#That all they need to do is change the wording to 'sex determined by 3 months sex organs' instead of 'at conception' and you'll accept.

[lokissweater]

birds of a feather . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

{olympic figure skater!satoru gojo x olympic figure skater f!reader}

summary: you and satoru have known each other since childhood, two little birds navigating through life together as you shared one dream in common— to win gold at the olympics, you both a figure skating pair as you moved and performed and fell in love as the years went by, both balancing off a trembling tight rope and holding on to keep each other in place, a silent agreement that if you indulged and fell into the depths of the truth of what you were, you’d run the risk of losing your careers and each other, yours and satoru’s biggest fears. but you’re growing, and it’s getting harder to hold back… especially for satoru— that trembling tight rope on the verge of snapping in two.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, childhood best friends to lovers trope, cursing, DIABOLICAL ANGST BUT WITH HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE!, mentions of death and loss, mentions of injury and blood, FLUUUFFF, satoru loves loves loves you, SMUUUTT, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it y’all), creampie, pussy eating, dom satoru, pussy drunk satoru, DIRTY TALK, pet names, figure skating, the olympics, true love <3

word count: 22.3k (I KNOW PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEASE—)

authors note: YYYOOOUUU GUUUYYSSS THIS ONE IS MY BABBBYYY AND IM CRYING NOW WRITING THIS LMFAOAOAO. i hope you all love it seriously i GLADLY worked day and night writing this and i’d do it all over again just to see y’all happy :) THANK YOU for your support it is UNREAL, and like always, I LOOVEEE YOUUU MWAAHHH <333

you first met satoru when you were six at the skating rink.

he was only a year older than you, both of your mothers coincidentally signing you up for the same youth ice skating lessons for beginners, meeting and chatting it up seeing as you and satoru were the youngest in age out of the rest of the parents there and their children, you both automatically put together by your coach and separated from the older kids to do warm ups.

and even though the age difference was only a year, satoru at first treated you like a little helpless tiny thing who needed assistance in everything— the cute pink ribbons in your hair doing you an injustice and further implementing the image of a little girl who had no clue of what was going on around her, thinking you were cutesy and he was determined to be your little knight in shining armor when the time came.

until he saw you skate.

what satoru didn’t know, was that you were a prodigy— related to one of the most famous ice skaters in olympic ice skating history, akira, as her talent was blessedly passed down to you through your fruitful system and the lucky processes of genetics— chosen as you barely even had to be taught, you catching everything right away by the coach without any sort of slip and fall… unlike satoru who was clumsily struggling to even glide through the ice without wobbling.

and little satoru was astonished by you and your talent, his first impression of you drastically changing by the end of the first lesson as he shakily slid across the ice over to where you were, patiently doing little turns on the ice while you waited for your mother to finish up talking to another lady (it was satoru’s mother).

“hi!” he had greeted you, a huge goofy smile on his face as you slowed down and looked at him, returning a shy smile of your own.

“hi.”

“i’m satoru!” he extended a hand, eyes shooting wide as he suddenly lost his balance and slipped forward, on the brink of face planting on the ice as his hands quickly flailed out and gripped the edge of the rink to save himself.

you giggled, tiny hands reaching and holding his arm steady as he tried to regain his balance.

“are you okay?” your shy voice asked, and he grinned through his wobbling.

“yeah! i’m okay! don’t worry!”

but he still couldn’t stabilize himself.

“maybe we should sit on the bench?” you suggested sweetly. “so you don’t fall…”

“okay!”

you gripped him as hard as you could (which really wasn’t a lot for a six year old) and slowly moved with him on the ice, supporting him until you were both out of the rink and seated on the bleachers.

“what’s your name?” he chirped, his hands clutching on the edge of the bench as he leaned forward and looked at you kindly, legs swinging.

“y—y/n.”

“nice!” he cheesed, looking at you. “i saw you skate. you’re really good!”

“t—thank you.” you mumbled, shy and alarmed that a boy was talking to you.

“when did you start skating?”

you looked at him confusedly. “um.. today?”

his eyes bulged.

“hah?! today?!”

you jumped at his outburst, cheeks pink as you quickly nodded.

“wowww!…” he gushed with stars in his eyes. “that’s great! i saw you doing turns and things. i can barely move on the ice… it’s slippery.”

“well—” you peeked up at him shyly. “my—my aunt taught me some stuff… but not a lot.”

“you have someone in your family that skates?” he asked excitedly with huge blue eyes. “how cool! hopefully i can catch up to you and at least move…”

“that’s okay...” you smiled. “i know you will.”

“really?!” he gushed again before leaning back, nodding his head cutely. “if you think so, then i know so!”

and you giggled at him, your timid wall slowly crumbling down at his bubbly and kind personality as he was a chatterbox and talked to you about anything that had to do with olympic ice skating— him knowing so much about it and nearly screaming his head off and panicking when he found out that your aunt was none other than akira, now knowing exactly why you were so good at skating in the first place.

satoru looked up to you. so much so that it was comical— seeking your approval over the following years during lessons and not even listening to the damn coach himself as he listened more to you, wanting you to teach him how to do bunny hops or backward crossovers and giving a big fat attitude to anyone else who tried to coach him, whining and snoring away until you and your little bows skated over to him to teach him.

and because of that you spent a lot of time with satoru in and out of lessons, even more than you ever spent with your own friends at school as you clung to him at all times— him cheering and encouraging you on when you were shy in certain situations, and you teaching him everything you could about skating and bringing him little bags of strawberry gummy puffs since he had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever seen, you both cemented and stubbornly attached to the hip with neither wanting to let go.

and when your mother’s planned a little playdate at the local outdoor ice skating rink on a chilly december day— an enormous christmas tree sitting tall and glorious by the rink with twinkling star-shaped fairy lights and jingle bells surrounding the plaza, you and satoru spinning each other around and dancing and giggling over the murmur of classic christmas songs, they saw the potential… an idea sparking in their heads amongst their cooing and picture taking.

you and satoru were both originally put into the ice skating world to train and be independent professional skaters, olympic athletes to be more specific when the time came.

but that concept quickly changed the second you met.

now— you and satoru were an olympic ice skating pair, the subject materializing when your mother’s pulled you out from those simple ice skating lessons (you both already way past getting the basics down since your skill combined with you teaching satoru had you both surpassing the class) and paying for a professional couples figure skating coach to get you guys started now and early.

and the both of you were over the moon, especially satoru, as he absolutely adored you and begged his mother literally every fucking day if he could go over to your house or over to the ice skating rink with you to dance, you doing the same and the two of you crying and wailing on the floor whenever times wouldn’t work out and plans fell through, your mother’s having to give in and drag you to each other’s houses so you would both stop crying.

when akira found out you were officially figure skating, she nearly drove into the side of a building speeding over to your house from being out of the country for so long competing.

“is it true?!” she burst through the doors, your mother rolling her eyes after being startled half to death over her bizarre behavior. “is my little niece gonna be a figure skater like me?!”

you gasped excitedly upon seeing her, getting up from your spot on the rug and running over to akira’s open arms, leaving your coloring book and crayons behind as she swung you around.

“she started when she was six you know that…” your mother grumbled, folding various kitchen towels.

“but you just told me now that she’s not independent!” akira countered, setting you down and holding you out at arms length, eyes wide and eager. “—but partner figure skating! like me!”

she shook you. “where is he?! your partner! is he here? is he your age? is he nice?”

you perked up and looked over to the kitchen. “oh mommy! satoru should come and meet—”

“his name is satoru? oh my goodness how cuteeee!” she cooed, pinching your cheeks. “is he handsome? do you like him? do you have a crush on him—”

your little cheeks blazed as your mother threw a kitchen towel at her.

“she’s eight aki! jesus christ.”

“love has no limits.” akira wiggled a finger, and you giggled.

your mother called satoru’s place soon after, his mother excitedly conversing over the other line about how the akira was finally back in town and how satoru was gonna lose his mind once he saw her— you knowing he was the biggest fan and sometimes told you facts during lessons that you didn’t even know about your own aunt.

and when they finally did arrive, satoru was stiff— frozen in place with tight arms at his sides by the living room as his alarmed big blue eyes looked at akira with a sickly pale face, you snickering behind him.

“hi satoru!” akira greeted, leaning down with her hands on her knees to look at him at eye level. “it’s nice to meet you! y/n tells me you like my skating?”

“u—uhuh.” he responded dumbly, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing, knowing satoru would cry and whine about it later if he heard you.

“that’s great! i’m happy you skate too… and with my niece i should say!” she spoke kindly, ruffling his snowy colored hair up and standing upright, placing her hands on her hips and looking like a straight freaking superhero in satoru’s eyes. “you wanna compete in the olympics?”

“uh huh.”

a laughing breath hurled from your throat and your cheeks puffed up like a squirrel, clasped hands still over your mouth and face going red from how hard you were trying to keep it in.

“that’s what i like to hear.” she smiled, a shiny impressive one as satoru still stood there in a stuck daze.

“work hard okay? the both of you. so you can catch up to me someday, yeah?”

your hands slowly fell from your mouth then, eyes filled with admiration and determination as you both eagerly nodded, looking at each other hopefully.

“you think—” satoru stammered, looking at akira. “you think we can… win three gold medals like you?”

