the doorstep, you catch a whiff of something burning. Probably from the inside. Another sigh leaves your lips. Xavier burnt something again, didn't he?
Light gray smoke greets you as soon as you open the door, your eyes taking a moment to adjust and then you see Xavier frantically fanning a kitchen towel over the counter.
You can clearly see the panic in Xavier's eyes over the slowly dissipating smoke when he notices you coming in. "Ah - ! Welcome home!"
You can't help but laugh a little at the scene, but also be confused a little at his behavior. He's usually calm even when he causes a kitchen fire. "So what are we having for dinner?" You tease.
Xavier's shoulders slump in defeat and puts away the kitchen towel. He turns to you and finally looks at you properly, with a defeated smile "A neighbor made you one of your favorite dishes." He nudges his head towards the dining table. Your gaze follows his and you gasp at how beautifully the table was set, with the meal and your favorite flowers waiting for you.
"Xavier, what - "
"Oh, what's this?"
He approached you to take the bag with the groceries while your attention was on the table.
"Oh, I got us a cherry pie."
He only nods and goes back to the kitchen to unload everything.
You sneak towards the cremated object, "So, if we already had dinner, what was this supposed to be?"
"Uh, nothing. I was just experimenting." Xavier absentmindedly answers as he finishes putting everything away.
After he refuses your offer to help with airing out the apartment, you then excuse yourself to the bathroom to take a quick shower and change into more comfortable clothes.
When you exit the bathroom, the smell of what you assume to be burnt dessert is almost completely gone, and now you can see everything properly. You walk back into the dining area and your eyes land on Xavier waiting for you by the table. You gasp in delight when you see what's in his hands - a cute handmade paper crown in your favorite colors.
"Happy birthday." Xavier says softly and steps towards you, placing the crown on your head. It sits so perfectly that you think he might've taken your measurements.
You look up at him, still in disbelief "How did you - "
"Know when it's your birthday? I told you I looked at your profile." He chuckles at the silly question and turns to pull back your chair, offering you to take a seat.
While eating, you found out that what he burnt was supposed to be a birthday cake he thought you would like, but while it was baking he used that time to set the table and make the crown. He didn't want to make it earlier in case you found it. And then the neighbor came to drop off the meal and of course had to linger and chat and also invite herself over tomorrow.
"So, the groceries I bought today - "
"I didn't need any of that, I just wanted to buy myself more time."
You got used to Xavier's weird grocery shopping lists, that you didn't even question why you were buying ketchup, pesto sauce or sausages. You were so touched by the amount of effort and thoughtfulness he put into your birthday dinner; you were smiling the whole time. That crush is not going away anytime soon.
But you can tell that Xavier was almost like a deflated balloon, hesitantly answering your questions as you put two and two together.
You reach across the table, placing your hand over his. "I love everything you've done today." You reassure him in a comforting voice, "And it kinda worked out that the cake got burned, because then the pie would go to waste."
He nods, and you hope you made him feel a little better. Then, he takes your hand and places a soft peck on top of it, and you could feel your cheeks burning instantly. You hope he doesn't notice it.
He does.
After dinner, Xavier shoos you away from the kitchen, not letting you do any of the house chores on your day. So you go to the living room to unwind and wait for him to join you.
₊♡₊˚ 🍒・₊✧
"Sorry, I had to take a shower." Xavier finally appears and takes a seat next to you on the sofa. He's wearing sweats (those gray sweatpants!!) and a loose tshirt, his hair still a little damp from washing away the smoke.
"It's okay, I entertained myself." You throw the other half of your blanket over his lap.
"Did you pick out a movie?"
You nod and start playing the movie on the tv. Since you can't go out together as much thanks to the mission, you found ways to pass the time inside your 'new home'. One of them is watching old movies Xavier used to watch years ago.
And about five minutes into the movie, you feel fluffy gray hair tickling you cheek and nose as his head softly drops on your shoulder. You turn your head and of course, Xavier is already dozing off. You smile softly at him - it's only fair to let him rest, so you try to slowly get up and let him lie down on the soft pillows.
With eyes still closed, he lets you snuggle him into the pillows and the blanket, but then his lips form a playful smirk and in one swift motion, he pulls you under the blanket with him, into his arms.
"You can watch the movie like this, right?" He asks as sleepiness overtakes him again, with the crown, barely on your head, poking his cheek.
Your body is stiff against his, and your voice doesn't help hiding how flustered you are "Um, you don't want to go to your room to take a nap?"
"Nope." He mumbles before dozing off.
You adjust to make yourself more comfortable, resting your head on his chest. The movie is rolling, but it doesn't have your attention. All you can focus on is how relaxing Xavier's presence is, with his weird slow heartbeat and soft breathing. His one hand is holding you close by the waist, while the other one found its way on top of yours that's resting on his chest.
All the nervousness about being so close to him slowly melts away, and you drift off to sleep.
₊♡₊˚ 🍒・₊✧
When your eyes flutter open, Xavier's hand is in full focus as he tenderly caresses your cheek. The moonlight is the only source of light in the room now, and you wonder how long you slept. You prop yourself up a bit to look up at Xavier, but the crown you forgot you still had on slides off over your face, earning an amused laugh from him.
He takes it off for you and sets it on a nearby coffee table. Then he goes back to caressing your cheek.
"Did you sleep well?" He asks.
"Ye - Ow!" Numbness in your arm that was under you makes you grit your teeth and shift on the sofa in search for relief.
"Here." His arms effortlessly move you on top of him, your upper body completely resting on top of his, his legs encasing yours. "Better?" He asks as he grazes soothing circles on the numb arm.
Well you're not sure if it is better because your heart is beating like crazy now that you're on top of him, your faces a breath away. You did cuddle a little before, but you were never this close. So close you're sure he can feel your heartbeat. So you just nod, not trusting your voice.
You two share a moment in silence, gazing at each other’s features, Xavier's fingers still not leaving your face.
"It's a pity your birthday was during an undercover mission. I'll make it up to you when we get back."
You shake your head "This is one of my favorite birthdays actually." He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to elaborate and hoping you're not just humoring him. "I mean, I had a lovely home and a handsome husband waiting for me. He got me beautiful flowers and made sure I had my favorite meal."
A tone of uncertainty covers your voice "Who should I thank for that?"
When met with a puzzled look you elaborate "Should I thank you as my fake husband playing his role, or as my coworker -"
The fingers on your cheek cover your lips, cutting you off. "Just thank me, Xavier." The digits gingerly graze your bottom lip.
You speak softly “Thank you, Xavier.” Butterflies dance in your belly as you mull over the next question. "And -" You swallow thickly before continuing "What am I to you, Xavier?"
He doesn't say anything, instead he timidly pulls you closer by the back of your head, closing what little distance you had between your faces, his soft lips giving yours a chaste kiss. And when you don't pull away, your hand cupping his cheek, he pulls into a deep, hungry kiss, your bodies pressed hard, feeling every twitch of the muscle and pulse of your veins under your skin - and it's impossible to ignore growing bulge pressing your lower belly.
Xavier curses under his breath "Sorry, I - !" his words get lost in his throat when your hand grazes over his length over the clothes, your lips latching back onto his.
He groans and bites your bottom lip when you give it a few more strokes, feeling out his shape.
Fuck, it's thick.
Growing impatient, you tug at the waistband of the sinful gray sweats, and Xavier lifts his hips and pulls them down just enough to free his rock hard dick. You break away from the kiss to not so subtly look down and even under the low lights you can clearly see it. The sight of it makes you unconsciously rub your thighs and your mouth water.
You might've stared a little too long because a chuckle from the man under you pulls you out from your trance. But he doesn't tease you, maybe because it's your birthday, instead he pulls you back into another breathtaking kiss, while your hand wraps around his length, slowly stroking it.
But you need more - and in the next moment you're sliding down, adjusting yourself between his legs.
A few strokes to the base of his cock and your tongue on the leaking tip elicits a moan from Xavier's lips, and you discover that it's your new favorite sound. So you do what you need to do to hear more of it. Your swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting precum and the tender skin, before you take in more of his length, and greedily you take more and more before your nose is pressed on his pelvis, short hairs of his happy trail tickling you. You don't care how your jaw is barely holding on around his girth, his moans is what keeps you going and panties already drenched. All restrain from Xavier dissipates with every lick of your tongue and clenching of your throat around the tip.
