Evey

Being Anakin Skywalker’s ex-girlfriend was not a task for the weak or faint of heart. Especially not when your family loved him so much. “How’s Ani doing?” “What’s Ani up to?” “When is Ani coming over to fix the AC?” These questions, each one stinging a bit more than the last, were ran by you on the daily. The breakup was messy, Anakin being smug about being loved by your family, and you cursing his name the entire time he walked from your room, through the front door, and out to his car, right up until the very moment he backed out of your driveway and left for good. You were left heartbroken and with the bad taste of nasty words in your mouth, as you had fought with him in a heated argument until he left, all the while he sat back and watched you, only contributing to the one sided fight to mutter under his breath, usually something about “you’re accusing me of doing something, yet you’re the one getting all irritated.” He would do this every time you fought, and for the first year, it worked. You’d come crawling back and be in his lap, grinding on each other, angry words turning to breathy moans, within just a few minutes of him getting his hands on you. But after the year and a half mark, it stopped being cute, and you started seeing right through his control, which was little more than smoke and mirrors. And last Friday was the last time you were going to put up with it.

At least, that’s what you thought, until your family announced that they were inviting him on the summer trip to the mountain town six hours away that they took annually. Six hours in a car, to and from, with him, would be bad enough. Nevermind five days in a cramped small cabin room, and kiss goodbye to any peaceful excursions on the itinerary. “No way, absolutely not. We-” You start, only to remember that you and Anakin, despite claiming to hate each other, made an agreement to keep the breakup secret from your family because you didn’t want to ruin their chance of having a ‘son in law experience’. With a defeated sigh, you retreat to your room, hands shaking as you dial Anakin’s number and hit the call button. After three rings, he picks up, and before he can get a single word out, you cut him off, “You’re graciously invited to the family summer trip. Are you coming or not?” You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he spoke, dripping with that toxic lilt that always made your stomach twist in on itself and your knees weaken, “Looks like I’m still wanted then, hm?” Without giving you time to object, he speaks again, “I’ll be there. See you in the morning, angel.”

For some reason, the name that used to bring you butterflies now got under your skin worse than when guys would call you ‘sweetheart’ or other honeyed terms. Packing your bags and checking off things on the list you’d written to prepare, by the time you were done, it was already 10pm. Calling it a night, you lay down in bed, letting out a deep, heaving sigh, ultimately surrendering to the comforting lull of sleep. Upon waking up, there was another heavy weight dipping the mattress beside you. “Mmgh… wha- what?” You blink the sleep from your eyes, seeing a familiar head of blond curls laying beside you, shirtless, in nothing but boxers. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess…” You groan, rolling over to the other side so you didn’t have to stare at the sight that was certainly easy on the eyes. Though you wanted to kick him off the bed and yell at him for being a creep, between your sleep-addled mind and your secret desire for him to come back, you just couldn’t work up the courage to do it. “Well good morning to you too, angel.” Anakin hums, moving an arm up to gently massage your scalp just the way you liked, nails lightly scratching at the fragile skin, deep blue eyes observing the way you fought to keep from leaning into him, even though your body was aching to do just that.

“We should get up soon, they’re gonna leave in an hour.” He mumbled slowly, right beside your ear, hot breath fanning over the outer shell. “Yeah yeah, I’m up, I’m up.” You groan, sitting up on your elbows and finally turning to face him once more. For someone you swore you hated the moment he set foot outside your door last Friday, you sure were leaning awfully close to his muscular body. “Whatcha doin’ over there?” He bites back the grin threatening to form on his face, lips twitching with the urge to pull upwards. “I’m cold. You’re warm. That’s all.” You state monotonously, wrestling with the feeling of denial and shame in your stomach. “Is that so?” he actually grins this time, “Then I could warm you up?” He offers, rolling over on top of you, pinning your hips between his knees. “No,” You whine lightly, “We have stuff to do.” You barely push on his chest, but he falls to the side with a dramatic ‘ouf’ sound, playfully acting as if he was injured, bringing a hand up to his chest where you’d touched him, “You’re right. I’ll make it up to you later.”

Within the hour, you’d gotten up, gotten dressed and ready, and attempted to carry your bags to Anakin’s car, with your parents, grandparents, and aunt all piled into the family car. “Aww, need a hand, angel?” Anakin teases, having been leaning on the doorway, watching you struggle the whole time. “You could’ve offered to help a while ago.” You cross your arms over your chest as he takes your bags from you, veins in his arms popping as his muscles flex under the strain. “But you’re so cute when you struggle. And I know you, you would’ve yelled at me for trying to help when you ‘got it’.” He clicks his tongue, delicately setting each bag of yours in the back of his car as if they weighed no more than a feather. He crosses the path to the passenger side of the car, opening your door for you with an antagonizing look in his eyes. He knew you hated that, you were raised as an independent woman who didn’t need a man for shit, as you’d told him the first time he tried as a genuine action. Since then, it was a way of taunting you, urging you to let your irritation bubble over into sexual frustration.

The drive, though long, wasn’t that bad. Anakin decided to be merciful for the first time all day, as when you had started to nod off but were fighting sleep because you didn't trust his driving on the sharp twists and bends on the way to the cabin, he’d mindlessly let his right hand wander to your thigh, left hand on the wheel, rubbing your leg in slow, soothing circles, whispering to just go to sleep, and he’d keep you safe. Strangely enough, it had worked, and you had gotten one of the best car naps in your life. He’d sat in the car for two hours in the driveway of the cabin, gently rubbing your scalp and hair, waiting for you to wake up naturally as opposed to waking you abruptly. “Mm… what time is it?” You lift your head, neck aching from the angle at which you’d been sleeping. “Half past six. Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you in?” His voice was soft, genuine. It was very odd for someone who claimed he was only physically attracted to you, to be so dedicated to letting you rest that he’d stayed outside in the summer heat and humidity for two hours. “Why’d you let me sleep so long? Why did you stay out here? What about my luggage, I had stuff that could melt!” You cry, pushing yourself up from the passenger seat, which was fully reclined. His doing, not yours. “Easy, easy. I already carried everything in and got our room set up while you were sleeping. I came back to check on you about an hour ago and stayed with you until you woke up.” He soothes, those blue irises of his doing little to remind you that you were supposed to be exes.

“I can walk, I’m fine.” You assure finally, but just as you try to stand up from the seat, your legs, which were numb from being seated for so long, had buckled, nearly sending you over the gravel driveway and into the plummet downwards through the woods. Anakin is at your side within a millisecond, one arm around your shoulders and the other tucked under your leg. “Whoa, take it easy. I’ve gotcha.” He walks backwards until he’s got enough footspace to turn towards the cabin and walk you inside, laying you down on the bed in your shared room. “You just lay down and get comfortable, I’ll bring you dinner.” He exits quickly, leaving you with your thoughts. Why was he being so nice to you? Was it a facade for the family, or did he truly have a change of heart? Was he in love finally? Were you? So many questions race through your mind at lightspeed, you don’t even recognize him coming in to lay soup in your lap on a tray he’d folded for you. “Bon Appetite.” He states with a calm smile, one you hadn’t seen in a while. He was going to tell you he’d made the soup from scratch just for you, but he let it slide, reminding himself of what his therapist, with whom he’d only had two appointments since the breakup, had told him about ego death, and letting his humility bring him more joy than his pride. Humility, she’d said, rewards with happiness and experience, and ego only rewards with false confidence.

Later that night, around 8pm, the family, and subsequently you and him, had taken a trip to the amusement park themed around the local mountains. The gondola up to the top of the mountain, which was where the park was located, featured glass walls and a glass bottom, allotting the riders a full 360° view of the mountain. Your parents had taken one, grandparents and aunt on another, and you and Anakin on a third one. Your hands were shaking with nerves as you eyed the approaching incline in the cables, whole body covered in a thin sheen of sweat from anxiety. “Hey,” Anakin speaks up, trying to distract you, “Hey. Look at me.” He takes your chin in one hand, forcing your gaze to meet his, “I’ve got you. We’re safe. The cables are safe and stable. Nothing is going to happen.” He tries to comfort you, but the second he stops talking, the line stops moving altogether, each gondola box stopping in its tracks and swaying back and forth, forcing you to wrench your eyes closed. “Oh my god,” You squeal, tears of fear forming in your eyes, your hands darting to Anakin’s forearms, desperate for something safe to hold onto. “Let me take your mind off of things,” He whispers softly, one hand moving slowly under the waistband of your pants. “We shouldn’t, this whole thing is glass, someone will see us.” You urge, trying to squirm away.

“Baby,” Anakin whispers affectionately, “It’s completely dark outside, and the glass is tinted from the outside. No one will see. And the ride is about four minutes, I can take care of you in half that.” He waits for just a moment, letting you decide what you want. When you slide down slightly on the leather seat, allowing his hands to go deeper, he pulls you closer to him until your knees touch. Wordlessly, two of his fingers slide inside of you, thumb teasing your clit. You’re too overwhelmed by stimulation to notice the gondola start moving again, and just as you look down and see how far off the ground you are, Anakin’s voice is low next to your ear, using his shoulder to block your view. “Don’t look down. Keep your eyes on me, and let me handle all your stress.” His fingers curl within your walls, forcing your back to arch and your head to tip back, jaw slackening. His free hand comes up to brace your neck and head, his other head working tirelessly to get you to climax. Just before you can, the cables stop again, and you can feel the motion of the gondola swinging to and fro, momentarily taking you out of your pleasure. “Close your eyes. Feel how deep my fingers are. We’re alright, yeah?” Anakin leans over slightly to press a kiss to your neck, fingertips ramming into your g-spot with fervor, working you towards orgasm. “Oh!” You half moan, half whine, body falling forward into his arms as you cum. Anakin removes his hand from your pants and takes his fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling over them visible in his cheeks, “Yeah, just like that. Taste so good, baby.” He praises smoothly.

Just as he separates from you, your gondola docks at the mountain’s summit, allowing the two of you to get off. “We’re taking the truck down.” You state shakily, joining up with your family, putting on a brave face despite the explicit activities you and Anakin had gotten up to on the gondola. Going through the park, Anakin notices the Skywalk, a thread of rope bridges weaving through the mountaintop’s canopy of trees. “Let’s do that!” He urges excitedly, nudging your hip with his elbow. “What? Are you crazy? That looks horrifying!” You try to talk him out of it, and yet, he tugs you easily down the staircase leading to the first rope bridge. By bridge three of at least sixteen, you’re clinging to his side and power-walking towards each rest stop between bridges. “I hate this I hate this I hate this,” You whimper, both arms wrapped tightly around his right bicep. “Relax, angel. If anything happens, I’ve got military training, I can protect you.” Anakin reminds you softly. Ironically, one of the most heated topics in your frequent arguments was his flightiness due to being military. For once since being together in the first place, that military training was paying off.

With five bridges left, Anakin stops on the rest stop, gazing out across the bridges and skyline. “Let’s finish what we started. There’s no one else on the bridges and the park closes in half an hour, if we keep it down we can manage.” You stare at him, deadpan, your features riddled with anxiety. “We’re not having sex on this deathtrap.” His smugness from the day before returns to his face and he uses that buttered tone with you, the one he only uses when he’s sweet talking you into doing what he wants, “But if we die on this thing, you’re gonna go out wishing you could’ve had my dick in you one last time.” He spoke shamelessly, dirty words prevented from reaching wandering ears by the dense treetops. With a sigh of defeat, you wander into his arms. “That’s what I thought.” He mutters, turning you outwards to face the mountaintop, pinning you between his body and the railing. He lowers his pants just enough to let his cock spring outwards, moving your pants down just enough to let him in. In one quick thrust, he’s bottomed out within you. You choke on a scream, while his eyes roll back into his head and close, a moan of your name on his lips. “Fucking hell, missed you so much. Missed this pussy so much, baby.”

Anakin’s hands land on either side of you on the railing, caging you in the small space created just for your body. His thrusts are quick and frantic, getting you right to the edge of orgasm relatively quickly, before he slows down, making you whine from the lack of stimulation. “Gotta work for it, angel. Look up, look at the trees. See how high up we are. See how far the drop is if we fall.” He feels your walls clench around him, eliciting a low groan from his throat, “Shit, that turns you on, huh? Pathetic little freak.” He whispers lowly from behind you, thrusts becoming sloppy as he nears his own climax, “‘M gonna cum, baby. Where do you want it?” Before your mind can even comprehend the words coming out of your mouth, you moan out his name, “Ohh fuck, Anakin! I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna- Cum inside, I want it inside!” You close your eyes tightly, tears of pleasure slipping from your lashline, body seizing as you orgasm, cumming hard around his dick. “Fuck, angel. I- Oh, fuck. Inside? You want me to- cum inside? Fuck, fuck!” The whine of your name that comes from his lips is beautiful, a sound you’ve never heard before, but definitely want to hear more. Anakin’s cum dribbles out of your cunt, which was still pulsating around his softening cock. He quickly tucks himself back into his pants and pulls yours up over your hips as well, giving you a cheeky smile as he prepares to step off onto the next bridge, “Hold tight, wouldn’t want you to slip and fall.”

The rest of the trip passes in a blur of green trees and brown rocky mountains. By the time you’re driving back home, you’re passed out in Anakin’s passenger seat, with a brand new promise ring on your ring finger, one that he’d forged himself from one of the shops in the local town outside of the mouth of the winding road leading to an array of cabins, including yours. Maybe he really did have a change of heart.

For as long as you can remember in your relationship, Gojo had always been incredibly supportive. Supportive of you, of your needs, of your boundaries, and of keeping the peace between the two of you. But things were different lately. You weren’t sleeping as well, waking up in the dead of the night gasping for air, with another man’s name on your lips. Though he pretended to be asleep, he heard every cry that wracked your body, every deep breath you tried to take, every gulp of water you downed from the glass on your nightstand in a desperate attempt to soothe yourself. He knew you were having nightmares of sorts, he just couldn’t figure out why or what you experienced, and he wasn’t the type to push for information, as he knew that you’d talk to him when you were ready. Despite knowing, that didn’t prevent the aching pain in his chest, knowing he couldn’t comfort you the way he wanted to. Having several traumatic ordeals himself, he knew that above all else, when you’re already dealing with your trauma, having someone else nagging at you only added to the distress. He also knew that trying to soothe you would put an unnecessary spotlight on you.

At least, he thought so. Finally, he just couldn’t take it anymore. When you’d woken up from your fourth nightmare in a span of two nights, he didn’t try to pretend to be asleep, or try to ignore your desperate attempts at self-soothing. Just as he was about to sit up and talk to you, you beat him to it, practically throwing yourself into his arms for comfort. “Satoru,” You cry, “Satoru, I’m scared.” The way your voice trembles makes his heart palpate from stress. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here.” He whispers, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He assures as he cradles you in his grasp. Slowly, quiet sobs turn to wails that he can tell are trying to be quiet but your voice just won’t cooperate. Warm, soothing hands run up and down your back, and though he usually never asks, this is the one time he does. “Is this okay? Do you want to be touched right now?” The unexpectedness of the question makes your cries pause for just a moment, “I… I don’t know,” You sniffle, trying to think about what you want, “I don’t want to be touched… there.” You mumble, moving his hands off your back, instead taking them into your own hands.

In the darkness of the bedroom, you can barely make out his blue irises, the only light being the pale stream of moonlight through the window. “I can’t breathe.” You whimper, feeling how tight your chest is, how every breath feels like a struggle, as if there’s chains around your ribcage. “Okay. That’s okay. We’re just gonna take some deep breaths, yeah? Breathe in… and breathe out.” Gojo guides softly, voice calm, trying to bring you down from your panic, “Good, that’s good. Again. Breathe in… and out.” After a few more breaths, he stops, “There we go. Nice and deep. Good.” He listens to you continue the pattern even after he stops, until you’re able to regain your normal breathing. A heavy silence falls over the bedroom, thick with tension and stress. He’s the first to speak up, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I just want you to know that I’m here. Do you need more water? Something to eat?” He offers softly, gaze meeting yours. He can see the distress on your face, the way your brows knit together, forehead creased, lips pulled into a tight frown, dark bags resting under your eyes from the lack of proper sleep. “I don’t know what I want. My head feels really loud. It’s hard to think.”

“If it’s hard to think, don’t. Sit with me. Be here with me, right now.” He instructs. For once in at least a week, your heart stops racing, instead slowing to a normal pulse. You find yourself compelled to listen, with no distractions available in the dark room. After what feels like an eternity passes, your voice comes out small, shrill, “I think I’m ready to talk.” Gojo, who had previously been staring out the window at the moon, turns his face back to find yours, “I’m listening.” He states. “Several years ago, I was in an abusive relationship. I don’t want to go too much into detail, but… he would force me to always be happy around him, I could never tell him what I was really feeling without him threatening to leave. I said something stupid and he broke up with me, then we reconnected a few months later. He claimed I had to ‘earn his trust back’ by never complaining or stepping out of line. He would only talk to me around midnight and would ghost me completely during the day. And…” You trail off, throat tightening, posture becoming more protective, more reserved. Though he doesn’t make a move to verbally reassure you, Gojo’s hands tighten around your own for a moment. “He would sext me all the time, no matter where either of us was. He never even asked, one day he just started doing it. Because he was my first boyfriend, I just thought it was normal. But it didn’t feel normal, I was scared, I felt sick all the time. He told me all kinds of explicit things, what he’d do to me if he got his hands on me. Instead of making me feel loved or aroused, I just felt scared, but I never said anything because I was afraid of his reaction, scared he’d leave me.”

Suddenly, you feel raw and exposed, “Oops, I didn’t mean to talk so much…” You whisper, shrinking into yourself. “It’s okay, I’m honored that you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on. If you have more to say, I’m right here.” Gojo’s hands loosen on yours, using his right to lean over the bed and grab your cup, handing it to you. After taking a few sips, you balance the cup in a crease within the blanket and your lap, staring down at your hands, “I only realized he was abusing me after he threatened me. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but… He asked me if I had anything to tell him. He always said honesty was the best policy. So, I told him that I had a crush on someone else when we weren’t together. For some reason, he completely flipped his lid, and said that I wouldn’t be able to do my hobbies anymore, which I had said were one of my greatest comforts, because he’d put me in the hospital for so long if I ever got too close to him again. He said he really could beat me, because he was training in kickboxing. After that, he left, and never spoke to me again.” Your throat burned from talking so much, each word shaky and quiet, afraid of speaking things into action. “Later on, I found out he was cheating on me the whole time with my best friend. Maybe that was why he lost it, guilty conscience. I don’t know.” The words came out slower this time, like they were poison on your tongue.