“oh absolutely!” she shrugged. “i don’t doubt it at all.”

you and satoru gushed, glittering little eyes as you stared up cutely at akira, her giving you both a silly grin.

“how long have they been doing partner work?” she asked your mother suddenly, watching the way you and satoru chattered then excitedly about the actual possibility of competing for the olympics someday.

“mmm, i wanna say for about a year and a half? maybe two?” she looked over at satoru’s mother, who nodded in agreement. “they’re with a couple’s figure skating coach right now.”

akira hummed and shifted her gaze back down between the two of you.

“i’m training them from now on.”

both mothers froze, eyes wide as they stared at her.

you and satoru hadn’t even realized what she said, still caught up in your little bubble of the olympics and metals and competitions until your mother caught your attention.

“did you hear?”

you shook your head. “hear what!”

“akira wants to coach you and satoru.”

his jaw dropped and he nearly passed out on the floor, you quickly grabbing his shoulders as he reeled over.

“are— are you sure?” your mother continued, looking at her sister now. “aren’t you busy? i thought you were only here for the weekend.”

she waved her off. “i need a break from skating for a little… at least until the next olympics.”

akira turned to you then and smiled warmly. “and i wanna coach my little niece and her new buddy! if that’s okay?”

“yesyesyesyes!—”

both you and satoru bounced up and down and cheered, arms up as you tackled and hung off of akira like a jungle gym, her laughing and smiling big at your enthusiasm.

akira was the most important figure in your life, right next to satoru as she became a mother figure to the both of you as well as your mentor.

and training with her was not easy— your age not an excuse at all whatsoever in her eyes to not learn proper figure skating moves and technique, saying it would only serve you right in the end if you started adapting your bodies to it now rather than later.

and like most things, akira was right. but even though practices were grueling and tough to the point where you had to drag satoru across the ice to get up, she always tried to make them fun in the end— cracking jokes and teaching you guys silly little tricks that you could do with each other on the ice that she figured out over her years of skating with her partner, taking you both out for ice cream frequently after and telling you of her travels competing around the world, the people she’d met, and the titles she’d won— all things that were you and satoru’s ultimate dream as you listened eagerly.

by the time you were twelve and satoru was thirteen, it was obvious you guys were meant to be olympic athletes together.

“you need to pick your leg a little further up on the spin, toru.”

he stuck his tongue out. “says who.”

“says me.” you poked his cheek. “and i’m pretty sure aki told you before she left too.”

“yes ma’am!” he nodded, gliding a bit further away from you on the ice before picking his momentum up and reaching you, him bending his knees and wrapping his arms around your torso as you both went into fast spins, one leg extended for the both of you as your arms gripped over his shoulders— practicing the routine akira had given you for your upcoming competition.

“yeah like that!” you smiled, spins gradually slowing down and satoru coming back up from his bend until you both stood still on the ice. “good job toru!”

he grinned and ruffled your hair. “thanks!”

“mhm!” you responded, turning and skating away to the edge of the rink to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks.

“what?!” he whined. “where are you going? do i stink?”

“no!” you laughed, shaking your head. “just the usual sweat and B.O.”

“aw no!” he quickly skated to the edge of the rink and out before flying for his duffel bag. “i hate being a man i hate puberty this is ridiculous—”

“i’m kidding im kidding!” you called from across the ice, cackling when he stopped and whipped his head over, glaring at you. “you’re fine toru— not stinky.”

“well you’re stinky for putting me in distress how about that?” he huffed, an eventual smile playing at his lips as he put down his duffel bag and went inside the rink again.

akira was currently on her way to compete at the olympics for her fourth gold medal in partner figure skating, you and satoru having no doubt in your minds that she was going to absolutely clear everyone else there and get it, as she’s never gotten silver or bronze or anything lower than that.

“when do we fly to see aki again?” satoru called from across the ice, gliding to and fro in figure eights. “don’t say tomorrow morning because i haven’t started packing yet heh… oops.”

you giggled. “it is tomorrow morning, dummy.”

“no!” he stopped and shoved his hands in his hair. “i haven’t even started planning my outfits! oh i was gonna take so many pictures what am i supposed to do now—”

you laughed loudly and skated back over to him, hands wrung behind your back as you looked at him cheekily. “you’re silly toru. outfits for what? literally just show up.”

“it’s not everyday we leave the country y/n!” he whined. “i wanted to sport my best and look cool, dang it.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and lifted your hand, patting his head.

“i’ll show up in pajamas and you show up in yours, and we’ll call it a day. hm?”

he grinned.

“matching? or seperate? and what color? plaid?”

“toru!”

he laughed and skated past you, nudging your shoulder with his in the process. “i’m just messing with youuu, matching obviously!”

satoru came back around, reached up and straightened the ribbons in your hair, little white bows sitting pretty as a blush rose to his cheeks when he was done.

“wanna run it three more times and call it?” he suggested. “i wanna make sure i get what you told me down before we go.”

you smiled and quickly nodded, taking satoru’s extended hand and skating together to first position.

watching akira win gold in person for the first time in your life was an experience you’ll never forget.

and she did it fucking beautifully.

with every precise move, with every articulate angle you and satoru screamed and yelled like crazy people in front of the rink while waving around your countries tiny flags, cheering with fat tears rolling down your faces when she successfully landed each time, holding each other so tight with mushed up cheeks throughout her routine with her partner and still in anxiousness when the time came for revealing final scores.

no one could skate like her. absolutely no one as she speedily glided across the ice and spun, prepped herself for the hardest most impressive turns you had ever seen in your life, and performed a quadruple axel rotation in the air all on her own— things that have always earned her the highest scores for three successive olympic years.

and four now— because when akira and her partner stepped up on that podium, you and satoru had to basically be yanked back by your mothers with the way you both tried to jump over the edge of the rink to her, her standing there like a beacon of light on the first place podium, a gold medal hung rightfully around her neck with flowers in her arms as she smiled so so big and happily, her eyes not once leaving you and satoru.

eventually when the ceremony was over, amongst all of the buzz and the crowd roaring and picture taking— akira quickly skated over to the two of you and leaned on the edge of the rink.

“akiiii!” you both wailed and flung your arms around her neck, her giggling and hugging you both back as best as she possibly could despite the mass amount of bouquets in her hands.

“did i do okay?!” she yelled over the noise.

you both pulled back and looked at her like she was insane.

“did you do okay?!” you gawked.

“aki— you won a fucking gold medal!” satoru yelled.

“HAH!” she laughed loudly. “don’t say that word in front of your mommy satoru she’ll chop my head off and kill me!”

you both giggled uncontrollably.

akira leaned her head in then and you and satoru followed through, all three foreheads resting against each others.

“listen to me for a second.“ she started. “you guys are birds of a feather, okay? you need to stick together and fly together as one.”

she let you both go and dropped the bouquets she was holding on the icy floor before placing a hand on yours and satoru’s outer cheeks, bringing you in. “don’t fight. don’t separate. don’t leave each other. you need to keep each other and what you have safe.”

you both quickly nodded, tears funnily gathering at the corners of your eyes at what she was saying, and she smiled.

“yes partner figure skating is about chemistry and technicality, but it’s about love… and sometimes just that. without genuine love, nothing will click.” she let your cheeks go and grabbed her shiny gold medal, holding it up. “this will be yours. i promise you.”

akira put down her medal, wiping both yours and satoru’s wet cheeks. “birds of a feather. stick together. keep each other safe. do you understand?”

the two of you sniffled and nodded.

“and i need to stop cussing in front of you guys during practices, don’t i?!” she smiled warmly, and you and satoru shook your heads frantically.

“no keep doing it!—”

“it’s funny please!—”

ever since akira told you that, it became you and satoru’s thing.

before and after every competition, with every hello and every goodbye at the beginning and end of the day, throughout the hours randomly whenever you both felt like it, you’d lock pinkies and reiterate ‘birds of a feather’ before kissing your thumbs and locking your promise in place— another one of the many other ways you’d show that you loved each other.

but whether it was platonically or romantically remained unknown until you both hit high school.

perhaps it had always been romantically… that you weren’t exactly sure of. but the way you and satoru had been treating each other since you were literally the age of six, made the technicalities of what it was blurry and a little confusing— for you couldn’t even remember when it was that you started loving satoru.

maybe it was that very first day when he skated over to you, wobbly and clumsy with a cheesy smile.

and as if it wasn’t already confusing enough of what the two of you were, the way you acted made it ten times worse.

but you’d been that way since forever— embracing each other a little longer than you should, innocently kissing each others cheeks and heads and hands, calling each other pet names and being each other’s dates to every single school dance—

but it was all harmless. not a single bad thought behind it and doing it like a reflex.

it was like you both were line balancing across the thinnest tight rope known to mankind— flimsy and unsteady, always on the verge of toppling over and falling completely into the darkening depths of the truth of what you were, but catching each other just before you did to regain balance back on the rope.

neither of you said it, but if you and satoru ever dared to be anything more than friends, and if something were to happen where you had to break up— you’d lose your first love, your best friend, and your entire career all in one.

the consequences were too drastic— you both knew that.

and you didn’t want to break your promise… so you acted blind to it.

by the time you were seventeen and satoru was eighteen, akira started training you for the international skating union competition to earn a spot for the olympics.

well— she actually started when you were about fourteen, but as the years progressed, her coaching and critiques got increasingly more difficult and nitpicky as well as the moves she taught you, wanting you both to build endurance to it and perfect it so that by the time you reached the age requirement for the olympics— it would be easier to train for it and be formidable competitors against the other pairs.

you and satoru wanted to be olympians more than anything else in your lives, and akira knew just how important this was for the both of you— making it her absolute mission to help accomplish solely that as she saw herself through the two of you.

your dreams were just like hers, and she respected and nurtured the fact with everything that she had.

