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tonycries · 8 months ago

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A Million Dollar Baby! - N.K.

Synopsis. Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, landlord! Nanami (kinda), oraI (male + fem), cúmplay, reader’s a tease, unprotected, creampíe, down bad FERAL Nanami, spítting, bréeding, messing up his glasses, pantý-stealing, he’s sweet but fúcks so MEAN, mentions of Higuruma, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.8k (wild)

A/N. Decided it was high time I feed my Nanami girlies hehe.

“Just get the money and go.” Nanami deadpans, like a mantra. Giving a rapt knock on your apartment door, “I swear m’making him buy me lunch for this.”

Now, it wasn’t that Nanami was exactly upset about taking over Higuruma’s landlord duties for the day - no, in fact, he was the first one at his friend’s door with a bag of prescription medicine for the other man’s fever and the suggestion to take the day off.

But it was the thought of finally coming face-to-face with you - that mysterious new tenant that’d just moved into his building. The one that had Nanami wondering whether you were really as “sugary sweet n’ irresistible” as Higuruma raved you were.

Though, he can’t imagine you’d be particularly happy about being woken up at 10am on a Sunday for overdue rent - he certainly wasn’t.

Seriously, he had no idea how Higuruma managed to do this every-

Click!

“Higu- you’re not Higuruma.”

Oh, and suddenly, Nanami gets it.

If he got to see this view, too, then he might just become the landlord himself.

It’s as if you knew you’d be playing with his sanity as soon as you opened that door, dressed in a fitted t-shirt that did absolutely everything to show off every bit of skin he shouldn’t be looking at. Your lips curving into a sinful little smirk when you notice his eyes dancing off that excuse of fabric you call “shorts”.

“Um…” you hum, after a few moments of silence. Leaning against your wooden door frame to give the tall man an appreciative one-over, “Nanami, right? You’re Higuruma’s friend?”

It’s as if the sound of his own name jolts Nanami right back into his senses, clearing his throat as he readjusts his glasses. “Y-yes. Nanami Kento.” And he winces, fuck he’s never stuttered like this. Never, even in the toughest of board meetings. Yet, here he was - making a fool out of himself.

Knowing he’s completely fucked when your delicious grin only widens, he bows politely, “Apologies for barging in like this, ma’am. But Higuruma’s sick n’ m’here to collect the rent in his place.”

You wave off his formality, introducing yourself. “Ah, of course. I’ve seen you around, always been too nervous to come up and say hello, though.”

And, suddenly, Nanami’s glad you never came up to him to talk out of your own volition, he thinks he’s rather put off embarrassing himself for later. Coughing softly, “I apologize, s’my fault. It was rude of me to not introduce myself first.”

“Well, better late than never, right?” you continue in your smooth tone. Before your eyes catch down his broad shoulders, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clipboard held between his long, long fingers. “Right- the overdue rent. I swear, Higuruma’s always such a sweetheart, he doesn’t bother to remind me.” Opening your door wider to give Nanami a good look inside your cozy apartment - something forbidden. “Come in come in, I seem to have lost my wallet somewhere in here though, maybe you can help me find it.”

Oh?

And Nanami knows this is dangerous. He knows this is much more than his simple plan earlier of just “get the money and go”. He knows that little glint in your eye certainly does not bode well for him as soon as he steps through that door.

Yet, he answers anyway, “Of course, lead the way.”

Every bit of small talk in your sultry voice has Nanami gulping, loosening his favorite yellow tie while he follows you inside. Averting his eyes from the curve of your shorts, he takes in the neat state of your apartment.

That is, until-

“Here we are.” you lead him to a towering pile of clothes piled unceremoniously on your tv room couch. Gesturing airily at the mess, “I’m sure I left my wallet in one of my pants, so you can just sit here until I-”

“I’ll do it.” Nanami’s quick answer stuns the both of you momentarily. But before you can resist, he’s shrugging off his jacket, ignoring the heat of your gaze when he bunches up his sleeves to reveal strong, veined forearms. “It’s only fair, since m’bothering you so early.”

You chuckle, “Oh? What a gentleman, we can do it together then, handsome.”

So here he was - sat on your cramped couch, your thighs flush against his, tackling your laundry. This was definitely a far cry from getting the rent and leaving - but, alas, Nanami can’t find it in himself to complain when he neatly folds up your clothes.

Whereas you were hastily throwing them god-knows-where, hissing, “Where- is it-”

“Patience.” he’s humming, placing another t-shirt on your coffee table. “Higuruma’s in no hurry, he can barely get out of bed right now.”

You click your tongue in frustration, “But you, Nanami-”

“-are perfectly fine helping you out.” Nanami cuts in, flashing you a gentle smile. Your eyes widen at the sight of a soft dimple at the corner of it. Which makes him tear his gaze from that pretty pout on your lips to turn back to his dwindling half of the pile, “Besides, it would be a shame if such a nice apartment was messed up by- by-”

Fuck.

Was that what he thought it was?

His fingers tremble, looking so fucking big wrapped around that those tiny strings of hot pink. Sinful. Obscene. Shit, if he tried he could just rip it to pieces with his bare hands right now - even if you’d been wearing it.

“Hm?” you’re gasping at the sight of the man before you, body stiff, ears a guilty red, gaze hardening at where he was holding onto one of your panties. Oh, shit. You pluck the offending piece of material from his hands, “Oh- whoops. Um- that can’t really be folded.” Throwing a wink at the flustered man - and the lingerie right back at him. “Evidently.”

It was all too much for Nanami, and he’s bringing a hand up to cover his blush - before ripping it off like it burned when he realized it was the same hand he held your panties with.

Somehow, he manages to choke out, “Maybe- maybe we should try looking somewhere else.”

And it was true - the few messy clothes now leftover (and…Nanami couldn’t forget, your underwear) didn’t show any signs of hiding your wallet.

“If you say so~” you muse, getting up from your seat - only to get down on your knees. Right in front of Nanami’s manspread legs.

“Wh-what are you-”

“Under the couch.” you interrupt, enjoying this way too fucking much for the poor man’s sanity as you flash him a cheeky grin. And he smacks himself mentally for letting his imagination be toyed by your teasing whims. “I might’ve dropped it under the couch, so won’t you be a dear and help lift it while I look?”

He couldn’t get up fast enough, almost stumbling over his long legs to crouch down beside you - just anywhere away from this scandalous position. “Ready?” Nanami rasps, biceps bulging tight against his button-up when he easily tilts over your couch.

“More than.” you take a second longer to admire him before going back to your mission.

Which - whatever’s left of the rational part of Nanami’s brain really thinks might just be to drive him insane instead finding that fucking- what was it- wallet?

“Hmmm seems it’s not here either, right, Ken?” He doesn’t know what he’s reeling at more - the fact that you used his first fucking name or the way you were arched so teasingly like that. On your knees, spine curving into a delicious little bend that has the crotch of his pants growing just a bit tighter. And- shit he was wrong. So, so wrong. Because those weren’t a sinful pair of shorts like he’d initially thought after all, instead, they were more like underwear. Flimsy and thin, bunching up perfectly at the crease of your hips.

You were captivating.

At his heavy silence, you bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Oh? Was it the name? Sorry, Nanami, you’ve just helped me so much that it ah- slipped out. I won’t do it again.”

“No.” he grits out, the both of you surprised by the ragged hitch in his answer. Already so disgustingly missing the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue. “I’d like it if you called me that- ‘Ken’ that is, if you want.”

“Well then, Ken.” you brush up unnecessarily against his sculpted body as you move to get up and dust yourself down. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my wallet’s not down there.”

Shit, he thinks, looking down at the empty spot of carpeted floor for the first time. You little tease, you knew what you were doing.

Grinning unabashedly as you tug on his arm, “Come on! There’s one more place to look.”

As you pulled him along to the kitchen, Nanami had held out the hope that maybe - just maybe - this would be an actual attempt at finally paying off your overdue rent. Maybe he could walk out of this unscathed and holding onto whatever’s left of his dignity (and lacking the raging boner that was threatening against his slacks right now).

But every feeble hope of that was thrown out the window the moment you instructed him to hold the rickety, certainly unsafe chair propped up in front of your counter steady.

“I swear I must’ve left it somewhere up there.” you grumble. Not wasting a moment before climbing onto it and rifling on top of your high cabinets. “No harm in trying, right?”

He gulps, palms getting sweaty on the wooden back of the chair with the effort to keep it still. “Are you sure you left it on top of there?”

“Huh? Yes yes, of course.” you answer absentmindedly. Your shirt snagging on your arms as you raise them even higher, “Think you can see something from down there?”

If Nanami could see the top of your shelves, then he didn’t want to find out - not when one glance upwards blessed him with a forbidden glimpse right up your t-shirt. All it took was a flash of skin before he was hit with the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Ken~”

“Fuck!” he breathes, when he looks up involuntarily at the sound of his name. Face burning when you raise a brow, “U-um, m’not sure.”

Yeah, he sure could see something - hell, he wanted to see more.

He urgently swipes at the sweat slowly beading at his forehead, immediately regretting his actions when the chair tips ever-so-slightly. “Shit, I apologize, n’ I also apologize for what I’m about to do-” He gasps over your soft yelp, before wrapping two warm hands around the small of your waist. Searing. Soft. Planting you softly on the firm floor like some lil’ ragdoll, “-but I can’t let you put yourself in danger this way.”

Before you know it, you’re back in the safety of the ground. Stood right in front of a determined Nanami as he cranes his head up in your stuffy kitchen, backed up against the counter as he takes over looking for your wallet.

“Let me, instead.” he grunts.

But oh even with how genius he thought it was to look instead - even with how he stopped himself from looking at that sinful little slice of heaven - Nanami Kento had another problem.

A problem that presented itself in the way that your body was pressed flush against his muscled chest, two of your thighs straddling his thick ones. Caged perfectly against him, exactly in the way he shouldn’t have been imagining - but did, anyway. And shit if he angled his body just right he could feel the heat of your core - the way your eager front was drawing in closer.

“Ah-” he grunts when your soft palm glides lightly across his pecs. Jaw clenching while he tries to blink his hazy eyes back into the glaringly empty top of your cabinets, “My apologies, seems uh- your wallet isn’t- here-”

Each word is wrenching out of his pretty, worry-bitten lips, a ragged gasp with every accidental brush of the pads of your fingers at the hem of his tight pants.

“It isn’t there, hm?” you purr, a low honeyed tone that has all the blood in Nanami’s body rushing to his fat cock. “Well what do you suppose we do about that, Ken? Since I can’t pay the rent?”

Nanami doesn’t know whether you’re talking about the rent or that massive tent in his pants he really couldn’t explain away. Instead, he spits, “You knew what you were hah- doing, didn’t you, you lil’ minx? You don’t have your fuckin’ wallet here.”

And the air is so thick, so heady that he can only bring himself to pull away mere millimeters from where he was hovering near your face.

But even that was too much - and in a split-second, you have your deft fingers wrapped tightly around his speckled tie. “And if I did?” Pulling close enough to ghost your lips against his, “You’re smart, Ken. So m’asking once again, what do you suppose we do about that?”

As if to draw out the answer from him, you’re giving a long, hard drag of your hot cunt along the outline of his swollen cock. You could almost feel every throb and nudge of his veins along the side, and it made you salivate.

“I suppose…” he answers, guttural, like some dark, primal part of himself is peaking its head out with each hot breath fanning your face. A large hand coming up to squish your cheeks into a pretty pout, pursing your lips perfectly for him. “That you hit me if you don’t like this, darling.”

And fuck for all how much of a gentleman Nanami acted - he kissed the exact opposite. All but ruining your lips in such a messy clash of teeth and tongue and him. Devouring you.

“Fuck- shoulda known.” he’s letting out a humorless laugh, swiping his tongue across your glossy lower lips. “Should’ve known when you invited me in. Such a tease.” Drinking in your breathless moans, sucking on your tongue, “Such a- ngh- horny lil’ thing. This what you wanted all along?”

You hum into the kiss so drunk, “Maybe.” Dancing your hands all across where his toned muscles were fighting against the restraints of his shirt, “But you really can’t blame me.”

And maybe it was true - maybe this was inevitable. Either way, Nanami didn’t know, nor did he really care - not when you were letting out such sweet gasps when he bites down on your bottom lip - just a little punishment. Kissing his way down your heated skin, giving a languid lick at where he suspected that secret sensitive spot on your neck would be.

“Oh! Ken.” you moan. Bingo.

He’s unbuttoned his shirt now - or maybe it was you. Fuck, either way you couldn’t tear your eyes off of his pretty washboard abs. Curving and dipping like he was sculpted meticulously.

And that’s all it takes for your already-dripping cunt to grow impossibly wetter, and he could feel it leaking through those flimsy cotton shorts of yours. Forming a messy sheen right at that damp spot of precum on his pants.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, my love.” Nanami murmurs, swiping a thumb down that sopping wet slit of yours through your shorts. Just marveling at the way that simple touch makes another wave of your sweet sweet juices bead through the fabric. “Hah, absolutely dripping. This all f’me?”

At your half-delirious nod, he flashes you a smile so handsome that it only makes you squirm more impatiently. “How sweet.” Giving your nose a chaste peck, “So good to me. So needy.”

“You’re the same, though.” you accuse, hotly.

And it’s true - Nanami couldn’t deny the aching need of his cock, the way he all but moans in response, “Then tell me- hngh tell me what you want. I’ll give you- anything-” Managing to get out through hot, sloppy kisses planted right on your wobbly lips, “-anything.”

But, ah, you always did manage to surprise him. And instead of an answer, you’re getting right down on your knees in front of him like you did not too long ago - though, this time, you’re reaching up to fumble with his belt.

“Wan’ taste you.” you huff when his expensive notches prove too stubborn. “Wan’ feel you in my mouth so bad, Ken.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles darkly, easily loosening his belt and his pants along with it. Rock-hard cock sensitive and just smearing a pool of precum where his fat head springs up to hit your lips. Such a pretty shade of gloss. Nanami laces his hand on your scalp to guide you forwards, slowly, “Then take it. Take it f’me, pretty.”

He was so pretty that you possibly couldn’t not - a delicate blushing red at his very tip, glistening and absolutely soaked in precum down the long path to his creamy base, his heavy balls. So girthy that it made your cunt clench in anticipation.

And then there’s no more talking. Hell, you barely get enough time to admire Nanami’s massive cock before he’s bullying it between your lips. Wetting his thick, angry tip with your saliva, just enough to eye down at the way your lips bulge so prettily around him.

“Gonna hafta open w-wider if you wanna take me, pretty. Open hah- yeah jus’ like that.” He’s reeling your head back, all the way till you were just kissing at his thick, angry tip. “Now spit on it, my love.”

Despite being the one to say it, Nanami’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief when you’re readily decorating his swollen length with a steady stream of spit. Your soft palms smearing the saliva along his length.

You’re slurring, “After all, I still haven’t found my wallet, right?”

And oh he doesn’t even have to ask for what comes next - doesn’t even have to make a noise.

Immediately, you take him in inch by fucking inch. The deliciously salty twang taking over your senses, and he’s so hot and heavy over your tongue. Veins pulsing in a dizzyingly throb! throb! throb! against the roof of your mouth.

“Are you- are you sure you can-” You shut up his doubts by rubbing your hot tongue along every sensitive ridge you could reach. Bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless little pace to milk his pretty cock for all he’s worth.

Nanami’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Was this what heaven felt like?

“F-fuuuck, oh you-” his words are catching in his throat with each flick of the tip of your tongue against his sensitive slit. Just the way he liked it. “-ngh guess that sharp mouth of yours wasn’t just hah- good for teasing, huh?”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute - the complete opposite of the reserved man that’d come knocking on your door. Hips grinding up into your warm tongue mindlessly, slow. Languid - like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. “Oh you feel so heavenly- so fuckin’ good it should be illegal.”

You can’t help but bat your teary eyes up at him in response, blinking away the lustful haze to drink in that utterly obscene sight above you. Nanami’s neat, blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled, stray strands sticking to his furrowed brow. Only deepening with each wrecked sigh that leaves his plump lips every time his abs flex with the movement of his fat head hitting the gummy back of your throat.

He looks so pretty it makes you moan.

Those electric vibrations going all the way down that wet divot on the tip of Nanami’s painfully hard cock to his heavy balls.

“Oh shit- shit shit shit feels too good.” his words are slurring together, drunk off the way you gag around him. “Don’t do that don’t-” This only makes you drag your sloppy mouth down him deeper, syrupy moans sticking to

him all the while.

“Fuck!” Nanami shudders. And he’s pulling you down - hard - barely letting you get a feverish little breath out until your nose is hitting the neat patch of blond at his base. Rubbing up against his toned pelvis.

Still moving in deep, relentless thrusts inside your gummy cavern. “S’real fuckin’ hard to treat you as nice as I want when you act like that, my love.”

And, of course, the only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles as you take him in faster. Cheeks hollowing to massaging his every sweet spot. Your jaw grinding against his twitching balls with each smack of his hypnotized hips against your mouth, fucking into you the way he wished he could do with your cunt. Frenzied. Sloppy.

Yeah, this was heaven alright - but you were the fuckin’ devil.

Of course, you wanted him to treat you like such a slut - so he does.

Just dragging your stubborn mouth off of his twitching cock, Nanami only reaches down to place an accomplished peck on the pout of your mouth before hoisting you onto the counter. “What? You think I’d really ngh- cum before my darling girl?”

He’s groaning into your mouth, licking at the seam of your candied lips as two strong arms of his spread your legs so far apart it burned. “F-fuck, Ken-”

“Aw look. You’ve got another slutty pair, huh?” he gestures down at the drenched scrap of fabric you so proudly called “panties.” Sliding a thumb underneath to glide it underneath your puffy pussy lips. He’s echoing your sentiment from before, “Said you can’t find your hah- wallet, right?” Well, ya better start makin’ up for that now.”

In all of two seconds, Nanami’s hooking two fingers over your underwear - pulling - ripping. He was right - Nanami takes a moment to admire your dripping cunt, glistening and needy for him - he could rip those panties right off of you.

With just one hand pinning you to the cool marble of your counter, the other thumbing open your puffy folds, he’s giving all of your pussy a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

“Mmm fuck-” he spits into your sloppy hole. Once. Twice. Letting it form a saturated little pool of your juices, before surging back nose-deep with a pained grunt. Again. And again. And again and again- “Jus’ as sweet- as sugary sweet ngh-”

Nanami didn’t think Higuruma knew about this little treasure trove when describing you - though, if he did, then he was well and fully intent on tongue-fucking every little thought out of him right now.

“Hngh! Shit-” you’re keening when his greedy tongue laps up every bit of your syrupy sweet slick. Alternating - methodically, indecisively - between rolling over your throbbing clit and just dipping into your awaiting entrance. “It feels so- so good, Ken.”

“Yeah that’s right.” he gasps, wrapping those pretty pink lips of his to suck on your clit. Harsh. “Say my name- no, louder. Louder.”

It’s all you can do to not just scream out his name without your neighbors filing a noise complaint. Dragging your sopping pussy all over his mouth - glistening and obscene right down the bottom half of his face all the way up to smear against his clear glasses.

Such obscene squelches ring through your kitchen as Nanami keeps making out so messily with your sensitive nub. Ringing in your fucked-out brain, so obscene, so addictive that you barely even register the thick fingers dipping their way around your hole.

You jolt when the cool metal of his glasses kiss your skin, “O-oh Ken what-”

“Shhh shhh, darling.” he soothes. The tip of his manicured index circling around your elastic muscle. Hypnotic. “M’gonna take care of you. Gonna take such good-” With this, he’s bullying his fingers inside, “-care of you.”

Tears crinkle at the corners of your eyes at the sheer stimulation. Because for how sweet Nanami was talking you through this, he was absolutely ruthless on your cunt. Not half the man he was this morning - animalistic. Feral, even.

His sharp jaw grinding against your skin, fingers almost a blur with how depraved they were pumping in and out of you. Massaging every hidden corner of your plushy walls, yet you get the feeling that they were calculated. Nanami’s darkened eyes drinking in every whimper and twitch of your body over the glasses inching dangerously downwards. Searching, waiting for that one-

“Ngh!” You worry you’d have fallen off the counter if it wasn’t for Nanami holding you down. Body jolting at sudden electricity running through your veins, “Oh- fuck fuck fuck. Oh my god Ken, there. Right there–”

But before the sentence has even left your heavy lips, he’s hitting your g-spot once more. Easily finding the bullseye that has you bucking and arching into his mouth like such a slut.

And this time - Nanami lets you use his mouth all you want. The fingers splayed out to pin you down moves to toy with your puffy clit. Rolling between his fingers while he hisses out syrupy sweet praises, “Shit, never liked m’name that much- ngh- but it sounds so pretty on your lips. So sweet. So- oh-”

The sight of your cunt just beading with need has him kissing it once more. All over your sensitive nub, your ravaged hole, hell, even down to the mess of slick dripping down at your thighs. Faster. Sloppier. No rhythm or rhyme anymore.

“M’so close.” you whine, weaving your fingers through his blond hair to help ride his face easier. Jolting with each purposeful flick of his tongue. “Gonna cum, Ken.”

“Cum then.” he answers, simply, grinning a guiltily glossy grin, “You’ve got a lot to make up for, right?”

And then you do - stars behind your eyes and that little nickname you’d made Nanami in your mouth. Over and over while he tonguefucks you through your high.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” you whine, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks eat time he swiped at your sensitive spots, dragging it out longer. Until your soft whimpers were drowning out the squelches from below. Until you were blinking your spotty vision back. Until you were squirming your hips higher up the counter to pull away from Nanami’s unforgiving tactics. “M’too sensitive- Nana-”

He tuts, interrupting your orgasm-drunk babbles, “Tha’s not what you call me.” Pulling away just enough to hum, “All I did was eat this pretty cunt out, darling n’ you already forgot my name?”