"Fuck, you're doing so good."
His hips start moving faster than your rhythm, his hand on your head holding you in place. Under the hand that's holding you for balance, you can feel his thigh muscles tremble, and you can feel his cock throb in your mouth.
"I'm gonna cum, princess." He gives you the warning, and loosens his grip on your head, but you take it all in, needing to taste him. And in few shallow thrusts, you're tasting and swallowing his cum, not letting a drop go to waste.
You barely catch your breath before Xavier lifts you up and locks his lips with yours, tongue licking your lips and tongue, tasting himself. Then he switches the positions with you, and now you're on your back, stripped of your pants and underwear, Xavier's lips locked with yours and his middle finger sliding between your wet folds. You moan into the kiss as the finger slides into your entrance, quickly followed by a second one. Your hips start moving to meet the pace, the digits hitting all the right spots and your release already building up. Then his thumb presses your clit that was begging for attention, eliciting a yelp from you making Xavier smile against your lips before continuing kissing you. In a few more pumps of his fingers against your sweet spot, you're a panting mess as you cum around them.
When you come down from your high, he brings up those soaked fingers to his lips and licks them, the sight making you blush. His dick twitches in his underwear as he gets a taste of your essence. He needs more.
Before you can even protest about how you're wet enough, he pushes your legs further up against your torso, his face already between them, his breath fanning against your pussy spreading goosebumps all over your skin. The only thing that stopped him from latching onto your pretty pussy is his need to take in the sight of it for the first time.
You cover your face with your hands, too self-conscious about the close up he's getting, even if there's no lights in here. "Xavier..." You whine and move your hips as much as you can under his grasp.
He chuckles at your cute reaction and whispers how perfect you are, then he finally presses his tongue flat against your glistening folds, and your embarrassment melts away. One hand moves from the back of your thigh under your shirt, fondling your breast and playing with your hard nipple until you're squirming from over-sensitivity and he moves to the other one. His lips latch onto your sensitive nub, swirling his tongue around it, sucking and lapping at it, while his other hand finds its way back into your entrance, two fingers easily slipping in and finding the spots that make you moan and buck your hips.
"Just like that - " You breathe, raking your fingers through his hair and holding onto it, while your other hand grabs onto the arm rest behind you, anchoring yourself as Xavier's tongue and fingers stimulate you at just the right pace and you cry out when another orgasm courses through your body.
Xavier soothingly massages your breast and peppers your inner thighs with kisses as you catch your breath.
You hear him ask against your plush thigh "One more?"
Your eyes open and meet his half lidded gaze. You shake your head and grab his wrist "Just fuck me, please."
He was already on edge of another orgasm from just eating you out, and your breathy plea made him so dangerously closer. He positions himself on top of you and pulling down his underwear that now has a big wet spot from his leaking tip. You watch as he positions his cock against your pussy until you hear his soft voice
"Look me in the eyes, honey."
And you lock your gaze with his, eyes barely staying open as the swollen tip slides inside. With languid thrusts, his cock is buried to the hilt and now Xavier needs to anchor himself - he rests on his elbow, burying his face in the crook of your neck, licking and nipping sensitive skin. His other hand finds yours and holds it tight, interlocking fingers and resting it next to your head.
His thrust are deep and hard, his pelvis grazing your clit, making your cunt throb and squeeze around him, making his movements falter. With a strained voice he breathes against your neck "Gonna cum on my cock?"
You nod as you clench around him more when you hear his voice and see his face as he comes up to lock eyes with you and you grab him by the back of his neck, pulling him into a sloppy open mouthed kiss.
You squeeze his hand and lock your legs around his hips as they roll at the right angle.
"I'm so close, honey." He rasps.
And you are seconds away from your third orgasm, your pussy already spasming. "Need you - haah - inside -!"
You open your mouth in a silent cry his dick throbs in your already pulsing creaming cunt, filling it with hot cum. The two of you moan and grunt, erratically moving your hips, riding out each other's high.
With shaky breaths, you slowly calm down and open your eyes.
The two of you can't help but laugh a little when you see each other's blissed out faces. Xavier gives the hand he's still holding a kiss. Your other hand presses on his back to press you completely against him, needing to feel his whole weight on you.
"I'm not crushing you?" he asks as his face is nuzzled against your neck.
You gently stroke his now messy hair. "No let's stay like this for a while."
₊♡₊˚ 🍒・₊✧
After cleaning up the mess on the sofa and showering, you're back in the dining room with the cherry pie on the table. Xavier put the candles on it and the princess crown back on your head. You're about to sit on Xavier's lap and then light the candles but then you remember something.
"Shoot, I almost forgot!"
Confused, Xavier watches you as you hurry out in the dining room. Your phone and the lighter are here, so he can't guess what you would need.
You come back with a giddy smile on your face as you hold something behind your back.
"Something for me?" he asks, amused at your expression.
"Yes, but it doesn't look that good because I had to make it quickly." You then reveal a handmade prince crown.
Xavier's eyes widen "When did you -?"
"I guess you forgot to clean up the living room after making mine, so I just scrambled something while you were showering."
Left speechless at your sweet gesture, his eyes switch between gazing at you and the crown.
You feel a little embarrassed at your craftsmanship because it looks poorly made compared to the one he made for you. "Okay, you looked at it enough. I'll make you a better one later."
He chuckles as you place it on his head and sit on his lap. He kisses your hand and then your lips "Thank you, I love it."
After lighting the candles, you close your eyes and make a wish.
♡︎cw:unprotected sex, tent sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, pussy job, cum swallowing
♡︎word count: 3.9k
♡︎synopsis: What happens when you share a tent with your crush? The story starts where the memory Precious Bonfire ends.
♡︎a/n: I wrote this during my ovulation week. Also, I went over this once, so if you see any mistakes, no you don't.
♡︎ special thanks to my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for reading and helping me with this!
banner by @cafekitsune
Xavier looks up from the game card “Ah, I figured out what I want my payment to be.” He smiles softly at you and hands you the card, “Tell me when you’re overwhelmed next time.”
A little confused, you absent-mindedly take the card that’s not even yours. “That doesn’t sound like a payment.”
“Well, it is.”
“No, it’s not. Think of something else!” You say with playfulness in your voice. Of course you don’t mind accepting to “pay him off” in this way, but he’s been so helpful and resourceful today, that you’d feel bad for asking for more assistance.
He just shakes his head and stands up from his seat in the camping van, and walks away. End of discussion, I guess.
୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆
You spent a few minutes sitting alone in the van, decompressing, but also thinking of ways to return the favor. Seriously, what’s a good way to show him your gratitude? You know he’s not doing this because he expects something in return. Xavier is a genuine and sweet soul, someone who is reliable (except in the kitchen) with a soothing presence. He never seems overwhelmed, even when he lights his oven on fire.
You sigh wistfully. You were hoping he was going to say “Let’s go on a date!” or “Can I sleep in your tent?” or maybe “You know, the front of my pants is feeling a little tight, could you lend me a hand –“ you blush, hiding your face in your hands. If only.
You glance at your phone to look at the time. You decide you’ve spent enough time away from everyone, letting your mind wander – how big is it? – okay, you really need to focus and go back to your colleagues.
୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆
The rest of the evening went uneventful – you hung out with your friends, cleaned up the mess and then took a relaxing shower. Somewhere between cleaning up and the shower, you swiped a pack of chocolate covered strawberries from the mafia game winner. You wanted those strawberries the moment your eyes landed on them in that pile of snacks. And you’ll buy them later and give them back, so technically you’re borrowing them!
Besides, you want to give them to Xavier as a small thank you. He deserves more than this, but it will do for now.
Anyway, after the refreshing shower, you’re looking around the campsite. Most of your colleagues are cozying up in their tents, only a few still talking and drinking outside. Where’s Xavier?
You saw him earlier hanging out with others, but now… your eyes land on his figure, lounging by a tree away from all the tents.
You approach him. “There’s no way I’m letting you sleep outside.”
Xavier, not opening his eyes, says “I have no problem sleeping outside.”
“Well, as the captain of this group, I very much do.” You extend your arm towards him “C’mon, you can sleep in my tent.”