“up! aaand up! and take her— throw— land oh shit—”

just as you had landed a semi complex throw jump, you lost balance and landed right on your ass, sliding across the ice on your side.

it was rare when you fell, and you absolutely despised when you did.

“fuck!” satoru quickly skated over to you and knelt down. “are you okay?!”

“why can’t i land that man?” you whined, covering your eyes.

akira smoothly traveled over to you both.

“it’s okay! we just learned it today sweets like— right now… you’ll have it down in the next five minutes.” satoru smiled softly, carefully helping you up on your skates and checking you over.

“don’t overly punish yourself, y/n.” akira reached and pinched your cheek. “i love that you’ve always been so serious about your technique, but you have to leave room for error my love or else you’ll choke yourself out.”

satoru ran a soothing hand along your back and you smiled cutely up at him, his heart jittering so much from it that he had to quickly retract his arm.

you nodded, always taking satoru’s and akira’s words seriously like inscriptions to a stone wall. “okay!”

he grinned and kissed the side of your head before taking your hand and leading you to first position like always.

akira smirked.

“are you guys together yet!” she blurted from across the ice and you both choked as she skated over.

“are we— are we—” you stammered.

“what?” she breathed out, placing her hands on her hips. “are you at least in love?”

satoru’s blue eyes bulged open with a furious pink tint to both of your cheeks.

“aki!” you whined, embarrassed. “stop it—”

“have you guys at least gone on one date?”

satoru pouted. “no.”

“i’m—” you played with your fingers. “i’m going on one today—”

“you’re what?!” he whipped his head in your direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“yeah…” you looked at him. “i’ve never gone on one and some guy at school asked me so i— i just thought—”

you thought it’d do you some good, since the one you wanted you couldn’t really have.

“are you actually..?” satoru trailed off, an unfamiliar strike of something in his chest making him a little upset.

but he knew damn well what it was.

“but—” akira stared at you wide eyed, pointing at satoru. “but it’s— it’s supposed to be—”

“aki!” satoru quickly grabbed her arm and lowered it, eyes snapping to you next. “is it that one guy you told me about? from your english class?”

“uh huh.” you fidgeted. “he asked me again and i felt bad saying no so i— said yes…”

satoru swallowed, nodding.

“oh you big dummies!” akira groaned. “we’ll talk about this later or else i’m gonna go into fucking cardiac arrest from frustration—”

she skated off to the edge of the rink and out, leaning on it from the outside with her head dramatically hung.

you both got into starting position, but you faltered when you noticed satoru was oddly quiet and stiff.

“…toru?”

he blinked down at you. “huh?”

“you okay?”

“oh!— yeah.” he smiled weakly. “i’m fine baby.”

“you sure—”

“what time is your date?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek. “it’s a bit after this... i told him to just give me time to shower and get ready.”

“if he can’t accept you stinky then he’s not for you.” he shook his head in distaste. “he’s already failing in my eyes sweets absolutely flunking. maybe you should cancel it? yeah i say cancel it—”

you laughed, heart in your throat as your eyes gleamed up at him. “i can barely accept you stinky so i wouldn’t blame him—”

“hey!” he placed an exaggerated hand on his chest. “it’s not my fault i literally put my heart and soul out on the ice just for you to skate all over me—”

you gasped offendedly. “i don’t skate all over you—”

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do to—”

“you guys!” akira called. “you know i love it when you guys love on each other it makes me so happy and envision your wedding but right now we have to grind!”

you both froze up and snapped your heads in her direction with red faces, whining.

“aakkiii!—”

you practiced what you had of the routine a couple of more times, a few new moves and jumps added after each run until akira called it a day upon noticing you and satoru were practically sweating your asses off and messing up several times out of exhaustion.

“good job today you guys!” she smiled, patting you both on your shoulders. “i feel like the next time we meet we’ll have the choreography down... from there we just need to perfect it and you should be good for the next competish, okay?”

you both nodded and thanked her, sweet smiles on your faces as she reached up and pinched a side of both your cheeks.

“my little babies.” she cooed. “oh how you’ve grown! you guys were so little when we started now satoru is huge man jesus christ—”

she lifted her hand and reached up to measure satoru’s height from his forehead, her passing it over the top of her head and eyes widening at the huge gap.

he laughed and puffed up his chest. “i got big and strong too aki see?” he flexed an arm. “see? eh?”

“that you did!” she laughed brightly, ruffling up his hair. “the strongest.”

you giggled and skated over to the edge of the rink to pack up, internally panicking a little that you guys went overtime and it was almost time for your date.

“satoru..” akira whispered, looking over her shoulder to make sure you weren’t listening. “what’s going on? you still haven’t asked her out? i thought you said you were gonna do it.”

“no..” he mumbled. “but we can’t. and she knows that too so— so what am i supposed to do—”

she gawked. “do you not see what’s happening?! she’s gonna go on a date with someone else! off with this stupid fear you guys have already seriously.”

“we caan’tt aki.” he pushed sadly. “it’s too risky.”

“but it’s not though!” she threw her arms out. “you guys have known each other since practically birth i feel like if it wasn’t meant to be you would’ve separated by now!”

satoru gnawed at his bottom lip in thought, eyes trained to the way your bows moved in your hair as you swung your duffel bag over yourself, smiling softly once he realized you had kindly packed his things for him too as you sat on the bench and waited for him to take you home.

akira sighed.

“it’s not my place to tell you guys what to do… but love has no limits. you know that.”

he nodded, smiling weakly at her as they skated out of the rink and prepared to lock up, akira hugging you both goodbye with a family kiss to your cheeks and you separating ways with her for the day, but not before her reminding you guys of practice tomorrow and that she loved you over her shoulder.

satoru was dreading you going on your date as he drove— the both of you normally talking about random things like always but his mind unable to stray from the fact that you were actually giving some random dingbat a chance.

it was rare when either of you would talk to or date other people, never even as your heads have always been so focused on figure skating and competitions… but also on each other— taking care and loving one another that you never needed anybody else since you were everything to satoru and satoru to you, and you were both confident that absolutely no one could ever step up to that level.

so why were you going on a date?

but he shouldn’t be like this. he knew that. there was a silent agreement between the two of you to never fall off that thin tight rope and keep each other balanced. and you were allowed to see and date whoever you wanted— something that he probably should do as well to try and get over the fact that you’d never really be his.

satoru pulled up to your driveway and shifted his gear into park.

“thank you toru!” you smiled sweetly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured. “can i— can i come in with you? and hang while you get ready?”

you quirked a brow. “i thought that’s what we were already doing silly.”

“okay well invite me woman!” you both got out of the car and walked up the steps to your front door. “you can’t just assume. what if i was busy? what if i also had a date? hm?”

you gave him a sly grin as you twisted in your keys to unlock the door. “do you?”

“… no.”

you giggled and pushed open the door, the both of you immediately clasping your hands over your mouths to keep your laughs in at the sight of your mother sprawled out on the couch dead asleep with drool coming out of her mouth, the tv softly playing in the background as you quietly shut the door, went up the stairs and into your room.

satoru sat on your desk chair lazily while you quickly hopped in the shower to get ready for your stupid date, staring at the framed photographs on your nightstand that all consisted of you and him over the years, smiling softly at his favorite— a picture of the two of you when you were babies, cheek to cheek with huge smiles at the park as you held ice cream cones in each of your hands, satoru more than sure akira was the one who took that picture.

the sound of your door clicking shut pulled him from his thoughts as you walked in, drying your pretty hair with your little fuzzy towel and throwing it in the hamper once you were done.

“oh! i was gonna show you! i got these ribbons the other day—” you got down on your knees and looked under your bed, sticking a hand in and pulling out a white box as you picked it up and shuffled with your knees closer to satoru— sitting back on your ankles.

“—i was running out of ribbon so i got these!” you held up the box and satoru took it, examining the various pastel colors with warm eyes. “some of them are polka dotted and i thought that was cute.”

“it is sweets!” he agreed.

satoru loved the ribbons in your hair, and you’d always wear them without fail because you knew just how much he did.

“i wanna start wearing bows too.” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you giggled.

“are you saying you wanna steal my brand toru?” you picked up a blue roll of ribbon from the box, a color that matched satoru’s eyes. “thought you were an honest man?”

he gasped. “i am an honest man! is it not obvious enough when i help you with your math homework? when i sacrifice my dignity and text you answers during your tests?”

you giggled and unrolled a strand of ribbon. “not when you eat all of my sweets that you actively dig through my room for—”

“but they’re always the strawberry gummy puffs!” he whined. “they make me a slut.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and stood, grabbing your little scissors and snipping off a piece of blue ribbon from the roll, stepping in front of satoru and leaning.

“watcha doing?” he asked, placing his hands on your waist.