You shiver - both at his mean little tone and the absolutely sinful sight between your shaky thighs. Nanami’s lips plump and irritated, eyes foggy - glasses even more so with all the sloppy dredges of spit and your slick.

Shit, you think he’s never looked prettier.

“Is that so?”

It’s all you hear before you’re hit with his glasses being gently placed onto your nose bridge - followed shortly by the realization that oh, you said that out loud. But Nanami basks in your sudden shyness, giving your lips a chaste, lingering peck. “You dirtied my glasses, y’know. Now you have to make up for that on top of the rent.”

And by the feeling of his thick tip kissing at your pussy lips, you had a very good idea about how you’d be making up for it. Making a mess. Sliding the curve of his head up and down. Up and down up and down up and-

“B-but don’t forget.” you manage to grit out by the time he’s nudging his divot against your clit. “You have to make- hah- make up for-”

In a fluid motion, you’re reaching your fingers to dig into the irresistible tan skin at his hips, all hard muscle and the thick fabric of where he’d pulled his pants down just enough. You press down on his bulging back pocket, smirk growing at the familiar flash of hot pink you could spy, “-my panties.”

The moment the obscene little accusation leaves your lips, you give a soft tug forwards. Nanami’s towering body being pulled easily to push his weeping tip past your puffy folds.

“F-fuck.” he’s throwing his head back at the feeling. “You hngh- saw, huh?”

Oh, if he hadn’t been imagining this the moment he’d stepped inside your apartment then Nanami thinks he might’ve just passed out right then and there.

Because you were so warm, so addictive wrapped around his cock - even when he’s barely even in. That he just has to keep going - after all, it’s for the rent, right?

It’s what he likes to think.

It’s what he whispers - over and over into your open mouth as he bullies his thick cock past your gummy entrance. Letting your plush walls suck the ever-loving soul out of him with each lazy, lingering grind just to fit himself inside.

“O-oh! Shit-” your nails leave jagged red marks down Nanami’s broad shoulders when he stuffs you full. Desperate. “Y-you’re so big, Ken–”

At this, you feel Nanami’s girth grow even wider, stretching your walls until it felt like he was molding your poor pussy to the shape. Just reaching into your lungs. You squeal, “Wait- you got bigger- what-”

“I know I know, You got it, my love.” he’s soothing your cries with sugary kisses at the corners of your mouth. Drawing slow, methodical circles on your clit in time with his experimental thrusts. “You got it. You can take it. Shhh shh-” He’s drinking in your cute mewls, cupping your pretty face with his free hand, “You’ll take it right? All of it, like my good girl? You’ve gotta make up for it, right?” At your delirious nod, “Words, pretty.”

“Yes, please.” You buck your hips in a sultry tandem matching his, the cool frame of his glasses still kissing at your skin. “M’gonna take it all like your good girl, Ken.”

Shit, he can feel himself growing even bigger just halfway into you, “Then-” Angling your teary face down to watch the mess down below. The way your greedy cunt was trying to milk each and every inch of him like it was delicious. “-look.”

You can’t tear your eyes away as he delves into you so filthy.

Not waiting for your pathetic whines about him being “too big” - no, Nanami’s only pulling you back from escaping like some sextoy - his favorite one. Still toying sweetly with your clit while he pushes against that feeble ring of resistance. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“Ken!” you’re yelping out when he finally bottoms out. Your swollen folds meeting his drenched hilt, blond tufts of hair brushing up against your pelvis. Sighing, ”Finally.”

“Finally?” he’s dragging out his words with an already-crooked, pussydrunk grin. Eyes wild - bewildered almost at how well you were taking him. “S-seriously? Did you say ngh- ‘finally’, my girl?” Each word has him tapping more strength behind those thrusts, faster. Harder. Spitting out so contendly, “Finally- hah. Such a slut f’me, hm?”

He’s plunging into you like such an animal right now, so harsh that it was almost difficult to pull back. To dare subject himself to not be buried inside your dripping cunt for even a split-second.

In response, you lick a long stripe up the sensitive area of his neck, splaying out a hand to squeeze Nanami’s pec - and the rapid heartbeat you felt beneath it. “You’re not- ngh- any better.”

“I know.” Nanami leers, unabashedly kneading at your sore tits now. Fucking you harder and harder into the counter. Connecting his sweaty forehead with yours to look you right in the eyes as he gruffs, “I’ve been thinking about fucking this pretty cunt as soon as you opened that door, y’know.”

You feel his cock twitch wildly at the confession, dragging against your gummy walls with his tip. Hitting - oh-so-expertly - that one sensitive honeypot of nerves. Which makes Nanami’s mouth fall slack with what a treasure you were.

“Y-you’re such a-” you’re moans are syrupy and slurring together now. Holding onto the larger man for dear life, “such a pervert, Ken.”

Shit, you were squeezing around him so hard that it was almost impossible to pull out. Abs straining to keep up the loud staccato of skin-against-skin, and Nanami’s long, jagged rams inside your wet heaven.

Nanami’s nosing down your pulse, letting his hot tongue loll out to catch the salty drops of your tears, “Mhm, only for hngh- you. Because you’re my girl now, aren’t ya?”

So easy for him to trawl out those addictive moans with each drag of the upwards curve of his fat cock. Thick tip hitting your g-spot, your cervix - as if he was branding his name into your pretty pussy from the inside. Sloppy.

Leaving a bruising little Kento. With his erratic fingers pinching and rolling your clit at the same feverish tempo of his cock bullying inside your cunt - Kento. With his heavy balls smacking against your ass, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure all the way up to his sensitive slit, rubbing up against your succubus walls - Kento. With the way your heels were now digging into those dimples at the bottom of his spine, sure to leave marks with the way you were pulling him impossibly closer. So needy - Kento.

Only getting sloppier. The only thing in your mind right now - Kento Kento Kento-

So, really, it makes sense when that’s the only thing you’re capable of getting out once you cum. It sneaks up on you at first, and then all at once - and before you know it, you’re cumming so desperately all over Nanami’s relentless cock.

Over and over.

Your thighs spasming, such a slutty ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth with each wave of pleasure he’s forcing out of you by targeting your ravaged g-spot. Only a few more of those sloppy, mean thrusts left in the man himself before Nanami’s spilling into your greedy cunt.

Painting your gummy walls white with each painful squeeze of his balls, he’s still thrusting - as if on instinct. Shoving his seed deeper and deeper down your cum-filled hole until he’s sure it’s overfilled.

By god were you a vision, he’s thinking deliriously. Tears pooling at your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, throat to shoot to do anything but whimper when he keeps going in and out in and out in and-

And if he angled his head just right, he could see the hot globs of cum that take to trickling out from your puffy folds, pooling at a mouthwateringly creamy base around his hilt.

“Ah,” Nanami wastes no time squeezing his index into your already-bulging entrance, pumping the cum slobbering out back in. “Better- hah- better not waste any-” He could barely speak right now, cumming harder than he has in his whole life - in fact, his overworked cock was still shooting out wispy spurts of his seed. Like he couldn’t stop. “-after all, y’haven’t made up for all the overdue rent yet, my love.”

A/N. Concept inspired by this NSFW audio by IchigekiVA that my friend sent me <3

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

#nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #tonywrites #nanami

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luveline · 4 months ago

Note

Shy!reader and post prison Spence - the first time he calls her a pet name? I love that your Spencers always use “honey” or “dove” or “love” and we know she’d be a mess.

P.S. completely agree with how much I love the gentleness of your characters. The way you write Spencer in love is literally my favorite

ty for requesting <3 fem

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

Spencer holds a hanging strap. You hold your own, core tense with the movement of the train. “I think I would’ve mentioned it before you got on the train if it weren’t.”

You nod, glancing around the traincar at the other passengers. There's a stout lady wearing a large fluffy sweater, turquoise with two white kittens at her chest nuzzling one another in knit. A man with three bags of groceries sits just beside her. Further down, a teenage girl listens to music through leaking headphones, her phone reflecting blue light on her cheeks.

“But are you sure I won’t be an imposition?”

“You aren’t usually. I guess we won’t know until we get there.”

“Maybe I should just find a hotel for the night.”

“Y/N, I’m kidding. You’re not an imposition, it won’t be a problem. There’s enough room at my apartment for you to stay however long you want. Between all the books, that is.”

It’s just not something you pictured asking him for. Your kitchen flooded in your apartment and the landlord had to put you up in a hotel until he could get someone in to make sure the stove wasn’t about to explode or catch light. But the idea of a hotel is rough torture —somewhere unfamiliar, living out of a suitcase, surrounded by people you don’t know without a door that locks properly. Spencer caught you sweating over it at your desk, pulling the story from you in reluctant drags with a hand on your shoulder.

It’ll be okay, he said, you can just stay with me.

Which is relieving and somehow a new can of worms to deal with. At least at a hotel there was no chance of seeing Spencer in a towel. Spencer seeing you in a towel, in your pyjamas, without your formal office protections.

The worst part is the excitement.

Terrified he’ll see it on your face, you stare at your shoes next to his. Spencer… Everyone told you he was a dork. When you joined the team in his absence, not once did you get the impression that the man who’d be coming back was like this. You feel like he’d been infantilised. Which isn’t to say he isn’t a dork, he is, he tells you the strangest things, facts or statistics to accompany each topic of the day, and he has all the manners and chivalry of someone who knows what it’s like to be as painfully shy as you are. But he isn’t shy.

Autistic, he’d confided once. Probably. I’m better at dealing with it now.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Nervous.”

“I know.” He grasps your arm as the train screeches on tracks, turning a tight bend. You’re grateful, but immediately flushed with heat.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“You couldn’t. I think I know you too well already.”

“You’ve known me for less time than the rest of the team, but you were the first person to offer me a place to stay.” You clench the rickety handle of your suitcase. “Thank you.”

“That’s okay, angel.” He says it simply and softly, like you really are an angel. Something breathless to wait with.

Angel, you think, heart skipping a beat, pulse slow and then suddenly ramped.

His arm slips behind your back. “I don’t want you to stay in a hotel if it’s going to scare you. Besides, it’ll be fun. Like a sleepover.” He laughs. And you, despite your flush, heat sinking across your chest like a bruise, manage to laugh back. “I’ve never had one before.”

“What?”

“Never had a sleepover. I didn’t have any friends in school, and I haven’t had a girlfriend stay the night before.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, expecting a retraction. Not that you’re my girlfriend, not that you’re anything like that at all.

He smiles at you. “Should we get takeout?”

“What were you thinking?”

“There’s an Indian restaurant between the station and my apartment? We can stop in. Or we can order something to come. Or I can cook, if you want home cooked.”

“No, it’s fine, you don’t have to cook–”

His lips turn to a quizzical pout. “I don’t mind.”

You want him to call you angel again. You want him to take you home, make you dinner, and you want to sleepover. Like a girlfriend, you want to wake up in his bed.

“Sorry,” you breathe, “I think I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure?” You nod. “Alright. I was worried you didn’t like the pet name, but your pupils dilated when I said it–”

You can’t escape him. One hand in the hanging strap above, the over on your suitcase handle, you have no choice but to stand there with his arm around you to keep you from falling, face so hot with it that you’re sure you’d be feverish to the touch. “It’s fine,” you say, too afraid to look at his face that you end up staring at the nice shape of his throat, his black and purple tie. “Call me what you want. Um, I think we should get Indian.”

“Good choice, angel.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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nanamiskentos · 3 months ago

Text

LAST FRIDAY NIGHT — choso kamo

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (d) and let the show begin !

prologue. → it's been seven days since you wobbled into your apartment and almost threw up on your best friend. seven days since you confessed your love to him. seven days of radio silence as you've done your best to shut him out, hoping that the earth swallows you whole. there's no way he's going to want anything to do with you now!

but it's been years since choso had started silently loving you.

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader

warnings. vírgin!choso, spítting, kíssing, makíng out, thígh kínk (mild), yuuji being a menace 😭

word count. 8k! song inspiration. last friday night — katy perry

a/n. i can't believe i don't write for choso more. i really put a lot of love into this fic but i wish i had expanded on it a bit more 😭 one thing abt me is that i love adding side characters to cóck block

mp3. think we kissed, but i forgot!

"did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion? breakups happen every day — you don't have to lose it."

you jab at the skip button like it's personally offended you, cutting off the mournful strains of the evermore bonus track mid-verse. normally, you'd let the singer's poetic misery hold your fragile heart in a pretty gentle chokehold, for she understood your heartbreak like a nobel laureate in emotional devastation. but not today.

not on this particularly dreary friday, right before christmas, where even ms. swift's dulcet agony felt obnoxiously on the nose.

pinned under the suffocating weight of your quilt, you let out a dramatic sigh that could rival a victorian heroine wasting away from heartache and humiliation.

with the theatrics of someone clawing their way out of a shipwreck, you work one arm free, waving it weakly into the air like your tragic signal of defeat.

the cocoon of your quilts and covers isn't warm nor comforting. it's a smothering trap, a quilted tomb of your own making.

"this is it," you mumble to the empty air of the apartment, your voice muffled by layers of fabric, "this is how i go."

the universe, for its part, remains unbothered by your suffering.

with a theatrical groan that would earn you a standing ovation in a one-person tragedy, you yank the quilt over your head. plunging yourself into darkness once more.

but unfortunately, the muffled strains of your 'sad girl winter' playlist refusing to take the hint seep through, like overly persistent ghosts of your bad decisions in the past. it seemed that evermore was feeling less like a balm for your soul, and more like the soundtrack to your public humiliation.

somewhere in the tangled chaos of your bed, half pillows and half-sulking regret, your poor and neglected nintendo switch lies face down like it gave up on your hours ago. its screen has long since gone dark, but if you listen hard enough, you can almost hear your animal crossing villagers whispering conspiratorially, drafting a formal petition to evict you.

no doubt tom nook is already sharpening his capitalist claws, repossessing your house with an unsettling amount of glee.

but the rest of your room is not much better. the string lights on your walls flicker half-heartedly, casting an uneven glow over the wreckage of the past week.

it's not the charming nor dramatic kind of mess that makes for an artsy photo dump. no, this is the slow and unflattering unravelling of someone who let life beat them up with zero resistance. if rooms could file restraining orders, yours would have done it by now.

teetering laundry piles of discarded sweatshirts are haphazardly stacked in the corner. nearby, an empty hot cocoa mug sits, sticky with the remnants of whipped cream. candy cane wrappers are strewn across the room, the aftermath of a peppermint explosion that made your jaw ache.

but the true centrepiece of this disaster? your phone, face down on your nightstand. neglected and on silent. the one object in this room that's probably begging for attention, and one that you've been skilfully ignoring. and yet, right on cue, it buzzes again.

lighting up with a contact number that you've been ignoring all week.

choso.

and you squint at the notification, at the glowing screen that makes your eyes sting in the dim light.

sweet, dependable and utterly loyal choso.

your best friend of over a decade. the one person that you can't bring yourself to face.

the one person that also deserves so much better than this radio silence, and yet the last person that you can humanly confront. especially not after what happened last friday night.

and here, good friends, lies the crux of your problem.

that doomed night, seven days ago, has mostly dissolved into a series of blurry and fragmented snapshots. like a bad, half-finished film that you'd walked out of halfway through.

but the lead up? oh, you remember that part with the kind of clarity that should have been reserved for more important moments.

you could still feel the heat of storming out of that overpriced restaurant, half-drunk and fully pissed off, tears streaming down your cheeks and thickening your throat.

your ex-boyfriend? well, he had been your current boyfriend, before he decided to break up with you. in public. for all that classy, emotional damage that was so in character for him.

and with a line so perfectly cliché, it practically begged to be immortalised on a 'worst breakup excuses' list in cosmopolitan: i'm sorry, baby. i just don't see it working anymore. we're just too different. oh! and i found someone else.

oh, sure. but you should have been glad to have been rid of the man-child that thought frankenstein was the monster's name, the man who commented 'oxford study' on innocent tiktoks, and called pinterest 'girl instagram.'

god, what a fuckin' loser.

fuelled by a mix of public-induced heartache and questionable tequila choices, you had practically charged across street crossing. your feet hitting the pavement with the reckless kind of abandon reserved for teenagers sneaking out after curfew.

and there choso had been in your apartment. your best friend had been sitting cross-legged on your rug, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbons. probably wrapping yuuji's christmas gifts with military precision. he had been balancing a roll of tape in his mouth, scissors over his lap dangerously close to the family jewels. but you had barrelled through the door like a feral cat in a downpour.

his eyes had widened, a little startled, as you made your entrance. the tape had fallen out of his mouth, chestnut hair falling over his face as he gaped. you couldn't blame choso, of course. you had looked entirely like a bedraggled, disheveled mess in a storm. cheeks streaked with mascara trails, but then everything went...fuzzy?

what did you remember? crying. lots of it.

and boy, was it a show. the kind of weeping where your face contorts into a puffed-up, berry-red disaster, and you would feel the headache creeping in even before the tears had finished.

choso's arms had caught you before you could face plant into the couch. solid, broad. warm and familiar.

you had caught the scent of clove and pepper, alongside faint citrus that you had been associating with him over the years. you had been saying something, raw and desperate.

your words had spilled out of you like water from a broken faucet.

and here you were now, reaping the glorious consequences of your own unfiltered word vomit.

seven days of stewing in your own shame and regret. but seven days were not enough to undo this level of self-sabotage. you briefly considered the options: faking amnesia, dropping out of university entirely, or best case scenario — moving to antarctica and herding emperor penguins.

you groan, sinking deeper into the abyss of your covers. and then, of course, your phone buzzed again. the dull and persistent vibration drilled into your skull like a tiny, digital drill.

cho 💜

(01:09am) hey, are you doing okay? (08:42am) tell me if you need anything! (04:23pm) hello? did i do something?

you peek at the screen, trying to avoid making eye contact with the tiny and terrifying letters. your sheet mask scrunches uncomfortably, making you look like a particularly pathetic mummy. choso's sweet and utterly patient messages were a sharp control to your gross sulk, and his concern makes you want to curl into a ball and crawl into a snowbank.

outside, christmas snow fell gently, blanketing the world in a soft and untouched white. it was like something out of a dream, a world of calm and peace. peace that your trifling ass didn't deserve.

if choso wanted to speak to you, he'd have to drag you out of your self-imposed misery himself. and even if he were to arrive at your apartment door, he'd only find a note tacked to the wall. with a map leading to the south pole.

so, what exactly had happened last friday night?

the memory rolls out like an old film reel, all jagged and distorted. the kind that you can't skip, even if you wanted to. it comes in fragments, each one more excruciatingly clear than the last. the haze of vodka-infused whipped cream shots over hot drinks slowly melting away like a bad handover.

the door to your apartment? you remember that part with embarrassing clarity. you had kicked it open with awful, ragged flair. your heel slipping on the floor, and you had nearly stacked it. face-first into your own doorway, standing there with the grace of a giraffe on roller skates.

the second the door had slammed shut behind you, a gust of frigid winter shot through the apartment like a chill reminder of your situation.

choso had been sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, in the midst of complete, barbaric chaos. the roll of mauve wrapping paper teetered precariously on his dark jeans, and scissors dangled from his lap while a stripe of tape was wedged between his teeth. in between the mess of clippings and discarded tape, he seemed more like an absurdly morose-looking christmas elf that had been tasked with being santa's helper after an entire bottle of mulled wine.

but as you had walked in, or rather stumbled in, his gaze had shot up. his chestnut hair falling in messy curtains around his face, with one unruly strand intertwined with a red-white rogue ribbon. choso's face had twisted in alarm, his usual solemn manner replaced by someone who looked like they were trying to figure out whether they needed to brace themselves for good or bad news.

"hey," he had said, voice soft but sharp, like he was trying to handle fragile glass. choso had spat the tape out of his mouth unceremoniously, and he had been tugging the ribbon free rom his hair, concern all over his fine features, "what's wrong? are you okay?"

and you? a disaster. drunk, crying, furious. the recipe for an emotional molotov cocktail.

"i hate him," you had snarled, yanking off your beige coat, hurling it in the general direction of the couch. instead, your aim missed entirely. flopping halfway onto the floor, and halfway across choso's knee.

choso simply plucked the coat off his leg with two fingers, gingerly draping it over the arm of the couch. your best friend was frowning as he set down his oversized scissors, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. amber-hazel eyes flicked to yours, wide with alarm as he stepped closer, "are you hurt? is this about —?" he was hesitating, "your boyfriend?"

"no, my ex-boyfriend!" the words were ripped out of you, and your voice pathetically cracked halfway through as tears spilled down your flushed cheeks, "and 'm not hurt, cho. unless you count emotional damage," punctuating your statement with a tragic, breathy hiccup.

choso's perpetual frown deepened, as thick and unruly brows knit together, "okay," he said, voice low and steady, "do you want to sit down? i can get you some water, wait." his steps are slow, purposeful as he closes the distance between you gently, with measured care. or like he was defusing a bomb.

but you were having none of his gentle care, "no, i don't want water! i want — i want to un-date him," you wail, arms flailing as you start pacing like a caffeinated hamster, "god, i'm so stupid for dating him in the first place. and yes, i know, stop looking at me like that. i know you want to say i told you so, but he's such a —," you pause mid-rant, clawing the air for the right word, "a troll. a goblin, an ogre."

choso blinks, "maybe you should just get some fresh water in you," but there's an underlying layer of grimacing amusement painted over his quiet features, "and i didn't even say i told you so."