Ear-ringing silence settles upon you, the silence being so loud you could hear the blood rushing in your ears. “I’m so sorry.” Is all Gojo says in response. He’d seen, heard, experienced a lot in his time, and though your story was nowhere near the worst of it, it was an awfully heavy burden for just two shoulders to bear. “I was in middle school when it happened. Before we got together, he was harassing one of the girls he was friends with, making sexual advances and jokes towards her to make me jealous. It got so bad she ended up crying in my arms one day. I remember going to school the following August and I only lasted two weeks before I had to switch schools because I started having panic attacks, I was so afraid of him. We always passed each other in the hallways and that feeling of burning shame and anxiety never left the entire time I was there.” Out of all the things you’d said, that was the one that made Gojo’s eyes widen the most. Shock drips upon his features, jaw slackened, brows raised. “You must’ve been so young. That’s vile.” He wasn’t hurt because you hadn’t told him sooner, he was hurting for you. “I had so many screenshots of what he said to me, what he said he’d do to me, but I deleted them all because I wanted him out of my life. I had all the evidence, and I just… let it slip right through my fingers. I was so much more privileged than so many survivors, and I threw it all away.” What starts as a whisper becomes silent crying, burying yourself in your boyfriend’s arms.

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay,” He urges immediately, “Don’t blame yourself. You were so young, you didn’t understand what was going until much later. It’s not your fault.” Gojo soothes, cupping your face slowly, giving you time to pull away if you didn’t want to be touched, “Listen to me. None of it was your fault. A bad person made bad decisions and you got hurt because of them. It’s not your fault. Never has been, never will be.” By now, your face is covered in a thin sheen of tears, “I wish it would just go away. I want to forget about him, forget about what happened. I don’t want to keep living in fear. I’m so exhausted from fighting myself.” You cry, hiding your face in Gojo’s shoulder, voice muffled by the cotton of his white night shirt. “So this is what your nightmares have been about.” He mutters, holding you tightly enough he could feel your back and chest move with each inhale. “This past one was the worst one yet. I don’t want to talk about it.” You sniffle frantically, trying to clear your nose, anything to get more air in.

“That’s alright, we don’t have to discuss anything you don’t want to.” He twists you to lay back in the pillows, taking your cup from you and placing it back safely on the nightstand, “Just get some sleep, alright? I’m right here, I’ll keep you safe. You can trust me. No one gets in or out without me seeing them.” His words ease your worries. One of your greatest fears is your ex coming to get you, finding you somehow. The idea of the apartment being completely safe, watched over by your beloved boyfriend, who would die and kill for you, allowed a sense of peace and tranquility to fill your heart, one you hadn’t felt since before the incident. “I’m sorry for waking you up and talking your ear off,” You yawn sleepily, words slurring together from how exhausted you were. Gojo hums softly and shakes his head, “That’s what I’m here for. I’m here to love and support you, regardless of the time of day.” He leans down over you, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead, “Goodnight. Sleep well. And if you have another nightmare, you can always wake me up.” With that, you finally find solace in pure abysmal unconsciousness, untouched by nightmares, for the first time in weeks, all thanks to Satoru Gojo.

In your eyes, Leon Kennedy was the most beautiful man ever. Inside and out, upside and down, left to right, your heart was his. As his was yours, of course. He was equally in love with you, saw you as a safe place to just be. Not a DSO Agent, not a hero, not a servant of the government, just Leon. Just him, just your husband. He loved everything about you in the same manner you loved everything about him. The way you adored each line and crease that had worn into his warm skin over the years, he equally and oppositely adored the stray strands of silver that glistened in your hair like shooting stars, their point of origin being your scalp, all the way down to the tips of your hair. Sometimes you’d catch him mumbling under his breath, and when you ask him what he’d said, he’d just give you that classic Leon Smile, and say “Just making a wish on your shooting stars.” He was certainly a charmer, you’d give him that. On the reverse side, later into the evenings as the two of you prepare for bed in sync with each other, you’d sneak your hands up to hold his face, thumbs brushing over his stubble, whispering about “Your wrinkles are like a map, they show me right where to kiss you.”

It was July third, and you’d found yourself reminiscing on your first and only pregnancy while going through picture albums together. “The pregnancy was awful,” you’d mumble, “But raising our son was well worth it.” Somewhat-wrinkled fingers rifle through pictures as if they’re pages in a book, each one capturing a moment in time where Leon could swear his heart was going to grow legs and leave his body from how much he loved you. His icy blue eyes study each picture with equal time and adoration, lovingly observing a picture of you when you were younger, holding a baby boy on your hip with one arm, and a popsicle in the other hand, the sun perfectly casting a halo-ish glow around the pair of you. Leon lifts his head from where he was hunched over in the armchair next to the couch, his eyes slowly moving between you and the picture in his hand. “Still as beautiful as ever. Time hasn’t touched you a bit.” He speaks softly, usually raspy, deep voice now barely above a whisper. In the meantime, you found a picture of your son playing with his father’s hair, Leon’s once straight, short hair now piled into a stack of messy blond knots atop his head, your son seated on the bathroom floor behind him, with combs and brushes surrounding the two of them. “Look what I found.” You hum in a sing-songy voice, passing the photo to your husband.

Just as Leon’s about to react, the doorbell rings. With a harmonized groan of effort, forcing yourselves to stand up, achy joints popping, both of you cross the sunlit living room to reach the front door, which, upon opening, reveals your twenty-seven year old son, and his six year old daughter. “Grandma, Grandpa!” The girl announces cheerily, curly brunette ringlets bouncing as she throws herself into Leon’s arms first. “Easy there, bug, grandpa can’t carry you like he used to.” Your son warns gently, shuffling past you to set her backpack, which was mostly filled with dolls of assorted brands and the occasional clothing item, on the couch. “Oh, nonsense. I can carry you just fine.” Leon smiles, aged skin creasing with the movement, hoisting the girl up into his arms to get a better hold on her, while you help your son carry in her pillow and blanket which, you’d learned from personal experience, she could not sleep without. That was a fun night.

“Alright, the wife’s texting me. I should get going.” Your son announces, before your granddaughter wriggles free of Leon’s arms to give her father a goodbye hug. He pulls away after a long moment, holding her shoulders gently, “Now Lisa, you go easy on your grandma and grandpa, okay? Be good. I love you.” He leans forward, presses a kiss to her forehead, before standing up and standing in the doorway. “Thanks mom, dad.” He waves, closing the screen door behind him. Lisa runs to the couch to watch through the window as her father gets into the passenger seat of the Toyota in your driveway, parked behind his father’s much more impressive Porsche. After a moment, the car backs out and takes off, after which Lisa leaps off the couch and comes running to you, hugging up on your leg. “Grandma grandma grandma, guess what!” She smiles up at you brightly, “I lost another tooth! The tooth fairy gave me a whole dollar this time! I think it’s because it was one of my big teeth!” You hadn’t noticed it until then, but once you did, it was hard to miss the missing front tooth, leaving a massive gap in her happy smile. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart!” You approve before leaning down to her ear to whisper, “Maybe if you ask really nicely, grandpa will let you use your dollar when the ice cream man comes by.” This idea goes straight to her head, the only sound in the house being her footsteps padding against the hardwood flooring as she runs to Leon and shares the idea with him.

Leon looks over at you with a ‘This was your idea, wasn’t it?’ kind of face, before looking back down at Lisa, “Of course you can get ice cream. Come to think of it, I’ve got some change on my dresser. We can get your daddy some ice cream and keep it in the freezer for him till tomorrow.” He gives Lisa a loving head pat before sending her to your shared room to grab the spare coins off your dresser. She returns with the coins, combining them with her dollar, and as if on cue, the ice cream truck stops in front of your house. A bunch of neighborhood kids come out to buy ice cream, with you, Leon, and Lisa not far behind. She manages to buy a chocolate dipped ice cream bar for herself, and for her father, one of those cartoon character ones, the kind with gumball eyes that are nowhere near where they should be, but that’s what makes them so lovable. Rushing inside, Lisa puts the other ice cream bar in the freezer before it can melt in the July heat, her face covered with sticky remnants of her own bar, which Leon wipes at after licking his thumb to wet it, much to her displeasure. “Grandpa! Nooo!” She whines between a fit of giggles, which Leon simply “hm”s at, “Sorry kiddo, don’t want you runnin’ around with a messy face. Your grandma would have a cow if I let ya.”

Later into the evening, as things start to settle down, Lisa gets washed up and changed into pajamas before sitting in your lap on the floor in front of the TV. While her favorite cartoon plays, she stares up at the TV with large eyes that were growing heavier with each passing minute, while you dried her hair and carefully twisted strands into a neat braid, though a few stubborn curls pop out near her forehead and ears. “If you’re getting sleepy, let’s turn off the TV and get you into bed, okay?” You whisper soothingly, standing up slowly and leading Lisa, who doesn’t put up a fight despite hating bedtime, to the guest room, fluffing her pillow and spreading out her blanket. You lean out of the doorway, quietly urging Leon to come say goodnight, while Lisa tiredly climbs into the bed and gets comfortable, a stuffed teddy bear tucked in her arms tightly as she lays on her side. “Goodnight, grandma,” she yawns, “Goodnight, grandpa.” Both you and Leon take turns giving her a kiss on the forehead, whispering a quiet “goodnight, kiddo” and “goodnight, sweetheart”, turning off the light and closing the door to the guest room. Not even an hour later, fireworks start going off, causing you and Leon to look at each other in silence, praying mentally that the loud noise wouldn’t wake Lisa.

Thankfully, the following morning comes peacefully, with Lisa sleeping through the whole night without leaving her bed once. That is, until a soft “thump” sounds out against the hazy silence of the small suburban home, Lisa hopping on your bed, right between you and Leon’s sleeping forms. Leon wakes up first, one eye opening sleepily, a soft laugh coming out before he can stop it, “Well good morning to you too, kiddo. What time is it?” He rolls over to face Lisa, who is now climbing over the blanket to view the clock on Leon’s nightstand, which reads a staggering “7:37AM” in bright red font. Lisa announces the number with a proud smile on her face, “We learned about clocks last year at school! Are you proud of me, grandpa?” She questions, sitting on her knees directly on top of his legs. With his many years of service, he’d built quite the pain tolerance, no more than a singular eye twitch becoming of the pain of Lisa’s bony kneecaps digging into his shins, “Good job, kiddo. Say, why don’t you go over to grandma’s side and wake her up? I’m sure she’d love to make you some breakfast.” He speaks with a playful tone, mentally grinning, knowing how much you ‘hated’ getting up early. But of course, how could you possibly be mad at Lisa? She was just so precious, you just couldn’t bring yourself to say no to her.

Lisa clambers over to you and shakes you awake, “Grandmaaa!” she pokes at your face, “Grandma I’m hungry! I want breakfast!” Those words are enough to make your eyes snap open. You grab onto her arms gently and bring her down into a cuddle, tickling her sides, “Well we just can’t have that now, can we?” Lisa laughs uncontrollably, wriggling herself free from the onslaught of affection, “I want pancakes!” She finally gets off the bed and runs out to the living room, rummaging through her backpack on the floor, digging out her outfit for the day. In the meanwhile, you and Leon get out of the bed, stretching lightly before heading to the kitchen. You open the yellow gingham curtains, letting the golden morning sun stream in through the window above the sink. Lisa changes into her outfit in the guest room, being in there for a suspiciously long time, before coming out with a brush in hand, and a bow hair tie with red loops and blue and white ombre tails, the bow matching her red, white, and blue dress that featured multicolored fireworks. Before she can distract you from whisking the pancake batter, Leon sits down at the dining table and pulls out a chair for Lisa. “If you sit facing that way,” He points towards the front door, “I’ll put your bow in for you.”

Lisa sits crisscrossed in the chair, letting Leon brush out her braided hair, tying up half into a ponytail before sliding the bow in place over the ponytail. “There we go,” He smiles at his work. Lisa pops up quickly, running off to grab her backpack and bring it to the table, “Grandpa! Play dolls with me!” She seats herself in the chair and lays out all of her dolls, varying colors of kanekalon splaying across the dining table, most dolls with knots or rubber bands stuck in their hair. At first, Leon sighs, before shaking his head with a laugh, “Of course. Anything for you, kiddo.” He begrudgingly picks up a blonde doll, putting on his best valley girl accent, causing Lisa to devolve into a fit of giggles. After a few minutes of them playing together, you place three plates of pancakes stacked high and covered in assorted berries, powdered sugar, and syrup on the table. “Breakfast is served,” You smile calmly, taking off your apron, which was lightly dusted in a combination of flour and powdered sugar. Lisa’s eyes light up and go as wide as saucers as she stares at the sugar bomb in front of her, causing Leon to knock his knee against hers lightly, “Go easy. Don’t force yourself to eat more than what you can. Grandma can always make you more next time.” Lisa willingly ignores his warning and starts digging into her stack of pancakes, which was only a tower of three small pancakes, but to her, it looked like Mount Olympus coated in a decent snow of sugar.

Around noon, your son arrived to pick up Lisa. “Thank you for watching her. Was she good for you guys?” He inquires, packing up her stuff for her while she was busy playing with her dolls with Leon. “No problems to report. But, she did save something for you. Lisa?” You prompt gently, urging her to go to the kitchen. The sound of the freezer door opening catches her father’s attention, and before he knows it, Lisa places a wrapped ice cream bar in his hand. “Be careful, it’ll melt if you don’t eat it!” She warns very seriously. “Oh, of course. Thank you.” Her father makes an equally as serious face. As he wrangles Lisa out of the door, he waves at you and Leon one last time before leaving, and you can only assume he had eaten the ice cream on the drive home. A peaceful silence falls over the house once more, only pausing when you begin rinsing the dishes from breakfast and loading them into the dishwasher, making sure to scrub every last bit of syrup from the plates so they wouldn’t stick together.

“So…” Leon starts, coming up behind you, delicately wrapping an arm around your waist, “We’ve got about three hours until everyone starts arriving for the barbecue. What do you say we ‘take a nap’, yeah?” He presses gentle kisses up and down your neck and jawline lovingly. “Where’s this coming from? I thought you were going to mow the lawn and fix the steps to the patio.” You stop your movements, turning off the faucet before turning around in his arms to face him. Leon gazes into your eyes with such yearning, you swore Shakespearean poems wrote themselves in his irises. “I was just thinking… Maybe having another kid wouldn’t be so bad. You know, Lisa is getting older and there haven’t been any babies in the family for quite a few years…” He trails off, pressing tender kisses to your lips, cheeks, nose, eyebrows, anywhere and everywhere he could reach. “Leon, no way. We’re almost fifty, we are not physically capable of raising another kid. Not only that, I don’t want to explain babies to Lisa, and especially not have her nagging her parents about ‘where babies come from’ and all that stuff.” It was strange, this kind of behavior was out of character for him. Sure, he’d let love cloud his judgement every so often, but never when it came to something as serious as having a child together.

That’s when it hits you. “My love?” You question so achingly softly it melts Leon’s heart just to hear you speak, “Are you… Lonely?” You cup his face in your hands, peppering kisses along each crease and wrinkle in his skin. “I-” He starts, “Maybe. It’s just that, I’ve been thinking about it for a few months now, and I just…” He trails off. You soothingly run the backs of your hands over his cheeks, which coaxes the answer out of him, “I miss having a little one running around. The house is too quiet, and I can’t help but question if this is really all there is for us. Just to babysit and laze around in recliners, biding our time with bad Court TV and word puzzles.” You swore you could feel and even hear your heart cracking piece by piece at his explanation. “You’re so used to always doing something that doing nothing feels-” He cuts you off, “Torturous.” He leans down to capture your lips in a long kiss that literally takes your breath away. When he does pull away, you whisper against his lips, “We can try.” He smiles for a moment before kissing you again, this time only pulling back to guide you to the bedroom.

Once in the bedroom, he lays you down on the bed, easing your pajamas off, as well as his own. For a man damn near his fifties, he still looked the exact same as he had all those years ago, and the thrill of that was enough to send chills down your spine and a wave of heat to your core. “I love you so much,” He whispers, kissing your shoulder, your breasts, your stomach, before following the same pattern upwards to your lips, sealing the two of you in a lip lock as he eases his length into you. Rocking his hips slowly and shallowly against yours, he rests his forehead against your own, whispering praises of your beauty, your love for him, his love for you, and how well you were taking him. “Oh-” You gasp as the slight curve of his cock catches against your g-spot. “There?” He asks softly, angling his hips to hit that spot with each thrust. He teased you every time, as if he hadn’t been learning every point of your body that made your knees weak for the past twenty eight years. With a soft cry of his name, you orgasm around his dick, each pulsation of your pussy being just the right amount of pressure to ease him into his own orgasm, holding himself still deep inside you, making sure his cum would take.

Both of you roll over, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. “I love you. So, so much. More than you’ll ever know or hope to know.” You mutter sleepily. “Go to sleep, you’re fighting it.” Leon laughs softly, “But I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.” He rubs at your hairline gently, knowing that always puts you right to sleep without much of a fight. Setting an alarm on his phone, he falls asleep beside you. The alarm goes off at 4pm, allowing him the time to prepare the grill as cars start arriving in your driveway and around your house. You quickly get up and get dressed, putting your hair up to match your outfit and slipping on the orthopedic sandals your doctor had recommended. As Leon fires up the grill and starts laying assorted meats across the metal bars, you chat with the neighborhood ladies, who were all either discussing the latest viral historical drama or their own marriages.

Around eight weeks later, you stare down at a positive pregnancy test. A mixture of anxiety and happiness swirls in your stomach as Leon sleepily pads into the bathroom, awoken from sleeping in on a lazy Sunday. “I’m pregnant.” You swallow thickly, handing him the positive test. “That’s…” He trails off, before meeting your gaze with a look so calm, so peaceful, so full of love, you could swear there were tears in his eyes, “That’s wonderful, my love.” he pulls you into a warm embrace, pressing your head into his shoulder softly, stroking the back of your head with a gentle hand, “We’re gonna do it all over again. And it’s going to be great, because it’s you and me. And that’s all I could ever ask for.” For the first time since getting pregnant, your mental fear of it being transactional dissipated. It wasn’t, and neither was your love for each other. You were excited, nervous, happy, and ready all at once. And you knew with Leon, you were going to have the best nine months ever, because he knew how to keep you safe and happy. And he loved you so, so much. More than you could ever hope to know.

You were young. Way younger than your boyfriend, Leon Kennedy, a retired cop. In fact, he was old enough to be your father, perhaps even older than. And that’s exactly how you liked it, because your father was there, but never quite ‘there’. Came home from work late, never made an effort to come to award shows or ceremonies at your school, and since the age of twelve, it seemed like every single day with him, there was a massive fight. The sound of passive aggressive huffing and mumbling, heavy footsteps, the slamming of doors, and listening for his footstep leading up to your bedroom door so you could look prepared to speak to him when he finally entered, were all thoughts and memories that near constantly stayed in your mind, or at least, the back of it. Once you became an adult, you made the tough decision to disengage from your relationship with your father, because your heart just physically could not take the stress anymore. Always being on fight or flight mode put you in a sour mood, led to poor sleep, and was causing hormonal imbalances left and right.