“i’m putting a little bow in your hair before i leave!”

he hummed. “don’t think it’ll look as good on me as they do on you.”

you blushed, taking little pieces of white hair from the top of his head and wrapping the ribbon around, tying it the same way you’ve been doing for yourself since you were the age of nine.

you took a step back once you were finished and laughed. “you look cute toru!”

he raised a silly brow. “do i still look big and strong?”

“big and strong and pretty—”

“please don’t go.”

you stilled.

“what?”

satoru looked down, his bangs hiding his gorgeous eyes as he did.

“on your date.” he mumbled. “don’t go.”

you placed your hands softly on his shoulders, and his hold tightened a little around your waist.

“why?”

“because like i said if he doesn’t accept you stinky then he can’t have you when you smell like vanilla—”

“toru...” you spoke sternly, softly. “why not?”

you didn’t know why you were pushing it so much… maybe you were trying to see if you could get it out of him— if he had the will to actually say it unlike you…

and you hoped to god he would say it.

he slowly lifted his head and propped his chin up on your tummy, a sour expression on his face as he puckered his lips to the side like a little fish.

“dunno…” he muttered, his gaze flickering to yours and a sense of guilt swarming his chest at the uneasy look you had, his face relaxing as he sighed.

“sorry.” he smiled sheepishly, pulling back and letting go of your waist. “i’m kidding you have every right to—”

“m’not going.” you mumbled as you slid your hands away, looking down and playing with your fingers.

“huh?” he furrowed his brows. “no baby go you should go—”

“i don’t want to.”

you never did in the first place. you had foolishly thought that letting someone else in like this would be good for you and help you establish some sort of… barrier with satoru so you weren’t always suffering so fucking much.

but you were absolutely stupid for that.

all you’ve ever wanted was satoru, and doing something to pull you away from the type of relationship you had with him (whether platonic or romantic you had no freaking clue), was not only hurting you, but hurting him.

you didn’t need anyone else, truly. all you needed was satoru and his silly smile and dramatic antics— to spend time with just him and skate and eat dinner together after practices every night while watching horror movies, laughing so much over his screams that your stomach hurt while he whined about how you were making fun of him.

that’s all you needed… just satoru.

regardless if there was something more in question.

“you don’t want to?” he repeated softly. “why?”

“you know why, toru…”

you had said it so softly he barely caught it, but he did, his breath hitching in his throat.

that was the closest you two had ever gotten to acknowledging it.

you both were silent for a moment, the soft murmur of your tv downstairs filling the void as you looked at each other, tense and waiting for either of you to say something… anything.

but it was like the gravity of the foreseeable consequences settled onto your shoulders, and the pair of you could only sadly smile.

satoru stuck his pinky finger out towards you then.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured.

you breathed out a little through your nose and looped your pinky with his, nodding.

“birds of a feather.”

he kissed his thumb and you did the same before locking the promise.

for the rest of the night, you and satoru watched a bunch of shitty unknown movies to try and see who would break and laugh first— you feeling bad that you had to cancel so last minute on that guy from your english class, but not regretting it at all as you watched satoru scarf down two slices of pizza in one sitting and nearly throw up, you almost falling off the bed from laughing so much and him having to catch you midway down and pull you back up, saying that he was your hero and therefore you should give him your last stash of strawberry gummy puffs as a reward.

it was nearly two am when you and satoru finally settled down, both sprawled over each other on the bed as you stared up at the ceiling and talked about literally anything that came to your minds— stubbornly fighting off sleep for whatever unknown reason in the dark.

“you know this is aki’s last olympics right?” you spoke softly, your arm propped up as you watched the way satoru played with your fingers.

“yeah..” he replied. “i don’t really know how to feel about that.”

“me neither.” you shook your head. “but she said it came at a perfect time because she’d been wanting to retire for a while.”

and now it was yours and satoru’s turn to try and fill the legacy she had built.

he hummed, delicately interlacing your fingers together as the outline of it through the darkness made you blush and smile, the nooks between his digits blessedly made entirely just for you as your fingers slotted perfectly in each spot every time.

and satoru silently vowed for the millionth time in his life that he would always be your hero and keep you safe, a promise that was already tied into your birds of a feather contract, but needing to repeat it to himself anyways while he listened to the sound of your voice talk about your excitement for the upcoming olympics.

and my god were you excited, the both of you— looking forward to seeing akira gracefully take home her fifth fucking gold medal like she always did with no repercussions, seeing her fans and the mass amounts of support she got every year with bouquets and teddy bears and picture taking, but also looking forward to spending even more time with her— for not just practices… but for forever, even more than you already did now as you two were greedy and just loved akira.

you were looking forward to forever, the three of you.

until akira’s accident.

“oh my god i’m gonna throw up—”

satoru hurled over just as you both stepped onto the bleachers at the olympic arena, you laughing and placing supporting hands on his shoulders as you followed your mother and satoru’s to your designated place by the front.

“toru i told you you’d make yourself sick if you didn’t leave that damn dessert table alone.”

“there were cinnamon rolls baby. cinnamon rolls how on earth could i possibly just walk by a platter of cinnamon rolls—”

“okay!” you giggled, carefully leading him to sit down and ruffling his hair once you settled. “i get it! you love cinnamon rolls.”

“not as much as i love you—”

“yuck!” you stuck your tongue out and pushed him away by his cheek, him laughing loudly as he shooed your arm away and grinned.

“toru— this is the last time we’re gonna be sitting here in the bleachers watching aki.” you mentioned. “isn’t that fucking nuts?”

“now i’m gonna cry and throw up.”

“no!” you giggled and nudged his shoulder. “then you’ll make me cry.”

he smiled and leaned over to plant a quick kiss to your cheek, reaching up and fixing the bows in your hair before looking straight ahead, his sparkling blue eyes staring at the rink.

the crowd roared suddenly and a mix of big and tiny flags of several individual countries waved in the air as you and satoru jumped and screamed when akira glided out with her skates and glittery dress, a huge dazzling smile on her face as she waved at the crowd, her eyes scanning around quickly before they finally landed on you and satoru.

as if she wasn’t already smiling enough, it grew bigger at the sight of you both practically over the fucking rink calling her name, her blowing you both a kiss and connecting her hands together to form a little bird, fluttering it up funnily and making you laugh before spinning around and going to starting position with her partner.

“oh she’s gonna wipe again.” satoru breathed out. “wipe absolute buttcheeks.”

you cackled as you both watched her routine— incredibly fast paced and technical, filled with spins and throw jumps and lifts as she made it known that it was her last year and wanted to leave with a mark, you and satoru absolutely mesmerized by the choreography as a dramatic symphony of a classical piece drummed through your ears by the speakers.

each move was executed beautifully, you and satoru at the edge of your damn seats as akira’s partner lifted her by the arms to settle over his shoulders into a split formation— halfway through the routine already.

“maybe we could do a move like that for when we compete!” you suggested over the music. “i feel like technically it could—”

a hand flew over your mouth as you watched akira topple and slam to the ground upon coming down from her split lift, the spinning blade of her partner slicing through her abdomen as her head nastily collided with the ice— the crowd screaming in terror.

“oh my god!—” your chest moved frantically and you and satoru looked at each other, horrified faces as you watched the backside of her limp body on the ground surrounded by paramedics, her partner hovering over her in complete and absolute distress.

and there was so much blood.

blood that pooled all around her figure and stained her shimmering dress, blood that wouldn’t stop fucking spreading as a stretcher finally made it out on the ice.

“baby.” satoru’s voice shook. “why isn’t aki moving.”

“i— i don’t know—”

“aki!”

you both snapped out of your shocked daze and screamed over the rink and jumped, shoes slipping against the ice as the two of you tried to reach her through your panicked tears and calls, security speeding through and pulling you both back as you watched the paramedics lift her frail body onto the stretcher and away from the rink.

“that’s—” you sucked in a sharp sob. “that’s my aunt please let us go—”

“you need to stay out of the rink—”

“fuck you!”

satoru shoved security away and grabbed your arm, wishing you had your skates on as you both practically crawled over to where akira was being carried out, not giving a single shit about the way your mothers yelling demanded you back as security had to literally pull you and satoru by the ankles, further and further away from the scene and away from akira until the only thing left was her pool of sickly crimson blood in front of you, you and satoru wailing.

akira died at the hospital later that night.

the collision of her head against the ice brought such blunt force trauma that it caused irreversible brain damage, and with the amount of blood that she was already losing from the laceration of the blade— those elements combined didn’t give her a single fighting chance at survival, her fate sealed from the moment her body hit the ground.

it was completely unexpected… an incident like that had never happened in not just olympic partner figure skating, but figure skating competitions as a whole— the severity of the situation so grave that the complex move akira and her partner performed that led to her death was banned from the olympics moving forward.

and you and satoru were fucking ruined.

ruined and crying and clutching over her arms and hands at her hospital bedside, it scaringly cold and stiff and not her usual warmth at all as you couldn’t accept that this was your reality, that akira had left you both all alone after not only her initial familial love that you’d gotten since birth, but after nearly a decade of giggles and skating, her picking you both up from school and cussing up a storm because it made you and satoru laugh as kids, buying you ice cream and taking you out for beach days because she said the sun was good for your skin, harassing you and taking a million pictures of the two of you as she uttered over and over again that love had no limits— your dream of forever with her cruelly severed over the sport you all loved most.

yours and satoru’s mentor, friend, your fucking mother figure— was gone.

your aunt was gone. your own blood.

the entirety of that bullshit situation sort of settled into your minds by the time her funeral came— painfully holding back tears as your family members gave their speeches and final wishes before the lowering of her casket, you and satoru not saying a single word throughout the entire thing until it was just you and him standing in front of her grave site— your mothers waiting for you in their cars.

you both chose not to give speeches. you couldn’t.