"no," you blurt, your head snapping so fast that your neck immediately files a complaint in the form of a sharp crick, "i don't want water. i want —"

and then, your brain short-circuited. because that's when you'd actually looked at him. like really looked.

warm hazel eyes framed by dark, sleepless circles that seemed to follow choso around like cursed ghosts. soft, feathery strands of mahogany hair that refused to stay tied back, and tumbled rebelliously into his face. that damn sweatshirt, loose and charcoal gray, and perfectly slouched over his broad shoulders. the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal forearms so solid that they could make a renaissance sculptor pack and quit.

and like a freight train at full speed, like whee-woo, the realisation hit you. choso kamo.

your best friend in the entire world. your steady and reliable, and kind to a fault best friend. better than any stupid ex that you'd ever had.

and because tequila is the nectar of chaos, and heartbreak has no filter, your mouth decided to unleash the words that you would haunt you for the next week.

"i should have been dating you."

the room is silent, as choso freezes entirely. like someone had smacked the pause button on him, and his hand, mid-reach for a glass of water, stops cold. his eyes are wide, mouth parting as though he hadn't yet processed what you had said.

"what?" choso finally manages, the words soft and stunned, like he wasn't sure that he had heard you correctly.

you, in your infinite wisdom (or rather, drunken idiocy), barrelled on like a bull who had just seen red cloth, "i'm so serious! you're the one i should've been with all along!"

you wave a hand at him, as if showcasing him to an invisible jury, "you're smart and you're sweet, and you actually care about me, unlike him!"

choso blinks, his expression unreadable, "okay," he says slowly, setting the glass back down on the table, "i think maybe, uh, you should sit down?"

"i don't wanna sit down, i want you to stop looking so perfect right now."

there's a faint flush creeping up choso's neck, like red pigment staining cream watercolour canvas, "perfect?"

"yes!" you hiccuped, teetering over the couch, "you're supposed to be my best friend, and instead you just stand there with your stupid forearms, and your everything, and it's not fair!"

choso doesn't move, doesn't even speak. just stands there, vaguely dumbstruck. like you had hung the moon, and then yanked it back down to earth to hurl it at his chest.

"i should've been dating you, cho," you declare again, louder this time, and your finger jabs his broad chest like it was somehow his fault, "you're the best, y'know that? and you're so hot, how did i not realise this sooner?"

your best friend's expression goes on a journey of varying emotions, shock and disbelief, panic and confusion. all while his candied pink lips open and close, "uh," because by now, eloquence had left the room for both parties. his hands hovering awkwardly like he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or flee. his ears noticeably red, the flush creeping down his neck.

but drunk-dumped you wasn't done. oh no, this was your oscar moment. the hill you were going to die on. the ted talk that no one asked for.

and you were on a roll now, "i mean, look at you! you've got the broody, hot guy thing down so well, and you know that's my type. and everyone knows it, like why aren't we dating already?"

choso's mouth curls again, but no sound comes out. he looks like he wants to crawl into a snowbank and bury himself there forever, "okay, i think maybe you should sit down before you hurt yourself, or, uh, the furniture."

"i'm fine!" you'd declared, throwing your arms up in defiance just as your knees decided that they were absolutely not fine. you wobbled, and in an instant, choso's warm hands are on your shoulders, steadying you with ease.

the searing heat of his touch makes your heart lurch in a way that felt far too real for comfort. you look up at him, his face close enough that you could see the faint freckles dusting his nose, and your breath hitches.

he's close enough now that his lips could press against yours with the mere turn of his head. but you know that choso's just too kind and thoughtful to kiss you in this state right now. he also looks like he's about to gently suggest that you pull yourself together. you wouldn't know, because you've just bulldozed right over him with zero brakes.

tears stream down your face still, but they're starting to slow. sticky and hot, tacking to your cheeks, as you deliver the final blow, "if i asked you to kiss me now — like genuinely right now, would you, cho?"

you would never know what choso's reply would be, because you hiccup violently. the kind that punches your chest and makes you sway. fate was never done with you, because your stomach lurches in warning. you had clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with panic.

choso, bless his heart, had looked ready to throw himself in front of you, "bathroom. now," he'd commanded, his voice taking on a rare, firm edge.

and that's right where your memory cut off, mercifully plunging you into the black void of your vodka-soaked brain. no idea if you'd made it to bathroom. no idea if you'd thrown up all over him, classy as always.

but the last thing you did remember, the thing that haunted you eve now, like a ghost tapping on your shoulder, was the look on choso's face. wide-eyed, jaw slack. like you had flipped his entire world upside down.

choso sits cross-legged on the cold dorm floor, the faint creak of wood beneath him. in his hands is a neatly wrapped gift, small and unassuming. but painstakingly chosen for you. the crimson ribbon, shiny and festive, catches the light of the desk lamp.

it wasn't extravagant, nothing flashy nor pricey. but it was thoughtful, personal. something that he had picked out weeks ago, back when everything between you two had been normal.

back when you didn't look at your phone, and decide he wasn't worth answering.

choso's thumb grazes the corner of the box, smoothing over the edges of the paper that he had meticulously folded after watching youtube tutorials. but now? the box felt heavier than it had any right to. would you even want this anymore? would you even want to see him?

choso sighs, letting his head tip back against the edge of his bed frame. it was a tight and awful feeling, something small and sharp that had wormed its way into his chest.

it wasn't just the silence. it wasn't even the unanswered texts or the way you’d been avoiding him like he was the human incarnation of bad news.

it was the fact that you were you. his best friend. the person he always knew how to read — until now, when everything felt scrambled.

he stares at the gift again, his brows furrowing. he'd been turning this over in his mind for seven straight days, wearing grooves into his thoughts like a track stuck on repeat. did you regret it? did you even remember what you said?

and worse — what if you did mean it?

that last thought was the one that always hit hardest. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, the dark strands falling back into his face. somewhere on his desk, his phone buzzed softly, and for a second, his pulse jumped. but when he checked, it wasn't you.

because of course it wasn’t.

"pathetic," choso muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

seven days.

seven long, agonising days since you'd stumbled into your apartment like the ghost of heartbreak past — tear-streaked, half-drunk, and dropping words so raw they’d knocked the air out of choso's lungs.

seven days since you’d looked at him like he was everything good in the world — right before nearly puking on him and passing out on the couch in a heap of drunken devastation.

and seven days of brutal radio silence ever since.

choso groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he slouched against the edge of his bed. he got it — why you'd be embarrassed. he, he was still processing it, the memory looping in his head like a cursed highlight reel.

"you're amazing, cho. you're perfect."

the words echoed, soft and slurred, over and over like a broken record choso couldn’t shut off. a selfish part of him — a really shameful, awful part — had been glad your ex was out of the picture. not that it was a surprise; choso had never liked that guy. too loud, too cocky. the kind of guy who thought buying overpriced cologne absolved him of skipping deodorant.

but then there was the other part of him — the one that made him feel like a jerk. the part that felt guilty for feeling anything at all. because he wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you.

choso wasn't supposed to have spotify playlists privately curated with all your favourite songs. wasn't supposed to have started buying extra hair ties, just because the thought of you stealing one was so annoyingly appealing.

and he definitely wasn't supposed to have been quietly, hopelessly in love with you for five years and counting.

how many times had he messaged now? four? five? enough that he was starting to feel like that guy, the one who couldn’t take a hint. what if you'd sobered up and realised last friday was just drunk nonsense? what if you didn't like him like that at all?

had he not spent seven days drowning his misery in tubs of mango and pistachio ice cream? enough was enough.

choso's thumb hovered over your contact for a long, stupid second, debating whether to send one more pointless text. but before he could add another "hey, just checking in," he swiped away and hit a different contact. a boisterous teenager with a shock of pink hair.

he shoots off a quick text, almost grimacing as he hits send.

Choso Kamo: Need advice. Got a hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: if this is smth weird i'm not googling it for u

choso rolled his eyes, already regretting this decision. but he needed to hear an outside opinion.

Choso Kamo: It's not weird, serious this time. If someone confesses something private to you while they are drunk, then avoids you for a week, what do you do? Hypothetically?

a pause, and then:

yuujithegoat2003: is this someone a hot girl lol

choso sighed, his dry lips twitching despite himself.

Choso Kamo: Yes. Also, serious answers only. yuujithegoat2003: ok ok. do they remember what they said? Choso Kamo: Most likely not.

yuujithegoat2003: huh...so did they say something good? or was it rude? Choso Kamo: It was good. Really quite good. yuujithegoat2003: bro this seems easy, just ask if they meant it.

choso blinked at his phone, at the...almost reasonable response. suspiciously reasonable, coming from his younger brother.

Choso Kamo: And if they freak out? Or say that they didn't mean it? yuujithegoat2003: then u say 'just kidding' and blow the place up and leave the country. i can get u a fake id, i know a guy. i know lots of guys.

Choso Kamo: You need to stop being influenced by Gojo Satoru. Just because his public break-up landed on national news does not make it a premise for my own situation. Hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: ok, gojo just said no one gaf abt your love life anyway. seriously tho if u like this hypothetical person, just be chill. don't be all intense and scare them off bc its never that deep.

Choso Kamo: Love is that deep. Especially when you care for the other person a lot. yuujithegoat2003: ur so dramatic bro. anyway good luck.

yuujithegoat2003: also if you get rejected don't tell me bc i can't handle second hand embarrassment. thx. gtg to work. these pizzas don't deliver themselves ay

choso glances down at the gift still in his lap, the ribbon he'd so painstakingly tied now a little crushed — much like his pride. the box stares back at him accusingly, as if to say, what's the plan here, genius? wait for her to magically show up?

choso exhales through his nose, sharp and frustrated. sitting here wallowing wasn’t doing him any favours, and neither was yuuji's unhelpful voice.

"yeah, sure," he mutters under his breath, shoving the box into his jacket pocket. he stands abruptly, grabbing his jacket off the back of his desk chair.

if you weren’t going to talk to him, fine. he'd bring the conversation to you. answers, he thought, stepping out into the cold. the winter air bit at his face, but it was bracing, grounding even. one way or another, tonight was going to settle this.

the knocking was relentless.

you tried to ignore it at first, clutching your blanket like it was a shield against all outside forces. whoever was at the door would get the hint eventually. probably. hopefully.

but no, the knocking persisted, evolving into a deliberate rhythm, like some overzealous drummer auditioning for a garage band.

"unbelievable," you groaned, peeling your headphones off and tossing them onto the pillow where they landed with a hollow clatter. if this was the pizza guy you'd ordered from two hours ago, he was wildly late, and you were too broke to tip him anyway.

dragging yourself off the mattress felt like an olympic event. your legs wobbled, your blanket fortress collapsed behind you, and your pride was buried somewhere under the covers still. at least you'd showered earlier — small victories.

your damp hair dripped cold trails down the back of your oversized sweatshirt, and you caught a whiff of cocoa butter as you shuffled to the door. that was…something acceptable at least. but then the mirror by the entryway betrayed you, reflecting sleep-swollen eyes, and the faint ghost of face mask residue clinging stubbornly to your skin.

perfect. a vision of grace and dignity.

you yank the door open, ready to unleash a pointed what do you want? — but the words lodge somewhere in your throat.

smooth. and oh, just your luck.

there stood choso, a walking anomaly in the drab matrix of your sad little existence. his tall frame fills the doorway, backlit by the flickering hallway light, clad in a baggy black tee and faded denim that didn't quite match the nervous energy rolling off him in waves. his hair was tied up in a messy bun, spiky strands sticking out like an afterthought, and of course, he looked unfairly good for someone who had probably spent the past week avoiding the sunlight.

"uh, hey," he says, his voice softer than usual — careful, even. like he thought you might throw the nearest piece of furniture at him and sprint into the night.

"hey?" you echo, voice brittle as you folded your arms tighter. the sweatshirt you were wearing — his sweatshirt, one that he had left here weeks ago — suddenly felt two sizes too big and painfully obvious, "what are you doing here?"

choso scratches the back of his neck, his gaze flickering over you briefly before darting to the floor, "i needed to see you."

"at…eight at night? without warning?"

"would you have answered if i'd texted you?"

the air between you stilled as your brain scrambles for a retort, but he had you dead to rights. with a reluctant huff, you step aside. "fair point. just come in."

choso hesitates for half a second before stepping inside, his presence making your already small apartment feel even more claustrophobic. he's taking a quick glance around, and you watched, mortified, as his eyes landed on the pile of crumpled tissues precariously close to a half-drunk mug of cocoa and a bottle of jack daniel's teetering on the edge of the coffee table.

"sorry for the mess," you mutter, your voice defensive as you crossed your arms tighter.

"it's fine," choso says, a little too quickly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. his gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than necessary, "i didn't mean to…interrupt."

"you didn't interrupt anything." you wave vaguely at the disaster zone that was your apartment.

choso's lips twitch, almost like he wanted to smile but wasn't sure if now was the time, "look, i just —" he trails off, his usual dull voice faltering as he pulled something small and neatly wrapped from his pocket, "i came to give you this. and talk."

you stare at the gift in his hands, shiny crimson ribbon and all, your pulse kicking up like it had somewhere urgent to be, "christmas came early? thanks, cho," you say, mirroring his words with the kind of ease that only comes from too many shared silences. "i'm fine, though. i wasn't up to much."

choso cracks a small, half-hearted smile, but it's like watching a flicker of light in a dim room — there, but not really there. "i tried texting," he says, glancing at you, searching for something.

"i know," you murmur, suddenly finding the floor very interesting, "i just wasn't in the mood for much talking."

choso huffs, a sound halfway between exasperation and amusement, "i noticed," he says dryly, and that only makes the air in the room more thick and uncomfortable.

you sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you flop back onto the couch, curling your knees up to your chest like you're trying to make yourself small enough to disappear, "so, what? you came here to check if i'm still breathing?"

"kind of," choso admits, settling awkwardly on the edge of your coffee table, his long legs folded beneath him in that way that makes him look like he’s trying to physically contain himself. his knees bump into yours, and you have to fight the urge to pull away, like you could get too close, "but mostly...i came to talk about last friday night."

your stomach does a horrifying little flip, the kind that sends cold fingers crawling up your spine. you stare at him, silently willing him to read the begging look in your eyes and back off, but he doesn't. he's never been the type to take the hint.

"i've been thinking about it all week," he continues, his voice quiet but steady, as if he's preparing himself for something big, "and i need to know if —"

"nope," you interrupt, holding up a hand, "nope. we're not going there."

choso blinks at you, like he's trying to process the sudden barricate that you've just put up. but you're so not ready for this conversation, not now, nor ever. and you'll be damned if he gets any closer to the minefield. he scowls, his brows knitting together like he's resisting the urge to push you off the couch, "why not?"

"because it doesn't matter, okay?" you lean your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like you can will this conversation away, "i was drunk as hell, cho. you're overthinking it."

he scoffs, his voice sharp now, like he's cutting through your flimsy deflection with a blade, "i don't think i am."

you wince, shrinking a little under the weight of his stony gaze, "why does this even matter?"

"you think i can just brush it off like it didn't happen?" and there's a rawness in choso's voice that hits you harder than expected.

your cheeks heat up, a fiery blush creeping up your neck, "i didn't mean it," you mutter.

"yes, you did," choso snaps back, with uncharacteristic heat, and he leans forward, enough to close the distance between you two, "and you know how i know? because you've been ignoring me all week. if it was just some drunk nonsense, you would have laughed it off by now. but you haven't."

you open your mouth to argue, to push back. but the words stick heavy in your throat. nothing comes out, and it must prove choso all the more right, because you watch as his bottom lip is captured by his teeth, suddenly watching plush skin split.

"do you want me to apologise?" you ask finally, voice a little too sharp for comfort, "because i will. i'll say i'm sorry for putting you in that position and —"

"i don't want an apology," choso cuts you off, and the dim light of your apartment makes the dark circles under his eyes stand out like bruises, "i want the truth."

you freeze, your heart thudding like a drum in your chest, "what truth, cho?"

"that you meant it," choso says softly, "that you meant it when you said that you wish it had been me."

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric. your breath catches, as your mind goes blank. an entire power outage, as you blink at him like a fish out of water. finally, after what feels like an eternity, you force the knot in your throat to loosen just enough to speak, "yeah," you whisper, "i meant it."

choso's whole body seems to deflate, like he's been holding up the weight of the sky. his shoulders slump, and the sheer relief on his face hits you like a tidal wave. it's almost enough to undo you. there's a sound, soft and shaky and far too vulnerable that escapes him.

neither of you move. the moment stretches out, fragile. like it could snap in half if either of you dared to breathe too loud.

then, choso is the first to move.

there's no hesitation, no uncertainty. just pure intention, like a dam finally bursting open. he shifts forward, hands finding their way to your waist with an urgency that makes your pulse go into overdrive. choso's grip is firm, but there's a reverence to it, as if you're something he's waited his entire life to touch. he pulls you to him, and you can feel the heat of him flood your chest, your blood, your bones.

"what if you regret this?" you murmur into his chest, voice muffled as your arms slip around his necks, holding onto the beautiful man like he may float way.

"not a chance," choso replies, and his voice is raspier than you've ever heard it, like he's saying it more to himself than to you.

choso kamo finally kisses you.

the kind of kiss that feels like a storm is finally breaking over clear skies, with an unrestrainted longing that crashes over the both of you.

his sweet lips meet yours with a hunger that makes your head spin, raw and real. choso clearly doesn't want to hold back, and neither do you.

his hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly at russet strands.

choso groans into your mouth, a soft and burning thing that ignites every nerve in your body.

without breaking his hold on your lips, his wide hands slide down, finding the back of your thighs, making you shamefully clench them closer together.

but he's tapping them in silent invitation, and you leap into him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. the world around you blurs as he stumbles backwards.

and when the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed, gravity does its job. you both tumble into the mattress in a jumbled mess of limbs and muffled laughter, your heart pounding so loud, as you muster up the courage to prod your tongue at his lips, letting him part his mouth so you can take up more of choso.

you land beneath him, his weight pressing into you in the best way possible, sending sharp spikes of heady arousal through you. and you blink up at him, breathless.

choso is so close now, his hazel eyes locked on yours with a rare intensity, like the calm façade is entirely shattered now. but there's a smile on his lips, a crooked little thing that sends a rush of warmth through you.

"hi, choso," you whisper, your voice soft yet breathless as he chases your lips again, a desperate hunger in his eyes. it's as if he can't bear to be apart from you, even for a heartbeat.

"hey," he murmurs back, that low rumble sending shivers down your spine, igniting a heat you can't ignore.

you keep pressing kisses to his glossy lips, the world narrowing down the press of his mouth and how choso's hands cradle your waist like you might slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

without breaking contact, choso shifts, his strong hands guiding you gently, firmly.

"don' wanna crush you," he spills against your mouth, his voice low and rough, and before you can reply, he flips you effortless.

the movement is seamless, fluid even. and you're suddenly perched atop him, straddling his thighs and sinking into the worn denim of his jeans.

he's leaning back against the covers beneath him, as his chest rises and falls in unsteady waves as he gazes up at you. expression caught somewhere between awe and hunger.

choso looks so completely, heartbreakingly in love with you that it leaves you breathless. his hands tighten on your waist, fingertips pressing with a near bruising intensity into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt that clings to your frame.

his cheeks are flushed a deep, telling pink, and you can't help the soft, teasing coo that slips from your lips as you trace the curve of his temple with gentle fingers, "is something wrong, cho?" you murmur.

his lips, swollen and glistening from your kiss, part slightly, his breath uneven and catching on the edges of unspoken emotions, "nothing. nothing, i swear," he says, the words tumbling out rough and raw, his voice pitched low and vulnerable.

his hands slide you closer, his grip firm but trembling slightly, and his next confession nearly undoes you, makes your core moisten even, "just…never done this before."

"really?" you whisper, eyes widening as you take him in — the flush on choso's cheeks, the way he won't quite meet your gaze, the way he holds you like you're something precious.

the realisation that he's never shared this part of himself with anyone else tugs sharply at your heartstrings, "never?"

choso swallows thickly, nodding once, his voice a quiet hum as he admits, "mhm."

"ah, you're so cute, cho," you giggle, watching as the man scrunches his nose in mock protest.

"tch, 'm not meant to be cute."

you huff, feigning disappointment, "and here i was, wishing you a very merry christmas eve." he whines as you lean in, pressing a teasing kiss to his neck, right where his heartbeat thrums beneath his pale skin. your lips find their home at the juncture, and you can't help but smile at the way he whines at your touch, bucks his hips up into yours.

"must have been real good to get a holiday gift like this."

you pull back just enough to admire your handiwork, a little red bloom that blossoms on thin skin, bruised petals that mark him now. choso's swallowing thickly, his adam's apple bobbing, as a soft whine escapes his lips again as you lean in, this time closer to the jaw. leaving a trail of kisses in a messy that makes choso squirm.

you press your thumb against his lower lip, feeling the soft and trembling skin quiver under your touch, "hey. open up," you coax, a teasing lilt colouring your voice.

choso looks up at you, his wide eyes clouded with desire as dark strands of hair fall across his forehead, "huh, what?"

you tap his lip again, impatience bubbling in your chest, "c'mon, open your mouth. properly," and the way he immediately obeys, parting his glossy lips sends a thrill through you. the scent of clove and citrus envelops you as you lean in closer, running your tongue over his lower lip.

you let a glob of spit fall from your lip into his mouth, with a thick thwack! echoing in the air. you deliberately miss, just a little bit, to watch him squirm as he swallows, eyes fluttering shut and inky lashes staining his cheeks.