The sound of the home office door opening caught your attention, removing you from your previous thoughts. “Hey, I’m home.” Leon announced his presence, leaning on the door frame. Since he was retired, he mostly took care of the upkeep of the house in his spare time, while you worked from home, to maximize the amount of downtime you had. In this particular instance, he’d gone to get groceries, the fancy ones that you loved but could never really afford in childhood due to the economic state of the country at the time, as well as your parents having somewhat low-pay jobs. You were never destitute, but to say you remember shopping at those ‘Dollar or less’ stores more often than not for groceries instead of bigger stores was an understatement. Once in your life, you associated the sound of heavy boots with being afraid, being tense, being prepared for a fight. But now, the sound of heavy boots was associated with something softer, the domestic love that your boyfriend had for you.

As those boots padded against the carpet, crossing the room until he was at your side, Leon leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, the slightly scraggly hair growing in on his face making your skin itch beneath the contact. “Bought this for you. Thought you needed something nice, a little pick me up. You’ve been looking more tired lately.” His voice is low, calm, quiet. Just hearing him speak was enough to lower your blood pressure and have the notion to breathe a bit more deeply. While his left arm snaked around your waist to pull you into a half embrace. His right arm brings a small bag to your desk. Inside was your favorite snack and your favorite drink. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to get you a glass of ice for that.” He whispers against your ear, leaving you with a parting kiss before walking out of the room and through the house to the kitchen.

Leaning back in your desk chair, the leather and plastic creaks as you move, stretching your back and arms, before rubbing at your eyes tiredly. You’d been staring at your desktop screen for so long it was giving you a headache. “Just one more document” you told yourself at least ten times in the past two hours, two hours that you were supposed to be off the clock, but your boss had sent you an email with a ton of paperwork to get through before you were off the hook for the day. Not only that, but during the day, you’d received several calls from family members, all of which discussing the latest drama, a medical emergency in the family from a year ago was supposed to be giving your grandparents motivation to be healthier, but all they did was stuff their faces with fast food and every bit of food in their kitchen. If it was edible, it was gone within an hour of being accessible. While this wasn’t objectively stressful by itself, the implication of losing them earlier than expected had your heart racing a mile an hour.

Leon’s boots sounded through the room as he returned with a glass of ice, and the bottle of painkillers you’d kept stashed in the hallway closet. “Mind if I join you?” He questions as he sets both items down on your desk. “No, that’s fine. Please do, actually.” You answer, pouring the drink into the glass, before shaking the pill bottle a few times until one capsule lands in your palm, tossing your head back and with a swig of your drink, forcing the pill down your throat. Sitting behind you in an armchair in the corner of the room, Leon crosses his arms over his chest. “You were supposed to be off two hours ago.” He scolds softly. “Yeah I know, I just… My boss sent me more work at the last minute and I have to get it all done before I forget about it.” You answer, though your voice wavers with building tears. Why were you crying? “Hey, what’s wrong?” Leon sits more upright, and at the lack of a response from you, he already correctly assumes the problem, “You’re not in trouble, sweetheart.” His voice comes out softer than before, if that was even possible. You wished everyone spoke to you the way he did, maybe then you’d fear authority less than you do.

“Promise?” You sniffle, wiping frantically at the hot tears that came down your face in steady streams. You hated crying in front of others, especially partners, because you felt it made you weak, vulnerable to emotional and verbal attacks. “I promise." Leon assures calmly, leaning forward to catch your wrists, pulling your hands towards himself, kissing each of your knuckles, wet with the remnants of your tears, before he pulls your desk chair, and consequently you, closer to him, spinning you to face him head on. His hands come up to cup your face, thumbs sliding under your eyes to cut off the water supply of your tears, gently rubbing circles in your skin to ease your stress. “Why don’t you finish up your snack and come meet me in the bedroom, hm? Let me take some of that stuff off your shoulders.” He drops his forehead to rest against yours, icy blue eyes fluttering shut at the soothing contact. “O-kay.” You sniffle again, words coming out strained from your crying plugging up your sinuses.

As Leon gets up and leaves, you quietly eat your snack while clocking out and shutting off your computer. You didn’t realize it until then, but the loud whirring of the fans venting your desktop was contributing a massive part to the throbbing in your head and the aching heat across your forehead. Rubbing at your temples, you throw away your trash before heading to the bedroom. Inside, you’re met with the sight of Leon meticulously placing candles on the nightstands, far away enough from the bed that they wouldn’t be a hazard. “You didn’t have to do this for me… I mean, unless you’re doing it for yourself? I’m sorry for assuming…” You apologize in a small voice, your head bowing to gaze at the floor. Instead of hearing him speak, his arms wrap around you in a loving hug, resting his chin on top of your head. “What have we talked about?” He whispers. You reply in almost the exact same volume, just slightly quieter, “That I don’t need to apologize for little things that aren’t actually problems.”

Leon hums, pulling back just enough to press a quick peck to the tip of your nose, “Exactly. I’m doing this because I want to, not because I felt obligated to. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He walks backwards with you in his arms until he’s close enough to the bed to scoop you up and lay you in the middle of the plush comforter, laying you on your stomach so he has access to your back. “Can I give you a massage?” He asks, reaching for the bottle of your lotion on your nightstand. “Yes please.” You mumble, pressing your face into the pillows. He sits behind you and rolls up the back of your shirt just enough to expose the area of your back he wanted to work with, before laying a healthy amount of lotion on your skin in a neat stack of lines. “Don’t worry about anything, just relax and let me take care of you. Try to sleep if you can, you need it.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to each of your shoulder blades before beginning to rub the lotion into your skin in soothing, deep motions, smiling to himself once he hears your soft breathing slow into deep, rhythmic breaths, with a few quiet snores placed between them.

It was late. The apartment, the one you shared with your beloved Satoru, was pitch black save for the kitchen light, which got flicked on precariously as Gojo finally walked in, the timer on the oven reading 11:47pm. It was the weekend, you hated when he had to work on the weekends, but you weren’t particularly complaining, mostly because you knew how important his job was, but also because it allotted you the time during the day to prepare your plan of attack. It was Father's Day. You were at peak fertility within your cycle, and lining up with the holiday, you had no doubt it was divine alignment of some kind. Did you really want a kid? Maybe, maybe not. But that didn’t matter right now. All that was on your mind was your husband’s dick, and for good reason too, as he’d been getting home so late, and so tired, that you really hadn’t been able to comfortably get intimate with one another for a solid month.

“I’m home.” He calls through the apartment, voice reverberating off the marble countertops of the kitchen. Though it was called an apartment, it was more of a penthouse, and with him having as much money as he did, he didn’t spare a dime going all out on the bells and whistles. The finest marble, the finest dishes, the freshest ingredients stocking the fridge, fresh cuts of expensive meats in the freezer, even the appliances were all top notch, the peak of luxury. But no amount of luxurious furnishings and good food could make up for the lack of his presence. “I was waiting for you.” You mumble, wrapping your arms around his slim, toned waist. “I’m sorry. Good news, I should be free for the next few days. Should be.” He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I have something for you.” You state, pulling away from the embrace to reach for the gift bag you’d put together during the day. A card rested on top of numerous products he liked, favored, even. Snacks, skin care, a new high-tech razor, and finally, a ‘#1 Dad’  mug.

“Thank you, baby. But what’s the occasion?” Gojo questioned, rifling through the bag until he grasped the handle of the mug, slender calloused fingers delicately wrapping around the porcelain, inspecting the quality of the glass. “Toru, baby, look closer.” You urge, cupping his hands in yours, turning the mug so the text faces him. “Oh my god, are you…?” He trails off with a shocked look on his face. “What? No! We haven’t even-” You pause, shaking your head with a sigh, before meeting his gaze, baby blue irises staring back into yours with confusion and the slightest bit of arousal. “It’s Father’s Day.” You move your hands from his own to cup his face, pulling his face close enough to your own to kiss each side of his face, then the tip of his nose. “Yeah, but I’m not a dad. Unless…?” He trails off again, “Exactly.” You whisper against his cheek before pressing a kiss to his lips.

What starts as a gentle, intimate gesture, quickly becomes a heated make out session, his tongue practically down your throat, his hands trailing up and down your body. His body moves with ease, walking you backwards until your back meets the marble countertop of the island in the middle of the kitchen. “Mmm, you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” Gojo speaks quietly against your parted lips, which were wet with a mix of your own and his saliva. “Is that so? Then take it. Fuck me, Toru. Fuck a baby into me.” His left hand comes up to knead your breasts through your shirt, his right tangling itself in your hair, rubbing your scalp with just enough pressure to make your eyes flutter shut with a contented exhale. “Is that really what you want?” He stays right there for a long moment, a heavy silence sitting between the two of you. The concept of having a child together had been in the talks for a while. The cons outweighed the pros, and both of you knew that.

Finally, your eyes flick upwards from the ground to meet his. You gave him a very specific look, one that said “I don’t actually want to get pregnant, but the idea turns me on”. In response to this look, Gojo immediately understood what was being asked of him. “Ohhh, I see. So you want me to-” He cuts himself off as he moves his hands back to your waist, flipping you around and bending you over the counter at the hip, “Fuck you like we’re trying for a baby.” He puts heavy emphasis on the “like”, hands lowering down to the hem of your shirt, the thin fabric doing nothing to stop the steady progression of his touch climbing higher until both hands cup the corresponding breast. His cold fingers dig into the soft flesh, thumbs rolling over perky nipples just hard enough to make your jaw slacken, not quite enough to make you moan. At least, not yet. “In that case,” He teases, head dipping into the crook of your neck, pressing wet, sloppy kisses there before latching onto that one spot he knew was ultra sensitive for you, a moan eliciting from your throat as he sucks a hickey onto the spot, “‘M gonna fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, or the day after, for a while. And by the time you can walk again, it’ll be to get a pregnancy test.”

The pleasure from his hands on your boobs and mouth working a hickey onto your skin, coupled with the shameful heat his words brought to your face, had your knees growing weaker with each passing second. “Toru, ‘m gonna fall.” You whimper quietly. “Oh? Well then, we should get you laying down. Besides, I heard,” He pauses again, this time taking his time hooking his arms under your body and swooping you into a carrying position, steady, measured footsteps crossing the distance to the couch, where he lays you on your back, “That missionary is the best for conception sex. Wanna test that theory?” Before you could even say anything in response, he’d already worked off your clothes, peeling his own off, layer after layer, each rustle of fabric revealing more of his muscular pale skin. He tugged off his boxers in one swift motion, freeing that large dick of his that you couldn’t get off your mind, the very one you’d been imagining as you sink your fingers into your cunt each night you had to spend alone without him there to appease the burning heat inside of you.

“May I?” He asked in that low, raspy, breathy voice, right next to your ear, as he lined himself up with your entrance. You’d been so wrapped up in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed him slipping between your legs, laying over you like a blanket. “Please.” It came out so whiny, so needy, so desperate, you were shocked the word was even your own. Immediately afterwards, a cry of searing hot pain and overwhelming pleasure fell from your mouth, jaw hanging wide open, back arched upwards into your husband’s body. “Shshshshhh, I know baby, I know.” Gojo reassures, still in a low, breathy tone. You’d mentioned in passing that specific tone did something for you, it made your insides twist with liquid heat, and Gojo abused this confession as much as he possibly could in the bedroom, or in this case, the living room. You swore you could cum on the spot just from that voice, and it certainly didn’t help that he was unrelenting in his words. “Easy, baby, easy. She’s pullin’ me in like the first time all over again.” He reaches a hand down to roll over your clit just the way you liked, hoping it’d distract you from the fading pain long enough for him to bottom out.

His hopes were met with success, as his fingers on your clit, rubbing so perfectly you were rendered boneless and seeing stars, allowed him the time to slip all the way in. “Ohhh shit, Satoruuuu!” You whined, tossing your head back against the plush couch cushion underneath your body, slick with sweat. “Yeah, baby? That good, huh?” He moved his hand away and began thrusting in and out, slowly at first, before driving his cock into your soaked pussy as fast as he possibly could, deep thrusts allowing the tip of his dick to nudge right against your g-spot with every plunge into your body that he took. “Close already, angel? Thought I taught you better than that. You’re just gonna have to hold it for me.” He states, being mean about it, slowing his hips against yours until he could count how many per minute. “Hold it,” He instructs again, picking up his pace, blue eyes rolling back into his head as his thrusts became sloppy, desperate to cum after a month of having his fist wrapped around his weepy cock, every single night that he was away, wishing it was your sweet cunt wrapped around him instead, finally cumming all over his abs.

“Fuck, fuck, oh, fuck!” His balls tightened, muscles of his lower stomach rippling under the skin, “Cum for me, angel, cum with me!” His eyes wrenched shut as the heat of his orgasm tore through his body, seizing all of his limbs in a death-clench, your own body mirroring his locked muscles, whimpered out, half baked attempts of his name falling from your lips as your hips rut upwards against his, a frantic effort to prolong your orgasm. Luckily, he’d pulled out at the last minute, cumming all over your stomach and chest instead of inside of you, where, in your sex-dazed state, you wouldn’t mind him filling you up. He stays still for a solid two minutes afterwards, not daring to drop or lay down. He slowly sat upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, wandering off to the bathroom to wet a washcloth before coming back to clean you up. “How was that? Good?” He slid a hand under your neck, leaning your face upwards, running the freshly dampened cool rag over your sweaty face, before cleaning the cum off your skin. “Was good, Toru. Thank you.” You mumble sleepily.

Gojo’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of you laying there, fucked out and blissful, half asleep as he tended to you in his own post-orgasmic bliss. “You’re so beautiful.” He presses a tender kiss to your cheek before rising once more to throw the rag in the laundry hamper, then coming back to dress both you and himself. He grabs one of the throw blankets off the back of the couch and drapes it over you, leaning down to kiss your lips sweetly. When he does pull away, your eyes flutter open only for a short moment, just long enough to study his face while whispering “Happy Father’s Day.” Gojo smiles to himself, petting your hair with a gentle hand. What he wasn’t telling you was that the next time you had sex, he really was planning to get you pregnant, and eventually, live in domestic bliss with you.

The convention center was busy, as usual, more so because it was a Saturday. Bustling crowds swarming the walkways between booths, a lot of stereotypical geeks, fans dressed in elaborate cosplays, and those who weren’t were either in sweats or equally elaborate outfits. Amongst them, was Enjin. Enjin, revered for his work on the hit show Gachiakuta, quickly became a fan favorite as both a character and an actor who was quite obviously dedicated to his craft. His ability to blend right into the crowd made you unable to notice him as he stood in front of your booth. Almost. If it wasn’t for that distinct voice of his, raspy after years of smoking, yet still charming enough to have women and men alike swooning left and right at his very feet. “So you sell Gachiakuta meme merch, huh?” His speech was clear as day over the regular chatter that made it practically impossible to hear anyone unless they were yelling.

Just as you lift your head to find the face matching the voice, your eyes land on Enjin himself holding no less than five stickers, each of which having some variation of horny disposition paired with a show reference. Seeing the subject of these words in the flesh as well as holding the stickers you’d painstakingly crafted thousands of times over, made the back of your neck and face heat up with a cross between bashfulness and shock that Enjin was at your booth, talking to you of all people at that. “Um, yeah.” You squeak out in response to his earlier question, despite a full minute passing between the two of you. All the while, other customers, or potential customers, were either already gone, or gawking at the fact that there was a fan favorite celebrity amongst their ranks.

“I like this guy riiiiiight heeeeeeeere.” Enjin draws out the words as he hands a sticker to you to be rung up. “Will that be all for you?” You were surprised you could even speak, much less coherently, with how flustered you were. Perhaps that was just muscle memory though. After all, even if he was Enjin, he was still just another customer, another smiling face to wave at, another cha-ching in your bank. “Hmm, not quite, ‘m still lookin’. Hope ya don’t mind, I’m a bit of a slow poke. Gotta appreciate all the artwork, y’know?” Enjin shuffles slightly to the left, golden eyes raking over every sticker, keychain, tote bag, t-shirt, and figurine of himself that your booth had to offer. In this free time, it allowed you to take a closer look at the sticker Enjin had handed you to purchase. This particular one said “He Can Umbreak My Bed Frame” and featured the text in sparkly iridescent print font over a silhouette of his character.

At the notion that Enjin was not only aware of how the fanbase saw him, but he also chose to actively participate in this perception of himself, your movements were halted, paralyzed with pure embarrassment. “I think I’ll take this one as well.” Enjin finally finished up, handing over an extra large t-shirt, this one claiming “Enjin Will Clean Any Mess, No Matter How Wet”. “Okay, that’ll be-” You pause, taking in his cheeky selection of items. “Thirty three even.” You bite your tongue mentally, stopping yourself from questioning, or even reacting to his choices. “Thanks, sweetheart. And keep the change.” He forks over thirty five bucks in paper, leaving with a wink. Of course, he called you sweetheart, being charismatic was his whole deal. Of course he winked at you, wooing the ladies was his talent. But if that was the case, then why wasn’t he talking to any other vendors the way he did with you? Why was he being so civil and polite with everyone else, treating them as fellow colleagues, rather than flirting?

These were the questions racing through your mind as you packed up your booth for the day. The next day would be the third and final day of the convention, so if Enjin really was hitting on you, you only had twenty four hours to figure out a response, and how to even get to him in the first place. Lugging all the bags and suitcases of your booth’s merchandising back up to your hotel room, which was a hotel connected to the convention center, took a solid hour in itself. Afterwards, you were exhausted, showering and getting into a lazy casual outfit to go downstairs and grab dinner. You’d eaten and mindlessly watched the TV, watching whatever horrible low-budget spoof horror movie was on the few channels the hotel offered. By the time you’d finished eating, it was already past 10, so you locked up the door, turned off the lights, and went to bed for the night.

“So pretty f’me, aren’tcha? Yeah, good, just like that.” Enjin whispered in your ear, body hovering above yours. His hips thrusted forward to meet your own, loud, wet squelching filling the room as skin slapped against skin. “You were lookin’ so hard to find me. All ya had to do was ask me, baby.” He whispers again, breath hitching slightly as his tip drove straight into your g-spot, once, twice, three times, over and over again. “Enjin, oh god! Fuck, please, ‘m so so close!” You whine, fingers slipping into his hair, silky, somewhat greasy strands completely engulfing your hands. “Yeah? Right… there-, right?” He cocks his head, punctuating the word with a pointed thrust, angling his hips just right to let his dick hit that gummy spot deep within your walls that made you go cross-eyed and choke on a sob. “Jiniiiiiieeee, oh, oh! God, fuck! ’M gonna- Oh, I’m cumming!” You cry, twisting your fingers deeper into his hair, pulling slightly, eliciting a moan from the man above you.