He opens his eyes as he hears the offer. “Are you – “
You grab his hand, “Yes, the tent is big enough for the two of us.” You suddenly remember that you only brought one blanket, but this summer night is nice and breezy so it shouldn’t be an issue.
Hesitant at first, Xavier nods and gets up while holding your hand. He moves his backpack to your tent and goes to take a shower, giving you time to change into pajama shorts and tank top; not really appropriate in this situation, but who cares!
As you spread out the blanket over the sleeping mat and two pillows, (yes, two, the other one was meant for your knees), you sit there waiting for him and then you realize – wow, it’s kinda fucking cold in here!
You were so focused on being a good captain and taking care of everyone that it completely slipped your mind that you should pack warmer pajamas and maybe a sleeping bag; it doesn’t matter that it’s summer, nights are always colder in the woods.
As you wonder if the blanket will be warm enough, from the corner of your eye you notice Xavier approaching the tent. He’s wearing a loose white t-shirt and gray cotton shorts. You move a little to make room for him, and when he crouches to step inside, your eyes are glued to his muscular legs. The staring makes you miss the way Xavier’s eyes take in your figure, the smooth skin of your thighs and your pebbled nipples poking underneath your top.
You quickly shift your gaze to his face; he’s looking around the tent. Suddenly you’re nervous. It hits you that you’ll be sleeping next to Xavier in this small ass tent. You feel an awkward tension, so you say “I hope this is enough room for you! I don’t have one more blanket but I do have an extra pillow!”
Xavier chuckles, and gives you a reassuring smile. “It’s good enough for me. I just hope you’re comfortable with this.”
“Of course I am!” You say very convincingly. As you nervously shift, your thigh grazes the box of strawberries. Right, I almost forgot! You take them and offer the box to him. “Here, a small token of my gratitude.”
He eyes the fruit, not taking them immediately. “Where did you get those?”
“The winner gave them to me.”
“Really?”
“I stole them.” You say with a shy smile. Some things are just impossible to hide from him.
He chuckles, “I’ll take them, but only if you have some as well.”
You agree and he opens the box, placing it between you two.
You’re the first one to try them, and you’re so pleased that your little crime paid off. And by Xavier’s little mm! you know that he enjoys the sweetness of chocolate and the strawberries as well. You sit there for a while, eating and chatting about whatever; mostly about the books he’s been reading and the new game both of you started playing.
You don’t feel that tired anymore. It’s probably the shower that washed away all the fatigue of the day. And the adrenaline from talking, not only talking but sharing a tent and then later sleeping next to your crush. You’re actually so excited you could run laps around the campsite, but at the same time so flustered you don’t know what to do with yourself.
After you take another bite of the fruit, you notice that Xavier’s eyes are lingering on your lips? No, your cheek?
His hand slowly goes towards your face, and you stand still, unsure of what he wants. His ring finger gently wipes the corner of your mouth.
He smiles, “You had some chocolate there.”
When he’s about to lick his finger, you joke “Hey! You’re taking my chocolate!”
He stops for a second, looks at the finger, then at you. “You’re right. Do you want it back?” He asks with that teasing glint in his eyes as he holds the digit in front of your lips.
You’re stunned for a moment, trying to read the situation. Does he really want you to lick it off?
Okay, you can play along; with your eyes on his, you start to lick the chocolate. Xavier’s eyes widen for a split second, his lips slightly part as he watches you lick and suck his finger clean. It made his shorts tighter, and he hopes that you don’t notice the outline of his erection on his gray shorts.
And you’re so frustrated at yourself because of how wet this little interaction made you.
When you’re done, with a light blush on his cheeks, he pulls back his hand and clears his throat. “You’re really good at this.”
You only sheepishly smile and continue the conversation like nothing happened.
୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆
“You didn’t bring a sleeping bag?” Xavier asks as you as you both get ready to sleep. It’s gotten late, it’s dead silent as everyone around you is sleeping or trying to fall asleep. You’re surprised that Xavier managed to stay awake this long.
You admit that you forgot the fact that it’s colder at night here than back in the city. “But the blanket should be big enough for both of us.” You offer to go ask someone for one more blanket, but he refuses and says that he’s worried about you being cold.
His eyes scan over your barely covered body “I can borrow you my hoodie. But it smells like campfire.”
“I’m gonna to be fine. Let’s just go to sleep.” You reassure him (and yourself). With that, both of you lie down, your backs turned, and cover yourself with a blanket that is not enough for two people.
Xavier lets you take most of it, but tries to not make it obvious, so he holds onto it, only his back covered.
Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes pass, you don’t know. You just can’t fall asleep. Not only because your ass is freezing, but because he is lying right next to you. And judging by his deep breathing, he’s asleep. Of course he is. You turn on your back and stare at the stars peeking through the mesh screen of the tent. You don’t want to move around too much or step outside because you don’t want to wake him. He’s had an exhausting day too.
You turn on your side, facing his back. You can’t see much in the dark tent, the only light source being the moon and the stars, and faint fairy lights outside. But it’s visible enough to admire his light fluffy hair and how wide his back is. You crave to trace your fingers over his shirt, through his hair… you completely took over the blanket!
You cover his figure, but then you’re a little exposed. With a sigh, you move closer to him as quietly as possible. Now, time to turn around in the same manner. But, Xavier is already switching to his other side, turning to you, and you’re so close, almost nose to nose and he opens his eyes.
You’re holding in your breath, freezing in place. “Sorry.” You whisper. “I just wanted to cover you.”
His sleepy eyes stare at yours, then at your lips. It takes him a second to register your words. “You’re still awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you cold?”
You take second before answering “Maybe.”
“Turn around.”
You do as you’re told expecting him to roll you into the blanket like a burrito and then you’d feel really bad. Those thoughts evaporate when you feel his warm arm slip around your waist, pulling your back against his strong, yet soft, chest, while his lower body keeps a respectful distance.
His breath tickles the skin of your neck, making you shiver. “Is this okay?”
You only muster a squeaky ‘mhm’, and then he falls silent again, with his face nuzzled against your neck. You close your eyes, and try to count sheep.
One sheep…two sheep… your arm gets uncomfortable so you place it over his that’s resting on your waist, the contact making his hand search your hand, entangling his fingers with yours, and then pulling you in a tighter embrace.
Exhaling a shuttering breath, you continue… three sheep… you’ve been keeping your legs pin straight this whole time and they’re starting to feel stiff and sore. But if you bend them, they’ll be exposed to cold air, but if you curl up you’ll be pressing your butt against Xavier’s crotch, or at least lower belly.
Four sheep…
The gentle whisper of your name against your ear makes you yelp. You thought he fell asleep.
Xavier repeats your name, and you can hear the smirk on his lips “Position yourself however you please. I want you to be comfortable.”
You exhale a breath you’ve been holding. “Okay.”
You move into the fetus position, making yourself as comfortable as possible, warm in his embrace, your bottom keeping an awkward distance from his lower half. You bite your bottom lip and try to regulate your breathing. He can probably feel how fast your heart is beating. You think how it’s unfair that he can feel how flustered you are.
You feel his slow heartbeat, but you can’t see his feverish red cheeks.
“Is it better now?” He asks.
“Yeah, it’s just that...” It’s just that your legs and buttocks are still cold.
When you don’t finish your sentence, he nudges your neck with his nose. “Your legs are cold.”
The hand on your waist moves and his fingers lightly glide over your upper thigh. When you don’t protest, he starts caressing, warming up your skin. The contact makes you hot between your legs, making you unconsciously rub your thighs and arch your back, your butt backing up against his front.
You immediately flinch, jolting your middle forward outside the covers. “Sorry.” You mumble, your cheeks burning in embarrassment, your body staying in that awkward position.
Xavier can’t help but laugh at the position you’re in. He rubs your shoulder in an attempt to console you. “It’s okay. I don’t mind”
It takes you a few seconds to muster up the courage to go back under the cover, closing the distance between your bodies, letting him spoon you.
You feel like you could melt in his arms; he’s so warm, smells like fresh linen and herbal hair shampoo. Even though you’re still nervous, your body is able to relax and press further against him, unintentionally grinding your soft bottom against his quickly hardening length.
Your pussy clenches as you feel his clothed hard dick against you. He doesn’t say anything, but shift a little further from you.
You don’t know if it’s the weariness, the horniness, or the boldness (if you can call it that), that makes you whisper. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” And you close the distance again, this time slowly sliding your ass against him to prove your point.