"so good, aren't you? good at playing nice, hah," you use your thumb to smear the slick over his lips, just a bit. to watch him shudder, entirely captivated by you. it's exhilarating and makes your cunt clench around nothing. probably seeping through the thin material of your shorts and onto his thick jeans.

bang bang bang!

a sharp knock that booms at your door, enough to make your ears ring. you hear choso groan beneath you, shifting slightly so you can feel the full, thick curve of his bulge right where you need him most.

"think we can ignore that?" he rasps, his voice rough and low, the sound of it leave slick strands clinging between your thighs.

you spread your legs just a little wider over him, watching as his frown dissipates and his jaw drops, distracted by the preview you've given him, "i'm really hoping so."

but whoever is at the door has no intention of being ignored. another knock rattles the wood, followed by an all-too-familiar voice yelling, "hey! open up! delivery!"

your brows furrow, recognition sparking, "cho, isn't that—"

he cuts you off with an apologetic sigh, lifting you off his lap with surprising gentleness. choso sets you down on the quilt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before muttering under his breath, "it better not be."

you watch him go, more than a little distracted by the sight of his broad shoulders and the way his messy hair bobs with each step. already, you're plotting exactly how you’ll get your hands back in it once he returns.

choso swings the door open, and you hear a collective, "what the hell?" echo through the apartment — one part you, one part choso, and one part…

"itadori yuuji?" you blurt, leaning over to get a look. sure enough, there's choso's younger brother, standing in the doorway in a bright red pizza delivery uniform, balancing three large boxes in one hand and his phone in the other.

yuuji blinks at the two of you, then raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and something vaguely accusatory before reading off his phone in a robotic voice, "uh…merry christmas eve. i have three pizzas. extra cheese. stuffed crust," he pauses, not able to keep the act up as his golden eyes narrow, "but, uh — bro, what happened to your face?"

you bite your lip to keep from laughing as choso straightens, his expression caught somewhere between mortified and furious, "yuuji—"

but the younger man's attention shifts to you, his gaze taking in the oversized sweatshirt you're wearing, choso's sweatshirt, and his jaw drops, "oh hell no. this is the hot girl you texted me about?"

choso visibly flinches as you burst into giggles.

"that's like your best friend? that's like my sister-in-law!" yuuji throws up his hands in mock disbelief, "you really keep your circles tight, huh, man?"

before choso can even respond, yuuji leans in closer, squinting at his older brother, "and seriously, dude, what's all that on your face?"

choso groans, snatching the pizzas from yuuji with one hand and shoving him toward the hall with the other, "okay, that's enough. get out."

"you haven't paid me! that's against the law!" yuuji protests, but choso grabs the scruff of his brother's uniform collar, steering him out the door.

"i'll pay you double. triple. just leave."

"my pizzas are probably cold now anyway," you call out, adding fuel to the fire.

"yeah? well, you look a bit too busy to eat them anyway," yuuji swivels his head over his shoulder to wag a finger at you with a grin, before choso finally shoves him fully into the hallway.

as the door slams shut, you hear yuuji's muffled voice echoing, "i'm telling everyone. i'm telling dad. i'm telling sukuna. i'm telling gramps, gojo, nanami —"

you can hear their bickering voices fade down the hallway, to where choso is probably gonna pack him into the car and send him off.

you glance down at the box you'd set aside earlier, your curiosity getting the better of you. carefully pulling at the ribbon, you open it to find a small scrapbook, beautifully made. inside are photos and clippings of you and choso: movie ticket stubs, receipts from late-night takeout runs, train tickets from your trip to the coast.

your chest tightens as you run your fingers over the familiar handwriting scrawled in the margins, a quote from a cheesy romantic movie that you had forced choso to watch with you a few months ago. what an honour it is to be loved like this.

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sanemistar · 4 months ago

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DANGEROUS MAN

contents ★ clan leader!gojo x fem!reader, enemies to lovers, fluff, suggestive (17+), making out, slight mention of biting/marking, reader gets called princess, 1.6k+ wc. ﾉ requested for my milestone event.

event m.list ★ jjk m.list

your parents had warned you several times about satoru gojo, the leader of the gojo clan. one of the strongest clans to exist, along with your own clan. they had forbidden you from speaking him, let alone being in the same room as him. due to the long history and the rivalry between your clan and the gojos, your clans had considered each other enemies for as long as one could remember. you had been familiar with their warnings like the back of your hand, and you had abided by them for so long. though you personally had no ill intentions towards him, nor even understood the hatred against the gojos.

that was, until you had met him in person at one of those boring higher up gatherings that you were forced to attend when you two coincidently went outside to get a breath of fresh air, away from all the tension and awkwardness inside.

the first thought that had come across your mind when you first saw satoru was that he was charming, like one of those charming princes you read about in fairy tales. you’d seen him in pictures before, but never this close. truth be told, pictures could’ve never fully captured how ethereal he looked in real life. you’d never seen anyone like him before, and you probably never would. he was simply out of this world, like a work of art—a one in a million man. enchanted by his beauty, you couldn’t help but stare at him in admiration. your eyes never dared to look away from him, as if they were glued onto him.

“well well. if it isn’t you, the princess from that clan.” satoru’s voice pierced through your ears, waking you up from your dazed state. “you’ve been staring at me for so long, like i’m a statue in a museum or something.” you were unaware of how long you’d been staring at satoru until you saw the confusion on his face as he pointed out. you felt your face redden in embarrassment and you immediately looked down in an attempt to hide your flushed face.

“s-sorry about that, gojo-san. i didn’t mean to do that, i just…” you trailed off mid sentence, unsure of what to say in order to justify your actions earlier. your head was in and your thoughts were all over the place.

you heard a pair of footsteps coming closer to you and before you was none other than satoru. the one man you shouldn’t be standing so close to. your mind was telling you to run away and leave, but your body refused to move an inch. his thumb quickly glazed over your chin, swiftly lifting it up and your eyes got caught in his alluring gaze like a mouse in a cheese trap that was unable to escape before he let go of your chin. you could swear that the spot where he touched you earlier was tingling, as if his touch was electric.

“oh c’mon, no need for these formalities. they mean nothing to me. my name is satoru, so just call me satoru.” he spoke and you were slightly taken aback, you two had just met and he already wanted you to act on a first name basis.

“but..” he cut you mid sentence.

“no buts, it’s pretty easy. just repeat after me, satoru.” he said his name again slowly, waiting for you to say it back. he was pretty insistent on it so it looked like you had no choice.

“satoru.” his name finally rolled off your tongue, and a proud smirk made its way onto his face upon hearing you say his name. the way it came off your lips got him a little excited.

just then an idea popped up in satoru’s head, a reckless one at that.

“why don’t we go somewhere else where it’s just us two? away from all this.” he grabbed your hand gently yet firmly, like he had no intention of leaving you alone.

you knew best that it was never good ignoring what your parents had told you and involving yourself with him. but at that moment, you agreed to go with him. completely forgetting about everything, the rivalry, the hatred, everything. you weren’t sure if that was a rebellion phase or what, all you knew was that it felt right leaving with him.

satoru seemed surprised for a moment by how quickly you agreed to follow him, but grinned and took your hand before dragging the two of you away as you disappeared from the main entrance and into a quieter place where it was just you and him.

you had no idea how you ended up being pinned against the wall with satoru’s tall, lean figure hovering over you. completely blocking your view and blocking you from sight.

“why did you follow me so easily, hm? what if i had a malicious intention of some sort. didn’t your parents warn you about how dangerous the gojos were? especially their leader.” your chest moved up and down as your heart began racing rapidly.

“if you had any malicious intentions like you said, you would’ve taken me somewhere outside the territory. but since we didn’t really go that far away, it’d be useless for you to be doing anything dangerous here.” you began explaining. and satoru seemed so impressed by your smart response.

“you’re indeed very amusing.” he chuckled softly. he rested his hands on the wall, forcing you to look at nothing else around but him.

tension between the two of you began rising, and you found yourself subconsciously looking at his lips.

and satoru was so quick to notice how you were eyeing his lips for a while now.

“you could’ve simply asked me for a kiss if you want it so badly instead of just staring at my lips, princess.” he leaned in as he whispered into your ear and you could feel it heat up a bit in embarrassment.

and before you could get the chance to say anything you felt satoru’s lips smacking onto yours. you gasped into the kiss in surprise, your mind screamed at you to break away and push him off of you. but this time not only your body, but also your heart, refused to. you wrapped your arms around his neck, getting in the mood as you pulled him even closer to you. your fingers ran through the back of his soft hair.

meanwhile, satoru’s hands delicately trailed all over your back, slowly exploring every part and every bit of your skin. he was taking his sweet time touching you all while having your lips against his own, tongue exploring every corner of your mouth.

as the two of you further got in the mood, your kisses had become sloppier and hungrier. teeth clashing against each other as tongues swirled around one another in sync. what started off as a soft, gentle kiss had become a series of deep, passionate kisses that held so much lust and desire in them.

you felt so good that you could almost see stars.

“mhmm..” careful not to make any loud noises in order to avoid getting caught by anyone, you hummed against his lips. and you never knew you had the ability to hum like that ever so sweetly.

you couldn’t believe that you were doing such things with the one man you were never supposed to be doing all of that with.

satoru gojo was indeed dangerous, he was too dangerous for your heart.

the two of you had been making out for almost ten minutes straight. if it wasn’t for your desperate need for air to breathe, you wouldn’t have broken away. but due to the lack of oxygen, you had to break away from the kiss and catch your breath. eyes were only half open, your head was still light and dizzy after that makeout session as you were heavily panting, your lips which were now swollen were still slightly parted as a small trail of drool trickled down your chin.

“you look so beautiful right now, i think i’m in love.” satoru glazed his thumb over the corner of your lips, wiping the drool off. he leaned in once more and began nibbling on the crook of your slender neck and you winced a little as you felt him biting a bit too hard which would have probably left a mark that you would have to hide.

“maybe we should leave all this behind and run away together. it’s a great idea, don’t you think?” he suggested as he looked up at you, his blue eyes glowed slightly in the dark.

you suddenly came back to your senses upon hearing the words he said and slightly pushed him off of you.

“satoru we..” you began speaking, trying to form a coherent sentence. “we can’t do that. we’re supposed to be enemies, remember?” it was more of a reminder to yourself than it was to him that you and satoru would never be anything more than enemies.

“but enemies don’t kiss each other like that.” he whispered as he continued kissing your neck and up to your cheeks, then your nose, then back to your lips. he gave you quick, light pecks before pulling away.

“guess i’ll have to talk to those annoying higher ups of ours and end that nonsense rivalry, cause no way i’m gonna let you be with anyone else that’s not me.”

and the next thing you knew, you were being dragged by satoru into the main hall where all the higher ups were as both of you made a dramatic entrance when he announced that he’d be marrying you before kissing you in front of all of them. leaving everyone in the room, you included, in great shock.

satoru gojo was a dangerous, very dangerous man.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @unriding @lxnarphase @sylusdoll @itachiiwrites @itoshivy @17020 @creamflix @luv-lies

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solxamber · 6 months ago

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Prologue: A Day Like No Other

This is the prologue for the 1k Event! It'll split into routes from here!

1k Masterlist

When you woke up that morning, you expected an ordinary day—classes, Grim stealing food from your tray, and maybe an explosion or two courtesy of Ace and Deuce. What you didn’t expect was for nearly every boy in the entire school to suddenly decide, out of nowhere, that they wanted to ask you out.

Riddle Rosehearts

He corners you right after class, red as a lobster, clutching a rulebook in one hand like it’s his lifeline. "I… I thought you might like to attend a formal tea ceremony with me this weekend. You have excellent posture, and I believe we would engage in delightful conversation."

He clears his throat and adjusts his collar. "Of course, I’ll have a list of acceptable topics for us to discuss."

You stare at him. He's shaking slightly.

"...Is this a date?"

His ears turn crimson. "It is not—" He exhales deeply. "Yes, it is. Please say yes."

Trey Clover

Trey smiles warmly as he approaches you after club activities. "Hey, I made a batch of tarts, and I thought we could eat them together. Just us. I mean... It’d be nice to spend time with you. Alone."

He rubs the back of his neck, trying not to look embarrassed. "And if you’d like, I could teach you how to bake something... Maybe, uh, something sweet?"

Cater Diamond

Cater pops out of nowhere, phone already in hand and pointed at you. "Yooo! Wanna go on a date with me? We could take tons of selfies, make Vil jealous, and trend under #CoupleGoals."

You blink at him.

"And hey," he adds with a wink, "if we get along, maybe I’ll tag you in my socials. Exclusive content, you know?"

Ace Trappola

"Okay, look," Ace says, leaning casually against the wall. "I’m not saying you should pick me over, like, Leona or Malleus or whoever—but I’m way more fun than those guys. C’mon, let’s go out. I’ll buy you ice cream. Two scoops."

He wiggles his eyebrows. "You know you want to."

Deuce Spade

Deuce looks nervous but determined, like he’s psyching himself up for a boxing match. "I—I know I’m not the smoothest guy around, but I really like spending time with you! And if you’ll go out with me, I promise I’ll… I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Or at least, uh, I’ll try to be."

Leona Kingscholar

Leona, as usual, doesn’t even try to sugarcoat it. "Come nap with me."

"Is that your idea of a date?"

He shrugs. "You don’t seem like the type to want fancy dinners. This is less effort. Plus, I sleep better when you’re there."

Ruggie Bucchi

"Heyyyy," Ruggie grins, tugging on your sleeve. "How ‘bout you and me hit the town? I know a place that gives out free meals if you pretend to be engaged. C’mon, it’ll be fun!"

Jack Howl

Jack frowns, clearly struggling with the words. "I’m not great at this stuff, but... If you want, we could run together sometime? Or, uh, go on a walk?"

He glances away, ears twitching. "It’d be nice. With you."

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul adjusts his glasses, smiling like he’s just sealed the most important business deal of his life. "It would be an honor to escort you to a dinner at Mostro Lounge. Of course, all expenses will be covered. Consider it... an exclusive arrangement."

Jade Leech

Jade leans in just a little too close, that unsettling smile plastered on his face. "I believe we would have an interesting time exploring the woods together. Perhaps we’ll discover some mushrooms... or each other’s secrets?"

Floyd Leech

Floyd swings an arm over your shoulder, grinning ear to ear. "Oi, let’s go somewhere fun! If anyone bothers us, I’ll squish ‘em."

"Floyd, is this a date?"

"Obviously! Hehe, you're stuck with me now, Shrimpy."

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim’s eyes sparkle with excitement. "Wanna come to a party? It’ll be huge! And afterward, we can ride my magic carpet under the stars!"

You barely have time to respond before he’s already planning an itinerary.

Jamil Viper

Jamil sighs, looking like he’s regretting this already. "If Kalim hasn’t dragged you off yet… would you like to grab lunch? Somewhere quiet, where I won’t have to babysit anyone."

Vil Schoenheit

Vil regards you with a calculating smile. "We could attend an opera together. Or a fashion show, if you prefer. You have potential, you know. I wouldn’t mind refining it."

Rook Hunt

"Ah, mon trésor!" Rook exclaims, dramatic as ever. "It would be a delight to hunt for beauty with you! A picnic in the forest, perhaps? Under the moonlight, where all things enchanting dwell."

Epel Felmier

Epel grins mischievously. "Wanna go smash stuff?"

"...That’s your idea of a date?"

"Yup." He winks. "You in or what?"

Idia Shroud

Idia looks like he’s on the verge of fainting. "So, uh... I-I heard there’s this new game releasing. M-maybe we could play it together? Or not. Forget I asked."

Before you can respond, Ortho pops up cheerfully. "Say yes! My brother’s been practicing this for weeks!"

Malleus Draconia

Malleus looms over you, an almost shy smile on his face. "I would be honored if you would accompany me on a stroll through the gardens. There are many things I wish to show you... and, perhaps, learn from you as well."

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia grins, his fangs glinting in the light. "How about a little mischief together? We could visit an amusement park or play pranks on the first years. Either way, I guarantee it’ll be memorable!"

Silver

Silver, looking half-asleep, gives you a soft smile. "If you’d like, we could... I don’t know. Sit under a tree and talk. Or just... exist, I guess. As long as it’s with you."

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek stands stiffly, as if on the verge of saluting. "I would like to take you to dinner! Not that it matters to me, of course! But it would be... logical for us to spend time together. As comrades!"

Rollo Flamme

Rollo catches you alone, adjusting his pristine cuffs with his usual air of seriousness. “I dislike crowds, so I will be brief,” he says, voice as even as his posture. “Would you like to accompany me to a quiet tea house? I find your company... less intolerable than most.”

You blink at him.

He clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “Consider it a date.” Then, after a pause, he quickly adds, “If you wish, of course.”

His ears are red, but he refuses to meet your gaze, determined to keep his dignity intact.

And just like that, you find yourself drowning in invitations. Your phone buzzes with reminders from Ortho ("Don't forget to reply to my brother!") and Epel’s laughter rings in your ears. Ace and Deuce whisper ominously about Riddle’s wrath.

Leona, meanwhile, lazily waves from the other end of the hall. "Pick whoever you want. If it's not me, just don’t wake me up."

So...

Who will it be?

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cryptotheism · 7 months ago

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Is there any cunnilingus in amber skies? or is that simply an art lost to time…

I know y'all are being silly and I don't want to discourage that but yeah this is actually something I've given a lot of thought to given the themes I wanted to explore with AS.

Sex and sexuality in a world with so much morphological diversity is extremely complex. What sexual intimacy means between two partners can vary wildly based on physiology, culture, and the individual. You know, just like now.

What if you're an Ambrosate in menopause. You have a non-functional insect orifice that can experience sexual pleasure, and you want to be physically intimate with your partner; an atlantean, a hermaphroditic gastropod with no vaginal opening. Atlantean sex mirrors real world gastropod penis fencing. Although, most get the barbs on their penis filed down for safety reasons. It's similar to circumcision. As such, atlantean sex involves specially crafted knives designed to cause shallow wounds that heal easily for maximal pleasure during penetration.

As such, these knives are *deeply* culturally significant. There are cheap ones that parallel condoms, more expensive ones that can be a declaration of going steady, and custom ornate ones that are essentially a marriage proposal. There are styles for courtesans, styles for cheap whores, styles for expensive whores, styles that evoke atlantean romantic epics, a whole careful formal language of what is essentially a sexual aid.

So if you're a giant insect who wants to fuck your snail wife. Maybe youve been together for a while, and you know that the sex knife feels great for them as long as you're careful. What are the cultural associations with oral? Is that associated with subservience? Dominance? Is that especially taboo?

And, as we all know, the Ambrosate are a an insectoid ethnoreligion. What may be an acceptable sex act between two people in another culture might be shocking and strange for two members of the hive church.

What would it mean for these two people to have kinky sex? That would require an established, shared, understanding of what normative sex between these two people would be.

So while yeah a proboscis might be touching a vaginal opening, it's not necessary going to be "eating pussy." Dragging your slug teeth over your husband's bug cloacea could be as tame as kissing, or deviant as any number of things. Presumably though, somewhere in there is a sex act socially equivalent to cunnilingus.

Spiritually, people might be eating pussy. But physically, its entirely different.

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acid-ixx · 9 months ago

Note

Okay, how about we call Alfred dad??? Sense he raised us and practically is our dad. Sorry I keep on asking. I just am a thinker

series masterlist

a/n: don't be sorry for asking ! i like answering asks even if i do answer really slowly, so don't be afraid to send in questions ! this is a continuation to this ask.

it would actually be a given that if the reader wasn't too broken to the point that they genuinely could never consider anyone as a father figure, then alfred would be someone they would call their dad.

because at least in their 15 years they had been inside the manor, alfred would always be the one who would stand by their side. even if it's not always, he would be there for you when he could. and that effort alone is enough to consider him worthy as your father.

pre-yandere bruce wouldn't even know of your tight-knit relationship with alfred; calling him dad when you skip through the halls with him, calling him your "actual father" whenever you two would bake together, and even going as far as gifting him a mug with 'no. 1 dad!' painted sloppily into the ceramic. alfred would even teach you how to crochet, so you two would get matching sweaters for winter. although alfred wouldn't wear the sweater for the sake of formality, you would always be aware that he stores them somewhere safe and warm as some sort of treasure.

so, imagine just how heartbroken bruce would be once you are abducted by your family, calling out to your dad in your drugged state on your bed, bruce thinking that it was him that you're calling for help when all of a sudden, you make grabby-hands towards alfred, eyes hazily looking at the butler with such desperation that it feels like alfred is your actual father.

seeing you two act so close, bruce would be so, so conflicted. because at least, in the years of solitude you had spent, you find comfort in the very same man bruce considers as his father figure. but at the same time it should've been him that you call your father, it should've been bruce you look at for help and guidance, it should've been him that lulls you back to sleep, wiping the tears that run down your face.

it breaks his heart even further once he discovers all the little trinkets that you make for alfred, all the inside jokes you two share, the gifts you cherish in your cabinets from the apartment you used to live in; they were all from alfred— bruce wants to kick himself realizing that he never made an effort to gift you anything in your 15 years of living in the manor as a ghost.

bruce swears on his life that he'll make it up to you, that despite him being unable to stay the night frequently with you that he'll make it up during the day. he'll take you to business meetings, to arcades, to malls; literally anywhere to get you to bond with him as much as you did alfred.

he'll schedule holidays where the entire family is required to join and you'll be the center of attention. your birthdays will be extravagant, he would spend millions to make a show that you're his favorite child; that means he'll spoil you with gifts that pertain to your hobbies. and because your family loves you so much, please do expect a minimum of 10 gifts prepared by all your siblings and a credit card with no limit for bruce.

oh? you don't need material things? don't worry, you'll be surprised with just how meticulously your father would plan for vacations. any place you would choose would be taken into heavy consideration, even planning with him would feel like some sort of father-child bonding.

but really, he'll commit all his time and effort for you.

bruce would do everything to make you consider him as your dad.