“toru.” you sniffled, drowning in your tears as satoru strained to keep his back, lips pulled into a thin line.

“yes pretty.”

“this is so fucked.”

satoru breathed out a weak laugh and let a couple of tears slip down his cheeks, wiping them with the sleeve of his black suit as he grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, squeezing it.

“diabolically fucked.” he responded.

there really wasn’t much you could say at that moment in time, the two of you staring at the carvings on her tombstone as the wind softly blew over the petals of her flowers and letters, the day cloudy and cold and just fucked as you silently choked back sobs and whimpers, satoru lamely trying his best to stay strong for you— be your hero as he pulled you into his chest and squeezed you with everything that he had, nose buried in your hair as his tears fell and dampened a few strands.

“birds of a feather, toru.” you spoke softly, both of your frames shaking as the saying itself came from none other than akira.

he firmly nodded, lifting his head and kissing your cheek twice hard before looking at you.

“birds of a feather sweets.” his red teary eyes made your heart ache. “you can’t leave me too, okay?”

you scoffed and wiped your eyes, a sad smile on your face. “i could never… you know that.”

it didn’t really get easier from there, as everything in your lives reminded you of akira.

and though your mother was grieving the loss of her sister, she wanted to be left alone, and the only person that really understood the level of mourning you were on was satoru— him always there in the blink of an eye when you would call him in the middle of the night crying your eyes out while he held you, or when broken sobs wrecked through satoru’s trembling body as he cried into your chest while you held him and vice versa, endless amounts of ‘i miss her’s’ and ‘bring her back’s’ as you took turns depending on the day rolling on the floor unable to physically breathe over the loss as you tried to anchor each other back to normalcy, wondering how the world could be so cruel and continue spinning when you’d just lost half of your hearts.

but it did. it continued to spin and turn and carry on as you and satoru day by day tried to patch over what happened, be there for each other and heal each other as you graduated high school and caught up with satoru in college, still together and still in your stupid limbo of ‘is there something more’ except worse, and still inseparable three years later after akira’s passing.

it didn’t hurt any less, but the days definitely got easier… some harder than others as the time you spent with her became cherished distant memories, feeling eternally grateful for the way she raised and took care of you, for the work she had done, and for the legacy she had built for figure skating olympians around the world.

and because akira was so good and taught you both just as so, satoru and you had a little name of your own as you’ve been sweeping competitions since the age of thirteen, ninety eight percent unbeatable and competitive as other pairs always knew who you were the minute you stepped onto the ice, eager and curious to see if you would make it into the olympics when the time came just like your mentor had done.

some deemed it cheating— unfair due to the fact that you had a four-time gold medalist olympian training you since childhood, but that assumption quickly diminished after her passing when you both continued to wipe competitions and take trophies home purely based on your talent.

and you both agreed to continue your careers without a coach, a decision that didn’t even need to be thought twice over— and you were twenty and satoru twenty one when the time drew near to try for the olympics.

finally.

“my legs are gonna fall off and my balls are gonna droop to the icy floor if you don’t give me a kiss right now.”

“toru!” you giggled loudly, pushing his face away as he puckered up his lips and made obnoxious kissy noises, pulling you in by the waist. “toru focus we’re on a time crunch—”

“time crunch where?” he whined, stomping his blade down on the ice. “we’ve been at it for so long already i’m cold i’m thirsty and i think we should go to that cute christmas festival patch thing you told me aboouuttt!”

“right now?” you asked. “i don’t know toru… i had a set goal for us tonight and if we don’t get it—”

“oh you damn perfectionist.” he scowled, letting you go and quickly skating to starting position. “fine.”

you gave him a knowing smile and skated over to his dramatic sulking figure, kissing his cheek softly and wringing your arms around his neck, pulling him in.

“let’s run it three more times and then we can go to the festival, okay?”

he jumped up like a little kid, eyes hyper and wild. “really? honestly? truly?”

you nodded, gleaming up at him.

“is this a prank?”

“jesus toru you’re making me think i’m keeping you hostage here with how excited you are—”

“yiiippeeeee!—” he grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you before spinning on the ice, the both of you laughing as he roughly turned until he gradually came to a stop, big goofy smiles on your faces as he did so.

satoru loosened his hold as you slowly slid down against his body, faces close and lovesick as his half lidded eyes looked at you, lips stinging to plant directly over yours after so many years of hopeless pining and avoidance, still refusing to acknowledge the situation, but it glaringly obvious at this point.

“what?” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his lips as your blades touched the ice again.

he softly shook his head, blue eyes greedily drinking in your pretty face as he retracted a hand from your waist and brushed his palm over your hair adoringly, hand raising to cup your cheek gently.

was he about to…?

you swallowed, hands gripping his black t-shirt as you waited… anxious, hoping that he would do what you thought he was about to do.

but satoru squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace and quickly kissed the corner of your mouth before turning his back to you and skating to starting position— leaving you incredibly dumbfounded and disappointed.

satoru’s skin felt like it was on fucking fire as he looked at your stunning doe eyes blinking at him from across the rink, heart pulsing uncontrollably as you slowly skated to him and got into position, neither of you uttering a word about it as you ran the choreography three more times like you had agreed on.

you and satoru have had plenty of moments like that… but lately?

it’s been borderline dangerous with how close you’ve gotten to breaking your unspoken rule.

by the end of practice you and satoru excitedly packed up for the christmas festival, more or less stumbling out of the doors of the rink and locking up before throwing your things in satoru’s car and speeding off to the main plaza, cheesy dorky smiles on your faces as you babbled on about all of the things you were gonna do once you got there.

“the s’mores stand! the s’mores stand!” satoru whipped his head comically back and forth between you and the snowy road. “we have to go there and get five nothing less and maybe more—”

“wait! i wanna get some of that hot chocolate we got last year!” you quickly reached and gripped his shoulder. “the one with the chocolate bits in it! and the whipped cream! and the drizzle—”

“oh fuck yeah how could i forget?” satoru made a turn, the shining glimmering lights of the festival and christmas trees coming into view and riling you both up in pure exhilaration. “i gulped down like four cups of those and then threw up in a bush.”

you laughed loudly and shook your head. “i forgot about thaaaattt! toru you always shove shit in your mouth and throw up we have got to work on that—”

“no we don’t!” he cheesed, reaching over and patting over your hair— the smooth ribbon of your thin bows sliding underneath his palm. “i love sweets even if they hurt me. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. where there is no struggle there is no strength—”

“the only strength i see is a man hunched over puking his guts out.”

“hey!” he pouted, pulling into the lot before parking and turning off the ignition, the both of you hopping out of the car and locking it as you walked towards the main entrance. “and i’ll do it again so what.”

you giggled and interlocked your fingers with satoru’s. “silly silly.”

the festival was lively— huge decorated christmas trees everywhere you went as twinkling fairy lights adorned every corner and direction of the lots premises, several open stands that continuously wafted chocolate and cinnamon and vanilla throughout the entire night that had satoru practically floating through the air following the scent, kids giggling and running around as the soft familiar tunes of christmas music hummed in the background.

“what do you want for christmas, sweets?” satoru asked while chowing down a giant s’more.

“a kiss!” you quipped, giving him a cute silly look as you blew a bit of air over your steaming hot chocolate.

he stopped chewing.

“really?” satoru spoke with his mouthful. “i can literally give that to you right now c’mere—”

“no toru!” your cheeks buzzed a vibrant pink, completely flustered. “you’re supposed to say a big fat no!”

“now why the fuck would i do that...” he grumbled, shoulders slumping from disappointment as he took another big bite of his dessert.

you giggled, looking at him apologetically before standing on your tippy toes and licking a bit of melted chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

and he blinked at you, dumb and still as his cheeks copied the same exact shade as yours.

my god.

you were about to turn him into a freak.

“okay now you have to kiss me.”

“why?!” you laughed. “you had chocolate on your face! i was helping you out.”

“yeah right you little minx.” he scarfed down the last bit of his s’more and threw his little paper tray in the trash can behind him, putting his hands together and shaking off excess crumbs. “that’s actually the most torturous thing you have ever done to me.”

“dramatic!” you exclaimed, laughs escaping you and increasing as you watched satoru’s flustered face pout and glare at you.

you breathed in deeply and settled down, standing up straight as you took a tiny sip of your hot chocolate and smiled. “now i feel bad.”

“you should.”

“can you forgive me?”

“not unless you kiss me.”

“toru!”