A shuddering breath leaves his lips, as he starts moving at your pace. He shifts to rest on his elbow and his hand moves up to cup your cheek, and you turn to face him, your hips halting the movement.
He gazes into your eyes and nudges the tip of your nose with his. He softly breathes your name and his soft warm lips leave a feather light kiss on yours. He waits for your reaction with those puppy eyes that always make you weak.
With the hand that was under you, you hold the side of his face and pull him into a soft kiss. Your lips softly graze and nip as Xavier adjusts his body, elbows resting on either side of your head, his chest resting against yours, but his pelvis is hovering against yours.
You decide to be the one to take the next step; fingers of one hand run through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your tongue glosses his bottom lip and slipping inside, tasting his. The other hand pushes down his lower back, and he takes the hint.
You gasp into the kiss as his dick grinds right between your clothed folds, grazing your clit just right. Your cheeks and core are burning as Xavier starts rutting waster and harder, you can feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest. Both of you are panting between kisses, suppressing moans and whines.
He breathes against your lips “We should stop.” When he notices a flash of disappointment on your face, he adds, “It’s so easy to hear everything here.”
You nod. “Yeah, you’re right.” You gulp and take in deep breaths. Your tent is the furthest from the rest, but still close enough to hear if someone is getting it on.
He rolls over to his side, still facing you. His eyes take in your features as his fingertips graze over them. He pulls you in by the back of your head into a slow kiss. Your lips taste each other, tongues licking, his teeth playfully nibbling your bottom lip.
The hand on the back of your hand travels over your jaw to hold your chin, and a deep sigh leaves his lips. He whispers, “It’s so hard to hold back.” and the continues tasting your plump lips.
Those words make your panties wetter than they were. You throw your leg over his hips and soon you’re straddling him, and his arms envelop you, pressing your body flush against his, his hips bucking up to meet yours once again.
But you crave more contact and so does Xavier. At the same time, Xavier pulls down his shorts and you take off yours. A whimper escapes your lips as you sit back down on his rock hard dick, your sexes only separated by thin fabric.
He pulls you into a deep, hungry kiss, his hands grabbing your ass, moving your hips in the same rhythm with his. The friction feels so good, too good. Your pussy is creaming so much, making a mess of your panties and his boxer briefs. Then he shifts his hips a little and his cockhead starts hitting and rubbing your clit over and over, and you’re mewling and panting into the sloppy kiss.
He smirks against your lips. “Honey, I need you to stay quiet. I don’t want anyone else to hear you like this.”
The heat pools in the bottom of belly. “Xavier, I’m close.”
“Yeah? Is my little bunny feeling good?” He pants, and by the twitching of his cock, you think he’s close too.
You hold back a disappointed whine when he puts a distance between your hips, but then you feel him push down his boxers freeing his throbbing dick. He pulls your panties to the side and brings your hips back down, your dripping pussy lips sliding against his thick length, and he immediately locks your lips with his, swallowing your moan.
He has you in a tight embrace, one hand on the plump flesh of your ass and the other on the back of your neck. His lips leave a wet trail from your lips over your jaw to the shell of your ear, and you listen to his restrained pants and grunts.
His hot breath fans over your ear “Let’s come together.” He pulls up both of your shirts a bit, and you feel his hard ab muscles tensing against your skin.
You can only nod as the tip starts hitting your clit again, and in a few seconds you’re coming undone on top of him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, muffling your moans.
Xavier follows shortly after, his cum spilling over both of your bellies.
You take a moment to calm down and you notice that he’s still as hard. You come up to meet his gaze.
His eyes are veiled with so much lust and craving. “I – “
“Please, fuck me.” You need more.
With those three magic words, he’s on top of you again, his shirt and the blanket disregarded somewhere in the corner. He pushes your tank top over your breasts, his hot lips latching onto your nipple while his fingers play with the other one, while his cock is sliding with ease between your slippery folds.
You know that he wants to prep you more, but you feel like you’ve been edged for too long, your hole clenching around nothing.
Xavier’s breath hitches against your nipple when you reach down and wrap your hand around his member, feeling how long and thick he is (he’s longer than your thought).
He comes up and holds your gaze as you tease the tip against your soaking entrance “I need you now.”
His hand switches with yours, slowly easing into you, his gaze never leaving yours. He swallows thickly, and cursing under his breath as he feels your walls clench around him.
And you’re a mess under him, biting your lip to contain your moans and whines, but your pussy is already fluttering around his length, second orgasm building up.
When he’s finally buried to the hilt, he rests his body on top of yours, neither of you caring about the slippery cum between you, if anything it spurs you on even more.
He slowly starts rolling his hips, his lips leaving open mouth kisses over your collar bone and your neck. You fingers find purchase in his hair and nails lightly scrape the skin over his taut back muscles. In your daze you take a moment to admire his strong back and then you move your hand from his back to grab his biceps. Fuck, you wish there was more light here.
Xavier’s lips lock with yours in a sloppy kiss, his tip grazing your sweet spot with every thrust while his fingertips rub your sensitive bundle of nerves. His voice is raspy from all the strangled groans, “You’re squeezing me so hard, princess. Are you gonna come for me?”
You only manage a small moan in response, and you don’t even care if you’re loud. And the wet smacking of his pelvis against your creamy cunt is already giving you away.
You barely give any warning as suddenly another orgasm crashes over you, his free hand covering your mouth. He coos in your ear that’s right and you’re so pretty and sweet names that you barely register as you whimper against his hand and your pussy spasms around his cock.
As you come down from your high, he picks up the pace and soon you notice him twitching inside you, his hips stuttering and his pants becoming shallower.
He murmurs “Where do you want me?”
You fight back the urge to say ‘inside’, you want him to fill you up so bad, but now is not the place to make that kind of mess.
Still, you don’t want spill it outside. “Use my mouth.”
His face burns and his dick painfully throbs at those words. You rest on your elbows as he pulls out and straddles your waist, his hand resting on your head.
You let him guide the tip past your lips, and you swirl your tongue around it tasting your mixed juices. He swallows a moan as you take him in deeper; swollen lips enveloping his cock, tongue swirling, tasting him, and grazing his pulsing veins, and he can’t help the pang of jealousy that hits him with how good you’re at this.
Pushing those thoughts back, he caresses your cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re taking me so good.”
He starts thrusting, unable to hold back much longer. He whispers between pants “Tap my arm if I go too hard.”
You hum against his length, focused on relaxing your throat as his cockhead starts hitting more and more with each thrust and stutter of his hips.
You feel him throb hard in your mouth, and his hand travels under your chin. You hear him demand with a strangled groan “Look at me.”
Your eyes lock with his, the sight of you sucking him in with a fucked-out face making him tip over the edge, filling your mouth with his hot cum.
He takes shaky breaths as he twitches in your mouth as you suck him and swallow each drop, not letting anything go to waste.
After he pulls out, he sits next to you and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips.
He holds your face in his hands, his nose nudging yours. “Are you okay?”
You nod and kiss him again. And then you feel cold air hit the wet spots on your body. You chuckle “We need to get cleaned up, though.”
With that, you wipe yourselves with wipes and dress up to make an awkward walk towards the bathroom. You just hope that no one heard what you were doing in the tent. Or the shower.
synopsis: after the truthless rumors about you having a relationship with your teacher spread like a virus, you build up the courage to take revenge on your bullies in a unique way.
characters: nanami
warnings: major age gap (27 and 18), teacher/student relationship, consentual sex, female reader, size kink, degrading, praising. mdni
wc: 5.4k
note: i think this turned out to be more from nanami's pov lol. i don't usually add songs but i saw this one tiktok with nanami and this song, so ahem you can listen to it i guess
<- navigation
it's a rainy afternoon.
you have no idea why you're at his front door. the ride here felt like seconds. you feel a heat run down your spine as your knuckles reach out to the door, the water droplets down your back only increasing the chill all over your body.
two knocks at the door.
nanami looks up from the book in his hands. who could it be? it was getting late after all, and it's not like nanami is used to sudden visitors. or was he?
"fucking satoru" nanami grits his teeth in annoyance as he closes the book harshly. he feels a weird energy from the door. the satoru he knows wouldn't knock twice- or let alone knock at all. nanami's posture changes as he approaches the door, he's alert. he sees a bike on the front road just briefly from the window nearby, a bike that feels eerily similar to his eyes.
you flutter your wet eyelashes at the sight of nanami. he doesn't look as surprised as he is confused, his posture now loosening a little bit.