#🍨... yael's talking #🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere bruce wayne #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #platonic yandere #not my best work but eh

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cressidagrey · 20 days ago

Text

Classified Information

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Francesca Howard (Original Character)

Summary:

Liam Lawson tries to flirt with Red Bull’s new CTO.

Turns out, she’s Dr. Francesca Howard.

Also known as Max Verstappen’s wife.

And the mother of his son.

Oops.

Warnings and Notes:

....Poor Liam is really going through in this.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Liam Lawson liked to think he had good instincts.

They had served him well in his racing career—knowing when to attack, when to defend, when to push and when to back off.

But apparently, those instincts failed him spectacularly the day he walked into the Red Bull factory for his seat fitting and met Francesca Howard for the first time.

He had heard the name before, of course. Everyone in the industry had. Francesca Howard—brilliant, ruthless, and the woman who had taken over as Red Bull Racing’s Chief Technology Officer after Adrian Newey’s departure.

What Liam hadn’t heard, however, was that she was also absolutely stunning.

She stood near the RB21 chassis, tablet in hand, deep in conversation with a few engineers. Her tone was sharp but calm, confident without arrogance, completely in control of every discussion around her.

And, Liam noted, she had a hell of a presence.

He adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie, rolling his shoulders back. He was good with first impressions. No harm in introducing himself, right?

He took one step forward—

And suddenly, he felt a hand grip his arm like a vice.

“Nope.”

Liam turned, startled, to find Gianpiero Lambiase looking at him like he was the biggest idiot to ever walk into the Red Bull garage.

Liam frowned. “What?”

GP sighed heavily, like this was already too much effort. “Don’t do it.”

Liam blinked, confused. “Do what?”

GP nodded toward Francesca. “Whatever you’re about to attempt over there—just don’t.”

Liam scoffed. “I’m literally just introducing myself.”

GP leveled him with a look, looking at him like he had just tried to run slick tires in the rain. “And yet, I’m still telling you not to.”

Liam folded his arms. “Why? Is she scary?”

GP snorted. “Not to me.”

That wasn’t an answer.

Liam narrowed his eyes. “Alright, what’s the deal?”

GP sighed again, rubbing his temples like he was too old for this conversation. “Lawson. I know you think you’ve got game. But trust me—not this time.”

Liam tilted his head. “What, is she taken or something?”

GP didn’t even bother looking up from his laptop as he muttered, “Something like that.”

Liam hesitated, suddenly feeling like he was missing some critical piece of information.

But then he shook it off. How bad could it be?

“C’mon,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

GP sighed again, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “rookies never learn” before shaking his head.

“Fine,” he said, stepping back and folding his arms. “Do what you want. But when this backfires, I’m not saving you.”

Liam rolled his eyes and kept walking.

How bad could it possibly be?

At worst, Francesca Howard would roll her eyes at him and shut him down politely. No harm done.

So he straightened his shoulders and walked over.

He liked to think he was pretty smooth, after all.

Not in an arrogant way—just in a self-aware way. He had a certain charm, an easy confidence. People liked him. Women liked him.

What was the worst that could happen? Mild embarrassment? He’d survive.

So he walked up to Francesca Howard, clearing his throat as she studied something on her tablet.

“Miss Howard,” he greeted smoothly, flashing his most easygoing grin. “Liam Lawson. Figured it was time we officially met.”

She looked up, brow arching slightly, her expression somewhere between amused and unimpressed.

“Dr. Howard.”

Liam blinked. “Huh?”

Francesca tilted her head. “I have two doctorates. If you’re going to address me formally, at least get it right. Otherwise, you can just call me Francesca. It’s my name.”

Liam froze.

Two doctorates?

Two?!

He cleared his throat. “Uh. Right. Dr. Howard.”

Her smirk did not help his sudden feeling of impending doom.

Behind him, GP sighed loudly.

Liam could feel himself slipping.

Not in a physically tripping over a curb way—though, honestly, he wouldn’t put that past himself at this point—but in a mentally trying to keep up and failing spectacularly way.

Francesca Howard was too smart for her own good.

Or, rather, too smart for his own good.

And she knew it.

“So,” he started, recovering as best as he could. “Two doctorates, huh?”

She gave him a patient smile, the kind teachers gave students who had just asked an embarrassingly obvious question.

“Yes,” she said. “One in Aerospace Engineering, one in Physics.”

Liam nodded slowly, stalling for time.

“Right. Cool. Just… y’know, casual, two whole doctorates.”

Francesca smirked. “You only need one to replace Adrian Newey. I like to be thorough.”

GP, still lurking nearby, snorted loudly.

Liam ignored him.

“Well,” Liam said, shifting his weight, trying to regain some sense of control in this conversation, “I guess it’s a good thing we have the best of the best in charge.”

Francesca hummed, looking entirely unaffected. “I know.”

Liam blinked. “You know?”

“Yes.”

“No hesitation?”

Francesca shrugged. “Why would I hesitate? It’s a fact.”

Liam opened his mouth, then shut it.

Then opened it again.

Then shut it again.

There was no winning here.

Behind him, GP sighed loudly, shaking his head. “I told you, kid.”

Liam Lawson had officially lost control of this conversation.

Dr. Francesca Howard—too smart for her own good, owner of two doctorates, and completely unbothered by his attempts to charm her—had thoroughly handed him his ass in a simple conversation.

And now, he was trying to figure out how to exit gracefully without admitting defeat.

(There was no graceful exit. He was so screwed.)

But before he could say anything else, a new voice cut in.

“You’re making this too easy for her.”

Liam turned—only to freeze at the sight of Max Verstappen walking into the garage.

With a baby in his arms.

Liam blinked. What.

Francesca’s expression instantly softened, her entire demeanor shifting as she abandoned whatever she had been working on and zeroed in on Max and the baby.

“There’s my boy,” she murmured, ignoring Liam completely as she reached for the baby, lifting him easily into her arms.

Liam blinked. What the hell was happening?

The baby—who had Verstappen blue eyes and a suspiciously familiar frown—giggled, grabbing at Francesca’s hair.

“Did Papa bring you to see me?” she cooed, pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead.

Max, standing there with all the smugness of a four-time World Champion who knew exactly what he was doing, crossed his arms. “He missed you. You’ve been working too much.”

Francesca hummed, rocking the baby slightly. “That’s because someone keeps breaking parts, Maxie.”

Max did not look even a little guilty.

Liam, meanwhile, was still trying to process the absolute madness unfolding in front of him.

Papa?!

My boy?!

MAXIE?!

“What,” Liam said, voice slightly higher than normal, “the actual hell is going on?”

Francesca turned to him, just now remembering he existed.

She sighed but lifted her left hand, flashing a wedding band so obvious that Liam genuinely hated himself for not noticing it earlier.

Liam’s entire brain short-circuited.

“We’re married,” she said casually.

Liam choked.

“You’re—WHAT?!”“You’re—” He pointed between them. “Since when?!”

Max grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “A while now.”

Liam turned back to GP, who looked entirely unshocked by this development.

GP sighed. “Tried to warn you.”

Liam needed a second.

No—he needed several seconds.

Because nothing about this situation made sense.

Dr. Francesca Howard—Red Bull’s new Chief Technology Officer, terrifyingly smart, and the owner of two doctorates—was married to Max Verstappen.

And, apparently, they had a whole baby together.

A whole baby.

Liam had spent months hearing rumors about who would replace Adrian Newey. He’d even done his research—looked into Francesca’s background, her achievements, the way she was basically a walking encyclopedia of aerodynamics and engineering.

But nowhere in his research had it said, Oh, by the way, she’s married to a four-time World Champion.

And definitely nowhere had it mentioned, They have a baby together, too.

Liam opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again.

Then shut it.

Francesca, still holding the baby like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Lawson?”

Liam pointed between her and Max, looking vaguely like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

“You—you—” he sputtered. “This—How did nobody tell me this?!”

Max, clearly enjoying every second of this, shrugged. “We don’t exactly make announcements.”

“You—” Liam gestured wildly at Francesca holding the literal Verstappen baby. “—You have a whole kid together!”

Francesca tilted her head, unimpressed. “Yes, Liam. That’s generally how it works when you’re married.”

Liam let out a strangled noise.

Max chuckled. “You thought you had a chance with her, didn’t you?”

Liam groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

GP, still entirely unshocked, clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

“Lesson learned?” GP asked, smirking.

Liam exhaled sharply, looking so very done with this entire team.

“Right,” he said finally, voice still slightly higher than normal. “So, just to recap—”

He pointed at Max.

“Four-time World Champion, absolute menace on track, king of the grudge-holders.”

Max smirked. “Correct.”

Liam turned to Francesca.

“Chief Technology Officer, too smart for her own good, owner of two doctorates—”

Francesca looked far too amused. “Correct again.”

Then Liam gestured wildly at the baby.

“And now you—together—have a whole child?”

Francesca, unfazed, adjusted the baby against her hip. “Would you prefer we only had half a child?”

Liam let out a deeply pained groan.

Max chuckled. “You’re making this too easy for her.”

Liam ignored him and turned back to GP, who was completely unbothered, like he had seen this exact scenario play out before.

“You knew,” Liam accused.

GP snorted. “Obviously.”

Liam threw his hands in the air. “Does the entire team know?!”

Max shrugged. “The ones who pay attention.”

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

Francesca, still holding the baby like Liam’s existential crisis was just background noise, turned to Max.

“I’m assuming you didn’t just come down here to break the rookie?” she asked dryly.

Max grinned. “No, I wanted to see you. And I think Joshua missed you.”

As if on cue, the baby—Joshua, apparently—made a happy babbling noise and patted Francesca’s face.

Francesca melted. “Oh, my love, I missed you too,” she cooed, kissing his forehead.

Max leaned down and kissed Francesca, quick and familiar, like it was second nature.

Liam immediately looked away.

“Right,” he muttered. “Nope. That’s enough for me today.”

Max pulled away, still looking far too pleased. “You sure? I could tell you how we met.”

Liam pointed aggressively at him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Max just laughed.

Liam exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. ��Okay. Fine. You win.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “We were playing a game?”

“I don’t know, Verstappen,” Liam muttered. “But if we were, you won.”

Francesca, still very much focused on her baby, hummed. “I always win.”

Liam shot GP a pained look. “Does she ever turn it off?”

GP snorted. “Nope.”

Max, smug as ever, leaned in slightly. “She’s always been this way, mate. You just had the misfortune of walking into it.”

Liam groaned. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

Max grinned. “Not a chance.”

GP clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “We’ll let this slide, since you’re new, but you might want to brush up on team dynamics before making a fool of yourself again.”

Francesca, finally tearing her attention away from her son, smirked at him. “You’ve learned an important lesson today, Liam.”

“Oh yeah?” he deadpanned. “What’s that?”

Francesca tilted her head, eyes sharp with amusement. “That I’m completely out of your league.”

Max let out a bark of laughter.

GP clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder, offering zero comfort. “You’ll be fine, mate. Just... maybe do your homework next time.”

Liam shot him a deeply betrayed look. “You really let me dig my own grave, huh?”

GP shrugged. “I considered warning you. Then I didn’t.”

Liam groaned. “This is actual bullying.”

Francesca, clearly still amused, adjusted Joshua on her hip. “To be fair, you also called me Miss Howard.”

Liam winced.

Yeah. That had been a mistake.

“Right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “My bad, Dr. Howard.”

Max, absolutely no help at all, laughed.

Francesca pressed a kiss to Joshua’s temple before looking back at Liam, her expression turning mockingly sympathetic. “It’s okay, Liam. You’re not the first person to underestimate me.”

Liam groaned again.

“I wasn’t underestimating you,” he muttered. “I was just—” He gestured vaguely. “I don’t know! Trying to be nice!”

Max smirked. “By flirting with my wife?”

Liam turned bright red.

“Okay,” he said quickly, backpedaling so hard he could have reversed an F1 car. “I wasn’t flirting. I was just—” He waved a hand vaguely. “—being polite.”

GP snorted. “Sure, mate. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Liam exhaled deeply.

Francesca, clearly having had her fun, glanced at Max. “I have a meeting soon. Can you take Joshua?”

Max nodded, easily reaching for the baby. “Of course.”

The moment Joshua was in his arms, he lit up, giggling happily as Max bounced him slightly.

Liam watched, still trying to adjust to this absolute fever dream of a reality.

Max Verstappen—the most intense, hyper-focused, emotionally guarded driver on the grid—was a whole dad.

And, somehow, it actually suited him.

Liam shook his head, still slightly dazed. “I need to sit down.”

Max chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”

Liam seriously doubted that.

Francesca, still smirking, patted his shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard, Liam. You never stood a chance.”

Liam groaned.

Max grinned. “Welcome to Red Bull.”

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girlsworldillusion · 20 days ago

Text

we can't be friends

Ex!Aemond - Fem!Reader

Exes to lovers

Summary: After a whole year together, he broke up with you like it was no big deal. What happens when you see each other after four months apart? In the middle of Baela's birthday party, can you control yourself enough not to cause a scene? You just need to get through the night and then you can forget again the man who broke your heart, something that becomes increasingly difficult as the hours go by.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 9k

Dividers: @cafekitsune

Enjoy!

⚠️ English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find ⚠️

Daemon and Laena Targaryen’s luxurious mansion buzzes with polite conversation and classic music. The expensive, sophisticated decor and lavish catering service speak of the family’s high status — a grand, refined event that not even the birthday girl could refuse, even though she had vehemently expressed the entire way that would prefer something far less formal and elegant than this.

A raucous celebration at a bar somewhere in town, surrounded by loud laughter and the indiscreet company of her truly friends, if you were to guess.

A celebration that you, like any good friend would, were secretly orchestrating to throw after this seemingly endless event — a sort of surprise after-party so that she could actually enjoy her own birthday.

But the Targaryens had a reputation to uphold, and the birthday of Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter was a social event that could not be easily ignored. So, in a moment induced purely by her almost desperate pressure, you promised that you would be here tonight, supporting your friend during this unnecessarily ostentatious party with people that, for the most part, you didn't even know.

But that was a monumental mistake.

Well, realistically, you know why you were here and you know that it was the right thing to do. But still...no, you don't know why you thought for a second that this would be a good idea.

"Maybe you should just talk to him."

Baela, the sole reason you had subjected yourself to being among these people, comments quietly to you. Her violet gaze peeking discreetly over the rim of her glass at something - someone - behind you.

"Wait, w-what -" You ask more shrilly than you intended, almost spitting out the bubbly sip of champagne you had just poured into your mouth, narrowing your eyes at her. "Why? Why would you say something like that?"

"Um, maybe because he's been staring at you all night? Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if there were holes in the back of your head right now. He's not being the least bit discreet about it." She shrugs, giving a tight, artificially friendly smile when a lady twice your age walks by and compliments her on the elegant decor of the party. Baela rolls her eyes as she walks away, determinedly taking another generous sip of her drink, as if seeking liquid encouragement to continue enduring these interactions.

"You guys should just talk, is what I mean." She waves her hand lightly at you, as if the situation were so simple.

You don't agree out loud with her first observation, but inwardly you find yourself unable to deny it. Your skin is crawling and your senses are on high alert, feeling the weight of his attention on you like a tangled web of webs that you can't untangle.

"Don't be dramatic, I won't do such a thing. Just ignore him, he'll give in eventually." You mutter sullenly.

Baela tilts her head and arches a silver eyebrow, sending you a look that you immediately interpret as a 'you know who we're talking about, right?', but you just roll your eyes as click your tongue, determined not to let her push the subject any further.

"Anyway, don't you have anything better to do than sit here worrying unnecessarily about my life? For heaven's sake, you're the birthday girl, go entertain your countless guests and leave me alone for once."

She's about to argue, but fate seems to be on your side for once and Laena, her mother, appears at that moment.

"Baebae, sweetie, come with me, I'd like to introduce you to a great friend from the office. Oh, you're going to love her!" The elegant woman beams with excitement, sending you a mischievous wink as she basically pulls her daughter away.

"Hey, mom! W-wait, I was in the middle of an important thing and-!" Baela stumbles, both over her words and her own feet, as she is insistently dragged into the room, turning her head to you with a frustrated cry. "Don't even think this ends here, we'll talk more once I get rid of her!"

"Sure, sure, I'll be waiting right here." You shout back, pressing your lips together to suppress your smile before lifting the glass and taking another sip of champagne.

The funny scene, however, distracts you for only a few seconds and soon you find yourself alone and very out of place in the center of the main hall, surrounded by strangers and fancy music, with your ex's intense gaze burning into the back of your neck like lasers.

With a polite tilt of chin you greet a university fellow who passes by you, taking the opportunity to gracefully turn your body and face the other side of the hall. And, despite your common sense, you find yourself unable to stop from peeking over the rim of your glass in the direction of he-who-must-not-be-named.

And oh, yes, there he is.

You haven't seen him in months — at least four, since he broke up with you on the eve of the university graduation. And, unlike what you imagined for him all this time, the breakup didn't do him any apparent harm. He seems as good as ever.

You and Aemond had an unexpected but incredibly intense dating history. You both met through Baela many years ago. Neither of you hit it off right away — he openly ignored you, and you disdained even his shadow. It was a perfectly comfortable relationship for both of you that lasted for years, until everything changed during a single drunken night. You don’t remember exactly how it started, but one moment you were downing glass after glass of your fruity drink, glaring daggers at him from across the balcony, and the next you were kissing and making out in the dark upstairs hallway.

There was no awkward conversation the next day or either of you trying to pretend it never happened. You just made a mutual agreement to keep doing it, gradually sinking into a frighteningly perfect relationship that lasted a full year.

You burned brightly. You were both madly in love, and it was obvious to anyone. Within just a few weeks of dating, everyone on campus had come to associate you with each other, so great was your rapport. Baela wasn’t surprised when she found out, claiming it was obvious that all that blatant disdain and sharp glances meant a lot of pent-up sexual tension.

Together you were intense, a force to be reckoned with. Like fire and ice, but even greater — like all the light and darkness in the universe, somehow intertwined to create the perfect pair.

And then you fell.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly where things took a turn for the worse. But finals season was approaching, as were the pressures of careers and futures after graduation, and reality set in for both of you. Slowly you stopped going everywhere together, and your couple’s banter began to evolve into intense arguments that made everyone in the dorm cringe. Suddenly Aemond had no time for you anymore, divided between his studies and his internship at the family business. You were relegated to the background, like a toy that had been used for too long and was now of no use.

Until the day inevitably came when he just stopped showing up at your dorm. You sought him out some time later for some kind of explanation and he seemed so different then, and yet so identical to the Aemond you knew all those years ago; disinterested, overwhelmed, serious, unreachable. In that moment you knew it was over.

Then finals passed, graduation came, and your intense relationship melted away under the weight of adulthood.

And it didn’t matter anymore. You wanted to settle down, to get deeper into your newly started career, and the two of you were not supposed to contact each other anymore. And things were going well — you couldn’t go so far as to say you were completely over him, but you had accepted the fact that the relationship was over. Everything was fine.

Until tonight.

Aemond is casually leaning against the wall, one leg folded over the other, arms crossed in front of his broad chest. A petulant king with boredom and entitlement dripping from his posture.

He is the same, in every visible way.

The same pale, flawless skin and the same surgical eye patch hiding the severe wound over his left eye. The same long, icy white locks carefully arranged to look purposefully disheveled in the low ponytail he wears tonight, two long strands framing either side of his face. Well-defined eyebrows lowered over an intense violet gaze that watches you with unabashed interest through an aristocratic nose. The flushed lips, pressed expressionlessly together, belonging to the same mouth you’ve lost yourself in so many times before…oh…the memories come to you unbidden, leaving your skin warm in response.

Shaking your head discreetly, you try to focus on his attire for the evening. And at first glance, you could tell he would be more suited to a funeral than a birthday party. But that wasn’t anything new either.

Dressed entirely in black, from the dress pants to the blazer, to the soft silk shirt underneath and shoes that are surely worth more than the small apartment you bought for yourself, he looks like an elven king of the shadows or a seductive vampire from a romance novel. The haute couture pieces fit the length and curves of the muscles on his body as if its had tailored specifically for him - and you know its had.

Nothing has changed in his outward appearance or his personality, from what you can tell. Aemond still exudes power and dominance in the room as if it were some kind of natural substance seeping from his pores, choking your throat as you struggle to maintain an indifferent gaze, trying to remain unfazed even though you feel anything but.

He even has the same look in his eye, Aemond is almost always watching. His one eye is fixed on your skin, heated and electrifying. It hasn’t changed, especially, the way it sets you on fire. His scorching gaze on your skin.

Flustered and embarrassed by this, you tip the champagne glass to your lips in order to keep your nerves in check, only to realize that you’ve already drunk it all.

Cheeks flushing at having made such an embarrassing faux pas under Aemond’s annoyingly watchful eye, you lower the glass to the table next to you.

With a fake bored sigh, you try to pretend that none of this happened, prepared to go back to pretending that he doesn’t exist. Until, out of the corner of your eye, you see him push his body away from the wall and then your attention is painfully fixed on him again, his gaze locked on yours as he stoically marches in what is turning out to be exactly the direction you’re standing.

Your heart races in your chest, palms beginning to sweat at your sides as he intercepts a waiter in the middle of the room with an elegant wave of his hand, grabbing two glasses of champagne from the tray before continuing to walk towards you.