Bolting upright in the bed, a gasp claws its way up from your throat. You’d had wet dreams before, sure, but never anything so detailed, so real. And certainly never when you were the one experiencing pleasure, not the other way around. You were covered head to toe in sweat, and a low throbbing, aching soreness settled between your legs, where your sleep pants had been soaked completely through with your wetness. There was no way you’d be getting back to sleep without taking care of that. You look towards the digital clock on the nightstand, which read 4:57am. With a sigh of mild annoyance and a great deal of sexual frustration, you roll over onto your back, slipping a hand under the warm sheets and into your underwear, letting two fingers sink into your dripping cunt. Knowing somewhere in the back of your mind that you couldn’t be loud because there were other people around and the walls were thin, you still couldn’t bring yourself to pay mind to your volume.

A loud, whiny moan tore from your throat as your fingertips just barely grazed the spot you so desperately craved for Enjin to be pounding into instead. You turn your head to the side, cheek flush against the pillow, trying to muffle your noises. “Ohhhh, hnngh, fuck!” You whine quietly, hand moving frantically in an attempt to reach that same spot again, but your fingers were far too short to quite get there. So instead, you settled for playing with your clit. Small flicks and modest rolls of your fingers made your stomach tense up from the burning stimulation, teasing yourself, until you finally worked yourself over the edge, soaking your hand and underwear, as well as the bedsheets, with the gush of your arousal that squirted out as you came. “Mmmm, fuck… Enjin…” You whimper one last time before falling asleep again, too tired to deal with the mess.

The following morning, you were already running late from oversleeping due to your nighttime troubles, cleaning up the aftermath of said troubles put you another 30 minutes behind schedule. When you finally arrived at the convention center and began setting up your booth for the day, it was much tamer and slower of a day than the previous one. Probably less than a couple hundred people roamed the entire building, which spanned at least a few square miles. During a particularly slow hour, Enjin returned to your booth. “Hey, good to see a familiar face. Didja sleep well last night? Sure hope so, yesterday was busy as hell.” He groaned, rolling his neck. “I… did.” You answer slowly, studying his movements. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be, after all, there was hardly anyone at the convention, let alone standing in autograph lines.

“I heard some weird noises last night. Kept me up for a few hours. How ‘bout you?” The question makes your eyes go as wide as saucers. “Noises? What kind of noises?” You clear your throat, trying not to jump to conclusions. “I dunno, sounded like a couple getting pretty passionate. Though usually you hear-” Enjin stops himself short, “Nevermind that, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His eyes cast over your heated face and tensed posture, and it doesn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. Looking left and right before doing so, he moves in close to you, whispering right against your ear, “Oh, so that was you, then.” Swallowing thickly, your body becomes fully rigid, burning with shame, and embarrassingly enough, desire. “My, my, look what we’ve got here. You’re looking awfully tense. Well, guess what? I also heard you moaning my name. So tell me again, how’d you sleep?”

A deep exhale forces its way out of your mouth as you had forgotten you’d inhaled but never released it, too caught up in your own arousal to notice. “I-I’m sorry.” You mumble awkwardly, avoiding Enjin’s gaze. “No need to apologize, sweetheart. Whaddya say we ‘take a break’, yeah? Been needin’ a smoke anyways.” He offers, reaching forward, slipping his hand under your chin. You were mentally thanking whatever god was listening that the vendor aisles were pretty much barren, sparing you from any humiliation added onto what was already there. “I- yeah, okay-” You answer. You nudge the nextdoor booth’s owner, letting them know you were leaving temporarily, before walking off with Enjin. Weaving your way through the remaining vendors and through the exhibit hall doors, Enjin leads you towards a secluded area of the building where only the celebrity guests were allowed.

“Go fuckin’ figure, your room is next to mine.” He states as he notices the room key poking out of your pocket. “Oh my god, I didn’t know, I’m so-” He cuts you off, “Enough with the chatter, ‘kay? You want relief, I’ll give you some relief.” Before you know what’s happening, your back is against the cold tile of the convention center bathroom’s wall. Enjin’s got his pants down around his ankles, your own mirroring the position, and his length fully inside of you. “Shh, gotta be more quiet than last night.” He mutters against your neck, hips driving into yours, just as they had in your dream. “It’s almost like you wanted me to hear you, didn’t you? Yeah you did.” He nips at the skin over your collarbone. His cockhead hits your g-spot, which makes your knees go limp, slipping down the wall. He braces you in his arms, moving upwards to silence your whiny moans with a sloppy kiss, tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth, swirling over your own. He moves one arm and reaches his hand over your pussy, large fingers rubbing sharp circles over your clit, nudging the bud of nerves left and right, up and down, until you’re cumming on his cock. He pulls out at the last minute and shoots his load all over your pants, watching the white seep into the fabric.

After a moment of deep breathing, he helps you dress before dressing himself once more, taking off his jacket and tying the sleeves around your waist to cover where his cum had wetted and stained. “Do yourself a favor and call me sometime, yeah? I’d love to do all of this,” He gestures vaguely with his hands, “Again.” He passes a piece of paper with his number written on it to you before leaving the bathroom with you in tow. He exits the convention center for a solid fifteen minutes to smoke before coming back inside, and much to his surprise, finding you sitting at your booth, wearing his jacket, lower half covered by your table, knowing you were rendered helpless but to sit in clothes he’d soaked with his semen. “God, I fuckin’ love that woman.” He mumbles, heading back to his table, hoping you’d call him later that night, should you have another wet dream. Maybe then, he’d really let you be loud.

Satoru Gojo was a name that was on everyone’s lips in Tokyo. Some called him a savior, some a sorcerer, some a no-good rich man, and some, an extremely attractive young man. But to all, he was one thing other than all of that. A menace. Not many knew of his imprisonment. Some knew he was trapped in a prison realm of sorts, but nobody really knew in what exactly this prison realm resided in. Many thought it was a box with eyes, but most couldn’t see that, so instead, to non-sorcerers, it took shape as a mirror. A magic mirror of sorts, almost like a magic eight ball. Should you ask, he should answer. That was, if you knew what to ask. Gojo didn’t like to waste too much time on stupid questions. Sure, he’d entertain the idea of being some all-knowing, omnipotent deity, but once questions got too repetitive or idiotic in their simplicity, for example, if the sky was blue because of light reflecting off the ocean, he’d go quiet and wouldn’t answer any questions until he could see someone else appear in the mirror’s opposite end.

It was boring, mostly. He was quickly growing tired of being asked the same things over and over again by hundreds, thousands of people even, like he was some object to be used at will, not a person with feelings and business to attend to. At least, that’s the sentiment he felt for the first few weeks. Once week four had come to pass, he realized that he was stuck there and there was no getting out. Not to his best knowledge, anyway. Then, something strange happened. The mirror was transported, being lifted and brought in through auctions, museums, antique shops, and finally, a ship sailing off the coast of Japan and to a foreign land. When the ship made its arrival at the dock, the mirror was carefully transported into a small antique shop not far from the nearest city’s center. And that’s when you came along. You’d gone for a day of shopping, antiquing and thrifting any and everything that caught your eye as a treat for yourself.

The soft ‘tap, tap, tap’ of your footsteps padded against the rough carpeting within the antique shop. When you stand in front of the mirror, you inspect its beauty. An ancient-looking hand carved wooden frame with glass as smooth and clean as freshly cut marble, goldleaf decorated swirls adorning the bottom corners and top arch of the mirror’s surface. Gojo could see your reflection from within the mirror, but chose to stay silent, knowing that talking now would probably scare you off. So instead, he simply took in your ethereal appearance. You were the single most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, ever had the privilege of laying his pale blue eyes upon, from the shape of your nose to the curvature of your jaw, to the way the sunlight streaming in through the dusty windows caught your irises and made it look as if pure liquid gold swirled within them. When he hears you say “I’ll take the mirror”, his eyes light up with an unseen joy that hadn’t been there in a long time, not until before he was trapped within the mirror.

In being hauled off to your home, his mind wandered to what was going on back home. He’d hoped that the others were safe, that Yuji was keeping Sukuna at bay, that Nanami was handling the impromptu leadership position well. As you lean the mirror up against a wall in the spot you’d envisioned when you bought it, that’s when Gojo decides to strike. “So, do pretty girls like you usually take men captured in mirrors home with you?” He teases lightly. “What the fuck was that?” You question sharply, whipping around to face the mirror, yet all you could see was your own reflection. You step closer, peaking at the eyebags under your eyes. Maybe you were just hearing things, you hadn’t been sleeping well, it was entirely possible that you were hallucinating from sleep deprivation. “No, you’re not imagining me. I’m really a talking mirror.” Gojo speaks again, this time more seriously, trying to prove that you weren’t losing your sanity. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this.” You mutter under your breath before answering him louder, “If you’re really there, then tell me what I’m wearing.” Much to your surprise, he recites every detail of your outfit, even down to the brand and sizing of your clothes.

“Okay, so I’m not hallucinating. Okay, that’s fine. This is totally fine.” You laugh at yourself, struggling to process the full extent of the situation laying itself out before you. “You doing alright over there, pretty girl?” Gojo teases again, the playful lilt returning to his voice, after he’d determined that the coast was clear to do so, that you weren’t going to do something drastic. “If you’re an all-knowing mirror, then why don’t you call me by my own name?” You half-scoff, half mean what you’re saying. “I could do that, but I’d rather tell the truth. And because I know that deep down, you want to be called a pretty girl, even if that’s something you wrestle with yourself over.” You stood still for just a second, shocked by his words, yet you couldn’t deny them, even though you swore left and right, up and down, that you didn’t care about your appearance, or validation over it. “Just what’re you playing at, you stupid hunk of junk?” You cross your arms over your chest with a huff of air.

The sound of laughter breaks the tension building within the room. “I’m sorry, you’re talking to a mirror, and yet you have the nerve to call me a ‘stupid hunk of junk’? Take a look in the mirror! I mean, literally!” Gojo’s blue eyes catch every twitch of your face, the way your brows pull together and your lips purse into a flat line. “Awh, don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right.” He ‘tsk’s as you begin to argue, “I-” He cuts you off, “Ah?” You make a sound of annoyance but ultimately heed his words as he hums to himself, “That’s what I thought.” A brief moment of silence passes over the two of you until finally you speak up, quietly, almost ashamed this time, “Can you do the whole ‘magic mirror’ thing? You know, like in the storybooks and movies?” Though you can’t see it, behind the glass, Gojo lifts his head to meet your gaze, “Sure I can, if that’s what you want. What exactly is your inquiry?”

The gentle prompting to speak your mind allows you to force the question up from somewhere under your ribcage, a deeply hidden insecurity you’d been aching for validation of. “Who’s the fairest in the land?” The words felt physically painful. Whether it was from the shame of yearning for praise, or the awareness of how awkward the question was and how dumb it sounded, you couldn’t tell, but perhaps it was both. “Thou queen, art fairest in the land.” Gojo quotes stereotypically, and despite the satirical nature of his answer, there was infliction on his words. He meant them, every letter strung together to form the small sentence. The answer makes a mild heat sweep over the apples of your cheeks, even if the red hue of said heat wasn’t the most visible, you knew it was there. “God, I feel so stupid right now.” You groan, cupping your face in your hands. “It’s not stupid to want validation, especially from a mirror, of all things. Because even if the world lies to you, tells you how gorgeous you are, how wondrous your appearance is, a mirror only tells you what you choose to see. So take comfort in knowing that I, a mirror, see the truth in your beauty.” The response was painfully cheesy, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel special.

Weeks of owning the mirror passed by like a hazy orange twilight over the earth. Though there was slow progress with your self esteem, Gojo could tell that everyday when you returned home to him, you’d sit in front of the mirror and stare at yourself, at every small imperfection, and even though he couldn’t hear your thoughts, he knew from the look in your eyes, the misery you stared at yourself with, that said thoughts were brutal, nasty ones, tearing yourself to shreds mentally because you knew he couldn’t hear you that way. On a random Wednesday, he’d decided he’d had enough. He couldn’t bear the torment of watching you run yourself ragged until you were a shell of yourself, and sit idly by, knowing what it would eventually lead to. “Do me a favor,” He says suddenly, interrupting your daily thought spiral, “And let me show you what I see.” You quirk an eyebrow at the notion, “You’re a mirror, aren’t you already doing that?” He sighs quietly, “I should’ve expected that. Truth be told, I’m not actually a mirror. I’m a jujutsu sorcerer, trapped in the prison realm, and the mirror just happens to be housing said realm.” After a lengthy silence, he mentally sighs again, realizing that maybe revealing that information wasn’t the smartest idea.

Instead of responding however he thought you were going to, perhaps with outrage, perhaps disbelief, you simply shrug your shoulders, “Yeah, that tracks.” Whether you were just too tired to care, or actually believed him, he didn’t know, but he did know he was grateful for your acceptance of his less than fortunate circumstances. “So, do you want to see what I see?” He offers again. “I guess.” You mumble, already accepting that whatever he had in mind probably wasn’t going to change much. “Take off your clothes.” He instructs. His tone is calm, slow, giving you time to back out of the ordeal if you so pleased. After all, he was in a mirror, he’d seen you undress and dress in full at least twice, if not three times a day for at least three to four weeks, so it wasn’t a far out request. You silently obliged, desperate at this point to quiet the torturous storm of self loathing that you harbored within your mind. “Good,” He purred under his breath, eyes raking over every beautiful dip and curve of your skin. “Go ahead and touch yourself for me.” He whispers this time. The only noise now was the soft hum of the AC that faded into the background.

Albeit reluctantly, you follow his orders. You reach down between your legs, which you’d hiked up, laying on your back in front of the mirror, giving him a clear view of your pussy. “Fucking beautiful.” He kept his voice quiet, reverent, appreciating the ethereality of your body. Your fingers find your clit and rub in slow, consistent circles, while your other hand reaches further down, teasing yourself with one finger in your cunt, until you add a second, pumping in and out slowly. The dual stimulation has you hurdling towards orgasm, but Gojo’s voice cuts through the pleasured daze you were in, “Slow down. Only girls who think they’re beautiful deserve to cum.” Ah, so that was the catch. Of course, you knew it’d catch up to you eventually, believing this would be a breeze was a foolishly naive idea. “Tell me. Tell me you think you’re pretty.” Gojo hums deviously. “I-I’m pretty,” You whine, clearly not meaning it, just desperate to get permission to move your fingers again. “Say it like you mean it.” Gojo clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “I’m pretty!” You wail louder than you intended to, but you couldn’t really control it. “There we go, that wasn’t so hard, now was it? Cum for me, you earned it.” He orders in a hushed tone. Your fingers resume their frantic movements until your back arches off the floor, muscles seizing as a white hot burst of pleasure pulses through your bloodstream.

Through your post-orgasmic bliss, you could vaguely make out the sound of soft footsteps padding against the floor. Standing before you was Satoru Gojo himself, white hair spilling messily over his face, blue eyes obscured by his blindfold. “Huh, wasn’t expecting that. Looks like an act of love freed me. How strange. I really should be going now, but… Think of this as a parting gift. That is, if you’ll have me?” He gestures to your bed. How could you decline? He was like an angel on earth, an aura of pure blinding white light seemed to radiate from his very being. “You’re who I’ve been talking to? You… I’m sorry, you of all people, think I’m pretty?” Your eyes widen, snapped completely out of the euphoric bliss of your orgasm. You made a quick attempt to cover your naked body before Gojo’s hands landed on your wrists gently, stopping you from dressing yourself, “Well?” He questions again, nodding towards the bed. “I… yes.” You answer hastily, picking yourself up off the floor and sinking into your bed, the frame creaking under the sudden weight.

Gojo follows your movements, undressing himself within a matter of seconds. Intentionally turning off his cursed technique, he pulls the blindfold from his eyes and loosely ties your wrists together over your head, loose enough that you could easily pull it off should you try hard enough, but you didn’t want to. “Whoa,” You whisper in awe, eyes tracing every crevice and crease in his muscular body. “Shh,” He soothes, “Let me take care of you.” In one swift movement, he sinks his entire length into your pussy. You can’t stop yourself from crying out, wailing in a cross between surprise, pleasure, pain, and awe. Suppressing the urge to move, Gojo forces himself to stay still, taking several minutes to just lay there within you, cradling you in his arms, looking down at you with a level of reverence and utter worship you’d never seen a  man look at you with before. “Are you alright? Can I move?” He reaches upwards, brushing his thumb over your cheek in an attempt to distract you from the sharp pain of his initial movement.

“Yeah, I’m… okay, I think.” You swallow, eyes meeting his. For someone you’d grown to know as teasing, immature, and charismatic, he was incredibly good at being serious and romantic when the situation called for it. It was like a hidden talent, kept under wraps, only showing that part of himself to those who deemed worthy of seeing it. And that, to him, was you. Gojo moves slowly at first, thrusts deep and methodic in their nature, getting you used to his size before getting rougher with you. “Tell me if it hurts. I want to make sure you’re enjoying this. After all, pretty girls deserve only the best sex, right?” He lowers his head to nip at your neck, before soothing the spot with a tender kiss. “I’m pretty.” You mutter. “Now you’re getting it. I didn’t even have to tell you that time.” He smiles down at you. He meant for the smile to be teasing, the kind to make your heart race, but instead, it was just a calm, genuine one.

With a whimpered cry of his name, you came again, body tensing underneath his. He follows not long after with a quiet groan, collapsing over you effortlessly like a piece of cloth draped over an altar. “I really need to leave. I’ve got people back home who need me. I’m sorry.” He whispers against your ear all too suddenly. “Wait, but we just-” You start. He cuts you off with a deep, intimate kiss, before pulling away. “I know. I’m so sorry. I hope you’ll understand.” He stands from the bed and tugs his clothes back on before passing a note to you, one with his number and name written on it, “Call me sometime. If I’m not too busy, I’ll try to fly out to visit.” For a split second you’re flattered, before your common sense kicks in, “You just carry this around? What are you, some kind of manwhore?” You scoff, but input the number into your phone anyways. “Maybe I am. Who knows?” His voice has that usual teasing tone to it again, an emotional barricade he’s put up to protect himself from his departure hurting him more than necessary.

“Good luck,” You call as he stands in the doorway to leave, “And please… just, stay safe, alright? I don’t think I could handle losing you. Not after everything we’ve been through. And thank you for teaching me a lesson in loving myself.” Gojo pauses, tying his blindfold over his eyes once more, “You just keep on keeping on for me, alright? I’ll come back when I can.”

He never did.

It was your birthday. A holiday much awaited, celebrated, and revered. Maybe not by yourself, maybe not by others, but most certainly by your husband, the King Of Curses himself, eight feet of nothing but solid muscle and pure sex appeal, and of course, love for you. Though the day had passed you by quite calmly and without much deviation from day to day life, Sukuna had quietly been plotting since the moment you’d opened your eyes that morning. He decided days, weeks ago even, that he was going to give you a birthday present you’d never forget. And to him, that was, himself. He was going to make sure of it. That evening, when you were seated on the couch of your shared home, he’d dimmed the lights and carried a cake out in one hand, footsteps steady and measured as the candles on the cake flickered from the brief wind of being moved, effortlessly balancing the plate like it was nothing more than a piece of paper to him.