“what?!” he pushed. “baby it’s only fair! really! just once and that’s it. a harmless peck nothing more we aren’t doing anything crazier.”

you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.

technically he was right… it was just one little peck, entirely harmless and cute and wouldn’t have you both falling off of that thin tight rope you guys were still balancing off of.

this would only shake it a little… but then you’d be fine! right?

you were too far gone in the considerations of his proposal as you looked at his absolutely breathtaking blue eyes and face, somehow looking even more angelic as his pinky cold cheeks and nose and scarf covered neck did nothing but make you fall deeper in love with him than you already were.

how someone could look as good as satoru was beyond you.

“just—” you peered up at him. “just one peck okay?”

his eyes widened.

holy shit.

“yes!” he breathed out. “yes yes just one.”

“toru.” you spoke sternly. “i’m serious.”

he frantically nodded, arms already snaking around your waist and bringing you in.

you both couldn’t believe it.

you were about to have your very first kiss.

the two of you leaned in then— softly, timidly, afraid as satoru’s chocolate breath fanned against your nostrils and filled your lungs, lips coming closer and closer until they met in a simple, solid, tiny harmless peck.

satoru felt like his veins were about to pop and explode at the feeling of your delicate soft lips finally on his, the feeling actually fucking unreal as his fingertips went numb and his body tingled all over.

but it quickly became clear that it was not just one harmless peck.

because when it was supposed to be the time for you both to pull away, you and satoru only opened your mouths and kissed deeper— eyelids blissfully closed as your lips smacked so slowly and tenderly, the two of you actively relishing in the moment and just drinking each other’s mouths in as they moved and shifted, deep breaths through your noses as you daze-fully made out with the faint fuzzy sound of jingle bells and christmas music growing increasingly distant.

you tasted so sweet. just like he’d imagined.

but the moment came to and end when you both snapped your eyelids open in realization and released lips, pupils frantic and wide as you searched each other’s eyes for any sign of anger since you both had slipped up and did way more than just a peck.

but there was nothing. obviously there was nothing like that as your shoulders relaxed simultaneously and bashful smiles crossed your faces.

“you taste like chocolate.” he grinned.

you bit your bottom lip in a smile. “so do you.”

“twins.”

“uh huh.”

“i love you.”

you stilled.

you’ve told each other that thousands of times for years, since childhood.

you’ve always said you loved each other and have both known it was laced with those unspoken feelings you had, and you accepted that for as long as you could remember.

but somehow… in someway… it just felt different this time around. profound. more serious.

“i love you.” you responded.

satoru smiled softly and leaned his forehead against yours, basking in each others authentic infatuation for a moment before pulling away.

“can i get another s’more—”

“no!”

satoru ended up getting his second s’more, and you surprisingly ended up partaking in satoru activities and downed three fucking cups of that hot chocolate you loved so much, your tummy full and about to literally burst, but not really giving a shit as you and him were having so much freaking fun— buying little christmas trinkets from the santa shop and building tiny snowmen in the snowy play area filled with a bunch of kids (satoru literally making a tiny dick for one of the snowman and you immediately destroying it and wacking him), even skating in the rink but purely just for enjoyment and not a single thought of what you do professionally crossing your minds.

you stayed there until it was nearly closing time, money absolutely spent from all the things you bought, but your souls happy and warm as you happily walked to the car so satoru could take you home.

on the drive there, you showcased all of the trinkets you both had bought, a particular one catching your eye that you remembered you hadn’t shown satoru yet.

“oh! i got this one—” you dug your hand in the white plastic bag and pulled out a little snow angel, beautiful and glossy as the angels face blushed and smiled. “at the santa shop!”

“it’s cute baby!” he smiled. “for you?”

you shook your head. “i got it for aki. for the next time we visit her.”

his heart softened, nodding.

you and satoru tried your best to visit her grave as often as you possibly could, sometimes nearing four times a week to pay your respects and chat with her for a little while, filling her in a bit on your lives to bring back the feeling of what it was like to just talk to her in any way you could, like you had the fortune of doing once before.

“it kinda looks like her.. doesn’t it?” he questioned, pointing to the figure.

“it does right!” you expressed. “that’s why i got it… it reminded me of her.”

“she’ll love it.” he grinned, gently running the pad of his finger against your cold cheek before turning his attention back to the road.

you and satoru didn’t mention the kiss again as you were funnily still in shock over it, but the butterflies in your stomachs and the sole memory of it did more than enough as you climbed into bed with an already snoring satoru, him sleeping over for the night (when was he not) as you nudged your way under his arm and cuddled yourself in his chest, his slumbered state pulling you in like muscle memory.

you both only had two more practices left before the international skating union competition. once there, you and satoru had to land a spot in the top three chosen by the national olympic committee to earn an official spot in competing for the olympics, a task that was already vigorous and exhausting and nerve wracking, but one you both were more than ready for.

general admittance to competing in the olympics was essentially fourteen years in the making, one that wouldn’t have been possible in the first place if it wasn’t for akira.

“i think we should add a spin to this lasso lift.” you suggested, you and satoru taking a break from running the routine and standing by the bleachers during practice— watching a recently recorded take of your choreography to point out mistakes that flew under your radars.

“a spin?” he asked. “how sweets.”

“so when you lasso me around into the lift—” you rewinded the video and pointed. “since you’re holding me up over your head and we’re balancing with our hands, i say you maybe push me up to kind of like— propel me to do a triple rotation spin back down.”

“and then from there i catch you?”

“yeah!” you nodded. “and we’re traveling across the ice.”

satoru pursed his lips. “that’s kind of hard… you sure?”

“we’ve done worse toru.” you laughed. “i feel like this would give us more points.”

“oh it definitely would.” he nodded. “okay baby.”

“yay!” you cheered. “let’s practice the lift and propel on the mats first because if not i’m gonna eat shit.”

satoru laughed and sat down on the bleachers with you, quickly taking off his skates before standing and kneeling in front of you, untying your laces and slipping your skates off for you as you cutely smiled, him feeling like your little hero and knight in shining armor even if it was for something so minuscule.

he loved doing things for you.

in the middle of you and satoru practicing the move on the mats, your mother came in through the front doors of the ice rink.

“hi!” she greeted, holding up two wide rectangular boxes. “your costumes came in!”

“oh thank god!” you breathed out, satoru setting you down on your feet before you both ran to see. “i thought they weren’t gonna come in on time!”

“are they cool?!” satoru tumbled out. “do they scream please let me in the olympics?!”

you snorted and shoved his shoulder playfully as you unwrapped your boxes, your eyes shining in delight at the sight of your rhinestoned pale baby blue dress, a shade you purposefully picked out as it matched the color of satoru’s eyes— you lifting it with your fingertips from the box and gushing.

you turned it around and held it up against your frame as satoru pulled his top out— a white, tight long sleeved low cut v-neck button up that you already knew was gonna hug his yummy biceps so good, the thought of it making you bite the inside of your cheek as he checked over his black slacks.

your mother clasped her hands together, holding it to her mouth as her eyes gleamed over the two of you.

“i can’t believe it’s happening now.” she spoke softly, you and satoru diverting your attention to her and smiling. “for so long it was always just a distant thing you know? but now it’s here. actually.”

“fuck i know right.” you responded.

“language, y/n.”

“but i’m twenty!” you whined, pouting as satoru snickered behind you.

your mother rolled her eyes and cupped yours and satoru’s chins under her hands.

“good luck next week, alright? i know you guys will sweep.” she pushed. “make aki proud.”

the smiles on your faces grew, nodding as she squeezed your chins and released.

“oh! satoru—” your mother picked up her jacket and swung her purse over her shoulder. “your mom won’t be home for the night her trip got extended until tomorrow… you can sleep over at our house if you want so you’re not over there alone? or y/n can stay with you?”

“oh okay!” he spoke kindly. “thank you for letting me know!”

she smiled and nodded, hugging you both goodbye before leaving the rink.

your head whipped in his direction.

“toru if i sleep over at your house we can watch horror movies and actually scream as loud as we want without worrying about waking anybody up.”

his eyes bulged open. “oh my god you’re right! dibs i get to choose—”

“fuck!—”

by the end of practice you and satoru mastered the addition you added into the lasso lift, performing it beautifully on the ice over and over again until it was like simple reflex, calling it a day after a while and packing your things up to drive to satoru’s house.

you both took turns stepping in the shower to get rid of the sticky sweat that lingered on your skin, changing into comfy pajamas after as you tiredly settled in satoru’s big comfy bed— him flicking through his selection of horror movies and debating which one to pick.

“do you wanna watch something gory or just horror.”

“gory!” you perked up. “i need to work on not being so queasy.”

“but you seem fine when i throw up?”

“that’s because i’m used to it.” you laughed, head resting on his shoulder as he picked a movie and threw his remote somewhere across the bed, his arm coming to wrap around your tummy and pull you in.

it wasn’t like the selection mattered anyways, because fifteen minutes into the movie you were already falling asleep, hand resting on satoru’s torso as he continued to watch it— for some reason still wide awake even after skating for hours.

your sleepy sudden movements from your hand made him weirdly stiffen and relax every single time, your brows furrowing at the feeling and eyes fluttering open when he wouldn’t stop doing it.

“toru… are you still ticklish?” you mumbled sleepily.

he stiffened again.

“no.” he answered softly. “why..?”

you lazily grinned.

“youuu suureee?”

terror struck him as he sensed exactly what the fuck you were about to do.