"mr nanami! sorry for bothering you." you don't explain yourself further before nanami reaches his head out to look around to see if anyone can see you before he quickly rushes you inside.
you stand at his house's entrance shivering. only then you realize how your wet shirt had become almost fully see through. though, it wouldn't have bothered you if it was just a couple minutes ago, perhaps it would fuel your arousal. yet, with the tall man in sight, you cowardly attempt at covering yourself.
nanami runs outside briefly to gather your yellow bike and brings it inside. it's a mess and he hates it, it messes his beautiful hardwood floorboard but the mess of you being seen in his house would be more troublesome to deal with later.
"what are you doing here?" nanami asks without looking at you. he runs his hands through his dampened hair in an attempt to put it back in its shape, but a couple strips manage to escape his large palms.
"i'm sorry, i just..." you can't find the words. why were you there anyways? there were nothing to talk about, nothing to discuss. better yet, you shouldn't have been seen together even in school.
nanami sighs. he tells you to sit on the couch, you listen. he grabs a towel for you and gently places it on your lap before sitting right across you.
"this is very inappropriate." he tells you in a lecturing tone. his voice is far from angry, that's what you have always loved about him. he's always far from demeaning, and one of the few teachers of yours that actually cared about his students.
"i know, i apologize. i just... i feel like... i don't know." you play with your fingers nervously, nanami softens at how stressed you look.
"is it about the rumors?"
"what else could it be?"
it's nothing new for some sort of rumor to be spread around about you. you have no idea why people seem to dislike you so much anyways, yet you are always put in the middle of some sort of controversy. though this time, they definitely have crossed the line when they started the rumor that you were having an inappropriate affair with your teacher, mister kento nanami. there is no doubt that you are his favorite student. always so attentive, so bright and interested; much different from the rest. he would never, ever think about laying a hand on you, even if you are of the age. maybe it's some sort of pity he felt for you, seeing how awfully you were treated by your peers. and for you, mr nanami has always been a role idol. you admire his passion for teaching, even though he seems to hate his occupation as a whole. he's not a 'student's friend' type of teacher, yet he managed to become friendly enough to become your favorite teacher. for your feelings about him, you never crossed the line. nanami is a handsome man, there is no doubt to that, but you could never participate in the ugly fantasies you hear in the locker room.
but this, this is different.
is it the demeaning, belittling image of you that spreads around; one where you're the little sex toy for your teacher that helps you get straight A's or the underlying implication of you being too undesirable that you would sort to a man almost 10 years older than you? you never managed to figure it out, you didn't have to anyways. everything was sorted out with you separated from nanami's class- one thing that managed to bring you joy in this hellhole of a school. perhaps it was revenge, perhaps a way to prove to yourself that you could please a man just enough. you knew you could, you had pleased boys before. but here you are, shivering in your teacher's sight.
"are you feeling alright?" he asks you with genuine concern in his eyes.
"i'm okay. i'm... pissed."
"that's understandable. teens are mean, try not to think much about it. you don't have much time before you graduate anyways. no need to spend the rest of your time upset over truthless rumors."
"i know, i know, but... they could've gotten you fired, y'know?"
nanami doesn't respond.
"i just don't fucking understand why they would even come up with something like this!" you increase your voice at him.
"language. even though it's unprofessional of me to say this, they're not as bright as you are and you know it. must be the stress of graduating."
"i'm still not convinced."
"i don't know what else to say to you." nanami crosses his arms and leans back against his seat.
the silence is deafening. heavy raindrops on the windows are merely enough to mask your fast heartbeat. you feel rage in your veins, the hotness rushing inside you at light speed. you want to show them, you want to make them pity themselves.
in the heat of the moment, you uncover the wet shirt on you. nanami averts his gaze from your exposed bra underneath, but chooses to stay silent in order to not make the atmosphere awkward.
"you know, mr nanami" you get up from your seat, your grey plaid skirt sitting slightly above your tight. "i've been hearing rumors..." you walk slowly towards him.
"in the locker rooms, all the girls whisper about you. i've even heard some teachers talking about you too. i've been wondering... are they true?" you stop right in front of his knees. "can you show me if they are true?"
"this is inappropriate. you shouldn't be doing this." nanami's voice becomes strict, but your hand on his knee is holding him back from completely lashing out. "why are you here?"
"i couldn't stop thinking... they're already talking. why don't we give them more to talk about?" before nanami could stop you, you spread your legs and position yourself on his lap. you tie your arms around his long neck and rub gentle circles right where his undercut begins. you then move your fingers on the thin shirt laying on his chest and run your fingers down as if you were mapping the shape of his body.
"i can't lie, you really are a handsome man. it's not like i've never wondered either. but you were so far away."
"i'm your superior." you chuckle.
"i didn't think you would be into that." you take advantage of nanami's shock and make him place his hands on your hips by grabbing his large hands with yours. you push them deeper until you feel like you can't move from your position. nanami consents by leaving his hands tightly even after yours leave his.
"we shouldn't be doing this." nanami whispers, leaning closer to your face. his eyes are half open, his thin lips millimeters away from your neck. you can feel his hot breath against your wet skin, the sudden warmness makes you shiver.
"no one has to know."
with that, you lean forward so nanami's soft lips make contact with your skin. he's sucking on the soft spot gently, afraid of hurting you. you play with his hair while he works his magic on your neck, and it's nanami's turn to feel a shiver down his spine. if he's doing this, he'll do it right. he'll treat you like you were made out of glass and be as gentle as he can be. he'll have to wash away the guilt later. but for now, he has only one objective.
nanami pushes you even further down his lap while also separating his legs to give you more space underneath. his kiss becomes more vigorous. he leaves wet traces all over your neck, you can't help but whimper under his touch. he starts rubbing your inner thigh under your skirt. he gently squeezes the plush skin as you bring your hand down to his crotch. you didn't think he would be so gentle, especially with a student that might potentially ruin his career. yet, he's treating you like a jewelry, and for once, you feel warm under a man's touch.
"hold tight." he whispers while looking from below. you nod in response and wrap your arms round his neck and wrap your legs around his back. nanami picks you up with ease and make his way to where you think is his bedroom. he's climbing stairs as if you don't weight anything. you spend the time by peppering kisses along his neck on the way, trying not to block his view. it's not long before you enter a dark room. the room smells of freshly washed clothing and nanami's cologne. it's only now you got the chance to take his smell this clearly, and his scent is head spinning. his clothes smell woody and musky, but most importantly, expensive. you know he takes good care of himself, no surprise he would choose an expensive cologne too.
nanami puts you down on the dark navy blue sheets and leaves you alone to close the curtains. he lights one of the table lamps on. the room is lit merely enough for you to see his large figure and nothing more. the room is a complete mystery, it's like you're on a bed in the void. you run your fingers on the soft sheets, contemplating your decision. excitement overrules you, and you choose to stay still.
nanami stands right in front of you. he clasps your cheek and rubs your cheek with his thumb. you can see his soft gaze on you. he looks through your soul with his eyebrows slightly perked up. a soft smile occupies his face, and you feel safe.
"there's still time to stop, if you want." his raspy voice cuts the silence.
"i don't." you reply quietly. "do you want to stop?"
"i won't be soft on you." nanami avoids the question. you shiver in anticipation, excited by the possibilities.
"i don't want you to be soft, sir."
nanami feels a lightning bolt shoot through himself with your last word. such a mundane word to hear from you now takes a whole new meaning. how will he be able to see you after tonight?
nanami brushes his thumb over your lips as he gently pushes you back. he's lying, of course. though he won't backout from his own pleasure too, but still be as gentle as he can. hurting you is the last thing he would ever want.
nanami places his knee between your legs as he leans down closer to your face. his lips lock with yours in seconds. nanami's soft tongue parts your glossy lips for him to suck on them easier. nanami's experience evident. every move he makes is calculated. you notice that he shapes his moves with your reactions, just so you can feel the most pleasure he can offer you. though he doesn't need to try much, since he can shoot electrics down your spine with just his sweet lips.
his calloused hands run over your plump thighs and his thumb brushes over your inner thigh every now and then. he makes sure to have you shivering under his touch, a way for him to assert his dominance over you, gently. though he wouldn't need to try much, since you have always been obedient. he knows you would do anything he asks you to. and that's what makes you his favorite student. nanami has always been against favoritism, yet he couldn't stop picking you over other students. unlike your peers, you have always been a great student- not just grade wise; you always meet the deadline, always so attentive, always so focused on his teaching. you are the only student that keeps him do his job, to be fair. now that he's hovered over you, nanami can't help but ask himself if he ever had wicked intentions about you before.