“Happy birthday to you,” He muttered in a sing-songy voice, almost mocking, as if he couldn’t believe he had really fallen to such a low standing as to sing a human made song for a human made holiday, carrying a human made idea of celebrating the day you were born with a pastry coated in candles that marked each year of life lived. “Happy birthday to you,” He continued, despite his blatant disregard for what he deemed a ‘silly tradition’. “Happy birthday dear wife, happy birthday to you.” He grumbled the last bit, sitting the cake on the coffee table in front of you. Sukuna’s face was flushed with embarrassment, but in his eyes, seeing you so surprised and happy about his antics made it all worth it. “Awh, Kuna, you didn’t have to.” You hum with a soft smile. “Anything for you, my darling wife.” He states calmly, sitting beside you, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, watching as you blow out the candles. “This looks so good… Did you make this?” He nods bashfully, and that’s when you realize, he hadn’t brought out plates, cutlery, or a spatula to cut and serve the cake either.

“Um, Kuna, I think you’re forgetting something.” You mumble. “Oh I can assure you, I am not, wife.” He stands up from his momentary sit, plucking the burnt candles from the cake, lifting each one to his lips, his tongue darting out to swirl and twist around the frosting-coated wax, giving you a show of what he was planning next. Not for himself, though, but rather, for you. Once he finishes sucking the frosting from each and every candle, he lays them on the table beside the cake and begins undressing himself, starting with pulling off the apron barely covering his otherwise naked upper half. “Dinner and a show, eh?” You tease, leaning back on the couch. After all, who were you to object to such a wonderful gift? As he tugged off the apron, rows upon rows of muscle rippling under his warm skin revealed themselves to your waiting eyes. “Just what are you planning?” You cock your head to the side, unable to tear your gaze away from his body. His second mouth on his abdomen pulls into a wicked grin as he explains, “Why eat cake off of a plate, when you can eat it off of me? I’ve caught you staring at me so many times, looking like you just wanna eat me whole. So why don’t I indulge your fantasies? After all, who am I to deprive my wife of such a tenacious wish?”

For just a second, you’re taken by surprise, stunned into silence, jaw slack, eyes wide. But only for a second. Once the reality of what was happening settles into your brain, a burst of heat runs through your veins, through every blood vessel and every artery, straight down to your core. “That sounds preferable.” You squeak out quietly. “Of course it does. Now then, why don’t you come and ‘serve yourself some cake’, hmm?” Sukuna drawls out slowly, gesturing towards the cake. He hooks one finger under the waist band of his pants and tugs them off with practiced ease. The fabric crumples to the ground, revealing his naked figure to you. You lean further back in your seat, craning your neck to take in his full height, eyes raking over every trained muscle and square in of tattooed skin. “So… what exactly do you want me to do?” You stand and walk towards him hesitantly, eyeballing the cake in your peripheral vision. “Whatever you’d like.” Sukuna grants permission. Those three words are all it takes to snap whatever remaining control or restraint you held in your system. Without further reluctance, you plummet your hand into the cake, scooping up a large handful of the pastry before slathering it over his upper body.

It was so messy, so sticky, but it was such a beautiful sight to behold; The great and all powerful Sukuna Ryomen, King Of Curses and Omen Of Death, feared and revered by humans and cursed spirits alike, covered in cake and frosting, completely naked, all for his dearest wife, whom he’d die and kill for. Because of the frosting, bits of cake slid down his body, leaving a trail of the pale pink frosting he’d used down his searing hot skin. Despite being at full stature, you only came up to his first set of arms, and that was being on your toes at that. This being said, it gave you an advantage, being able to fully press yourself against him to lick the cake from his muscular torso. “Mmmmmm…” You swallow the bit of frosting you’d licked up, “Tastes good. Didn’t think you could bake well, guess I was wrong.” You half-moaned at the flavor, more so because it came off of his abs, not because of the cake itself. After all, he’d had Uraume bake said cake. But you didn’t need to know that, not when your eyes were rolling back and fluttering shut at the euphoric experience.

After all the cake had been licked up from his stomach, leaving only smudges of pink, you grabbed more cake and this time slathered it over his large thighs, eyes low as he subconsciously flexed the muscle there beneath the heavy coating of cake. You sat on your knees on the living room floor in front of him, bracing either side of his legs, as you lapped at the sugary treat he’d worked oh-so-hard to decorate neatly for you. He wanted so badly to tease you, to get you all hot and bothered with his words alone, but for once, he let himself be silent. For once, he’d allowed you to enjoy the peaceful quiet that sat over the room like a hazy cloud. It was a gesture of love, an extension of his desire for you to truly enjoy the experience, not just appease his own lust. It didn’t take long before the cake was gone from his right thigh, so you moved to his left, your right. Since you’d let the cake sit there for the few minutes you were working on his right leg, the frosting had become melty and slippery, creating a bigger mess than previous spots. Still, you gratefully sucked each bit of cake and frosting from his skin, pressing your tongue flat against him, feeling each vein pop slightly under the stimulation.

Finally, you’d saved the best for last. Taking whatever remnants of the cake you could gather from the plate, you laid it on both of his cocks, smothering them in a thick layer of buttercream and sugary sponge. You leaned in close, watching his dicks twitch, until finally sinking your mouth over one and fondling the other, getting your hand coated in a mix of cake and pre-cum. Sukuna broke his silence, a low, guttural groan coming out as he reached down to rest a hand in your hair, the other on his thigh, and two crossed over his chest. “Fucking hell, just like that. You know how I like it, don’t you? Yeah you do.” He closes his eyes, his hand in your hair balling into a fist, pulling at your hair just enough to guide your head to bob along his length, but not enough to genuinely hurt you, unlike his usual rough grasp. Perhaps he was going easy on you, and perhaps that was part of the gift. You choke and cough slightly, gagging on not just his sheer length, but having the sticky frosting plunged deep into your throat. “Shit, gonna cum. Take it for me, yeah? Swallow every last drop. I know you can.” Sukuna urges, pulling you closer until your nose pressed against his stomach and his dick was completely engulfed by your mouth, as you worked to swallow around him. With one last deep thrust into your mouth, he came, spilling his hot white seed down your throat, watching you gag and struggle to swallow it all.

Instead of allowing you a moment to rest and breathe, he yanks you off one dick and shoves the other in your mouth next, relishing in the way your eyes rolled back and your overstimulated whines are silenced by his girth. “Theeeeereeee we go.” His lips curl up into a half-snarl, half-grin that exposes his sharp canines, “Take it. Take it all. Take it, take it, take it.” He pulls your head more roughly along his length now, tossing all previous ideas of self control to the wind, chasing his own release with reckless abandon. “Mmhmm, fuck.” He murmurs low in the back of his throat, voice dying down into soft, barely there whines that even he himself was surprised he was making. He cums again, this time pulling out and spilling his load over your face. “That’s it, I knew you could handle it.” Sukuna praises, reaching over to grab a napkin from the coffee table, bringing the thin paper to his lips to wet it with his saliva, before wiping down your face with it.

“Thank you for the birthday present.” You whisper, throat too sore to speak at full volume. “I’ve got one more gift for you, my love.” Sukuna walks into the bedroom and closes the door, and you can vaguely make out the rustling of items and bags and boxes, until he returns carrying a small gift bag about the size of his hand, with red tissue paper spilling out from the top of the bag. “Happy birthday.” He whispers it in a genuine tone, handing the bag over to you. After pulling the tissue paper out, a small box remained in the bottom of the bag. As you pull the box out and open it, inside sits a stained wooden ring. It was crude and quite obviously hand carved, a gift he’d made himself, just for you. “You were complaining about not having enough jewelry a few weeks ago, so I took it upon myself to remedy that problem. Carved from the finest wood, hand crafted by yours truly. I… hope you like it.” He states calmly. So many people framed him as this beast of a man, if you could even call him one, that abused women and children alike, and destroyed everything in his path. And for the most part, that was true. But when it came to you, he’d find a way to capture the moon and drag it down to earth if it meant lighting up your bedroom the way you liked. “Thank you.” You answer softly, leaning in close to place a loving, intimate kiss to his lips. “I love you.” He leans his head down, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you too.” You respond, soft spoken, sliding the wooden ring onto your finger. A perfect fit, just like him.

The position Gojo and Enjin had you in was nasty. Your face smushed in the pillows of your bed, back arched upwards, one man on either side of you. “Been acting like a fucking brat all fucking day.” Gojo mutters, urging his cock into your mouth, “So I’ll just take it upon myself to shut that mouth of yours and give something to whine about.” Meanwhile, Enjin lazily thrusts two fingers into your plump pussy, “Ease up, wouldja? You’re getting all tense and I can’t move when you do that.” He speaks in that low, raspy, almost breathy tone of his that he reserves just for you. How did you possibly get yourself in such a position? Well, it seemed as if one of their missions crossed paths. A trash beast, cursed spirit hybrid that just wouldn’t go down with one or the other’s attacks, thus requiring both a sorcerer and a cleaner to take care of it. In the midst of it all, you were a civilian who was injured by the fight before either one arrived on scene. And to make it up to you, the two of them decided to “treat” you. What could you say? They were both extremely hot, you’d be a fool to decline such a generous offer.

A whiny moan, bordering on slutty, leaves Gojo’s mouth. “Fucking hell, didn’t think you could - f-fuck - work your mouth like that. Color me surprised- ah!” He whimpers pathetically. Enjin reaches upwards and runs a hand through his hair, and you watch as the golden blond locks fall over his undercut in a messy mop that somehow always looked perfect, despite its lack of structure. “Can you believe you were just walking around, living your life, completely unaware that you could feel anything like this? Enjin questions through gritted teeth as, with a single rock of his hips, he swiftly enters your sopping wet hole. “Hooooly shit,” He tosses his head back, “Seems like this pussy’s been waiting for me for a while, hmm? Been needing somethin’ like this, haven’tcha?” He mumbles under his breath, little grunts falling between each word. In the meantime, Gojo finds himself teetering on the brink of orgasm, “Fuck, yes, just like that! Oh… Oh!” With a whimpered cry of your name, he cums, whole body seizing up, muscles locking as pure sex runs through his veins.

Once his body eases once more, he pulls himself out of your mouth. “Whaddya say we switch places, huh?” He nods to Enjin, who only hums in acknowledgement, too lost in his own pleasure to respond to the other male. “Hold on, let me - shit - cum first.” In a moment’s notice, Enjin’s lazy rolls of his hips become hard thrusts that drive your pelvis into the mattress, his large, tattooed hands holding on to either side of your waist, digging in just hard enough to make the skin ache. “Fuck, ‘m close.” He groans, citrine eyes fluttering shut, lashes resting prettily on his cheeks. “Wanna cum inside, can I?” His hips stutter, struggling to uphold the quick pace he’d set, too pleasured to continue moving with such urgency. “Y-Ye- Yes.” You hide your face in the pillows, letting out pitifully obscene moans that join the other sounds of the room, the wet “plap plap plap” of Enjin’s thrusts, the shaky breaths and weak groans that come from his lips, and the soft “shk shk” as your body moves against the fabric of your bedsheets. A last plea of “Fuck!” sounds out from Enjin as he orgasms in sync with you, the linework of his tattoos following the tightening of the muscles under his skin, body locking in place for a brief moment as rope after rope of hot cum fills your pussy. As your cum on his dick, your own body tenses, stuck in place for the time being, waves of euphoria rolling over your senses.

Within only moments of cumming, Enjin and Gojo swap positions, Gojo now standing between your sweaty thighs, Enjin stationed in front of your face. His girth was much more intimidating when you could see it, compared to the long, yet slender figure of Gojo’s. “Be a dear and let me fuck you, yeah?” Gojo leans over you to whisper in your ear. “B-Back,” You stutter from the pain, “Back hurts.” The notion of your soreness makes Gojo grab your hips and flip you over onto your back, “Just relax and let me do the work, then. You’ve been so so good, I think it’s time I give you a treat.” He flashes a charming smile, before easing his length into your cunt. Enjin’s hand reaches under your chin and tilts your head to the side, using your temporary shock as an opening to slide his dick into your mouth. “Sh-shiiiiiit, yeah, just like that. Hah, fuck-” He moans, letting his composure fall completely. You try to move your head in time with his thrusts, while simultaneously attempting to meet Gojo’s smooth rolls of his lower body. The control he had was impressive, you could’ve mistaken him for an athlete with the way his movements were so precise, his tip driving into your g-spot with each thrust. “Gonna cum, pretty thing?” Gojo teases, reaching a hand forward to brush a fallen strand of hair from your sweaty face, pushing it behind your ear with reverence.

“Ohhhh fuck,” Enjin raspily moans, “‘M cumming again. In your mouth?” He asks, slowing his motions as he tries to hold back, waiting for your answer. When you nod in approval, he releases into your mouth, watching through squinted eyelids as your throat works to swallow every last drop of milky white cum that graces your tongue. Gojo continues thrusting into your pussy, which was now clenching around his dick, signalling your own impending orgasm. “Thaaaat’s iiiit,” He urges in a sing-songy voice, reaching his left hand down to fondle your clit, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers until he feels your pussy clench in a death-grip around him, watching as your arousal pools around his base. At the same time, he cums inside of you, hips still pistoning into you, paying no mind to your overstimulated wails for mercy. After several minutes of standing still at the edge of the bed, he pulls out with a shaky sigh, kneeling down to be eye level with your cunt, dripping with a mix of his, Enjin’s, and your own juices. “Poor girl, looks so sore.” He observes.

Enjin had slipped out of the room unnoticed in the heat of the moment and, as if on cue, returned with a soft wash cloth that he’d soaked in slightly warm water. He passes the rag to Gojo, who sweetly wipes you down with a certain gentleness to his touch. “Did so good for us, sweetness. Let’s get you into a bath, yeah?” Enjin half-grins, pulling you into a princess style carry, taking you to the bathroom. Gojo follows suit, going into the bathroom first, starting the water for the bath. Enjin closes the toilet lid and sits you on top of it, rifling through your bathroom supplies in search of any extra ‘somethings’ to put in the bath. He finds a bath bomb and hands it over to Gojo, who drops it in the filling tub, watching as the bomb begins to fizz and disperse into the water, coloring it in shades of blue, green, and purple. Enjin turns the lights off and lights a few candles, placing them precariously where they won’t be at risk of getting knocked over, before kneeling by the tub. Both men tend to you, Gojo massaging your tense back and shoulders, while Enjin wets and shampoos your hair, rubbing the scented soap in with deep pressure that alleviates any lasting headache or stress.

After washing you off and getting you relaxed, the two wrap you in plush towels and take you back to your room, where they dress you and put your hair up for the night, laying you to rest in bed before they both leave to their respective homes. The following morning, there was a massive ache between your legs, and a hazy memory of what had happened. All that you knew was, you wanted to do it all over again. Despite this, you pick yourself up and get dressed for the day, heading off to work, still confused by the bizarre experience. Just a few hours into your shift, you get a call from an unknown number. Normally, you’d let it ring just to hear your ringtone, watch it go to voicemail, and carry on with your day. But this time, you decided to answer; And boy, were you glad you did. “So, I was thinking… Come by my place and we can watch movies and chill?” Gojo’s voice comes through the speaker with an undeniable charisma that just made it feel damn near impossible to say no. “I’d love to. What time?” You answer, to which he replies, “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll come get you when your shift’s over. Try to have a good day, yeah? See you later.” He hangs up with no room for debate or counter offer. He was going to be the death of you. Except, that might just be Enjin, he walks through the door, greeting your boss with a wave before approaching you, laying a bouquet of fake flowers in front of you. “I’ll be there too, don’t you worry.” He winks and leaves just as quickly as he came. You were in for a whirlwind kind of night, weren’t you?

“How it’s done, done, done.” I hear the girls finish off the song, followed by immediate loud cheers from the massive audience. Only a matter of seconds later, Rumi, Mira, and Zoey walk backstage, with Rumi leading. “You did amazing out there!” The praise comes out as I pass a water bottle to Rumi, the other assistants tending to Mira and Zoey. “Thank you. And sorry we were late, we had… business to attend to.” Rumi laughs nervously, heading past me with the other girls to get back to their shared apartment. I was Rumi’s personal assistant, following her every word and whim, which often was much more boring than the job description had initially led me to believe.

Later that night, I can vaguely hear panicked whisperings from Rumi’s room. Unsure if she was hurt, I went over to her door and knocked gently, “Um… Rumi? Are you alright?” Suddenly, the noise stops, as if she had gone completely still, “Uh, yeah! I’m totally fine! Sorry!” She does that same nervous laugh from earlier, which clearly does not sound fine. “Are you sure? You sounded pretty worked up…” I trail off worriedly. Following the sound of fabric rustling, Rumi opens the door, “See? Totally fine. Thank you for worrying about me, but I’m really okay.” My eyes follow the sleeves of her hoodie and before she can stop it from happening, the hoodie slips, revealing these beautiful iridescent marks on her skin.

I see pure panic fill her eyes as she scrambles to cover her arms again, “You weren’t supposed to see! I-” She frantically tries to explain, but I simply stare at the marks with wide, aw-struck eyes. “No, wait,” I mutter. I hesitantly reach towards her, my hand resting on the half-fallen sleeve of the hoodie. “They’re so beautiful,” I whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like them. They’re like rainbows on your skin.” Rumi pauses, unsure of how to respond. “You… really think so?” She questions. I nod slightly, “How long have you been hiding them?” I take a moment, stepping back quickly, “I’m so sorry, did I cross a line? I’m your assistant, this is so unprofessional.” I stutter and stumble over my words. This time, Rumi stops me from panicking, “No, you’re fine, really. To answer your question… I’ve had them for as long as I can remember. Celine always told me to hide them because…” Her voice dies in her throat and I follow her gaze as she looks away from me.

“You’re half demon.” I finished her sentence. “How did you-” She rushes to shut herself out of the conversation. “I’m no hunter, but I’m well versed in dealing with demons. And you’d think, well then how have I never seen patterns? And to that I’d say, I have. But I’ve never seen any like yours. They’re so… ethereal, for lack of a better word.” I smile at her. Rumi looks back at me, taken aback by my statement, “If you know about demons, then why aren’t you afraid of me? Why aren’t you trying to kill me?” She speaks hardly above a whisper. “Because not all demons are bad, Rumi. You are what you are, and you don’t have to be anything besides that. These patterns don’t make you Rumi, you make yourself Rumi. And if Celine doesn’t see that, then she’s blinded by her own bias.”