“please spare me please spare me—”

you jumped on him and tickled his entire upper body, satoru laughing and gasping as he smacked your hands away and twisted and turned, his strong grip making it hard for you to tickle him at one point as you stubbornly swung a leg over his waist and settled over his lap, attacking him while he yelped and screamed.

“baby!” he gasped. “baby please! have some mercy is this how much i mean to you?!”

you giggled and finally stopped, hands retracting as you settled them on your hips. “that’s what you get for lying to me.”

“i was lying for my safety.”

“uh huh.”

you both grinned, satoru’s eyes occasionally flickering down to you straddling his lap with your pretty plushy thighs and blushing, trying to keep his gaze on yours to refrain himself from doing something a little too mental and weird.

but it was too fucking late, because it took no time at all for the blood to rush to his pathetic dick and harden.

surprisingly though, you were the one that was mental— the feeling of his cock against your clit undeniable as the uncomfortable shifts of satoru’s waist only stimulated it against your little nub and made you bite down hard on your bottom lip, shaky breaths leaving your mouth as it was getting harder and harder for you to restrain yourself from satoru’s godlike existence.

and your body was just not listening as you timidly rolled your hips over his crotch— your short shorts criminally thin as you felt just how big satoru’s length was, mouth watering as your palms timidly settled over his chest for stability, grinding on his cock harder.

satoru’s eyes were blown out as he watched you do something so— so lewd, his mind wandering if you were fully and properly there as something like this was absolutely breaking your unspoken rule, and you were more strict about it than he was.

but he didn’t want you to stop. god no.

at this point, you and satoru were off that metaphorical tight rope and hanging on by two hands— having both failed at keeping each other balanced as you rolled and rolled your hips deliciously on his dick, his chest quickly rising and falling at the feeling of your warm pussy over his groin and at the sight of you using him to get yourself off.

your little needy mewls made his hands tremble as he threw his head back on the pillow, eyes pathetically fucked out over something so simple.

“fuck me..” satoru groaned, hands coming up to rub over his face as his hips lifted to meet your grinding.

him doing that broke you out of your haze and you stiffened, satoru taking his hands away from his face with pinched brows at the sudden halt.

what happened?

“okay!” you laughed nervously, an alarmed expression as you swung your leg off of his lap and scrambled under the covers, pulling it completely over you as you shamefully looked anywhere and everywhere but satoru.

but he was out of it.

undoubtedly out of it now that you did what you did… wanting more, wanting all of you as he snatched the covers off of your frame and you squeaking as a result.

“why’d you stop.” he whispered, thumb raising to trace your bottom lip.

“i don’t— i don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“yes you do—”

“absolutely not—”

“i want you.” he cut you off. “i want you bad and i know you want me too so let’s just— let’s just do this once, okay? once please just to see what it’s like and it’ll never happen again.”

your eyes remained wide as you looked at his desperate frantic ones, his hands already kneading at your waist and thighs.

he was entrancing you into his proposal again, exactly the same way as when you both kissed for the first time at the festival as he leaned down and nibbled at your jaw, slotting himself in between your legs.

“do— do what?”

“fuck.” he mumbled, rolling his hips down on your pussy rough and you gasping at the sensation of his big cock against your clit again.

you whimpered as he rutted into you, hands flying to squeeze his biceps as his wet mouth moved down to your neck, licking and gnawing as he waited for your response.

“but isn’t that—” you stifled a moan. “isn’t that too far toru?—”

“please baby please.” he picked his head up and looked at you. “just once i swear once so we see what it’s like and get it out of our systems and never do it again. i promise.”

he needs to kiss you right fucking now.

your eyes fluttered closed as he continued to hump you, licking your lips as you weakly tried to look into his eyes.

“you swear?” you breathed out. “swear it just once and that’s it—”

“i swear i swear i swear—”

“okay then fuck me toru please—”

satoru nearly cried as he ripped himself away from you to frantically pull off his shirt and pants, him slapping your hands away when you tried to take off your own clothes as he wanted to do it himself— lifting your shirt over your head and downright tearing your shorts in half as he flung them down and across the room, your little pink bra and panties set actually turning him into a complete mess as he hovered back over you and shoved his tongue in your mouth.

you still tasted just as sweet as he remembered.

“been dreaming of—” mmpf— “kissing you since you let me, sweets.”

“yeah?” your lips moved sloppily with his as you snuck a hand in your panties and dipped your fingers in your pussy, collecting your arousal. “you missed me toru?”

“uh huh.” he breathed hotly against your lips, hand coming to slide underneath your bra to cup your bare tit. “every fucking night i’d jerk my dick dry thinking about it.”

his words made your clit twitch as you pushed him off your lips.

“open your mouth.”

satoru did as told without a peep and opened it with his tongue out, your hands coming out from your panties as you reached up and slipped your fingers in his mouth, his lips closing in and sucking everything you had to give him as he salvaged up your arousal.

“fuck—” he released your fingers. “is this from your pussy baby?”

“mhm.” you moaned.

your arousal was even sweeter.

“my god—” he grabbed your wrist and licked a long stripe up your palm. “you dirty fucking thing m’gonna have to taste for myself and see.”

you gasped. “what?”

satoru sat up and pulled your wet panties down your legs, biting down on his tongue hard at the sight of your angelic bare cunt before him, slick and shiny and pretty as you unclasped your bra and spread your legs for him— eager and ready and not a single other thought in your brain besides the one that was screaming for satoru to stick his dick inside you.

“toruuuu!” you whined. “quit staring and fuck me.”

his cock pulsed.

“patience sweets, i wanna taste you first.”

you expected satoru to just lower himself down and shove his head in between your thighs, but you were dead fucking wrong as he stood, grabbed your waist and yanked you high up, sitting you on his shoulders as you squealed and gripped his hair.

“wait toru isn’t this uncomfortable i—”

he scoffed. “fuck no. i’ve been lifting you my whole life baby this is nothing.”

your speech lodged itself in your throat as you felt his tongue lap at your folds and clit, slobbering and filthy as he ate and scarfed you down just like his usual daily sweets, you by far his absolute favorite as he slurped your little pussy up and made you squeal and moan.

satoru walked over to the wall and leaned you up against it, taking your thighs off of his shoulders and placing his hands underneath as he propped you up and spread your legs wider, your jaw dropping at his slimy tongue flicking and him slabbering his mouth side to side rapidly until your legs shook and you saw stars.

“toru—”

he grunted, tongue prodding at your hole and you jumping.

“i think— i think i’m gonna cum and i—” pant “i don’t wanna—”

satoru separated his mouth from your pussy with a squelch and looked up, smiling big.

“too bad!”

“but—”

he spit on your cunt and you gasped.

“i said too bad.”

he dipped back in and fully devoured you as you mewled, messier as he slushed his tongue all over and you’d never experienced something like this, something that felt so fucking good as you started cumming all over his face in record speed regardless of how hard you were trying to hold back.

“yummy.”

he let go and you dropped down as he quickly caught you, turning and throwing you on his bed as he climbed over you— wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking as he kissed and swallowed your lips up again.

“you want me to make love to you or fuck you?” he slopped against your mouth before pulling back, yours and his eyes fluttering open to look at each other.

your legs were still shaking by the eat out he gave you seconds before, finding it hard to get your words together as his handsome deluded face stared at you.

“i— um—”

he placed his lips next to your ear.

“you want me to fuck you like my wife or fuck you like a little slut? or both?”

“both toru please—”

he grinned, coming back up as he parted your legs further open and lined his leaky tip with your hole.

“i can do both!”

satoru pushed himself in and you choked, hands clasping over your mouth as you felt him bully his big cock through and leave you a blabbering crying mess under him— his chest heaving at the warmth and softness and stickiness of your cute gummy walls, his years of imagining and theorizing how you’d feel wrapped around his dick all completely debunking themselves at the real feeling as you whimpered and clenched your hole.

“jesus christ—” he shivered, swallowing thickly as his trembling fingers settled on your waist, him slowly reeling his hips back before pumping in. “you’re— you’re warm.”

you dropped your hands and wiped your cheeks as you hiccuped, the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your walls incandescently euphoric as you embarrassingly already felt yourself wanting to cum again when he had just stuck his dick inside of you— you wanting to ride out this moment for a bit longer and not finish so quickly like you had done on his mouth.

“am i being too mean pretty?” he huffed, thrusts now quick and curt as he gripped your bouncing tits and pinched your perking nipples, the sight of your little tears shamefully turning him on.

you frantically shook your head and tried to clear your brain. “n—no!—”

“good.” he smiled, a little crazed as he let go of your boobs, placed his hands on the backside of your thighs and pushed your knees up to your chest, picking up speed as you squealed and whimpered, utterly taken aback by how rough satoru was being considering the fact that he was such a goofy and kind and loving person on the daily.

oh… what years worth of pent up sexual frustration can do to a man.

satoru whined as you milked his dick, wheezing as he hammered his hips up and slapped against your skin, your body jolting and bouncing uncontrollably as his bed squeaked loud and obnoxiously.

thank god his mother wasn’t home.

“i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this—” satoru babbled, his critical thinking out the fucking window as he just tumbled out totally random but honest confessions as your ears eagerly drank up every word and made your hole tighten.

“yeah?” pant “f—for how long baby?”