And you, deeply torn between the desire to run as far away as possible and to stay exactly where you are so as not to show any sign of weakness, end up deciding to do something in between. You don't run, but there's a distinctly uncomfortable swaying on your feet as you stand there and you pray that he attributes it to some kind of natural movement due to the classical music playing in the room and not some nervous reaction caused by, gods above, his presence.

"Hey," he says when he's close by, extending his right hand to offer you the glass of champagne, his lips slightly stretching into an almost compassionate expression. "Here."

His voice, all soft, lazy velvet, a little rough around the edges, still makes your head spin.

“Hey you,” you say, the red dust on your cheeks deepening, all too aware that you were just fantasizing about those same lips just a few minutes ago. You accept the drink without a second thought, needing it now more than ever. Your fingers brush against each other for a single awkward second, seemingly long enough to send a subtle shiver through your body. “Thank you.”

“Having fun?” he asks as you take a sip of the sparkling beverage.

With a shrug you lower the glass, sending him the most casually indifferent look you can muster at the moment, considering the frazzled state of your nerves. God, you’d somehow forgotten how tall he was; athletic and tall enough that even in heels you still had to look up to meet his gaze and respond.

Tonight was going to be a bigger ordeal than you’d thought.

“It’s a perfectly nice party.” He knows you well enough to know you’re lying, and it’s clear from the unsurprised raise of his eyebrow, an amused smile barely concealed by the rim of his glass as he sips his own champagne, his other hand elegantly hidden in the pocket of the pants. You pout a little, irritated that he thinks he can still read you like this.

“Hm, you look beautiful tonight,” he comments, so calm and sincere, looking straight into your eyes, and you forget your earlier irritation. “Blue looks really good on you.”

You glance shyly down at the light blue dress you’re wearing; the satin straps held together by a delicate bow on each shoulder, the top fitting tightly across your chest - soft, full skirt starting at your waist, falling gently down your hips and thighs, to just below your knees. On your feet are a delicate pair of high-heeled sandals, thin straps wrapped around your ankle. Your hair slides over shoulders in soft waves. And on your face the lightest of makeup. You looked passable, in your opinion. Elegant, but understated compared to the others in the room.

“I—huh, thank you. You look good too.” You mumble, cheeks warm, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “B-but what about you? I didn’t think you were the type to attend birthday parties so easily, even those of your relatives. I thought you couldn't stand that kind of thing.”

You rush to change the subject, a sympathetic smile on your lips as remember how uncomfortable he felt when he was asked to attend such events — avoiding most of them whenever possible.

Aemond shrugs, unfazed by your abrupt change of subject, but blessedly going along with it.

“I knew you’d be here.”

For the second time that night, you nearly choke on your drink.

Your eyes wide and surprised stare at him, unsure of what to make of this information thrown out so naturally.

So what if you were here? You’re done, aren’t you? Why should Aemond care where you are or what you’re doing?

“Aemond, what are you—”

“Can we talk?”

He cuts you off in a lower voice, taking a step closer, close enough for you to smell his woody, masculine scent, the smoky notes of cigarette.

"But..." You blink quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. "We're already doing that."

He breathes out in frustration, looking away subtly.

"Alone."

You look away too, noticing some attentive glances at the two of you, curious to know what the ex-lover couple was doing together again. The embarrassment grips you tighter.

"Aemond, we have nothing to talk about alone. Look, it was nice to meet you tonight, but I really should go look for Baela and..." You look back as speak, trying to locate the woman among the crowd of people, but a soft, almost imperceptible touch on the back of your hand makes you suddenly freeze, slowly turning your face to the contact. His knuckles are brushing against your skin, discreet and gentle, only drawing your attention to him again.

When you look up, lips parted and eyes uncertain, he’s staring at you with such intensity and focus that it makes your knees feel weak for a moment.

“Please.”

Unfortunately, it’s not just your knees that are weak.

Whatever he’s planning to do now is a very, very bad idea. You should refuse; any interaction with Aemond after so long apart is a slippery slope, especially after his earlier cryptic statement.

But with a stiff and mostly unconscious nod of your head, he steps away to lead you to a more private place.

You know you shouldn’t. You know.

But you do it anyway: you follow Aemond up the stairs, focusing on the silky sway of the strands that are loosely tied in the ponytail at the nape of his neck, falling down the length of his spine almost to the middle of his back. The icy white contrasts with the darkness of his blazer.

You ignore the knowing look Baela sends you when you spot her a few feet ahead - still caught up in a visibly boring conversation with her mother and that woman from the office, raising her glass to you in an encouraging and mischievous motion.

Your face burns with shame and humiliation, feeling weak for being in this situation - for having been unable to say no to him, as you should have.

"Please be direct, I don't want to linger here and give people the wrong idea." You say, awkward and nervous, as the two of you enter one of the guest rooms upstairs. Aemond closes the door with a tired sigh, and you swallow hard at the sound, adjusting your posture to appear colder than you actually feel.

"I never got over you."

His delivery is abrupt and direct, everything you had asked him to be, and yet the statement catches you off guard. It unsettles you enough to make you stagger back slightly, your lower back hitting the corner of a dresser. He continues, despite your obvious daze.

“It crossed my mind that you might come tonight, being Baela’s friend and all. But I didn’t see you at first, so I figured you had something else planned for her.” And you did, but you don’t say it, afraid that he’ll interpret the comment as an invitation and the situation will get even worse. “I was hoping to see you...the last time we spoke didn’t go well, since—”

“Since you dumped me,” you spit before realize, recovering from your daze with a speed that’s surprising even to you. Aemond shivers at the sudden, icy words. “I mean, what else is there to talk about after that?”

“Clearly there’s something I should talk about. Because I think you hate me,” he says, still calmly, but a little more frustrated - pulling his blazer down his arms to toss it on the bed in an uncharacteristically eager gesture. He pulls an expensive pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with a lighter, lighting the end to inhale slowly; everything under your watchful scrutiny. “Which you have every right to if that’s the case, but it doesn’t mean I like it.” He finishes the thought with a puff of air, the smell of nicotine and swirling smoke making you wrinkle your nose in response, your expression showing all the distaste for it. Aemond knows how much you disapprove of his little vice after all.

“Well, that’s too bad. But those are my feelings. It’s none of your business what they are or not.” You cross the arms in front of you, feeling petulant and provoked. “So don’t go around assuming I hate you or anything. That just makes you an asshole.”

He brings the cigarette held between his fingers to his mouth again, inhaling slowly as he looks at you with his nose up and narrow gaze - having clearly noticed your bratty attitude. You reinforce your defiant expression, even though feel yourself wilt considerably inside at that look.

Memories. So many memories.

In a nervous gesture, provoked by the absolute silence he maintains after that, nothing but soft drags on his cigarette and thick puffs of nicotine as he stares at you intently, you shake your hair back. The mistake is recognized immediately, but it is already too late to correct. His gaze, unwavering and dark, descends the delicate curve of your neck in a familiar movement, but quickly freezes when he notices something different there.

The mark of a particularly rude hickey left by Benjicot Blackwood - better known among students as Bloody Ben. A drunken mistake made a few nights ago. The man, also a fellow student, was not only a nerd with strange tendencies as some claimed, he was also absolutely wild in bed - which, of course, seemed like a good idea at the time. Not the next day, though.

And maybe it wasn't just the alcohol. Yes, you were drunk that night - you don't think you would have had the courage to flirt with Bloody Ben if you weren't. But it wasn’t just that, if you were being honest. There was something else there, something motivating you to make such a bold move.

Revenge, maybe. Something to rub in your ex’s face, something to hurt him. It wasn’t decent, or the adult thing to do, but hey, you didn’t say you were being coherent. And your actions couldn’t be taken seriously in the drunken state you were both in, could they? You just wanted to hurt Aemond as much as he had hurt you.

And if that was the case, so what if you let some guy with weird fetishes bite on you like a chew toy? Who cares?

Aemond, apparently.

“Who…?” He asks, lowering his cigarette slowly, his jaw clenched.

“None of your business.” You repeat your earlier argument immediately, even though your heart is fluttering in chest and cheeks burning with shame at your own actions. "It's none of your damn business who I sleep with or not, Aemond. You made it very clear four months ago that you don't care about me or our relationship. It's over."

The months may have dulled that unbearable bite of pain that burned in your throat, but you remember those last few days all too well. The tortuous stab of being slowly abandoned, of not being important enough to be worth fighting for. Why weren't you worth fighting for? What could you have done to be chosen?

And, fuck, you don't want to cry. But just being here, facing the reason for your suffering and being able, for the first time, to truly make him understand how much he hurt you, makes unwanted tears well up in your eyes. But he's not worth it. If you're not worth it, neither is he. You blink rapidly at the ceiling to ward off the urge to cry, licking your lips.

“You’re being so,” he waves his free hand at you, face still twisted in disgust at the mark on your neck, “so fucking cold about this. For a moment there I thought we were doing better.”

“Because I accepted your drink downstairs? Because I was polite enough to answer you without causing a scene in front of those people? Is that why you thought—” You let out a tearful sigh. This is not going according to plan. It’s in direct opposition to the rule of not getting involved with this man ever again in your life.

“You know what—I’m fine. Really.” You sigh, tired, soft. “I shouldn’t have come upstairs with you. We shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“Are you too busy?” he presses, impatient and grumpy.

“I am, actually,” you say, too honest. “I better get back to Baela, like I tried to do before, I promised I wouldn’t leave her alone with all those vultures. We can continue this some other time,” you blink away and then back at him with a raw, teary glare, “in the future.”

You should leave now. Why are you still here? Why are you—

Aemond clearly wants to argue, but decides not to. He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk next to where he stands, not looking away from yours for a moment. You hold his gaze and feel nothing but aching longing and the smoldering hurt you were so sure you had managed to put behind you.

“Okay.” He murmurs with a sharp gaze, but he’s approaching you with careful steps, afraid you’ll back away.

“Okay.” You murmur back.

Except neither of you move toward the door. What you both do is Aemond stares at you and you stare back.

Alarm bells blare in the back of your mind, screaming at you to run immediately or you’ll never know peace.

Because that imposing, intense stance sounds so much like Aemond Targaryen, and that’s all well and good, except this is the Aemond you know, someone you’ve sworn never to let near you again. And he’s so close now and the room is quiet except for your anxious breathing and the distant purr of the air conditioning system — and when his thumb comes up to rub the skin just below your bottom lip, you stay there and let him pull it down.

He gives you only a second to absorb what that means before he crashes his lips to yours, end of conversation. He licks his way past your lips to swallow the agonized noises in the back of your throat. And it’s nostalgic, instinctive, a little bit needy and a lot of longing, the kind that would drive anyone crazy. And it feels good, letting go like this. Letting yourself sink into the familiarity of his mouth on yours, even if it ends in tears and ashes.

Aemond’s lips taste like cigarettes and mint, just like you dreamed. They’re also as soft as you remember, fitting perfectly against yours. It’s intoxicating, the way he kisses — with enough urgency to make anyone feel intensely wanted, but also with so much passion and care, with the softest touches that lull you into the kind of state of mind you shouldn’t be in with him.

His hand is sliding down the curve of your throat now, circling to grip there — a loose, gentle grip, just using it as leverage to pull you to him.

“Mm?” he hums — pleased with himself and almost smug in his ragged breaths. “Yeah, baby?” He’s not allowed to use that voice with you. The low, breathy voice that turns into a raspy sound. This is so fucking unfair, and you’re as angry as you are aroused right now.

“You have to go,” you gasp, lashes fluttering with every lick over your own tongue, every teasing bite to your bottom lip, “please, Aemond. We—”

“I missed you,” he whispers, returning to the wet space of your lips. The hand at your throat squeezes gently, his thumb stroking the path of a pulsing vein there, leaving tremors in its wake. “I miss you so fucking much.”

You no longer have your hands clasped together, instead they’re open at your sides, shaking, and you’re dizzy. Dizzy because something painful and tight in your chest that’s lain unacknowledged for four months has finally let go. And the knowledge that this, the two of you, might not be over after all is leaving you breathless and confused.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his ridiculous velvet voice low and sincere against your skin, “it doesn’t make up for any of the shit I’ve done, it doesn’t even come close, but I’m really sorry. I’m an asshole. Such a fucking asshole for letting you go."

When Aemond meets your eyes again, a spark of heat shoots through your belly. And while his words don't erase the pain, they do burn something in you. Whether you're fighting now or not, you crave him, and nothing about that has changed in the months you've been apart. Your mind may be full of arguments and hurt, but your body never got the memo, and it's reacting hotly to this man's presence.

You want to feel him holding you again so badly. You want to feel more of his mouth on yours, his soft hair tangled in your fingers, his warm breath on your neck. Fuck, how are you still so in love with someone who broke your heart into a million little pieces without even a decent explanation?

“Tell me you're not interested,” Aemond demands, after you've been silent for too long. You open your mouth to tell him to go away, for real this time, but the words won't come out. “Tell me you don't want me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You take a deep breath and try again.

“I want you,” is what your traitorous mouth says, but Aemond looks so relieved by this that you grab the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. He shifts his body and places his other hand on your hip, pushing you hard against the dresser. You follow him and hold him by the back of the neck, his breath heated on your throat when he breaks the kiss. You feel Aemond bite and suck gently from your collarbone exposed by the party dress to your ear. He pinches the sensitive lobe and tugs lightly and you feel a shiver run through your entire body.

His hand on your neck pushes your head back and his mouth is on yours again and this kiss feels different. Aemond isn’t holding anything back now and he’s kissing you like he’s pouring all his love, apologies and desire into it. He’s kissing you like you’re the only thing he needs in the world, and you let yourself revel in the feeling of being wanted and loved. He pulls you back with him until you’re both at the edge of the king-sized bed, and you push him so that he falls lightly onto the soft mattress.

Aemond arches an eyebrow in curiosity and amusement, but parts his legs slightly so that you can slide between them, settling his back against the headboard as you straddle his lap - and even fully clothed you feel a thrill run through your body as press yourself against him, feeling how hard he already is.

Your hand slips into the soft silk of his shirt, undoing the first few buttons to caress the hard planes of his broad chest, nails gently scratching that expanse of pale skin. He rumbles a low growl and you capture his lips in another desperate, hurried kiss, your tongue thrusting into his open mouth, tangling with his.

His fingers tighten in your hair, using it to drag you closer to him, gasping in pleasure as your hips buck against his to feel that hard cock rubbing against your panties through his pants. He continues to pull on your hair, wrapping the strands around his fist over and over and tilting your head back as he kisses you back, chasing his tongue back into your mouth. There’s nothing careful about the way he takes your lip between his teeth, biting and sucking on it like it’s some kind of punishment, and it doesn’t take long for you to remember that you don’t mind a little pain — not when he’s the one inflicting it on you.

"Fuck, I love those cute little noises you make, baby," he breathes into your mouth, gripping your hair to tilt your face up and lick your jaw, "I love the way you let me do whatever I want to you - a pretty, precious little doll to play with, hm?"

You open your eyes, looking up at him through heavy, watery lashes. His violet eye is glazed with lust, his mouth drooping with heavy pants, the tops of his cheeks lightly tinged with the dusty pink of a blush, and you tug at the surgical eye patch he wears, the movement almost like muscle memory. Your lips kiss almost reverently over the rough outline of his scars and what's left of his mutilated eye as your fingers wrap around the elastic in his hair and tug to let the silky, silver strands fall freely down his back and front of his face - longingly welcoming the same earthy, organic scent of the amber shampoo he used when you were still together.

“Aemond,” you say, and now his mouth moves to your ear, nipping lightly with his teeth before licking, “Aemond,” your fingers curl deeper into his hair — not to push away, no. To bring him closer. “Aemond,” you keep chanting his name like it’s the only one you know, like you’ve forgotten other words exist.

“Fuck yes, I’m here, baby. I got you.” When he kisses you this time, so fucking good, like he wants this as much as you do — you can feel him wanting it. You can feel him wanting it. He growls and reaches up with both hands to grab your ass.

“Ah-!” you moan, pushing yourself back into his hold, the movement sending a line of heat and friction up and down your spine as your private parts brush harder against each other.

“I—Aem, touch me please,” you beg — and you really don’t need to tell him twice — Aemond reaches for the hem of your party dress, pushing it so the delicate fabric pools above your hips, massaging your ass with his other hand, loving the small noises of pleasure you try to suppress as you kiss him. He strokes the lace side of your panties for a few seconds before pushing them aside, and then he goes for your pussy like he’s been missing it, wanting it, dreaming about it for years.

“Wet,” he pants against your cheek, sliding his thumb along the slit of your pussy. “So wet for me, baby,” he says, and sucks kisses down your neck.

“Aem...ond,” you whine between gasps, high-pitched and whiny. The way you always do when you’re too turned on, like what your body is experiencing is too much for you to handle.

Two of his slender fingers press against your entrance and you gasp as he slowly plunges them in. Your head falls back as you lets out a low moan and you can’t help the way your thighs are already shaking. Of course he’s still really good at this.

He sets a lazy pace, fingers moving in and out of you as he focuses his mouth on your neck for the next few minutes. His fingers are so long and when he curves them, you go rigid.

“Ah, ah,” you moan. His fingertips rub against that spongy spot inside you and as he drags them out slowly while grinding against it, you sigh.

“Talk to me, baby. Does this feel good? Is this what you wanted?” You give another enthusiastic nod, mumbling a string of ‘yes, yes, it feels so fuckin good’, moaning deep in your throat as you grind your hips against his fingers. It’s intense, breathy, needy and beautiful. Aemond gives you another slow thrust in and out, brushing the soft pad of his thumb over your clit once and you nearly fall forward from him, your legs are so weak.

“You feel so beautiful when you take it like this, so good, baby, so good for me,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing your throat, your pulse point - his other hand massaging your scalp in a soft but possessive grip. “Makes me want to eat you." He pants, thrusting his fingers into your heat a fraction faster, flicking your poor clit just enough to drive you wild, slow in a way that feels more like torture, “I want to eat you so bad baby, lick that pussy until all I can taste is you. I fucking miss that.”

"God! Please, l-later...please, Aemond, later..." The noise that leaves you is not unlike a sob. "I need to feel you now, I need this so bad, please - it's too much, and it's not enough. I think I'm dying." You cry, so desperate, feeling too much. Just too much. All you want to feel is Aemond.

"Yeah?" He asks with a harsh sigh, arching his neck to look at you, flushed and just as breathless as you, but somehow still maintaining such a perfectly composed, mischievous appearance that it just makes you want to shake him and cause some chaos.

Your face burns with flames as he slowly and teasingly removes his fingers from your heat, lifting them both to his lips to clean them.

“A full fucking feast as always, love - thank you.” He hums huskily, eyelashes fluttering in pleasure as he sucks your juices from his fingers without taking his gaze from yours.

“S-shut up you pervert.” You mumble and he just chuckles, letting his back fall back against the headboard, giving you silent permission to proceed in whatever way you prefer. But even so; even beneath you, without his usual eye patch and with his hair messed up by your restless fingers, shirt askew and half open to expose his defined, pale skin, lips parted and moist with your arousal and narrowed gaze - he is anything but submissive.

Swallowing hard, you eventually pull away, sitting a little lower on his thighs, hand sliding down past his waist, searching for the evidence of his pleasure. Small fingers feel the expensive fabric of his dress pants, sliding over the thick tent of his cock in the material, feeling delicately before nudging the clasp.

He lifts his hips, aiding your efforts to push his pants down over his ass, freeing his cock for your eyes, and you moan at the sight. He’s just as gorgeous as you remember. His cock is long and thick, the tip a dark flushed color, slick with precum. You close your fist around him, biting your bottom lip when you can barely wrap your fingers completely around his thickness. Your eyes are half-lidded as watch your small hand work his shaft, reveling in the way the slow thrusts make him twitch slightly, his breathing coming harder.

“You're determined to make trouble, aren't you?” he pants raspily, and you do your best not to whimper as the rumble sends another wave of fire licking your pussy.

Deciding to stop teasing, not for his sake - or at least not just for his sake - but especially because you yourself can't go another minute without having him inside you again, you move forward.

Lifting your body higher on your knees, you use a free hand to pull the small gusset of your thong aside, revealing a perfectly shaved mound to his view. Aemond groans lowly as he looks at you again and you blush, your body tingling at the thought that you still please him so much. Holding your panties aside, lowering yourself so that your soaked pussy lips are cradling his shaft, you rock back and forth a few times, coating them with your arousal and his, both of you letting choked sounds of pleasure spill freely from your lips.

Your thighs tremble every time the ridge of his cockhead brushes against your hard clit and you rock against that throbbing shaft, your desire burning through your blood as heated as his cock sliding against your slick slit. He slides past your entrance again and you can feel your walls trembling, both wanting him to push inside and fighting against such a thick intrusion. Aemond bites his lip with each teasing thrust, his entire body shaking beneath you as he tries to maintain control. With each brush of his cock over your clit, you hear yourself moaning louder, your nails digging deep into his neck and shoulder, no doubt making this difficult for him.

Unable to take any more of this, you reach down to grip his cock so you can line it up with your entrance. You slowly bring the head inside, both of you panting, your eyes locking and you use your hips and the hand at his base to take him inside.

Your entire body tenses as you try to fight against the thick intrusion, your entrance stretching as you feel yourself being filled with his cock. It’s almost painful after so many months without it, even with a random one night stand with Ben, and you cling to him, breathing deeply as you force yourself to relax.

“You’re so good to me, aren’t you, baby?” Aemond murmurs against your loose lips, savoring your breathy intake of breath and mixing it with his own, cupping your hips in his wide palms. “Such a good, sweet girl, taking my cock so fucking good. Keep going baby, you can do it.”