After a few seconds, I follow up quickly, “All of this is off the record, I actually like my job.” Both of us descend into quiet laughs before Rumi hums, “Don’t worry, I’d like to keep you around, she won’t hear any of this.” After a peaceful silence settles over the two of us, I lift my head, noticing her hair. “Your hair is still braided. I imagine it’s not easy to sleep like that. May I take it out for you?” To which, Rumi nods gratefully, “Yes, please. My arms are so sore from the show and I’m so tired.” I follow her to her bed, where she sits on the edge, and I stand behind her, deftly working my fingers through the intricate braid. “I’ve always wondered how you do your hair. Every time I try to do mine like yours, it just looks crooked and with flyaways in every direction.” I can tell she’s spaced out as I don’t hear an answer. I exhale through my nose, accepting that she hadn’t heard me, right before she speaks up again, “These marks aren’t the only thing I’m hiding.”

My fingers pause their movements only for a moment before continuing undoing her braid, as about seventy percent of it was out by now, “And what would that be?” A tense, heavy silence falls over the room. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, unsure if she really wanted to go through with what she was about to say. Finally, the words tumble out. “I like you.” Once I finish the last loop of her braid, her long lavender hair falls over her shoulders in cascading waves that seem to swallow her whole. I bite my lip, battling between serving my own feelings, versus upholding the professional standard that was expected of me. “I want to like you back. But I also want to keep my job.” I swallow, fidgeting with my fingers. Rumi goes quiet, brushing her fingers through her long, silky hair.

“We could keep it hidden. A relationship behind closed doors, and in public, you’re just my PA. We could make it work.” Instead of taking her words at face value, I decide to dig deeper, “Why are you so determined to hide everything? What do you gain from getting hurt over and over again because you’re too afraid to trust those around you?” As soon as the words leave my lips, I know I’ve struck a nerve. “You don’t know anything.” Rumi snaps defensively. “Exactly.” I sigh, sitting down beside her. “The Honmoon is sealed, the danger is over. Why are you still hiding yourself from the world? Let everyone see your beauty.” She snaps yet again, “So you’re saying I’m ugly?” I laugh quietly, “No, wait! That’s not what I meant! I mean your inner beauty. You keep a facade up all the time and never let anyone see your real personality, not a pop princess nepo baby.” She lets out a long, high-pitched sigh, “I guess I see your point. It’s just… It’s really hard to let people in, you know? I’ve lived for so long dealing with it on my own that I’m just not used to sharing my real self.”

I lift my gaze and look into her eyes, which were a gorgeous shade of amber that reflected the moonlight coming in through her window. “I like you too. And I don’t want to keep us a secret.” Rumi looks right back at me, although it’s more likely that she’s looking through me. “And screw the consequences?” She whispers. Her hand lifts slowly until it rests on my cheek. I feel a tear run off my cheek, slipping into my lap. “Hey, why are you crying? What’s wrong?” She tilts her head, her other hand reaching up to rub the trail away with her thumb. “You’re just so beautiful, and I don’t want to lose my ability to be around you.” Rumi gives me a sad smile, “You won’t.” Her tone leaves no room for doubts or fears, and before I know what’s happening, her lips are on mine.

They’re soft and warm, creating a pocket of the world where no evil or harm can be done. I kiss back without hesitation, letting my body sink against hers. I can feel the vague outlines of her lean muscle through the half-fallen off hoodie and her pajamas, and it only adds to the feeling of safety that I was experiencing. After a few moments I pull away from her and look into her eyes, “Can I sleep in here, with you, tonight?” I question softly, anxious, worried I’d be turned away. “Of course.” Rumi pulls me down into the bed with her, laying on her side to face me as I lay on my back. “I never thought I’d get to see you this way. You know, laying in my bed, and with that look on your face. Love, not fear. Like you actually see me, not ‘Rumi of Huntrix’ or ‘Rumi the Half Demon’. Just me. Just Rumi.” I blink slowly, starting to get tired. “I love you, Rumi.” I mumble sleepily, rolling over to curl up against her. She gladly wraps her arms around me and holds me there, safe, secure, warm, protected from the outside world. We’ll worry about the semantics of this in the morning, but for now, “I love you too.” She whispers near my ear before falling asleep herself.

It was supposed to be quick. In and out, buy a band tee for the concert I was going to in a few weeks, maybe some jewelry, but that was all. I walked so confidently into the mall, so sure of myself as I entered the dark, cramped Hot Topic, and was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks. The cashiers were usually cool; All with dyed hair, piercings and tattoos, alternative clothes, they looked like the target demographic of the store themselves. But then in the midst of it all, there was her. With short black hair, blood red lipstick, a red and black dress, and plenty of jewelry hanging from her neck, ears, and wrists. Her name tag read “Mikasa”, or at least, that’s what I could make of it through the crowd around the register. “Hi, welcome to Hot Topic, are you looking for anything in particular?” Her voice, clearly a ‘customer service’ type facade, rang out. “Oh, uh… No, I’m good, thanks!” I called back. Why was I being so shy? Sure, she was beautiful, but it would seem stalkerish if I admitted that after just seeing her one time.

As I walk around the interior of the store, a few Evanescence songs are broken up by Fall Out Boy, and I can’t help but hum along every few seconds, catching myself before I got too loud with it. In my peripheral vision, I notice Mikasa tapping some other coworker on the shoulder, nodding towards where I was standing, and leaving, as the other person takes over checking out the customers that were lined up by the register. Her black Mary Jane’s click against the black concrete flooring as she approaches me. “I love your outfit, it looks so good on you. Where’d you get it?” She smiles at me. Mentally, I’m all smiles, but I remind myself that it’s just customer service and marketing. “I uh… Kinda get a mish-mash from everywhere. Skirt’s from thrifting, top’s from Walmart, and most of my jewelry is from here.” I bite the inside of my cheek anxiously. She seems to take notice and looks over at one of the many racks holding a plethora of jewelry, “I think you’d like this one, it’s very… You.” She smiles again as she hands me a pair of earrings in the shape of black and red stars. I take it gratefully and am tempted to hold onto them purely because she handed them to me, but then I remember, again, it was just a marketing tactic to get me to buy more stuff.

“Thanks.” I mutter, half-expecting her to leave at that moment, but instead, she lingers. “So, are you going to a concert?” She points at the folded shirt hanging over my arm, and I hum through pursed lips, “Yeah, in about three weeks. Are you going too?” I find myself being pulled into a conversation, and for once, I actually don’t mind it. “Yeah, actually. See, I knew you were a fan too! You just have that kind of vibe.” Mikasa crosses her arms over her chest as she leans closer, inspecting the items I had in my hands. “We’re actually running a sale right now, if you grab one more piece of jewelry, you can get two more for free.” I hesitate, considering my finances. I could only afford what I had grabbed as it was, one more item, even if it was only a couple bucks, would send me over budget. “Oh, I… don’t think I can, actually. I’ve only got enough for what I have now.” I answer honestly. She seemed almost giddy at that response, “That’s totally okay! I could probably ring up what you have and put all your jewelry on a separate purchase so you can get a coupon that would cover everything.” It seemed almost sketchy to me, but who was I to refuse a deal, especially from her?

I picked out three other pieces of jewelry and headed off to the register, where she quickly rang up the band tee and a pair of tights I’d grabbed, before putting all the jewelry on a separate charge. As I type in my PIN on the pad, she notices my nails, which were painted black, and my fingers, adorned with pride rings. “Are you… y’know…?” She motions slightly, and it takes my brain a moment to process that a beautiful goth girl was asking me if I was into women. “Oh! Uh… yeah.” I admit bashfully. “That’s so cool, me too!” She points to the bisexual pride pin on her lanyard. A tense moment of silence passes between us and I’m unsure what to say next. “You can remove your card now.” She smiles calmly, and I laugh nervously, “Oops! Sorry about that, I… was thinking.” It’s like I can feel all the eyes in the store burning into my back, right between my shoulder blades. I take my card out of the pad and put it back in my wallet. She notices my reluctant movements and looks at me worriedly, “Are you alright? Is something wrong?” I freeze up in response, “Yes, sorry! I just… I really hope I’m not coming across as a creep. God, that was the wrong thing to say! It’s not that I-” She cuts me off, “You’re totally fine. I actually really like talking to you.” She blushes ever so slightly as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

I pause for a second before taking the receipt out of the bag and writing my number on the back, “Call me if you want. You don’t have to, I just figured… I hope this isn’t a one-time thing. Talking, I mean.” I slide the receipt back over the counter and scurry out of the store, fighting back a cheery giggle. I was usually never someone to make such childish noises, but I’d just successfully flirted with a girl, a massive milestone in my eyes. Three weeks later, at the stadium the concert was taking place at, I rushed to the concessions to grab a bite to eat before the show. “Oops, sorry.” I mutter as I bump into someone. “No, it was my fault, I totally wasn’t watching where I- oh, hey!” I gasp quietly as I realize I’d just bumped into Mikasa herself. “It’s so good to see you,” I laugh nervously, “Are you alright? I kinda shoulder-checked you there…” I offer a hand, helping her steady the food in her hands, “Oh, no need to worry about me! You see, my roommate, Eren, doesn't know his own strength, so I get a lot worse than a little bump pretty often.” She laughs it off passively

“You never called me, so I just assumed you weren’t interested. I hope I didn’t freak you out, that was a pretty bad move on my part.” I watched her expression for way too long before looking away. She gasps, “Oh, my, gosh! I am so sorry! I truly meant to call you but I lost the paper somewhere in my car! Here-” She rushes to set down her food and drink on one of the nearby standing tables as she grabs her phone from her pocket, handing it to me. I gladly punch in my number before handing the phone back to her. “No worries, like I said, I was worried I’d scared you off, being so forward. I really should’ve known better.” Mikasa appears to ignore the statement as she struggles to pick up her food again. “Here, let me help. Your hands look cold from carrying that, so… how about we eat together? I’ll carry the drinks if you carry the food.” She nods gratefully, the relief on her face immediately noticeable. I order my own food at the stand next to us and hand off my food to Mikasa as I carry both of our drinks. “Okay, looks like the tickets say… Oh my goodness, that’s so crazy! We’re right next to each other!” I smile, looking at the seating numbers on both of our phones.

Only a couple minutes after both of us finish eating, the concert begins. For the first half, it goes extremely smoothly, both of us cheering and singing along. As the second half begins, the band asks everyone to stand, and as both of us stand at the same time, I trip over my shoes and tumble forward, right over the steep, narrow foot room of the stadium seats. “Careful!” Mikasa gasps as she catches me, both arms looped around my waist, keeping my feet planted on the ground. “Holy shit.” I mumble in shock, before both of us just start laughing at each other’s reactions. With her help, I fully stand back up, joining the crowd in singing the song currently being played. As the last song begins, the person sitting next to me happens to bump into me with their elbow, and I stumble forward, right into Mikasa, both of us tangled in each other’s arms. “Oops. I’ll move now.” I start, but she stops me from moving, “No, wait… stay… here…” My eyes meet hers and without another moment of hesitation, our lips meet. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, drowning out the music. My eyes, wide with shock, eventually flutter shut as both of us melt into the kiss. Her tongue slides over my lip and I open my mouth a bit, allowing entry. Her tongue glides over mine, as well as the inside of my cheek, over my lips, and the roof of my mouth, before she pulls away, a string of saliva following her movements before both of us wipe our faces with our hands.

One second passes. Two. Then, another kiss, this one more of a peck on the lips, as the concert comes to a close. After the concert, I rush off in a separate direction than Mikasa, processing all of what just happened. Did this count as a date? What was even going on? Why didn’t she pull away? Why didn’t I pull away? Did anyone see us? All these questions raced in my mind, my head swirling as I flew down the many sets of stairs down to the main road and walked back to my car, sinking into the driver’s seat. Several moments of existential dread come to pass before I turn on the music and begin the drive home, all while still overthinking the night. Was this love? Why was my heart beating so fast? Did I do something wrong? Would she call me? When would I see her again? What would I even say when I did see her again? “Hey, sorry for making out with you at a concert that was technically a first date”? Was that creepy? Did I scare her? I pull into the driveway into my home and park the car, going inside and getting into pajamas before practically collapsing into my bed.

The following weekend, I showed up at the mall, back in Hot Topic. While I wasn’t specifically there for Mikasa, seeing her was definitely in the back of my mind as I walked through the entryway into the store. “Welcome to Hot Topic, how can I-” Mikasa pauses, noticing that it was me,  “-Help you…” She trails off quietly. She comes around from behind the register and stands about three feet from me, studying my posture. Neither of us dare utter a word, and finally, I’m the first to speak. “About the concert, I’m so, so sorry.” I begin, “Things got way out of hand, and I’m sure you never want to see or hear from me again, I just… wanted to apologize. I’ll leave now, and trust me, I won’t be in your hair anymore.” I swallow thickly, and just as I’m about to turn around to leave, her hand delicately wraps around my wrist, almost afraid of hurting me. “Please, stay.” I lifted my gaze to meet hers before she spoke again, “I really liked the whole night. And I should’ve called you between then and now, I was just… really freaked out, to say the least. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before, so I didn’t know how to react. But… you’re here now, so, I guess it was easier to say it in person than attempt to call.”

Her eyes drop to my outfit, taking in my clothing, my body, my posture. “I’ve been thinking about you. Us. I… want to make this official, as long as you do.” She bites her lip, and I watch as her white teeth sink into the redness of her lipstick. “I would love that, really.” I look down nervously, unnerved by her sharp line of sight. “Well then,” She starts, hand on my wrist moving up my arm until it rests on my neck, just above my collarbone, “What do you say we… Officiate this? The storage room in the back is empty and there’s so many boxes it’s practically soundproof.” Her grayish eyes lock onto my neck. “I… yeah. Okay.” I swallow, following her in a daze as she leads me to the back of the store and through a door that says “Employees Only”. The storage room is dim, lit by only a few can lights overhead. Mikasa guides me down onto a black leather chase in the corner of the room, long enough for me to fully lay on my back and still have at least a foot of space. “Let’s get this off, shall we?” Mikasa teases, fingers nimbly working at the hem of my shirt, tugging it up over my head. “Lace? How scandalous.” She comments as she unclips my bra from behind my back, her chest pressing against mine as she leans forward to slide her arms around my shoulders.

Once my shirt and bra are off, I whine softly, “That’s not fair, you’re still fully clothed!” She lets out a mocking ‘tsk’ before speaking, “I’ll undress once you cum. Let me rephrase, I won’t take anything off until I make you cum first.” A sharp gasp falls from my lips as I feel her hands travel up my skirt, teasing my inner thighs, before she lets out a dark laugh, “No underwear? It’s almost like you knew this was going to happen, didn't you? Naughty girl.” She clicks her tongue as she scolds softly, “That’s fine, that just means I don’t need to worry about pesky underwear getting in my way.” I can’t stop the moan that comes out as she sinks a finger knuckle deep into my cunt. “There it is. Let it all out. I know you can be loud, you were singing so loudly for them at the concert, won’t you sing like that for me?” As her middle finger pumps lazily into my dripping pussy, her index finger finds my clit and rubs relentless circles on the nub. “Don’t- ah- stop-” I whine, thighs already trembling from stimulation. “Oh trust me, I won’t.” She promises under her breath before adding her ring finger to my cunt. Her index finger rubs a little faster and before I even know what’s going on, a powerful orgasm overthrows my every nerve ending, rendering me boneless and limp as her onslaught of stimulation continues.

Mikasa moves her hand away and brings it to her mouth, lips wrapping around her fingers as her tongue swirls over them, tasting my essence. “Mmm, sweet. Like sugar.” She hums. She takes off her own shirt and bra, as well as her skirt, before tugging off my own. Her own hand slides down her bare abdomen until her fingers meet her wet pussy, “Watch. Don’t look away.” She orders, and I weakly lift my head to watch her movements as she sinks her fingers into her pussy, pumping them in and out with more fervor than she did to me. Quiet moans tumble off her lips as she nears her own orgasm. Her other hand comes over to palm against her clit, forcing her into an orgasm that has her clenching around her fingers, body locked in paralysis as tremors overtake her, and after a few seconds, her head falls forward, with a deep breath. “Have you ever scissored before?” She questions innocently, as if she was asking for the weather. “No.” I answer. “Well, you’re about to.”

A high, breathy whimper followed by an “ohhh, fuck!” comes out of me as she moves her legs between mine and glides her wet cunt over mine. “God, you’re so fucking wet, it’s pathetic.” She curses, setting a quick pace. I move my hips as much as I can to match her pace, but the new sensation has me spending more energy gripping the armrest of the chase rather than scissoring back. “Gonna cum already?” She laughs through moans and gasps, and finally, my clit catches hers. A loud moan rips through both of us in sync, our bodies, now slick with sweat, desperate to chase the high that one motion brought. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” She whines, reaching a hand up to play with her left nipple, her right moving to my own breasts, and I do the same in return. “Mikasa, I’m so close!” I whine, my tone bordering on pornographic. “Oh god, fuck, me too!” She cries. Tears of pleasure bubble up in her waterline and run down her cheeks, taking some of her black eyeliner with them. “You’re- so- pretty- ahh! Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck!” I toss my head back with a loud whimper, muscles seizing in a full-body tremble, cum oozing out of my pussy as I orgasm. Mikasa follows not long after, collapsing on top of me with equally as loud of a moan, my name on her tongue.

Both of us separate immediately as her manager opens the door. I dive behind a particularly large box for cover and Mikasa pulls her skirt and top on in record time. “Is everything okay? You sound hurt, did something happen?” Said manager questions, genuinely concerned. “Oh, yes! I’m totally fine! Just, uhm… uh… Taking my afternoon break! I was singing with my earbuds in, sorry!” She lies, praying the manager would take it at face value. She in fact does not, taking note of Mikasa’s ruffled clothing, “Your shirt’s on backwards and your skirt is inside out. What’s going on back here?’ She crosses her arms, looking at Mikasa with a skeptical eye. “I, well… Um, you see…” She tries to come up with another cover story. Her coworker, hearing the trouble, tosses a wallet off the wall past the boundaries of the store’s security sensors, alerting the manager of shoplifting. “Right, well I have to go. Get yourself straightened up and get back to work, we’re swamped with online orders.” She closes the door behind her and Mikasa waits a few seconds before signaling for me to come out. “You definitely owe that guy one.” I tease. Mikasa tosses my clothes at me in a bundle, “Oh, just shut up and get dressed!”

I hate Anakin Skywalker. At least, that’s what I wished I could say. But it’s so hard to hate him when he’s so beautiful, so hot, so… alluring. There’s something about him that just keeps a girl coming back for more. I don’t know if it’s the eyes, the hair, the voice, the physique, or by god, the sex, but it’s definitely one of those. All this started just about two years ago, when I met him during a beach trip. He was working as a lifeguard, seated up in that tall white chair, looking down on the beach like some kind of god. “Hey there, pretty lady. Show me a smile, yeah?” Some creep whistled at me. Just as I was about to tell him to fuck off, I remembered I’d come by myself, and had virtually no defense by way of strength in numbers.