"mr nanami" you whisper his name. the room is quiet enough for him to hear your angelic voice.
"m-hm?"
"can you take your shirt off?" the vixen before is now completely gone. you ask shyly with a small tremble in your voice. the irony, nanami thinks. how you ask something so naughty with such innocence.
nanami hesitates to meet your demand, he ponders upon the idea of teasing you first, but your widened doe eyes take over those ideas and he feels soft, he wants to put a c smile on your face. so, nanami's hands leave your thighs and make their way to the rim of his loose navy tee. he brings the shirt above his head and while he's on his mission, you examine his body.
god, you think to yourself. no fucking way this is real. he looks like he was carved by god himself. his chiseled abs are enough to make a nonbeliever wander god's name over and over again. for someone his age, he surely is something else. though nanami isn't old at all- he's not even 30 yet, but for an 18 year old like you, his age is one to make you turn your face in disgust.
you can't believe how toned his body is, it must be the lightning. the dim light must work in his favor, the shadows must be perfectly placed. to see for yourself, you place your palm over his lower body. shit, you exclaim to yourself maybe a little too loud. you feel like you're touching a brick wall. you trace every line of his body. his skin is soft, unlike the muscles beneath it. your hand becomes miniscule compared to his torso, which leaves you more space on his body to explore. you keep tracing the lines until you reach his crotch.
his sweatpants have gotten down just enough to expose the rim of his dark colored boxers, which have gotten down just enough to expose his v line. you can barely see anything down there, but your hands tell you that you're close to heaven. you flush and take your hand off quickly and avert your gaze. a little too far, you think. nanami laughs at your reaction, his raspy voice fills the room.
"no need to be shy." nanami grabs your hand with his and places it on where it was before. "i thought you wanted to know. what happened to my little curious student?"
your heart beats faster as nanami lowers your hand. he squeezes your hand over his crotch to make you feel his erection, and god, your hand can only feel a small portion of it. it's nerve wrecking, how will you be able to take it?
"you shouldn't be shy to touch me. in a moment, i will be inside of you after all."
his hands meet your dampened panties. he runs two fingers over your folds. in return, you give him a soft moan. his thick fingertips rub your clit. he draws small circles with his fingers. nanami positions his face right above yours. he's close, too close. you feel his hot breath on the tip of your nose. he runs his tongue over his lips that form a smirk. he watches you furrow your brows and pant with the sensation, he cherishes every second of it. he locks his lips with yours the same time he pulls your panties to the side and slides two of his fingers inside. you're groping his cock over his sweats still, your pace now a little faster than before.
even the two of his fingers are enough to stretch your walls completely. the sudden entrance hurts you a little bit, but the pain is overtaken by pleasure quickly enough. he moves his fingers in a scissor motion inside of you with his thumb placed on your clit. his hand moves deftly, you have never felt so full before. even his fingers reach places no one has managed to reach before.
you move your hand inside his boxers and keep rubbing him from the inside. nanami signals you to keep going with a tug on your lips, he then continues to drown you in kisses. you suddenly feel insecure about your abilities, you are evidently less experienced than nanami. the thoughts of other, much more experienced woman pleasing nanami flood your mind. this time, instead of bringing yourself down, you use this thought to keep you going. you expose nanami's cock, you pull it out of his boxers. you rub his entire length from the tip to the base. you move your hand in small circular motions and rub his tip each time your hand reaches it. his cock is thick and veiny, you have a hard time reaching everywhere. you noted down that he's sensitive on his tip, his motions come to a halt every time you rub it.
the rain got heavier.
the sound of raindrops hitting the window has increased, but neither of you can hear it. the only sounds occupying your ears are each others' moans. nanami feels weak with your moans. he breaks his focus, so much that he lets out shaky moans himself- a reward not many got the chance to receive before, especially not this early. he's surprised at your confidence with your moves. you move your hand as if you had been fucking nanami for years, you use every small information about his body. the way you rub his tip, how you put pressure on the veins along his dick and how you synch your whole body to the rythm of his fingers. you move your hips closer to him every time his fingers enter you again, as if you were riding him. you suck on nanami's lips every now and then, especially when nanami parts his lips to moan. you are, of course, oblivious to your actions. it's just how it feels right to move for you, you do it unconsciously.
nanami can't cum now.
not when your pussy feels this good for his hands. he can't cum to just a handjob, not before he gets to feel your pretty pussy.
nanami grabs your wrist and forces it above you. he furrows his brows. his jaw is clenched, he's visibly angry. you feel tiny below his presence, you wonder if you did something wrong. nanami takes his hand off and discards his remaining clothing. you sit and rest your back to the headboard, watching nanami in fear. what the hell got into him?
nanami is frustrated with himself. he let his guard down quickly. moaning? reaching climax this early on? has he actually gotten older or did he just lose control? either way, that is not going to happen again, especially not with you.
nanami sits down in front of you and calls you on his lap. you crawl to him and straddle his lap.
"take everything off." he orders you in a stern voice. his low voice scares you, you can't help but tremble. you start unbuttoning your shirt but mess up, it takes you a while.
"don't mess around!" he yells at you. you look down and try to be faster. this is just like the time he scolded you for missing an assignment. him being mad at you was rare, and it hurt every time. you would spend the rest of the day upset, upset because you let down your favorite teacher. and now, it's happening all over again.
"jesus" nanami sighs and rips your shirt open. the buttons hurtle all over the room. he takes your shirt off and throws it behind himself. he does the same with your skirt, his patience is getting thinner. he makes a big tear down your skirt. you just watch him in shock. what the hell has gotten into him?
the coldness of the room makes you shiver. before you can feel embarrassed by the sudden exposure, nanami puts his hand behind your back and starts sucking on your hardened nipples. he puts his whole mouth over your breast and sucks hard on it that you believe he will leave a mark. he bites on them, sucks on them and runs his tongue over them. he's moving fast and messy. he makes slurping and popping noises with each of his moves. you feel warmth on your lower half, a sudden electric shakes your entire body. you hold on his head tightly.
"m-mr nanami!" you yell out. nanami slaps your butt in response. your head is thrown back, your fingers brushing over nanami's undercut and the nape of his neck. you arch your back closer to him.
nanami grabs your hips tightly and places you on his right leg. he guides you back and forth, signaling you to ride his thigh. you're too dumbfounded by the treatment he gives your tits, it takes you some time to ride him on your own. the sign to make you start is when your clit makes contact with his thick thigh. the sudden bolt makes you move instinctively. you move fast but nanami moves faster. he has now started to jump you on his thigh, he moves his leg up and down. he watches you from below. while his lips are locked on your nipple, he cherishes the view of your eyes shut close, hair messed up and cheeks red and damp.
"i-i'm close-" you make out the words.
"beg for it, then." nanami responds mercilessly.
"please" you obey. "please, sir. let me- fuck, let me cum please!" you beg with a high pitched voice. your voice cracks, and you barely manage to breathe properly. you take moments to pant and gather your words.
nanami slaps your breasts in response. "what will you do for it?"
"anything. i will do anything, sir."
"anything?" nanami stalls to mess with you. he jumps you higher than before. you feel angry, but can't show it yet. you're so desperate, you can only be at his mercy now.
"anything... hah... let you... use me.... whatever- please, have mercy."
"that's sit. good girl." nanami approves. he squeezes your butt and makes you move faster on his thigh. he feels his cock twitch with your words, he has a hard time keeping his posture. but he manages to, he keeps his serious façade. "cum for me."
you nod. the bolts flash, you let yourself loose. he's making you ride him vigorously as you reach your high. your nails tug on his shoulders, you can feel a sudden wetness below your fingers but can't figure it out yet. your mind is foggy and your head hurts. you're so, so tired but the feeling is too good to let go of. you keep riding him until the knots in your stomach come undone. you throw your head back, your eyes squeezed shut. you fill the room with a high pitched moan. you try to stop, but nanami's hands keep you going. the continuous stimulation on your clit makes you tremble. nanami's knuckles turn white as he keeps grinding you until his leg is completely wet with your juices. he lets you go when he sees your head fall on his shoulder. your sweaty forehead is placed right on his toned shoulder, your hand placed on his sweaty and flushed chest. you pant, your breathing starts to become normal again. you smile on his skin and place small kisses.