You moan, feeling your walls quiver around his pulsing length, allowing you to feel every inch of his steel shaft inside them - the shape of the head, the veins, the slight curve it had as it slid a little deeper when, blessedly, your walls begin to relax a little. You swallow a little air before kissing him desperately as if he were your air now, your eyes watering with emotion. He greedily devours your mouth, as if he craves it too, savagely plunging his tongue into your throat as he holds himself perfectly still, waiting for you to adjust.

A few panting breaths later, you finally feel relaxed enough. You move both hands into his hair and the back of his neck, seeking support.

“Aemond,” a sigh, your voice shaking.

“I got you, beautiful,” he replies between kisses and ragged breaths. "But please, move. It's so fucking tempting to feel that pussy squeezing me after all this time."

Aemond, unlike his stoic and silent persona in any other social setting, has always been a dirty talker during sex. But his direct, filthy words still surprise you, evoking a mix of mortifying embarrassment and pure heat in your veins.

You bite your bottom lip, holding onto it as you awkwardly begin to move up and down on his cock. He doesn't seem to notice your rusty practice, groaning at the feel of you like this again, pulling your skirt up higher so he can watch your pussy swallow his cock as you rides it.

You blush, but buck your hips for emphasis, hissing as he slides in a little deeper than before. When you move up and down again, giving a single roll of your hips that has you seeing stars as he rubs your sweet spot before he slams back up into you, sheathing himself to the hilt. Cries fly from your lips as he repeats the movements, making sure you truly were ready for him. The suspense of those agonizingly slow thrusts had you moaning, your entire body shaking.

Aemond lets out a deep growl that has you clenching around him and you lean forward, your breast pressed against his chest. His lips latch onto your neck, sucking on your skin, leaving behind a deep hickey.

“F-fuck,” you moan, rolling your hips in his lap.

“That’s it, ride me babe,” he growls, using his hands to lift your ass. “Use me.”

You help him, sinking your knees into the softness of the mattress, moving your hips back and forth in his lap. The sound your bodies make together is obscene, all lewd licks and rough slaps of skin meeting skin as your ass slaps against his thighs. You do as he asks, taking what you need, feeling close to the edge already. Aemond throws his head back against the headboard, watching you through a half-lidded slit, his lips stretched into a lazy, lustful smile.

“There you go love,” he encourages, rocking his hips upward every time you move. “That’s it, fuck. Tell me whose cock you’re riding.”

“Y-you Aemond, your cock—” You answer immediately, your mind a little too foggy to understand the real meaning of his question.

“Oh baby, already all cute and dumb on my cock, hm?” He chuckles close to your mouth, nudging your nose with his to get your attention. “You know what I want to hear. Let's try again, come on. Who are you riding?”

And through the rhythmic slap of your skin together, the pressure of your orgasm building marginally in your belly, the confusion in your mind, and the feeling of having Aemond like this after so long - you understand what he wants.

The position you’re in, bobbing up and down on his lap, heat and sex surrounding you like a dome of ash and sin, keeping him deceptively submissive beneath you, taking what you needs…

You know what he wants to hear.

You flush bright red and mortified from your cheeks to your neck and close your eyes, straining once against his firm grip on your ass, swallowing again. You might actually be fuming, you realize in stunned amazement.

“M-my dragon. Riding my dragon.”

My dragon. A nickname you gave him a few weeks before the breakup, a representation of his abrasive, brash personality hidden beneath an indifferent, impenetrable exterior.

“Did you miss this?” he asks with a teasing, breathless grin, squeezing the soft cheeks of your ass between his fingers to help you undulate your pussy relentlessly on his cock. “Did you miss riding your dragon like this?”

"Aemond-" You blush deeply at his question, trying to look away from his, even as your body continues to roll against his in that ancient, natural dance.

"Answer." He presses, lifting a hand to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger and make you look at him, straight into that violet expanse.

"Y-yes."

"Yes what?" He pushes.

Face burning, you sigh.

"I missed riding my dragon like this. I missed it so fucking much, Aemond..."

He nodded, his eyelashes fluttering, brows furrowed.

"Yeah you do. Never again baby, you'll never go without riding that cock. I'll make sure of that."

Your pace quickened, despite the burning in your thighs, and he kissed your jaw, nibbling at your skin. He slapped your ass and you bucked against him, the sting making the pleasure sweeter.

“Come on, baby, you’re doing so good, I know you’re close. Just a little bit more, I can feel it, I can feel how tight you’re squeezing, fuck, this is going to kill me…” He babbles his dirty nonsense close to your ear, his control slipping as the grip on your flesh increases to the level of pain. “Use me for what you need. Cum hard on this cock.”

But what finally pushes you over the edge are sharp teeth sinking into your throat, paired with a skilled thumb that suddenly slithers over your clit in quick strokes. Your vision goes white and you barely have time to realize you’re coming as the cacophony of sensations floods you. Your ears ring as the pain in your neck makes the pleasure burn hotter, driving you higher and higher until you’re thrashing against the heavy pressure in your abdomen. You’ve grabbed onto everything you can - his shoulders, his hair, gripping and digging.

You float and fall and fly all at once and it’s perfect, moaning breathlessly with your head thrown back, feeling Aemond grip your hips with one hand, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull your body in front of him. With you like this, bent over and still shaking with your orgasm, he thrusts his hips upward with a hellfire vigor and you can’t help but hold on to him for dear life.

“Shit, you’re so..!” He presses you tight against him as he snaps his hips upward, holding you still for his cock, making sure he gets as deep as physically possible. “Fuck, baby,” he nearly growls as your back arches and you cry out, with the overstimulation, with the pleasure, your entire body tensing as he takes his own satisfaction from you. "Fuck, you're so fucking tight, so hot around me, it feels so fucking good around my cock. I'm gonna cum. Shit, I need to pull it out, I-"

"I-inside...please, cum inside me..." You whisper desperately and tearfully into his ear, panicking at the possibility of him pulling out, feeling him shiver and groan at your words. "It's safe, Aem. I want it inside me, - give it to me, please!"

"Fuck," he growls and tightens his grip on your waist, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he begins to lose his rhythm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, you're so...you're so fucking..!" He can't find the right words, eye closing and brow furrowing, thrusting his hips up with enough force to push you further up his body if he wasn't holding you so tightly.

He takes a few deep breaths, and you watch him fall almost in a trance, his handsome face flushed and lips parted, a hoarse, broken groan as he thrusts himself deep one last time before exploding, a guttural sound rolling through his clenched teeth as he comes to the feeling of your walls clenching around him, milking him for everything he has. Your hips buck with the force of it, snapping against his in slow strokes as you greedily ride out every drop.

You shudder above him, exhausted body tingling with the sensation of his heated seed spilling deep inside you, filling you until you feel like there’s no more room. “Aemond,” you whimper, your voice cracking with hypersensitivity as you struggle to roll your hips one last time before you can’t take it anymore, a shaky exhale blowing past your lips as you collapse onto him. “Fuuck.”

“Yeah,” Aemond exhales, his chest heaving rapidly beneath you. “Holy shit, that was…that was…fuck, what the fuck were you thinking when you asked me to cum inside you like that?” You lift your head as you feel his gaze on you, his words making you both flatter and shy at the same time. “Was that on purpose, baby?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you sigh, chuckling softly when he snorts. “But it’s good to know I still have a trick or two in store.”

“Well, it worked like a charm, baby.” Smiling lazily, he cups your cheek and pulls you into a soft kiss, sighing as your chest hums contentedly. You slide your hands into his hair, kissing him back until you’re both out of breath. “Are you okay?” he asks when you break the kiss to catch your breath, a worried frown on his forehead.

“Yeah,” you tell him, a blush staining your cheeks as you realize you’re still firmly joined, neither of you showing any signs of wanting to break the intimate contact. He kisses your forehead, pushing the satin straps of your dress up to your shoulders again, caressing your skin gently.

“Aemond...what does that mean?”

You don’t want to ask him that, not really. All you want is to keep enjoying this moment, for as long as it lasts. But there’s a small part of you, the one you’ve silenced for all these months, that’s terrified at the mere thought of being abandoned once again. With the thought of it being a casual encounter for him, regardless of his words spoken in the heat of the moment.

“I-I don’t want to assume, but I can’t do this again if it’s a one-time thing for you...I can’t go through this again...” your nerves start to take over when he doesn’t answer right away, your gaze shifting from his in an anxious gesture.

He guides you to him once more with firm fingers, stroking your cheek with his thumb when he makes sure you won’t try to turn away.

“I want to fight for this. For us. I know I was an asshole before, I let myself get carried away by family pressures and I lost sight of what really mattered. So pathetic. I regretted it as soon as I left, but I didn’t know how to go back...how to fix the shit I did.” He’s serious when speaks, owning up to his mistakes with a degree of confidence that leaves you speechless. “If you don’t want to...if it’s too late...I understand, but please know that I love you. I’ve loved you the whole time we’ve been together, I’ve loved you while we’ve been apart, and I’ll continue to love you even if you don’t want me anymore.” He looks straight into your eyes and says, “I want to fight for you because you’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it. I’m sorry I made you believe otherwise.”

You feel unshed tears pooling on your lashes and you blink them away, but a few still escape. Aemond wipes them away with gentle fingers, and slowly leans you toward him, barely brushing his lips against yours.

“Always a crybaby.” He teases, but you can still hear the note of affection in his voice, how he’s laid himself bare for you — even if he’s trying to cover it up with sarcastic jokes.

You can’t manage much more than a broken noise as you bury your face in his neck, and Aemond doesn’t press you. He just holds you, for a long time, he just holds you -- until you almost feel the tendrils of sleep reaching for you. Nothing but the cozy feeling of being close again; the warmth of his body heat against yours, his breath in your ear, his heartbeat in yours -- even his cock still buried inside you. You and him, together again.

"I planned a party for Baela at the Red Keep Bar later..." You mumble into his chest after a long time of silence, fingers playing with the soft silk of his black shirt. "Would you like to go? I mean...with me, you know - like...well...together...?" You stumble over the words, blushing hard as you feel his chest tremble when he laughs at that.

"Of course I would, baby. But two parties in one night? What are you trying to do to me?" He breathes, half bored, half elated, taking your nervous hand in his to place a tender kiss on your knuckles.

"Still a social butterfly, I see." You huff, snuggling deeper into the crook of his neck, letting his woody, smoky scent completely relax you.

"Only the best for you, love." He murmurs contentedly, snaking his hand between your bodies to fish the lighter and pack of cigarettes out of his pants and light another one, inhaling slowly as he keeps you tightly tucked into his body with one arm, his cock twitching inside your walls to make you blush and look at him suspiciously. But he doesn't make any move on it, just keeps dragging on his stupid cigarette.

"I hate this thing, you know?" You mumble lazily and almost disappointedly (even though you're still completely sore from the previous session) when he turns his head to blow a cloud of smoke away from you, though the smell still makes you wrinkle your nose anyway.

"Yeah, I know. And I must say, I'm looking forward to all your long, passionate speeches about how this is detrimental to my life and the lives of others." He has his one eye closed as speaks, leaning his head against the headboard with a satisfied and sincere smile on his lips. "I've missed this so fucking much, princess."

He laughs louder when you slap his arm in offense.

-----

Aemond isn’t the kind of guy who pees on his girl to mark territory. Oh no, he’s above that.

But when Aemond spots Benjicot — the infamous Bloody Ben — later that night after finally getting the scoop on who gave you that hickey, he holds the guy’s curious, dissatisfied gaze as he shifts you more comfortably on his lap, your back against his broad chest.

He’s not marking his territory when brushes the hair away from your pretty, delicate neck, gently kissing a particularly obvious bite mark.

HIS MARK.

He’s not marking his territory when he grips your waist to pull your hips toward his, making you let out a shy, startled squeak, scolding him ever so slightly with your bright doe eyes.

He’s certainly not marking his territory when he ignores your cute warning and wraps his hand around your hair to pull your head back, sealing his lips with yours in a deep, sensual kiss, hidden by the darkness of the club — but not hidden enough that damned Bloody Ben doesn’t see you both.

Aemond isn’t marking his territory.

He’s just holding on to what’s always been his, and nothing and no one could ruin that. Not even Aemond himself.

To hell with Bloody Ben.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd #hotd season 2 #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #exes to lovers #ex aemond targaryen #oh this is not a tag #anyway #x reader #reader insert

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angeliteria · 9 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓.

pairings — fem reader and eddie munson.

summary — you and eddie are childhood best friends, and you've always trusted him. your love for him was innocent — his love for you was the complete opposite.

warning tags — adult language and semi-graphic violence. dark!eddie munson. unhealthy obsessive and possessive behavior. eddie like worships reader, reader lowkey is into it. term “y/n” is used once (had to be sorry). the smut for the nasties; unprotected activities, f!ngering, oral (reader receiving), choking, degradation, overstim, eddie getting mean with his d!ck. there is aftercare <3

Eddie Munson was your best friend. You and him grew up together, homing in the same trailer park, and guardians being friends.

You were glad to have him in your life. He was always there, willing to tend to any of your needs, and would do anything for you.

You found it sweet.

But Eddie would kill for you. He knew you took all his gestures into an innocent, sweet manner, and he was okay with that — but he was in love with you.

A love that wasn't so gentle and safe. He was obsessed, and was repulsed to the idea of anyone else taking you from him.

No one knew you in all the ways he did.

There wasn't a right match for you, except for him. He patiently waited for you to understand that he was suitable for you, but as time went on, and you got with more guys, it became thinned out.

Eddie would give you a bit more time to accept the truth that he was the man you needed.

"Hey, Eds?" You asked, noticing he was zoned out. The chatter of Hawkins cafeteria couldn't even pull him away from his thoughts. Your sweet voice was the only thing that could.

"What's up?" Eddie asked, picking at the raisins in his lunch pale. "You okay?"

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" You asked, a mere frowning playing on your lips.

"No, why?" Eddie was confused, his attention falling entirely on you. "Did someone say something to you?"

"No— well, I don't know," you mumbled, rubbing your temple. "You know how I have been talking to Brandon Smith for a while now?"

Eddie nodded, tuned in and listened carefully. "Yeah, one of Jason's other lap dogs."

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Well, I thought things were good between us. We just went on a third date last Friday, and then, I found out he's taking Annie to the Winter Formal."

"What?" Eddie muttered.

"Yeah! It doesn't make sense to me either," you continued, pursing your lips. "I mean, we never clarified we were exclusive, but I thought we were getting somewhere."

Eddie's blood boiled, and fumed. His hands rolled up, tightening into fists, and had skilled at not showing you his visible anger. "There's nothing wrong with you," Eddie reassured, giving you a gentle smile. "Brandon is a cracked up fuck, anyway. No good for you."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," you chuckled lightly, and Eddie hummed, patting your shoulder. "It's just shitty. He seemed really genuine."

"You'll find someone good," he said, handing you his bag of trail mix. "You're a sweet girl, and for Brandon to do that is a douchebag move. You don't need that, okay?"

You flashed a soft smile at Eddie, nodding and began to eat the trail mix.

Eddie's friends came to sit at the table, but were the only ones to notice his dull, blank expression. They had a poor feeling it had to do with you, yet chose not to question, and simply eat their lunches.

You were too distracted in your conversation with Dustin to notice what was going on, and what ran through Eddie's head.

Brandon Smith was the only person in the locker room after his last period at Gym had ended. He was putting on his shirt, his hair damped and messy as he just gotten out of the shower.

A pair of footsteps creeped up the locker room, near him, and he raised a brow. Not particularly scared, but worried, he peeked behind the lockers, and didn't see a single person.

He shook it off, assuming it was a student who forgot their bag.

"Hey, Brandon!" Eddie exclaimed as he popped up on the opposite side of him, smiling. Brandon shrieked, earning a chuckle out of Munson. "Did I scare you?"

"What the fuck, freak?" Brandon snapped, zipping up his Gym bag. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"Here to chat," Eddie answered. "That's all."

"Chat?" Brandon nearly barked a laugh, rolling his eyes. "What makes you think I would want to talk?"

"Oh, but you're fine with chatting with me when you're fuckin' fiending!" Eddie said, clear and loud enough for any remaining people in the locker room to hear.

Brandon glared at him. "That's a different scenario."

"Not really," Eddie muttered, stuffing his hands into his own pockets, his hand grasping onto the switchblade that sat within the right one.

Brandon sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to leave until Eddie got his words across. "Okay, what do you want?" He asked, leaning against the lockers, Eddie only standing a few inches away in front of him. "I got places to be."

"Tell me what happened with Y/N," Eddie said, monotone and blunt in a blink.

"What? Why?" Brandon wondered. "You're wanting to talk about her?"

Eddie hummed. "Answer the question."

"Well, man," Brandon sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "She gave it up too easily, and got too many damn problems. She's a trailer park whore, and I didn't need that."

Eddie's head spun, and the light around him was slowly sinking into nothingness. "Gave it up?"

"Ya'know, her body, her pussy," Brandon clarified, finding it humorous. "She has no self respect, and that's pathetic."

Another word didn't come out of his mouth as Eddie grabbed him, and tossed him to the ground. Eddie's vision was a blur and his mind was clogged, but could understand the punches he was throwing into Brandon's face.

The rings on Eddie's fingers doubled the aggression and assault.

He swore he cracked his cheekbone, and caused a concussion, but didn't care. He didn't care if he killed him in this very locker room, because all that mattered is that he would stay away from you for good. That he would never talk about you in a derogatory way ever again.

Eddie needed to make sure of that – he had to.

"Fuck you!" He screamed as his fist collided into Brandon's left eye, and could hear him gasping, crying, and wanting to fight back, but Eddie's weight held him down. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

Eddie breathed heavily, one of his punches breaking Brandon's nose, an audible snap coming into his ears. He got up, hovering over the sobbing, vulnerable male.

He wanted to laugh — one of Hawkin's best basketball players, who was intimidating yet charming, and broader and stronger than Eddie, was now curled up in a ball, bleeding out of his face.

Eddie struck his ribcage with a hard kick, and Brandon groaned, pleading for mercy. "Fucking pussy," he mocked, tossing another strike of his foot to his side. "You deserve this. You deserve worse than this."

"I—I'm sorry!" Brandon sobbed, gasping heavier, trying to engulf oxygen into his bruising lungs. "Please."

Eddie crotched down, gripping a chunk of his hair, brought his head up and forced eye contact. "You're not sorry. You just make sure to never speak to her, or I will kill you next time." He released Brandon's hair from his grasp, his head thudding on the tile floors.

Eddie's every step had a bounce to it as he walked out of the locker room.

You were laying on your stomach on your bed, flipping through magazines as music faintly played in your bedroom. You carelessly eyed new styles, humming to yourself.

A knock planted softly at your door, and you peeked up, seeing your aunt. She smiled small, a cigarette dangling between her lips. "Chrissy Cunningham is on the phone," she exhaled a blow, "asking for you."

"Did she say why?" You wondered.

"No, but she sounds shaken up," your aunt continued, and you nodded, getting up from your bed, strolling to the kitchen where the landline hanged out at.

You picked up the phone, bringing it up to your ear. "Hey, Chris. What's up?"

"Brandon is in the hospital," Chrissy said, and your heart sank. She was sniffling, overly worried and in panic. "It's so bad."

You paused. "W—What happened? Why is he in the hospital?"

"Jason and the guys found him in the locker room," Chrissy's voice began to shutter. "He was beaten, really bad. Nose broken, ribcages fractured, nearly blind in his left eye — it's so gory."

"What? W—Who... What? This doesn't make sense," you said, unease and confused. "Did he say who?"

"No, he won't make a confession," Chrissy answered, sighing heavily. "Either way, he can barely talk, or make any sort of comprehension. He has a severe concussion."

You went quiet for a moment, trying to gather up pieces in your head, making a puzzle in your head.

Brandon did have enemies, but it was mostly outcasts, and the smartest kids in school — the opposite clique of him, and Jason's friends. But, those enemies were not capable of any harm, nor would attempt any. If they did, they'd get it worse.

Nothing had happened to him until today when you told—

"Chrissy, I have to go," you muttered, hanging up the line. You ran into your bedroom, grabbing your shoes, and slipping them. Your hands were shaking, your heart thumping and pounding in your eardrums, bile burning your throat.

It was just a thought, a consideration, and you knew Eddie would never hurt anyone.

He was too kind, and gentle.

You stalked out of your trailer, finding your aunt watering the front lawn with a new cigarette in her mouth. "You going to Eds?" She asked, and you hummed. "Okay, be safe."

You continued your stalking to Eddie's uncle's trailer, stomping up onto the porch, and pounded your fist against the door. "Edward Munson!" You shouted, banging persistently on the door. "I know you're in there, I can smell fresh pot!"

After a few more harsher hits, the door opened up, revealing a contented, shirtless Eddie, and had a joint in his mouth. "Well, if it isn't my favorite person," he joked, and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door frame.

Red, bruising spots were visible on his knuckles. He wasn't even trying to make them discreet.

You brushed past him as you welcomed yourself into his trailer, and he closed the door behind the both of you, his eyes falling into yours.

You stood in the middle of his living room, making a safe distance between the two of you. "Are you responsible for Brandon?" You questioned, and Eddie chuckled, flashing a toothy smile. "I don't have time for your shit, Eddie!"

"Oh, excuse me, sweetheart," Eddie snickered, burning his joint out onto the ashtray that sat on the living's room coffee table. "I knew you'd figure it out."

You scoffed. "So, you did?"

"I may have swung a punch or two at him," Eddie said, grabbing a cheap beer from the fridge. "Nothing too bad."