“Leave her alone.” I look up as I see at least 6’0” of pure muscle and blond curls walk towards me. The creep suddenly winced and walked off, threatened by the new contender in the conversation. “Are you alright? You look shaken.” The man spoke, lending a hand towards me. “I’m Anakin, by the way. Sorry about that guy, they’ve been much testier this year. Dunno why.” He apologized with a charming smile. I squint as I shield my eyes with my hand resting over my brows. Anakin puts his sunglasses up over his hair, “Why don’t you come sit with me for a bit? You don’t have to, I just wanna make sure that guy doesn’t come back when I’ve got my back turned.” I slide my free hand into his, growing bashful at the contact. If he asks about it, I have every intention of saying it’s just sunburn.

Upon sitting beside him on the chair overlooking the shore, he speaks in a quiet drawl, “I don’t like sand. It's coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere.” I raise a brow, turning to face him, “So you took up a job… on the beach? Isn’t that a bit counterintuitive?” He half-scoffs, half-laughs, “Listen, it puts food on the table. I’ll suck it up if I have to if it means eating for the next few months.” A silence settles over the two of us and I look up at him after a moment. “You haven’t told me to leave yet.” He leans over and grabs a water bottle from a cooler next to the chair, taking a swig before speaking up, “You haven’t tried to leave yet.” I hesitate for a second, “Do you… want me to leave?” Anakin pauses from draining the water bottle of what liquid it held inside, taking a beat to process the question. “Do you want to leave?” A small smile pulls at my lips, “Not really, no.” And instead of shooing me away, his blue eyes look down at me over the rims of his black sunglasses, “Then no, I don’t want you to leave.”

By the time the sun starts to set over the water, the sky blending into a swathe of reds, oranges, yellows, and a deepening blue hanging over them all, I remember I’d wanted to go out to lunch after sunbathing. “Hey, so… I wanted to grab lunch, but it’s a bit late for that. Wanna grab dinner and watch a movie at my place?” I hum as I begin packing up my beach bag. “Damn, am I that charming that a few hours with me has you asking me out already?” Anakin chides, nudging my arm with his elbow. I huff and roll my eyes, but he shakes his head with a soft laugh, “I’d love to.” Once his watch hit 8pm, he gathered his own belongings and tossed them into the back of his car. After buying takeout and leading him to my house, we’d taken to the living room to eat, and ended up watching some corny action movie that was basic enough to make small talk throughout.

Since that night, we’d been on multiple dates, and became official a few weeks later. The sex was good, both of us had stable pay, and there were even talks of moving in with him. That was, until the following March, when everything fell apart. Frequent fights, controlling behavior, and concerned family members. No amount of loving on each other in the public eye could save us from what was happening. One of the biggest issues was, ironically, my wardrobe. Anakin would always buy me these insanely revealing skirts, dresses, tops, that all came up either way too high or way too low. “I just want everyone to see what I see. Your beauty.” He’d say as I left the house in a top that barely covered my cleavage and a skirt that left little to the imagination. “You’re putting yourself in danger. You look like a target, dressed like that.” I know that’s not the real you.” My family would say.

Finally, I hit my breaking point. “You’re so… controlling!” I cried in a moment of anger, seated on the edge of our bed. “I thought this was making you more confident! Why didn’t you tell me you were uncomfortable?” Anakin pressed. “Because, I-” He cuts me off, “I’ve had enough of this. You’re so wishy-washy, you never want to talk to me about the deep stuff because you’re scared I’m going to be angry.” I sigh, “What’re you doing right now then, huh? Exactly that.” Suddenly, he shoots upright from the other side of the bed, raising his voice exponentially, “Because you’re making me the bad guy!” I follow his movements, raising my voice as well, “What do you want me to say, that I’m comfortable slutting myself out in public just to prove that you bagged a hot woman? You only ever see me as an accessory!” He scoffs, “Really? That’s what this is about?” I groan, digging my palms into my eyes. I inhale sharply, “We’re over. I’ve been putting up with this for so long, I’m so tired.”

That night, I packed all my belongings into my car and left. Blocked his contact. Stayed at a hotel for at least a week to gather my thoughts. At midnight on the last night of my stay at the hotel, a “potential spam” caller ID popped up on my phone. “I swear to god, if he-” I start, but I answer anyway. Instead of the usual ‘desperate boyfriend’ gimmick, I’m immediately rewarded with a whiny moan of my name. “I need you so bad. Can’t stop thinking about you. Oh god, please- fuck-” Anakin muttered into the receiver. I swallow thickly, “Did you really call your ex just to have phone sex?” There’s a few more whines, even whimpers, and I can vaguely make out the sound of his bedsheets ruffling beneath his frantic movements. “Don’t remind me, just- ah, fuck, oh god! Need you-” There’s a lengthy moan from his end after I can only imagine he’d edged himself.

“I’m at the hotel down the road, room 203. If anyone asks, you’re delivering pizza.” I can practically hear him perk up at my words. My face heats up with shame as I realize I’d caved just at the promise of being fucked by Anakin. “Won’t they know if I’m not, y’know, carrying boxes?” He hisses slightly as he tucks his cock into his sweatpants and slips his shoes on, metal jingling in the background as he grabs his keys. “Then bring me some food, goddammit.” I rolled my eyes, picking up the remote on the side table and flicking through the random channels the hotel TV had to offer. “Yes ma’am.” He hangs up. I know he’s grinning just by that tone, one I’d grown so accustomed to hearing when I knew I was in for a long night. I stand up and walk over to the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, eyeing my face. The face of a woman who was thinking with her cunt, not with her head. The face of a woman hungry for good dick, and maybe some buffalo wings too.

At exactly 9:13pm, Anakin showed up at my room door carrying two boxes of fresh pizza, a box of wings, and a two liter bottle of soda. “I see you didn’t cut corners to get on my good side.” I usher him inside, buzzing with desperation. “Easy, easy. You’re looking at me like I’m the food.” Anakin teases as he sets the boxes down on the table in the corner of the room. He hands me a plate with a few slices, a few wings, and a plastic cup filled with soda and ice from the hotel’s ice machine. Both of us sit on the same bed, not really paying full attention to the TV while eating. After finishing my food, I crawl closer to him on the bed. Instead of paying attention to me, he reaches into his pocket, looks at the calendar in his phone, and hums in contentment. “Oh, no wonder you’re so desperate. It’s your ovulation week, isn’t it, baby?” He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me down into his lap.

In a moment of desperation and aching need, I frantically begin to strip my clothes off. “Whoa, aren’t you being a little hasty? All in due time, love.” Anakin reaches over and turns off the TV and the light beside the bed. He flips us over so he’s on top, and I rest my head into the pillows, which now smell like him. “And here I was, thinking I was the needy one.” He leans his head down between my legs, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “No underwear? Were you really that desperate? Aw, that’s alright. That just means I get to see how wet she is.” I dig my teeth into my bottom lip to stifle the gasp that threatens to leave my mouth as he circles his cold middle finger over my clit. “Ah ah ah, none of that. You know how this goes, baby. Let me hear everything.” He moves his hand down to slot his middle and ring fingers into my waiting pussy while his thumb rubs tight circles on my clit. “Oh god, Ani!” I cry out, arms dashing upwards from my sides to grasp the pillows behind my head.

“Yeah? That good, huh?” I can’t help but hike my knees up higher, letting my legs fall slightly wider open. “That’s it, good. Let me in, princess.” Anakin whispers against my ear, and my arms move by instinct to wrap around his shoulders. “I’m not putting it in until you cum at least once.” He promises. His fingers move faster and he leans down to suck at the skin over my collarbone. “Fuck, I’m close! Anakin, I’m gonna-” I whine pitifully, cut off by him moving his hand away, “I just said I wouldn’t put it in until you cum at least once. I never said when you were cumming.” He looks down at me with a cruel smile before sitting on his knees at the edge of the bed and latching onto my clit with his tongue. “Ohhh yeah, that’s what you wanted, isn't it?” He speaks through licks, and the vibration of his voice on my clit sends a spark up my spine. “Can’t- ‘M gonna- Fuck, Anakin!” My jaw falls slack in a silent scream as he begins fingering my pussy, and before I know it, I’m clenching down on his fingers, soaking the comforter underneath my body.

“There we go.” He pulls back, mouth dripping with a mix of arousal and saliva. After only a few seconds, he pulls off his hoodie and sweatpants, allowing me to see the carved tone of his muscular torso. My eyes follow his v-line all the way down to his dick. “You’re ovulating, yeah? Let me satiate your appetite, then.” He dips down to speak into my ear, hair tickling my face, before pistoning his hips into mine. He slaps a hand over my mouth to silence the shriek of pleasure that comes out, “Shhh, we’re in a hotel, remember? Can’t be loud like we’re at home. But you didn’t think about that before you left, didn’t you? No, ‘cause you were in such a hurry to leave.” I whine and whimper pathetically into his hand as he continues to talk, “You could be so loud if you just stayed with me, baby. You could be screaming my name right now, letting the whole damn neighborhood who owns this pussy. But no, you just had to leave. You just had to abandon this good dick, huh? Yeah, she agrees with me. She’s pulling me in like a bitch in heat.” With a final shattered cry against his palm, I feel my orgasm overtake my whole body, muscles clenching tight before slowly relaxing, heat flooding my veins. Anakin follows, a string of cusses and half-baked attempts at my name falling out as his hips stutter and still against mine.

After several minutes of panting in sync, trying to gather ourselves, he pulls out and rolls over, chest heaving with heavy breaths. A sliver of light from the hallway peeks under the doorway, perfectly highlighting the sweat adorning his body. “So, we still broken up, or what?” He speaks first, taking a sip of the now flat and room temperature soda on the bedside table. “We can discuss that in the morning. Right now, I just want to sleep.” I groan, fighting to keep my eyes open. “Aw, poor baby. So tired. Just sleep, princess. Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up. And when you do… we’re going for round two.”

“I’ll be home in a week. Not a second early, not a second late.” Anakin mumbles, lips moving against my cheek as his mouth forms the words against my skin. “Promise?” The word, or rather, question, slips from my lips before I can stop it. “Yes, my love,” He almost laughs, “I promise. Have I ever let you down?” He questions with a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Before I can ponder the thought or even come up with an answer, his warm, pink, ever so slightly chapped lips slot themselves against mine. “I’ll be home in a week.” He repeats, his tone simple and blunt, leaving no room for argument or doubt. “I love you.” He whispers against my lips, pulling me back in for one more kiss before wrapping his shoulders with the coat of his $10,000 suit.

I never knew what he did for a job, and I wasn’t certain that I wanted to know. Perhaps it was fear that it would ruin his perception of me, or perhaps it was simply a lack of care; Anakin Skywalker was my husband, who came home to me and only me. And in my book, that’s all that mattered. Of course he was absolutely filthy with wealth, though–His own–coming up from a poor working class family with no father, he built his own company and billionaire net worth. Because of such an upbringing, he donated his wealth often to charities and even just struggling families or people on the streets. He empathized with them, and unlike most other filthy rich people, chose to do good with his money.

Apparently, choosing to do good with his money, in his mind, directly translated to giving me a hefty $100,000 monthly allowance. Or, as he called it, “insurance”. There was no rhyme or reason, no payback, no expectations. His only request was that I loved him truly and deeply, and would tell him if I ever felt like my affections for him were dying. And every time he told me as he was getting ready for work, studying himself, his figure, in our large mirror, which conveniently faced the bed, I’d find his deep ocean blue gaze in his reflection. “How could I ever fall out of love with you, when you’re… You?” I’d say. It was truly baffling, the very concept of falling out of love with someone so inherently lovable. Stormy, ambiguous blue eyes, golden chestnut curls that framed his beautiful face, skin so warm, so tan, so perfectly golden, that it was as if the Gods of old had carved him themselves from only the finest marble. I never cared about his money. Money was money. I bought what I wanted to be comfortable, and nothing more.

Suddenly, my phone rings. As I pick it up to answer the call, I look at the date. Tuesday. Anakin would be home tomorrow morning, probably early enough to slip into bed before I even wake up. “I put $1,000 in your account. Go do something. Have fun. Don’t wait up for me.” Anakin’s voice cuts through the line before I even get a chance to give a greeting. “Thank you.” The words leave my mouth so softly, so reverently, that I consider for just a second that he hadn’t heard me. “I’ll be home around 2am. I’ll see you then. I love you.” He answers punctually before hanging up. He sounded… angry. But not really. Like something was off, but not wrong. “I love you too.” I whisper to the air, my gaze downcast for just a moment before getting up from the couch with a sigh and going to the bedroom, tossing open the doors to our massive walk in closet. I rifle through various fabrics before settling on my favorite outfit and shoes, grabbing my bag, keys, and wallet, and locking the door on the way out.

After about 15 minutes of pure incomprehensible “singing” and driving, I arrive at the nail salon. “The usual?” My designated manicurist lifts her head from her desk, where she was filing off the shiny top of plastic nails, preparing them for a new design that she’d surely add to the lot later. “I want something new. Surprise me.” I smile, sitting down in the chair across from her, slinging my bag down on the ground beside me. “I know just the thing." She winks at me, taking my left hand into her grasp. She starts with a clear top coat, followed by a nude base layer, topped with white tips. “How do you like it?” She moves my hand towards me. “Simple. Basic. I… Love it.” I smile at her, reaching into my bag to grab my card. “$70.” She hums as she goes back to filing the plastic nails. Once the card reader dings, having accepted the payment, she nods at me, and waves as I leave. Just as I pull into our driveway, I find Anakin’s dark gray Mercedes Benz sitting in the driveway, unscuffed, glossy, reflecting the lights of our patio. He was home early. It was only 7pm.

“I’m home,” I call to the abysmal entryway as I step inside and rest my bag on the coat rack mounted on the wall by the door. “So am I,” A cheeky, almost teasing voice responds. Just before I can think of more words to say, two warm arms wrap around me from behind. The familiar scent of some niche, way too expensive cologne makes its way to my nose, and my tensed body instantly relaxes. Soft lips press all over my face in gentle pecks. “I’ve missed you.” Anakin mumbles softly, spinning me around in his arms. “So, did you put that money to good use?” His large hands cup my face lovingly. “That’s subjective.” I laugh softly, breaking away from his grasp to order dinner from our personal chef, who never failed to make even the most bland and seemingly boring meals elevated to the highest degree, and for such talent, was always paid a large sum for his assistance.

“Mmm,” Anakin starts, eyes roaming the menu in my hands over my shoulder, “If it makes you happy, it makes me happy.” He presses a singular kiss to my cheek before his eyes lock onto my fingers. “So that’s what you spent the money on.” His tone is curious, laced with something else, something darker. His breathing becomes shallow and uneven, but it’s so subtle that most wouldn’t even be able to tell. But I know him, I know his body, I know what he’s thinking. “After dinner.” I state bluntly, but I know he knows I’m half joking. ”Now. Here.” He mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear him. “Anakin please, what if he hears?” I gasp as he lifts me up onto the cold marble countertop, “Then let him,” He presses slow, longing kisses to the skin of my neck, leading a trail to my collarbone. “Let everyone hear us. The whole neighborhood, for all I care. I want them to hear you scream my name when it’s the only word you know, when you’re cumming all over my fingers, all over my cock, all over me. I want you.” His words are enough to bring warmth to my lower stomach and arousal between my legs. “All this over some gel nails?” I scoff playfully.

“You think that’s what this is about? No, no. I’ve been without you for a whole week.” He reaches down with one hand, unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly, his other hand protecting my head from the hard marble surface underneath me. His dress pants fall to the ground with a quick, muffled “thump”, exposing his boxers, which were already tented with his hard cock. “I’ve been without this beautiful pussy,” He punctuates his words with kisses along my collarbone before tossing away my shirt and bra, “I’ve been without this beautiful body,” He tosses away my pants and underwear next before pulling his boxers down just enough for his leaky dick to spring free, “I’ve been without this beautiful face,” His hands move to my inner thighs and spread them apart, which I allow, compliant to his every move. I’d be lying if I said I would refuse his progressions at the moment. “For a whole week.” He slips his dick into my waiting entrance, our mixed arousal enough of a natural lube to not need external help. “Isn’t that just… Heinous, my love?” His eyes bore into mine as I feel my thighs immediately lock around his hips.

I can’t even form words. My jaw hangs open, soft gasps a direct effect of his tip nudging against my g-spot with every roll of his hips. “The nails are just a plus.” He finally answers. “French tips, eh?” He half grins, “Let me give you a ‘French tip’.” He leans in close, his warm breath fanning over the shell of my ear, “Tu ferais mieux de jouir tout de suite sur cette bite.” Before I can even register what he’s saying, a shrill cry of his name is all I can get out before my mouth falls open in a silent scream, a white, hot orgasm tearing through my veins like wildfire. Anakin follows suit, soft mutterings of “Shit” and “fuck” slipping from his lips through breathy moans that I’ve never heard him make before.

“Good girl.” He whispers, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to my forehead before pulling out. He slips his clothes back on in a rustled fashion before dressing me back up with care. “I want those fingers on my cock after dinner, or so help me.” Anakin hums teasingly through heaving breaths. “Ask and you shall receive.” I respond with a weak laugh. “Your… Dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Skywalker.” The chef clears his throat, covering his eyes as he slides two steaming plates on the dining table. “For the trouble,” Anakin reaches into his wallet and hands the chef five crisp $100 bills. “Apologies accepted, Mr. Skywalker.” He nods before leaving. “Care to join me for dinner, my love?” Anakin turns to me with an affectionate expression. “I’d be delighted.” I respond, my expression matching his as I settle into my seat beside him, his right hand already snaking under the table and up my thighs. Tonight’s going to be a long night.

The air is hot and thick. Summertime in Arizona is hell on earth, disguised as paradise. At least, that’s what I thought of it. Riding in the passenger seat of Eren’s car, with his hand on my thigh, as pop plays from the radio, I sit and stare out of the windshield, my eyes glossing over at the beautiful sunset. Gold, orange, and red streak the slightly cloudy sky, the road becoming dim under the setting star. The air conditioner is on high, but it doesn’t make much of a difference against the sweltering heat rapping its knuckles on the car’s doors and windows, begging to be let in.

“What do you want for dinner?” Eren’s low, deep, soothing voice breaks the comfortable almost-silence, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of us, gliding over the asphalt at a slightly elevated pace, just a couple miles over the speed limit. “I don’t know. Pizza?” I answer back, tearing my eyes away from the sky to look at his face. God, how can someone be so beautiful? His face is so perfect; Sharp jawline, lengthy hair, eyebrows knit together, trying to block out the dying sunlight. “Sounds good.” He responds curtly, looking away from the road for a moment to hand me his phone to call and place an order.