"thank you, sir." you whisper to him. with that, you are once again lifted up. you open your eyes in shock. you are placed face down. nanami grabs you by your butt again. he slaps you harshly and leaves a red mark on your skin.
"save your thanks for later, i'm not done yet."
he grabs brings your ass higher. his large palms cover your entire ass. he puts one of his palms over your cheek and forces you down into the bed. you're locked under him with no means to move. not like you could move anyways, your body is still sore and limp from your orgasm before.
nanami enters you with one smooth motion. his large cock twitches inside you. nanami throws his head back and growls. fuck, he whispers. you, on the other hand, can't even make a noise to the feeling of him. you are honestly surprised at how well you took him. until that point, you hadn't noticed how big he really is. his cock fills you inside completely, it's like two puzzle pieces put together. you think he' kind enough to let you stretch out for him but you're wrong, he needs a second to gather himself before he can start fucking you. you're so tight around him, your wet cunt is squeezed shut.
nanami starts moving. he's definitely breaking the promise he gave himself to be gentler with you. you truly are capable enough to take him, he thinks, so why be gentle? wicked thoughts wash over his previous anger. he wants to break you, to see you shatter under him before he can cum himself.
his hips slap your ass rhythmically. he's fast, he doesn't halter for a second. the slapping noises are music to his ears, and you sing along with the pretty noises you make. he arches his back once he feels a warm drip behind his back. he remembers you tugging your nails, you must've made him bleed back then. he makes a note to fuck you laid back next time, so you can paint his back with your pretty nails.
your mind is completely blank. not a single thought crosses your mind. you stare at the darkness, your eyes roll back with every thrust.
"sir" you pant each time his tip hits your cervix. he breaks you from the inside. he makes you feel so high. it's a dangerous high, an addictive one. you both know that this won't be the last time you two meet like this, because nanami knows no one will fuck you this good again. he will make sure no one will fuck you this good again.
"god, you're so fucking pretty." nanami calls in disbelief. he pushes the hair on your face back to look at your pretty face. he has insane stamina, he doesn't stop to take a breath, not even once. his raspy voice doesn't shake at all, it's as controlled as ever.
"such a pretty girl. i'm gonna destroy you." nanami looks down to see your ass completely red. he can feel you struggle to keep your ass up, so he tightens his grip to keep you in place. the sight of his cock entering and leaving your dripping hole makes him even more aroused. he notices his cock having white circles at his base, your juices paint him.
"you will be begging for more... fuck. made just for me, so pretty for me" nanami's praises make your heart flutter. you suddenly feel so loved, so appreciated.
"we're gonna cum together, okay?" he asks you. you can only nod as a response. he repeats himself "okay?" and you hum.
"where do you want me to cum, hm?" he rubs your back to visualize. "your back?"
he puts his fingers right above your folds. "maybe i should cum inside you, paint your walls white. hm? would you like that?"
you imagine it. fuck, he would make you feel so full even after he leaves you. you would feel so warm, so warm.
"should i fuck you until you're leaking with my cum?"
"y-yes, sir" you manage to speak up again. nanami laughs.
"look who's talking again." nanami smiles to himself. he brushes your matted hair and then cusps your cheek. "do you think that's possible, missis?"
you're confused now. was he just teasing you?
"looks like someone's failing sex education." oh, okay. bastard, you think. "good thing i know someone perfect to tutor you"
nanami's cock twitches inside you, you feel him coming closer. you start clenching and unclenching rapidly to increase stimulation for him. nanami is surprised. "where the fuck did you learn that?"
he pulls himself almost completely before entering again. "keep doing that."
you feel your insides tightening again. you can't keep pleasuring nanami for longer, the rhythm gets harder to follow. he's a beast compared to you, he could probably go on for more rounds. but for now, he will have mercy for you.
"i'm close..." you exclaim again. nanami responds with a witty i know, and helps you cum faster by playing with your clit. the pace is too much for you to handle. you feel your knees untie, you're shaking even before your orgasm. your eyes roll back, your mouth is wide open.
"s-sir!" you yelp. "s-slow down!" your brain was screaming for him to slow down, but your body needed him to be fast. it needs to be fucked until you are completely sore, a mess. you need your thighs to be painted purple. you need to feel his cock deep inside of you.
"cum for me first" he orders. "cum around my cock, then i'll slow down."
you obey like the dutiful student you are. you clench your walls around for him one last time. you shake and fall weak under him. if it weren't for nanami's palms holding you in place, you would have been laid flat on your stomach by now. your whole body falls limp, you feel heavenly. nanami keeps thrusting in you to follow your high with his.
the view below him is divine. it's a masterpiece created by him. to think he made you feel like this was an achievement for him. and now that he got to feel your pretty pussy too, he could reward himself with another stroke on his canvas. he pulls himself out of you and rubs himself. though his hand isn't as skillful as yours, it's still enough to pleasure him. he fists himself until he empties himself fully on your back. it's a small detail on the masterpiece he made, a piece to put everything together.
he stops with a low exhale. he crouches down to plant a kiss on your shoulder before he lays down next to you. your eyes feel heavy but you fight to stay awake. you see a messy nanami next to you. his always styled hair is now completely messy with some parts matted on his forehead. his cheeks are flushed red, his beautiful golden eyes glow under the soft light. you notice a trail of redness just above his shoulder, and even though he seems unfazed by it, you feel shameful. your thoughts, however, are disrupted by nanami's thumb gently brushing over your lips. you smile in response. you feel proud for creating this divine view in front of you.
nanami gets up to grab a tissue in the room. you can't fight your eyes anymore, you close your eyes.
when you open your eyes again, you're facing the window. it's completely dark outside but the room is more lit than earlier. you are covered by a blanket. the rain has slowed down, the house is quiet. you turn around to see nanami in a white tee and boxers, resting against the head board with papers in his hands.
"good morning, misses"
"how long have i been asleep?" you ask while rubbing your eyes.
"a little more than an hour"
"why didn't you wake me up?"
"you looked drained. you needed to rest" nanami looks at you with caring eyes. "i'll run the bath for you"
"i don't... i don't think i can get up, sir." you lay completely still. the bed feels so comfortable for you that you don't ever want to get up.
"i'll help you with it." nanami gets up from where he is and comes to your side. he grabs you bridal style and starts to walk towards the bathroom.
"i'm so tired." you tell him to break the silence.
"i know. you might want to skip school tomorrow." nanami looks into your eyes with a smirk. "don't worry, i won't mark you absent."
gege should sell nanami as an nft so i can be his legal owner. i mean fuck nft's but anything for nanami sensei <3
content warnings: female reader, dom/sub dynamics, unprotected sex, oral (reader receiving). just a lot of different kinks/nsfw headcanons being discussed.
↬ barrista's note ☕: i'm so whipped for this boy 😭
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ okay, unlike everyone else, i think toge would talk to his s/o when no one's around. he hates that he can't talk to you like everyone normally does so he came up with a solution: toge doesn't tell you things, he asks.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge is so clingy, he never wants to be separate with you so he's by your side all day holding your hand, hugging you, playing with your fingers.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he goes into your tshirt and climbs up while his fingers tracing your stomach if he wants attention when you're busy </3
"y/n."
you were sitting on the floor, buried in your book, literally. toge couldn't even see your face since the book was covering it.
"y/n."
you would never ignore toge when he spoke, even if it was a simple yes or your name coming out of his lips so toge knew he needed to get your attention. you didn't even flinch when his fingers grabbed the hem of your tshirt and lifted it, sticking his head inside without any hint of objection coming from you.
his soft, white hair took up your sight when he finally got his head out from your collar and locked his violet eyes in yours.