"He is in the hospital, Eds! He has a severe concussion, fractured bones!" You shouted, irritated at Eddie's amusement. "What the fuck did you do?"

"He called you a trailer park whore," he stated, walking to his bedroom as you trailed behind him. "Saying how you spread your legs easily for him, and that you were just bad for his bullshit reputation."

"He said that?" You asked, Eddie sitting on the edge of his bed, and you stood in front of him.

"He laughed at you. He was practically mocking you," he emphasized, scoffing harshly. "I took care of it. I handled it for you."

"But you didn't need to, Eddie!" You panicked, shaking your head in utter disbelief. "If he comes clean, you'll be arrested. You'll go to jail."

"I really don't care," Eddie said, grinning. "You think this is my first time doing this shit for you?"

You fell silent, suddenly lost in what he was saying.

He got up from his bed, only needing to take a few, close inches towards you. He looked down at you as you stared up at him. "Aidan Walter, Michael Dallas, Kyle Thorne, Richard Fields, Brandon Smith — they all had the same thing to say about you. They degraded you proudly, and you think you deserve that?'

Your mouth opened, but your words croaked in your throat. Nothing came out, shock falling over you. "I... I don't know."

"Every time you came crying to me about a guy who did you wrong, I handled it. This isn't my first time, and they know they can't turn me in," Eddie explained, and you raised a brow. "They're drug addicts. They know if I sneak a word to their coach to drug test them, they're fucked."

"But they could turn you in for being a drug dealer," you retorted, and a faux pout dangled on Eddie's lips. "They have privilege, you don't."

He settled his beer down on his cluttered dresser, turning his attention away from you. "If that's the case, why haven't the others said anything?" Eddie questioned. "You haven't asked me why I did it — that's surprising."

"You did it because you want revenge? Because you were trying to be a good friend?"

"Revenge, yes. I'd beat those fuckers with no hesistation," Eddie agreed, shrugging lazily as he went back to sitting on his bed. "But, I did it because you don't deserve to be talked about like that. I did it because I would do absolutely anything for you — I'd fucking rip apart this filthy world for you."

You took a step back, a brutal realization striking you.

"Are you in love with me?" You asked, so simply, but with so much fear behind your words.

He hummed. "There's my smart girl."

You were oblivious — gullible — to Eddie's generosity, and kindness. A more crucial role behind every word, every action, every thought that came out of him. You didn't know how to comprehend anything, your mind fogged, and mute.

You should've been feeling sick to your stomach, nausea and terror was meant to consume and claim you entirely. A person who had received the news that their best friend beat — and nearly murdered — men who have hurt you, would run away, and shut them out forever.

You didn't do that. You were paralyzed in your spot, only hesitate to make eye contact with Eddie, and could feel his eyes boring into you.

What he did was unsettling and wrong, but your heart couldn't help to ache to what he did.

"You hate me now?" Eddie asked, and you inhaled sharply, peeking at him. You shifted over towards him, bringing him into an embrace, his head resting on your stomach as your hands rested on the back of his head.

"No, no," you mumbled, looking down at him. "But you could end up in jail because of this, Eddie. You have to understand that."

Eddie inhaled your perfume, his mind ransacking with complexed thoughts. He was glad you appreciated his devoted duty, but hated that you were worried about his well being.

He only cared that you would be safe.

"I'll be okay, doll," he muttered, practically smashing his face into your stomach.

You fiddled with his hair, not knowing what was to happen next. He was in love, and obsessed with you — that's not easy news to take in.

You let him out of your embrace, crouching down and stared up at him. "I can protect myself, and... I'm sorry you had to hear those things from Brandon."

Eddie took your face into his hands, his thumbs softly caressing your cheeks, and you could feel yourself melting into his touch.

A delicate touch that held so much violence behind it.

He could do immense damage to another human, but never to you. You were the peace in his chaotic world. You were serene, in contrast to his mayhem. You knew there was always a darkness that consumed him, but you granted such light to it, that he'd forget he even held it in him.

Eddie wanted to hold you close, skin absorbing into one another's, and have you forever. He wanted to tear you apart, but then mend you back together.

The silence that fell into the air was tight, and suffocating.

This man had been your best friend for years, and there was never any unbearable tension until now. In this very moment, where his eyes drowned into yours, and his lips quivered for the taste of yours.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie cut the silence, his face cautiously inching into yours. "Please?"

A simple kiss, that could change the course of everything. But you wanted it — you wanted Eddie to kiss you. You had never craved such a risk until now.

You nodded. "You can kiss me, Eds."

He didn't let another second pass as his lips smothered yours, and his hands shifted to your waist, drawing you onto his lap. You propped yourself comfortably onto him, his hands snaking around your body, needing you close and secured.

You could taste pot on his lips, your cherry gloss mixing into it. His hands slipped under the sides of your shirt, yet went nowhere near your bra. His thumbs and hands grazed your soft, loving skin, and thought he must've been dreaming — he had yearned for this. For years.

Your own hands brushed his toned body, trickling down to the waistband of his sweats. You let your fingers curl around them, but wait there.

Eddie moved his face back, his taste disappearing from yours, and he grinned at your swollen lips. "Look at you," he mocked, admiring the desperation on your face. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you, sweetheart."

Your heartstrings tugged at his words, and the tips of your index and middle finger carefully touched his lips, eyes focused on this movement. "Do you really love me?" You softly asked. "Why do you love me?"

"You're the purity to this corrupted world," Eddie began, and you blinked up at him, and his gaze locked with yours immediately. "Your beauty is uncompared, and unbearable – it makes me a madman. Look what I've done for you; you have me in your power, and you don't even know it."

Eddie Munson is in love with me, you thought to yourself. He is in love with me, and I've been so blind to it.

The only man who'd ever wanted you for you. The only man who you didn't need to give your body to, to feel self-worth and loved. You could see in his eyes he meant what he said — that he swore his life on it. And if he were to ever hurt you, he would want death.

He would rather die, than to live with the knowledge that he dimmed your lightness, and damaged you.

"Please kiss me," you pleaded, wanting his love to soak and burn into your skin. "Kiss me, do what you want to me. But Eddie, do not leave me."

Eddie frowned. "I'd die without you."

You nodded, and your lips fell back onto his, bodies pressing against one another. His hands pulled you over and down onto his bed, your body trapped underneath his. "Are you sure you want this?" He asked hastily in between a kiss. "Do you?"

"Yes, I do," you breathed. "I want this."

Eddie kissed your cheek, leaning back, and shifted himself down in between your legs. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him take off your shoes, and then make his way to the waistband of your sweatpants.

He hooked his fingers under the hem of your bottoms and panties, looking up at you with another look of reassurance.

"I trust you," you said, and he pulled off both pieces of clothing, disposing them to a pile of his clothes on the ground.

Eddie parted your legs, laying himself on his stomach, and you could feel his hot breath blowing against your cunt. You relaxed your body, and Eddie's mouth attached itself to your area, earning a soft moan out of you.

You perked your head up, seeing the sight of him gladly eating you out. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, his strong hold locking them in place, and practically buried himself in between them. He moaned to the sweet taste of you, the vibrations buzzing against your sensitive hood.

His tongue ran up and down your slits, his lips plumped and stuck on your cunt. Your head fell back as your noises and breath grew louder, your mouth falling open the second he pushed two fingers into you, working them at a gentle, yet rapid pace.

Eddie was probably the only guy who knew how to properly eat you out, and you didn't have to fake an orgasm with.

"Fuck, fuck," you breathed. "Just like that, baby. Holy fuck."

His fingers were slamming into you, and his mouth separated from your cunt, his lips plumped and covered with your wetness. "Come here, sweet girl," he said as he hovered back over you. "Taste how good you are."

He placed his lips back onto yours, his fingers still violently pumping into you. Uncontrollable, lewd noises elicited out of you, being able to make out his grin pressing against your lips as he brought himself back from your mouth.

"So good for me, sweetheart," he praised,and adjusted himself back onto his stomach, hoisting your thighs over his shoulders. He hooked his mouth onto your cunt, devouring you once more, and you could feel a sweet scorch in the pit of your stomach.

It was too embarrassing and easy for you to cum this earlier than usual. You tried to ignore the hot sensation, focusing on the rhythm Eddie's tongue and mouth made on your cunt, and fucking good it felt.

Eddie had himself deep into your cunt, grateful to even pleasure you this well. All he wanted was to make you feel good.

The fire in your stomach ran to your thighs, and it became torturous to shut out. "Gonna cum," you warned, your voice shuddering. "Keep going, Eds. You're doing so good."

Eddie abided, never letting himself get a second of air as your thighs trembled on his shoulders. "Oh fuck!" You gasped, riding your orgasm out onto his fingers, and he let them fall out of you shortly after. His tongue lapped up your climax, his mouth sucking gently on your cunt.

Your chest heaved, and a fulfilled Eddie detached his mouth from your area, his mouth glistening with your juices. You peeked at him, chuckling and grinning at the sight of him.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, his hand gripping your forearm, and you suddenly adjusted back on his lap. You whimpered as he used other hand to hold your jaw, having a firm grasp on it, and forcing you to pay attention to him.

"What now?" You asked.

Eddie placed his coated fingers on your bottom lip. "Suck."

You obliged, taking his fingers into your mouth. Eddie looked at you in pure awe, a cocky grin playing on his lips, and kissed the side of your head. Few seconds later, his fingers slide out of your mouth with a pop, and the knuckles of his hand caress your cheek so lovingly.

There was a flip in Eddie's eyes, and body language. He craved more of you, more of your body and desperation. He wanted your tears, screams, and sweat. He needed to see you plead under him, until you all you could think of was him senselessly fucking you.

For this, it was a danger. You were encouraging his obsession, and you couldn't tell if that was okay. It was flattering he hurt people for you, all because he wanted to defend you at every cost — like it was his soul purpose on Earth.

You weren't exactly opposed to his devotion to you, only in fright of how bad it could get.

It wasn't like you hadn't had your own moments when it came to Eddie and other girls. There were a few who had eyes on him, and always dumbly flirted with him — even in front of your bare eyes. You would always think you were being crazy for being jealous, especially when you got angry when Eddie would jokingly tease back at those girls.

You didn't want to share the attention he gave to you.

This was a bad idea. The worst idea to ever exist. But it didn't matter anymore — you and him were the perfect match. Maybe your need for him was always there, but you were too busy with others to notice it.

Those other guys didn't compare to Eddie Munson — none of them. And they would never commit their life to you.

Eddie had finally freed your jaw from his hand, but withheld staring at one another. "I know that look in your eye," he said, inhaling sharply. "You've finally come to your senses. I've been waiting for you to make that realization."

"How long?" You wondered.

"Forever," he answered, and planted his hands under your shirt, letting them carelessly rest there. "Even if you didn't, I still would've handled every guy who fucked you over. I would do it until it caught up to me."

You sighed. "It just might. Brandon will blab."

"Then promise to bail me?" He asked, and you snickered, rolling your eyes.

"My aunt is going to have a rage if you get arrested," you joked, and his grin turned into a small smile. "Let's not worry about that right now, please. I just want you, I want this."

Eddie titled his head to the side, his smile fading. "Be more clear, sweet girl."

You turned coy, your body tensing as his hands gave your torso a squeeze. You decided not to speak, your lips laying on his, and he let your body rut against him. "You're going to drive me more insane," he mumbled, and you hummed. "Come on, doll. Ride me."

You didn't hesitate for a moment, breaking the kiss, and you drew off your top and bra, letting them drop to Eddie's floor.

"Fuck," Eddie breathed, taking a second to memorize your body, and how he just knew it was made for him. "Fuck, you're perfect, doll."

You smiled, and looked over to Eddie's nightstand, finding condoms to lay there. "I'm not your first fuck?" You asked, a hint of bitter in your tone as you snagged an individual wrapper.

"I deserved to have my own fun, don't you think?" Eddie retorted, dragging off his sweats and boxers, dropping them on the floor. He merely sat closer to the middle of his bed, seizing the condom from your hold, and you glared at him. "Don't be so jealous, doll. You're my only girl, promise."

"Were they a good fuck?" You asked, and Eddie snorted while rolling the condom onto his dick.

"And I thought I was too possessive," he mocked, and braced his hands onto your hips, his nails digging into your skin. You were about to protest until Eddie's cock shoved into you, and you gasped at the sudden contact. "Maybe I'll fuck you out."

Your breath hitched in your throat as you and Eddie worked together, your hips rolling and his cock hastily thrusting into you. "Fffucckk, oh my god," you babbled, squeezing your eyes shut, and overwhelmed at Eddie's size.

"You take me so well," Eddie praised, another faux frown on his lips, and grabbed your face. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

You obeyed as best as you could, cursing and moaning breathlessly. It felt like he was splitting you open, claiming your body entirely, and making you memorize the scynorichize of his cock pounding into your soaking cunt.

"I'm going to fucking damage you," he assured, his hand squeezing your cheeks, and felt as if his nails were drilling into them. "Tear you right apart."

"Yeah?" You taunted, able to pass a giggle through your shuddering breathing. "You're going to hurt me? You're too soft for me to do that, Eds."

He stopped all movements for a moment, and his hand made a switch, sending a hit across your left cheek. It turned your head and neck entirely, feeling his handprint drowning into your skin.

You only laughed. "Slapping me? Some of the guys did the same thing," you said, looking back at Eddie, and wanted to punish him with your words. "I think it was Brandon who would pull my hair and call me his filthy slut."

Eddie snapped. He took your form back under him, your body flattened into his mattress as he hovered over you, his hand furiously grasping your throat. "And you took it like a slut too. Didn't you, silly girl?"

You smiled. "Maybe," you breathed out, able to feel his nails clawing into the sides of your neck. "Maybe I fucking loved every second of it."

"Oh, I'm sure," Eddie muttered, his cock stuffing your cunt again. "But I'm going to make sure you can only think of me forever."

He kept his hand on your throat, and pushed his cock rough into you as you swore he was nearly reaching into your stomach. Your eyes watered, breath hallowed and weak with your pleads for him coming out hoarse and rough, putting one of your hands on his wrist.

"No, you don't get to touch me," Eddie said, pushing off your hand with his free one. "You don't deserve to touch me, silly girl."

You huffed. "Why not?"

"Cause you let all those idiots touch you," Eddie taunted, mocking despair on his face. "And I should just leave you hot and bothered after what you said, but I didn't – so be grateful."

Your lungs engulfed immense amounts of oxygen when Eddie's pulled his hand back, moaning out his name like it was a prayer. He grinned, staying hovered over you, and let his cock sinking deeper and harder into you, watching you fall apart slowly to it.

Sweaty, hot skin smacked throughout Eddie's bedroom, being sure that the whole neighborhood could hear you whining and crying for more of him.

"You sound so pretty for me, doll," he moaned, grinning. He positioned himself back, in a near-sitting style as he tossed your legs over his shoulders and snaked his arms around your waist, continuing to push himself into you.

"Oh shit— ffucckk, Eddie, Eddie," you moaned mindlessly. You were locked in his hold, your body squirming and twitching. Your fingers gripped at his bedsheets, your mind being rotten with the focus of his dick, and how good it felt pounding into you, basically stuffing your cunt.

"Don't you dare fucking cum," Eddie forewarned, chuckling breathily. "Just be a good girl, and take my dick, babydoll. Just take me."

You nodded, knowing there was another climax making its build in your stomach, but refused to pay any mind to it. "You fuck me so good, Eds," you whimpered, eyes rolling back. "Need more of you, please."

"You have me, sweetheart," Eddie promised, pressing his hand on your stomach for additional torture. "But don't try to sweet talk me just so you can cum."

"Just once, please," you cried, resting your hand on top of his hand. "Please, I'll be so good for you."

"Are you not being good for me right now, hm?" He wondered, the ball of his palm sinking further into your belly. "What a pathetic girl you are, trying to get whatever you want."

You hissed and groaned. "Please, please. I c—can't."

"Is my poor girl going to cry?" He taunted, holding back a laugh. "If you cum right now, then you'll have to keep doing so until I think you're done."

"Y—yeah, please!" You agreed mindlessly, chewing harshly onto your lower lip.

He hummed, and tapped the side of your thigh as a sign. Your body nearly melted into his mattress, your orgasm pushing out of you, and you could see a flash of stars in your vision. "Oh fucking hell!" You screamed, your body twitching seconds later.

Eddie pushed your legs off of his shoulders, letting himself fall out of you, and was already rotating you around onto your stomach. "We're not done, sweet girl," he said, planting a gentle kiss to your cheek before his arms were looped around your limp form, bringing your ass close to him.

You were barely to collect any thoughts, groaning the moment Eddie was back in you. He worked at a slow, steady peace in you as he used his strength to hold you up and close, stifling a chuckle in his throat.

"You said you were going to be good for me," Eddie reminded, his fingers clawing and curling into your hair, forcing the majority of your body to be picked up and brought against his. "Is this all you can really take, hm? Made me think you were better than this."

You grinned, sweat beading on your forehead and body. Your face was close enough to his as you glanced up at him, trying to correct your breathing. "You made me think you were gonna fuck me better than the others," you said lazily. "But it's about the same."

"Yeah?" Eddie rolled his hips forward, snapping a single sharp and deep thrust into you, and all at once, he began to violently pound into you. He made sure to keep you close to him as yours and his moaned mixed, and echoed throughout his bedroom.

Your eyes fell to the back of your head, grasping onto Eddie's arms and could feel your body growing more frail within every thrust that pushed into you. You were entirely trapped in his hold – not that you were complaining, it felt nice.

"That's my good girl," he praised, passing a kiss to the side of your head. "You take my cock so well."

You hummed, nodding, and could only hear him breathily chuckle to your obedience. He let his right hand creep up between the valley of your breasts, and it wrapped itself around your throat, using it as an extra leverage to hammer himself deeper into you.

"You seem to be liking my cock a lot," Eddie teased as your noises shuddered, and tears pricked at the corner of your eyes from the overwhelming exhilaration and pleasure. "Just wanted to be fucked and treated like a whore. All you had to do was ask, sweetness."

"Ffucckk you— ahh!" You cried the second the head of his cock started to continuously strike at your orgasm. "Oh shit, ffuucckk! Right there!"

Eddie orgasm was rising, keeping you locked and tight on him as he allowed himself to be audible, letting you know how good you were making him feel. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna cum," he panted, giving you another sweet kiss to your cheek. "Cum with me, yeah? I want my girl to cum with me."

Your next climax had surfaced into the depths of your belly as you could feel Eddie's arms and body begin to tremble. "W—Wait!" You breathed, swallowing thickly. "I want you to cum in me."

"What?" Eddie chuckled, stopping himself entirely. "Repeat that for me."

"Oh, you heard me, Munson," you said, and he grinned. "And yes, I'm sure."

Eddie granted you that exact wish, letting himself out of you for a mere second and tossed his condom carelessly on his bedroom floor before taking his cock back into you. He looped his arms back around your form, tugging you back towards him as he perfectly fucked himself into you, and you bounced back onto his cock.

It didn't take long for both highs to come back to the surface, your head falling back and landing on his shoulder, and he smirked, brushing strands of hair out of your face. "Be a good whore, and cum," his breath was ragged and uneven, feeling it skim past your cheek. "Don't wanna disappoint me, hm?"

"N—no," you rasped, exhaustion slowly falling onto you but gathered enough energy to keep you going.

"Cum with me, honey," Eddie said, a hint of shudder playing in his words. You nodded, your high immediately crashing out of your body as your body jerked and nearly fell out of Eddie's grasp, but he had enough strength to hold you in his embrace.

He wasn't far behind you, his orgasm hitting its final peak, and rushing out of him, into you. He pushed softer and slower thrusts into you as he rode out his orgasm. Eventually, all his motions came to a stop, and his arms unhooked from your body, watching you collapse onto his mattress, and he fell out of you.

You took your time to recover your proper breathing pattern and energy, laying flat on your stomach, and you could feel sweat stick and drip around your body.

Eddie rested next to you, not caring that you were both drenched in sweat desire, and brought you next to him, letting you rest in his arms. Your head was on top of his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he was also trying to catch his breath.

"So that was," you tried to speak, your throat scratchy and hoarse. "Oh fuck."

He stifled a laugh, smiling in pure pride. "We need to clean up, doll."

"I would so gladly get up," you began, sighing warily, "only if you didn't fuck me numb and raw."

"Don't complain," Eddie said, getting himself up, and easily dragged you up off the bed, over his shoulder. "We are getting cleaned up, and then find something to do after."

"Like what?" You wondered, being placed on top of his bathroom sink as he started up a warm bath. "You're not worried Brandon might say something?"

Eddie shrugged. "Not really, no."

"Why not?" You asked. "He has all the privileges and status, you don't."

"Are we really discussing this again?" Eddie asked, moving back over to you while the water ran. "I'm going to be fine. Just let me take care of you, doll."

Your gaze softened as you could see pure admiration and care in his eyes for you. You nodded, chewing onto your lower lip. He pinched your chin, giving your nose a sweet peck, and walked back to the bath to stop the water.

Eddie helped you into the bath, setting you down into it, and the water soaked your body. You moaned to the feeling of it and relaxed into it.

"Feel good?" Eddie smiled, sitting in front of you, and you hummed in response.

You brought your legs up to your chest, hugging them, and rested your cheek on it, looking at Eddie with a small smile playing on your lips.

He noticed. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Nothin'. Just love you, Eds," you said. You had told each other 'I love you' on many occasions, but this time, it had a different meaning behind it. "Always have, always will."

"I love you too, sweet girl," Eddie responded, bringing himself closer to you, and kissed your forehead before pressing his against yours. "Always have, always will."

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