After doing so, I hand the phone back, watching him lean slightly into me to slide it into the back pocket of his black jeans. “You okay?” he questions softly, turning to look at me for a second, before turning back to the traffic ahead of us. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I look out of the window to my right, wincing slightly at the non-stop sight of construction and gravel and dirt and cacti. I hate it here. I hate the desert. I always have, and I always will. Everything is dead, everything is fake, everything is turning into SoCal without the beaches. It’s sickening. The only redeeming quality of it all is the convenience of city life, every store you could possibly name in alphabetical order is within a five minute drive.

Eren pulls into the parking lot for the pizza place, the car turning off drags me out of my head. “I’ll be right back. If you get too hot, come inside.” He mumbles quietly before opening the door, letting in a waft of the disgusting 110° heat. Before I can stop myself, a groan of misery claws its way up from my throat. The car door shuts as he slips inside the restaurant. As I sit alone in the hot car, quiet, with no music or air conditioning to break up the ear-ringing silence, my thoughts drift to the ways I could escape this hell, this prison. But I know I never will. Why would I move away and be happy in blissful ignorance, when I could stay and fight to protect the city from even more of a heat dome?

But I know what Eren would say if I voiced that. “You’re not some vigilante. Stop acting like you are, and just live your life.” He’s told me on so many occasions, when the “delusions of grandeur”, as he calls them, become an obsessive subject of conversation. Suddenly, a gust of heat hits my skin, and hot pizza boxes with a two liter bottle of soda and a box of buffalo wings is shoved into my grasp. “You doing okay? You didn’t melt in here, did you?” Eren grins as he slips into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and putting the car in reverse before looping out of the parking lot and driving towards our apartment. “Smells so good…” I mumble mindlessly, though the spice of the wings burns my nose slightly.

“Hungry?” He laughs at me, before turning the music up slightly, as one of my favorite songs was playing. Upon arrival at the gate and entering the code to be let in, he pulls into our designated parking space and takes the food from me while he begins walking to the apartment. His keys jingle as he fumbles with the door, balancing all the food in one arm while unlocking the door with the other. He walks inside and sets the pizza on the counter. “I’m gonna change, I’m covered in sweat.” I mutter as I head towards the bedroom, swiftly flicking on the tower fan I had set up in the corner, because, of course, apartments don’t come with ceiling fans.

I know he knows he shouldn’t, but I hear the hinges of the door creak slightly as Eren takes a long “peek” at me as I change into clean pajamas. “I’m your girlfriend, just come in and watch me.” I call to him, causing him to fully enter the room. “Damn,” he mumbles as he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. Before I can slip my shirt on, his hands are on my hips, and I can see the faint outline of a bulge pressing tight against his pants. “And what about dinner?” I hum. “What about dinner? It can be put in the oven, or refrigerated. Or, better yet, we can make this quick. I know how good food is when you’re still running high off of cumming all over me.” He lowers his voice, leaning in and pressing kisses to my neck and lips.

Who am I to resist his charms? That man’s hot as hell, no way I’d pass up such an opportunity, especially given he’s always so busy at work all week. His kisses dip lower until he takes one of my breasts into his mouth, his tongue swirling over my nipple. I tip my head back, a soft “mmm” slipping out. He walks me backwards until the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed, at which point he grabs my arms and holds them above my head as he leans me downwards onto the soft blankets. He pulls his pants down just far enough to get his cock out, before pulling my pants down, his fingers nimbly teasing my clit through my underwear. “You’re gonna take this dick like a good girl, aren’t you?” He whispers, peppering kisses all along my stomach. As my core tightens, just about to cum, he pulls away. “Not so fast.” He smirks as he pulls my panties aside, “Need my angel to wait for the main event.” He leans forward and kisses me deeply, his tongue finding my own as his cock slips inside me with practiced ease.

His hips roll slowly, lazily, as if he really didn’t care about how cold our food was getting. He separates from my mouth to breathe, his hands move from my wrists to my hips as he holds me steady. “Remember to breathe.” He mutters, his speed picking up. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, my legs instinctively wrap around his hips to draw him in deeper. “Fuck,” He hisses, his teeth gritted as he continues with his pace, despite how sloppy he was getting. “‘M gonna fill you up, mama.” He groans, his head lolling forward as he descends into a string of whiny half-whimpers, half-grunts, his white hot cum filling me up, causing me to release in tandem.

With a shaky sigh, he pulls out, reaching over me and grabbing a box of tissues. His chest heaves with shallow, quick breaths as he cleans himself and me, before zipping his jeans back up and helping me sit up, with his hand positioned behind my head to keep me from getting dizzy. “Let’s eat, yeah? Don’t want the food to get cold.” He gives me a cheeky grin, grabbing a hair tie from our nightstand and tying his long hair up into a bun before walking out to the kitchen, the scent of fresh “left to sit for twenty minutes while I fucked my girlfriend” pizza filling the air. I wonder what movie he’ll pick to watch while we eat.

Ever since the Saja Boys popped up globally, you were absolutely hooked. Their charisma and staged presence, their catchy songs, and their swoon-worthy looks and personalities had you among a lot of women and girls sucked into the vortex of celebrity worship. Luckily for you, a Saja Boys concert only about two hours away from you popped up on their social media links. Without hesitation, your family bought the tickets for you, your aunt, and your grandmother to go.

On the way there, as you were sitting in the car and looking out of the window, the car abruptly veered off to the side and down a strip of dirt path to get away from traffic. Between pained grunts and gasps for breath, it was quite obvious that your grandmother was having a heart attack. Immediately upon the sight of it, it was burned into your memory, a mark of a traumatic going-on. That was, until a pink, yellow, and blue tour bus stopped nearby; The Saja Boys tour bus. Both your greatest dream and worst nightmare were going on at the same time, and you had no idea which one took higher priority in your head.

Looking just as fresh and stage-ready as ever, all five of them piled out of the tour bus. While Abby and Mystery helped your grandmother out of the car and into the front of the bus, Baby and Romance were trying to get the story of what happened from your aunt. And then, of course, there was Jinu. Smooth, Suave, Jinu. His slender fingers gently rap against your window, motioning for you to get out of the car. As you do, he holds his hand out, keeping his voice low and quiet, seeing the look of terror on your face, and knowing you needed grounding and comfort at the moment, rather than panic and a billion questions.

“Don’t worry about them, keep your eyes on me. Can you tell me your name?” He whispers softly, guiding you towards the tour bus. When you answer, he flashes a charming smile. “Very good. Our bus is faster than your car, and we have traffic privilege. That being said, we’re going to get you and your family to the hospital, and we’ll take care of the car and park it in the parking lot. For now, just try to relax and rest.” Jinu smiles softly, letting go of your hand to go up to the bus driver and tell him where to go. After only a few minutes, the bus arrives at the local hospital, and just as quickly as you were loaded into the bus, you were unloaded into the lobby. However, before your foot could leave the last step, Jinu grabs your wrist. “I-... sorry, just… wait.” He stumbles over his words, “It’s not healthy for you to be around this situation. If it’s alright with you, and your family,” He looks off to the side, getting a nod of approval from your aunt, “It would be an honor to keep you on the bus for now. And assuming from the tickets in your hand, you were on your way to see us, were you not? Just stay with us, you’ll get VIP perks and more. It's up to you, though.”

When you climb back up the stairs and into the bus, Jinu gives a patient smile. “Very well then. I see one of our assistants has pulled your car into the parking lot, so we’ll be leaving shortly. In the meantime, please, make yourself at home.” He gestures to the bus’s interior, while the other Saja Boys all return to the bus from helping your aunt and grandmother into the hospital. Within just a few minutes, the bus takes off yet again, in the direction of the venue they were performing at.

You’re left alone for the majority of the ride, but you can tell Jinu is occasionally glancing back at you from his seat. He couldn’t understand why, but something about you just stuck out to him. Upon arrival at the venue, the band quickly piles into the backstage area, having a bit to “eat” before going on stage to a massive crowd, with you seated in the VIP section. During the whole show, the other Saja Boys interact with the fans, while Jinu only has his eyes on you. After the show is over, an assistant manager helps you backstage, where Jinu looks over at you before approaching, bowing slightly, “Thank you for allowing us the opportunity to help you.” He outstretches his hand, before taking yours and kissing your knuckles gently. “We should get you back to the hospital, I’m certain your family is waiting for you.”

As the bus speeds off in the direction of the hospital, Mystery and Baby tease Jinu over his obvious behavior and show of interest in you, while Romance and Abby sit behind you and talk to you, asking you about your life. Upon reaching the hospital, Jinu clears his throat, “Would it be alright if I were to… Go with you? Of course it’s alright if not, I… just wanted to… uh… Help out as much as I can.” He smiles, though it’s a nervous and uncertain smile. When asked by the other Saja Boys about his motives, he speaks through gritted teeth, “I’m just trying to keep tabs on her. Her soul is potent, I can feel it.”

Once you approve, Jinu follows you into the lobby. The receptionist looks up at the both of you, “Are you here for… The heart attack patient? Yes? Upstairs to the left, in the Cardiovascular unit, room 248C.” She nods to you. Jinu walks side by side with you as you weave through the labyrinthine hallways and staircases. “I’m sorry that this situation has happened to you. No one deserves this kind of pain, especially unexpectedly.” He whispers, trying not to make a scene in a hospital. Upon reaching the room, your whole family is there, quiet, waiting. After receiving word that your grandmother was airlifted to a more in depth hospital about an hour away, Jinu nods solemnly, “My bus is waiting outside. It would be an honor to take all of you where you need to go.”

With everyone piled into the bus and headed towards the hospital, Jinu continues to sneak glances your way. At the other hospital, everyone is led to your grandmother’s room while Jinu takes you down to the cafeteria to get something to eat and talk privately. “Why are you helping us so much? I’m just an average fan.” You mutter while grabbing food and paying. Jinu does the same, before guiding you to a secluded table. “I don't really know myself, you just… feel different. I can’t explain it.” He talks quietly while picking at his food. “Something about you stands out to me.” He looks up, his eyes meeting yours.

Not long after eating, Jinu reaches for your trash, his hand grazing yours. He looks away quickly, flustered, and hurries off to throw away the trash. He comes back and, while leading you to your grandmother’s room, leans to the side to guide you to a dark hallway. “May I... May I kiss you?” He whispers out of the blue. For someone like him to be so forthcoming, you had to be special. “Yes.” You answer quickly, and just as quickly as the words leave your lips, his are on yours, his arms pulling you into him. After a few moments he lets go and looks away, handing you a card with his personal phone number on it. “Stay in touch with me, okay? If you need anything, absolutely anything, you call me.” He mumbles before walking out of your sight, only to turn to pink dust, a demon’s way of teleportation.

That was nearly four months ago. Your grandmother was doing much better, but still slightly off, as the medication administered to stop the heart attack had caused blockages that caused two mini strokes. Now, you were sitting in the lobby of the local cardiologist, who had already given your grandmother trouble and written her off as “okay to go back to work”, despite her still being cognitively impaired. Once a nurse ushers you, your grandmother, and your mother into a room, the cardiologist enters. And upon his entry, he stares your grandmother in the eyes, “I’ve had patients who have a heart attack and go back to work forty-eight hours later. Why can’t you go back to work?” He questions, tone monotonous, lacking any emotion or empathy.

When your mother explains the complications of not only your grandmother’s line of work, but also her strokes, the cardiologist still seems clueless, “Well I don’t see how that’s related to me. From a cardiovascular standpoint, she’s completely fine and can work.” This got under your skin, her skin, and your grandmother’s skin to a great level. After leaving the appointment, you texted Jinu verbatim what the cardiologist had stated. Jinu, seeing no issue with your grandmother, but rather, the fact that someone upset and hurt you, was already making his way to the office.

In the dead of night, when the cardiologist was still in office, Jinu snuck in, before slamming the door shut and locking it, revealing himself in the room. You hurt her. You hurt her family. And now, I’m going to make you hurt, too.” Of course, Jinu had his fun taunting and tormenting the cardiologist, before eventually taking his soul with brute force. The following morning, the local news stated that “the late doctor suffered a ‘Rare idiopathic case of cardiac arrest’”, and that was when you knew it was taken care of. This led to a family dinner, at which Jinu was invited. Grilled meats, fries, chips, just about every celebratory food was laid out, and enjoyed in serendipitous silence. “I have some news.” Jinu announces, standing up, bowing his head slightly. “I would like to make it known that I am officially this wonderful woman’s boyfriend.” He smiles charmingly, gesturing to you with an open palm, before sitting back down, continuing his meal with a cheeky grin. Well, what goes around, comes around.

Anakin Skywalker was only the most infamous CEO of your time. As the head of an investment firm, the man was absolutely loaded with money, something many, many girls fell left and right at his feet for. But he didn’t want girls who were after his money. And for the longest time, there were rumors that he was hideous, so ugly in fact, that the leading fashion design company sent the owner’s daughter to date him, and she ran away crying.

But of course, that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Only his personal assistants were allowed to see him, as he mainly stayed in his private office suite, a whole floor of the skyscraper-like building to himself, not only to protect his identity, but also so he could conveniently go out in public without harassment. From the reviews and interviews of his past assistants, they detailed him as an average man. That was, until you saw him. You were being interviewed for the position as his night shift personal assistant, and he insisted on interviewing you personally to get a feel for you.

To say he was heaven sent would be an underestimation. He was absolutely breathtaking, long golden curls framing his angelic face perfectly, his deep blue eyes boring into your own with a sense of pure curiosity and tension. “So, you’re here to be my night assistant, yes?” was what he said, but what you heard was an invitation to be with this gorgeous man in front of you nearly all night every night without fail. His fingers deftly swept across his keyboard as he put information about you in the system, as well as his pen gliding across a stack of papers.

That was a year ago. After several nights of hookups, several “little meet cutes” in public, and him getting insanely jealous when that one coworker got way too close to you at the office Christmas Party, he insisted on dating you, which quickly became your fiance. He was passionate, intense, and of course, the classic “tall, dark, and handsome” kind of man. It was nice, you could go anywhere and do anything together, and no one would know that he was a multi billionaire, or the CEO of the investment firm that most people went to for loans and wealth management.

On a particularly hot summer night, he’d decided to treat you to a fancy dinner as well as lingerie shopping, promising a full night of fucking afterwards. What you didn’t expect, however, was for him to watch you try on every pair you picked, as well as some he picked out for you. When you put on a set that you really liked, he absolutely lost it. He’d unbuckled and pulled down his pants just enough to get his cock out, his knees pinning your legs open as he thrust into you, keeping you held comfortably in his arms on the bench within the fitting room you were in, keeping your head turned towards the mirror hanging on the back on the door.

“Look at you. Look how fucking messy you are. So wet for me. Such a little whore. You like this, don’t you? Yeah? You like seeing me fuck you in the mirror, knowing any one of those workers could catch us at any time?” He taunts, his hips stuttering as he came, pulling out just far enough to get his cum on the lingerie you were still wearing and hadn’t bought yet, struggling to stay quiet enough to not draw attention to the two of you and your sexcapade. But of course, it wouldn’t be fun if he didn’t tease you, edge you, leave you high and dry. He robbed you of your orgasm, getting dressed and proper in the mirror while you struggled to get the soiled lingerie off.

“What’re we gonna do, Ani? They’re ruined!” You cry, holding the pair of panties and matching bra, as you had gotten back in your own clothing. “There’s no need to worry, my love. Let me handle it.” He says softly, kissing your temple, while taking the lingerie from you. “You just go sit in the car, and I’ll be out in a few minutes, alright? Go get yourself something to drink, that must’ve taken a lot out of you.” He whispers, ushering you towards the black Limousine outside of the storefront. You’d gotten in, but rolled down the window enough to hear the conversation between him and the cashier. “Excuse me, Miss, but I’m afraid these garments have been damaged in such a way that is unsellable. I’d like to buy them, though, out of respect for this establishment.” Anakin spoke, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a black Visa card.

The cashier doesn’t ask any follow up questions, instead ringing up the three thousand-dollar set, placing it in a silk garment bag, and sending Anakin on his way. He clambers into the back of the car beside you, giving the chauffeur the signal to drive home to his estate on the far side of town. “We’ve got ourselves a bit of a drive, don’t we? You were such a good girl, waiting for me so patiently. You didn’t even get out of the car. Good girls deserve to be rewarded.” He whispers softly, leaning down to capture your lips in a heated kiss as he reaches over and pulls the privacy screen up, separating the back of the car from the driver’s seat.

He gets you and himself undressed in a matter of seconds, laying you back on the black leather seats, holding your legs over his shoulders as he thrusts into you. “Breathe, baby. You’re getting all worked up and forgetting your deep breaths.” He hums, taking your chin in his hand, forcing your eyes to lock with his, despite the sheer pleasure shooting through your veins. “I’m sorry,” You whimper, hands finding their way to his back, your nails lightly dragging across his hot skin. “Don’t be, my dear. Nothing to be sorry for. Just tryna look out for you.” He kisses your neck, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your soft skin. He could feel you starting to clench around him, your legs trembling slightly, your eyes rolling back. “Close, aren’t you? I know, baby. I know. Just let go for me.” Anakin mumbles, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you in as close as humanly possible, as a way to get himself deeper into your core. With one final thrust, he feels you gush around his cock, leaving a white ring where your pussy meets his base. This throws him over the edge as he nearly doubles over on top of you, his eyes squeezed shut, his whole body seized with twitches and tremors.

Once he’s able to sit back, he leans against the seat and pulls out, whining softly at his own sensitivity. He could see the fucked out expression on your face and gently gathers you in his arms, running his fingers over your face gently, brushing the tip of his index finger down the bridge of your nose. “Just rest, pretty girl. You’re probably so tired…” He soothes, kissing your forehead and helping you get your clothes back on, before dressing himself. For the rest of the drive, he was planning how he’d take care of you. A bubble bath with salts, a bowl of hydrating fruit to replenish your fluids, and a cup of your favorite drink.

Once the limo pulls into the Estate’s drive, Anakin pulls you into his arms and carries you inside bridal style, bringing you to the large Master Bathroom before sitting you on the bench beside the tub, helping you undress in your tired haze. He helps you step down into the tub as he turns on hot water and pours epsom salt into the tub, making the filling water soft against your skin. He reaches for your favorite soap, filling the tub with a light foamy top of bubbles. Once he turns off the water, he turns to one of his butlers, ordering for two glasses of wine, as well as grapes, crackers, and cheese. The butler nods and descends the hallway, going to the kitchen to alert the chef of Anakin’s demands.

Within mere minutes the order is delivered to the bathroom door, and Anakin takes it inside, handing you your glass of wine while sipping on his, occasionally popping a red grape into his mouth as he talks with you, discussing the week’s agenda, as well as any events you’d have to attend with him. What he wasn’t going to tell you, however, was the fact that he already had the wedding planned, and had all the preparations set for the following day, and all he needed now was for you to pick your dress.