"hi, toge." you greeted him, putting your book down before looking at him and smiling at the sight of your boyfriend's head coming out of your tshirt.
toge pressed a kiss on your lips as he rubbed his nose against yours, he was getting a bit handsy down-
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge's love language is physical touch! doesn't matter when and where ,he's always touching you somehow either an arm wrapped around your waist, a hand resting on your thighs/legs or his fingers tangling to yours.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ touching you is also one of toge's ways to reassure himself that you're safe, as long as he can feel your soft, warm skin he knows everything's gonna be okay.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge loves laying his head on your lap, tracing your face with his beautiful violet eyes as you're reading to him out loud.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he also gets sleepy when you play with hair while his head's on your lap, he'd fall asleep right there.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge never forgets to checks on you (mentally) and picks up immediately if something's wrong. he pulls you between the blankets, wraps his arms around you and caresses your face as he asks what the problem is.
"do you wanna talk about it?" toge asked, careful not to use his cursed speech on you, as he squeezed your nose and give you a warm, comforting, little smile.
"it's okay, you can talk about it when you're ready. i'll wait for you."
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge is the best listener ever! he's not easily distracted by the things and people around him when he's listening to you. and it's not hard for him to focus on the words coming out of your lips since he wants to hear you out regardless what you're talking about.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he sings to you when you can't sleep. toge hums softly as he plays with your hair and rub circles on your back, trying to get you to sleep.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ playing with your hair/hands helps him to calm down.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge gets so touch starved when he's upset and tired, he relaxes into your touch in a second and snuggles up to the crook of your neck, burying his head there. the crook of your neck and your lap are his safe places when he's not feeling the best.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he doesn't cover his face when he's alone with you, always chuckling as you lay down and stare at his pretty face.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge marks your period times on a calendar and keeps track of them for you, he stays at home with you during your period! (if you're having periods ofc) he prepares food, puts on your comfort movies and cuddles with you for the whole day.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he rubs your tummy to help you with cramps or gets you painkillers.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he also knows you can be really sensitive and emotional during your period week so toge acts even sweeter and caring than ever! like it's possible
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge is really insecure about his curse marks at the beginning. if your eyes ever were to steal a look at the elaborately drawn marks next to his lips, he'd hold your chin and turn your head against his face, nodding a small "no" with a distant look in his violet eyes.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ but once you resisted to his objection and started tracing up the marks with your fingers, placing small kisses on them while telling him he's perfect that way, toge decides he loves the feeling of your fingertips and soft lips on his curse marks
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ kinda angsty but he'd use his cursed speech on you if you should run away during a battle, like he did to megumi when mahito attacked them during the exchange thing with kyoto school, even if you have no intentions to run toge commands you to run because your safety is his number one priority.
"go away."
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge would wake you up with either a prank or kisses.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ carries you to bed with a big, stupid smile on his face and pure adoration in his eyes if you fall asleep on the couch.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge's fingers wander around on your bare skin painted to gold by the sunlight when he wakes up before you.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he buries your head on his chest and holds you tight if he sees you crying. tears streaming down on your face; red, swollen eyes and your sobs break toge's heart. he does anything he can to make you feel better.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge never leaves your side if you're injured/sick until he's sure you're okay. he just can't walk around and act like he always does when all he can think about is you might need help at that moment.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he loves it when you cup his face and tell him he's cute/pretty.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a few of toge's pet names for you are "bunny", "angel", "princess" and "teacup"
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ boy has no shame, he's way too comfortable with you in front of his friends and doesn't care about the teasings even the slightest.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he loves washing your hair </3
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge takes every chance to show you that he loves and appreciates you.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ you're the most important person in his life, he says "i love you" to you everyday 🥺
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he gets jealous easily but also is chill about it. his solution is simple. getting touchy with you in front of the person he's jealous of so they can fuck off and leave his s/o alone
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ if anyone ever bothers you (flirting etc) he's not hesitant to use his cursed speech on them.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he sends you "random things i watch at 2 am" type of meme videos.
nsfw !!
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ now that's a whole different story. toge is a soft, gentle lover but this...
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge uses his cursed speech on you in bedroom, only if you let him.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ when he says strip you strip, when he tells you to scream his name, you scream his name.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ so, toge is not very loud but low moans and groanings fall out of his pretty lips when he sees the mess you make under him </3
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he has praising kink, both giving and receiving.
"you're so good for me."
"so beautiful, baby..."
"your voice is angelic, let me hear it."
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ beg god for mercy if you ever try to hold back your moans because toge loves hearing them. your little whimpers, cute noises you make and the sound of your heavy breaths gives him confidence.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he is a TEASE.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ i think toge rather prefers giving oral than receiving; he can stay in between your legs for hours, placing small kisses on your inner thighs, eating you out like he's a hungry man. and when he gives oral, you better be prepared for it cause he overstims the fuck out of you.
"t-toge!" you moan his name as he chuckles with a muffled voice, head buried in between your thighs.
"hm? yeah, that's my name." he chuckles.
"go harder." you command, your fingers tangling his hair.
"mhm." toge's tongue hits were harder as you gasped and moaned his name again.
"ah, pretty princess... sounding so angelic gasping my name. such a pretty voice."
" 'm close."
"yeah? you're doing great, angel." encouraging you with his words, toge's fingers joined the game and you let out an intense moan as he grinned.
"you like that, princess?"
"mhm."
"yeah? you wanna cum?" toge asked, his violet eyes finding yours.
"yeah."
"say my name." his voice vibrated in your head. unable to resist, you whimpered his name.
"t-toge."
"louder."
"toge."
"louder, angel. c'mon, you can do this."
"t-toge!"
"scream my name."
"toge!"
you felt him reach out to your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours.
"cum for me."
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ toge lifts his head and licks his lips while his violet eyes are locked into yours after you're done.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ it's.so.fucking.hot.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ aftercare!! he's the sweetest ever, he carries you to shower and washes you before cuddling you to sleep under the blankets.
@ewitsren 's work, do not translate/repost on other apps and platforms.
on the 4th day of Christmas my true love gave to me 4 creampies
triggers: jealousy, smut, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, dubcon. this is not love
“Hold.. hold on.” You gasped as your hands reached up to push at the demon’s chest. Tears stained your face as you sniffed. You were sure you looked disgusting right now. Your body ached, thighs quivering and sweat lingered on your bare skin.
But he didn’t seem to mind.
Mammon paused for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your helpless state. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them down on the bed.
“I ain’t gonna stop.” He grunted, his hips jolted forward, cock pressing hard agaisnt your cervix causing you to scream.
“That’s it.” He praised your erotic noises. “You’re my human. No one’s ever gonna take ya away from me again.”
megumi is a tits man and you cannot tell me otherwise, he's literally obsessed with your tits, he loves having 'em in his mouth, tongue swirling and nibbling on your nipples, he loves how perky they become when you don't wear a bra, how sensitive they are even with the slightest touch, how they bounce when you ride him and how pretty they look with his cum on 'em
rintarou who somehow knows your own schedule better than you do yourself, always reminding you when certain assignments are due for their classes and bringing snacks as motivation.
rintarou who is the embodiment of non-destructive chaos, laughing his head off as he drags you to a 7/11 in the stupidly early hours of the morning to buy slurpees and run through the city with them.
rintarou who gets clingy at night, against everyone's expectations, begging you to lie on top of him because it's very comfortable and he gets to tease you for being small, though he's really just too lanky.
rintarou who shares his favourite chuupets with you, because you mean enough to him, and he loves your grin as you tease him for choking on them when he sucks a little too hard.
rintarou who is far smarter than people give him credit for, and is more than willing to spend long nights calmly detangling maths problems or drafting essays if it helps you.
rintarou who lets you do his makeup and braid his hair, proudly wearing it outside even when people stare at him, because fuck it, it made you happy, and he'll do anything for that outcome.
rintarou who has the dirty secret of being ridiculously good at making really good homemade smoothies or milkshakes from out of date fruit, and regularly makes them for you.
rintarou who actually punched someone on one occasion for looking at you strangely, smirking whilst you chided him and iced his swollen fist and realising for the first time how special you were to him.
rintarou who carries your stuff every time you go out, because he's actually really thoughtful like that.
rintarou who doesn't know when he started looking at you like that, but he never wants to stop, because in his eyes, you are better than any of the other 'good things in the world' ... well, you are his world.
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
pixelskylines
gamechangershow
gummygunk
2087
areudirty
yousharknotpass