“for so long—” he whined loudly, fucking you faster as your mouth hung open and you gripped his wrists for support. “you’re everything i’ve ever w—wanted—”

“i— i’ve only ever wanted you toru— fuck! you’re big.“ you moaned, loving the way a huge deranged smile spread across his face as his hips pistoned into you and his hands pinned you down.

“cum on my dick baby please cum on my dick i want it i want it—”

your toes curled and you squealed, vision flashing white as you let out a high pitched scream at the intense buzzing feeling, your bodies hot and sticky and wet as satoru leaned over and shoved his lips in your ear.

“can i— can i cum inside?” he choked through gritted teeth as he came close to spilling his seed. “please i wanna cum inside—”

“but m’not on the pill—”

“please please baby i beg you—” hah! “i don’t wanna cum anywhere else—”

your eyes fluttered shut at his words and you quickly nodded, his hand cupping your face as he thrusted in one last time and pumped his cum entirely inside you without an ounce of hesitation for the consequences, his horny mind actually crazed and solidifying that there was no fucking way in hell he was gonna accept just friends from this point forward.

what a stupid thought.

“mmm…” you slowly moved your hips a little, feeling his cum all inside your ravished walls as you licked your lips. “your cum feels hot toru.”

not even warm, hot as it slushed and moved inside you with every movement you made, some of it dribbling and coating your outer folds as you bit your bottom lip into a smile and craned your head up to his neck, nibbling and giving satoru tiny kitten licks as he trembled and struggled to stay afloat and not give out his upper arm strength— trying to prevent himself from squishing you.

satoru pressed a soft tender kiss to your cheek then before sitting up and delicately sliding his dick out, running a soothing hand over your tummy as he did so and giving you a lazy smile.

he suddenly raised his pinky to you.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured, other hand running from your stomach over to your thighs now as he just lovingly felt you up, you smiling with rosy cheeks as you linked your little pinky with his.

“birds of a feather.”

you both kissed your thumbs and locked your promise, deciding then that you should probably shower once more before getting into bed to officially sleep— but deciding to shower together as you softly and steamily made out under the misty hot running water, body and mind relaxed as you just swallowed in the ambience of each other, you both not only holding on to your metaphorical tight rope with one hand now, but it actually on the verge of snapping as a whole and sending you both free falling.

and for the next couple of days, you and satoru were feral.

years and years of doing fucking nothing with pure restraint and fantasizing did a number on you both as any chance you got you were making out on your bed, his bed, and even in satoru’s car after your lectures— your hand teasingly going lower and lower until you’d shove a hand in his pants to pull his dick out and pump, your body leaning across the console and mouth going down to bob and suck as he moaned and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail to guide you and your pretty bows and fuck your mouth just to hear the sounds of you choking, eyes from time to time frantically looking around to see if no one was around as you blowed him.

and you did that basically all of the time for the next three days until the final practice just before the international skating union competition, satoru physically unable to leave you alone and unscathed as he constantly pinned you down to eat your pussy or suckle on your soft tits, his hand tightly clasped over your mouth in your room when your moans would get too loud as he fingered you, his long fingers squelching and abusing your cunt until you were finishing all over his hands again and again.

but you two having actual sex didn’t happen again apart from that night— satoru a man of his word since he promised you would only do it once… unfortunately. but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do other things, right?

except by the final practice, satoru was absolutely fucked off at the fact that neither of you had brought up the potentiality of being more than just friends, especially after doing all of those lewd acts.

he was so sick of it.

and so were you, quite frankly, but instead of being completely over it like satoru, you were afraid… afraid of what could happen and the possibility of losing him if you both indulged, if you let yourselves put your freaking careers on the line.

and satoru was the one person you couldn’t bear to lose. not ever.

“we look good sweets!” satoru cheesed, rotating around in the ice rinks dressing room mirrors as you had your costumes on for dress rehearsal and refinements, both of you glittering and shiny and looking like a professional ice skating pair as you examined yourself, readjusting your straps and hugging your torso.

“cold.” you shivered. “maybe i should’ve had it as a long sleeve… shit.”

he laughed and placed his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down quickly to create frictional heat as you smiled at him gratefully. “nah, it’s cute like this! you’ll warm up once we run it a few times on the ice.”

you nodded, the both of you walking out of the dressing room and to the rink, skillfully putting on your skates before pushing yourself on the ice and gliding across.

“can you show me the uh—” satoru looked to the side in thought once he was on the ice in front of you. “the part where we skate in unison and have our arms up in an L? it’s in the chorus of our music—”

“oh!” you nodded and skated a bit away from him to demonstrate.

“i just wanna see if my form matches yours and we look clean.” he smiled. “and then show me the triple axel after that.”

you gave him a cute thumbs up and pushed yourself off, gliding gracefully and smoothly across the ice as satoru was supposed to be watching you to try and fix his form, but finding himself transfixed once again by the way you seamlessly skated with no sense of struggling effort— arms poised and flowy as your dress moved and fluttered with every twist and turn until you gradually propelled yourself up into the triple axel and landed correctly without a slip or wobble.

the level of difficulty and technicality you skated reminded him of akira— but your style, your movement, and the way you carried yourself was entirely your own.

you made figure skating look beautiful.

you were beautiful.

you slowed down on the ice and skated over to satoru.

“were you able to see? did you match me?—”

“you skate just like her.” satoru spoke softly, and you faltered.

he didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about, as you always knew.

“you’re just saying that.” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling, or crying, you didn’t know.

but a compliment like that meant the absolute world to you.

“i’m not.” he shrugged, skating over to you and taking your hands as he glided with you to starting position. “you always have baby. and i know that’s what you’ve always wanted. i’m sorry i don’t say it enough.”

your eyes softened. “toru that’s not something to be sorry about at all…”

satoru was so kind.

you both skated together and ran the choreography a couple of times, spinning simultaneously and satoru lifting you again and again throughout the routine and still performing your lasso spinning lift successfully, arms around his shoulders and faces close as the wind whipped through both of your costumes and hair from traveling across the ice at such a speed before coming to a sudden choreographed halt at the end of your number.

you had slid down satoru’s body to plant your blades back on the ice when he had enough.

“please stick your tongue in my mouth.”

you choked on your spit and slapped a hand over your mouth.

“toru no! absolutely not we can’t anymore okay—”

“what are we.”

you froze.

“huh?”

“what are we.” he repeated, eyes dead locked on yours and hard. “are we together? are we not? are we friends? what are we—”

“we’re— we’re friends toru—”

“oh fuck no.” he let you go and created a little bit of space between you. “don’t give me that shit we’re not friends.”

“w—well we can’t—”

“i’m your man.” he stated firmly. “i’m your man i’ve been your man for years and i’m tired of avoiding this sweets! it sucks!”

“we’re putting everything at risk if we do toru we can’t!”

“i’m your man.”

“no you’re not—”

he cut you off. “your mouth has been on my dick. we’ve had sex. we’ve kissed we’ve made out we’ve told each other i love you if that doesn’t tell you that we’re together then what the actual fuck?!”

“oh my god toru i know i know!” you groaned, hugging yourself as you anxiously looked at him. “what happens if we break up? huh? what do we do?”

he shook his head. “we won’t.”

“you don’t know that.” you laughed bitterly. “if that happens we lose each other satoru understand that. we break birds of a feather, we ruin our careers, and we ruin us.”

“first of all—” he started. “our birds of a feather promise is to stick together, keep each other safe, and not seperate or fight, is it not?”

“it— it is—”

“so do you really think if we continue to keep each other in this fuck ass limbo of friends that we aren’t already breaking that?” he threw his arms out in emphasis. “we have never been just friends. i’ve known you for fourteen fucking years and we have never been just that.”

you blinked back tears.

“i promise you baby—” he slid closer to you and cupped your cheeks. “that we won’t leave each other. i will fight and try every single damn day to make sure that that shit never happens even though i already know it won’t because you’ve been made for me since birth and we haven’t separated since we’ve met.”

satoru wiped your cheeks. “but i also promise you, that if we continue as just friends, we will break. we’re gonna string each other along so fucking much that we’re gonna go absolutely insane and drive each other away. that is for certain.”

“but— skating—”

“i don’t give an ever living fuck.” he spat funnily and you laughed through your tears. “skating is nothing without you. all the trophies and medallions and the god damn olympics itself with that gold medal is nothing without you. i would give that shit up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you in my life in exchange.”

“and i would do the same for you toru!” you sobbed, his arms immediately wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you in as you sniffled and hiccuped into his chest, him kissing the side of your head repeatedly and soothing a hand down your back.

“don’t cry pretty i didn’t meant to make you cry...” he mumbled, cheek mushed up against your head as your shoulders shook, a huge disgusting pit of guilt in his stomach. “fine it’s okay we can be just friends for a bit longer please don’t cry—”

“no!” you sputtered, pushing him back a little to face him. “i don’t wanna be just friends anymore either toru… it hurts me so much.”

“it does?” he asked softly and you nodded.

“it hurts me too.”

satoru wiped your remaining tears again and fixed the little bows in your hair, a soft liberated smile on his face as he reached down to cup your cheeks and bring your perfect lips to his, kissing you lovingly as the both of you felt like you could finally rest and stop ridiculously hiding your love in the shadows after so many years.

the thin tight rope that you had both been toppling over and rebalancing and holding onto to keep the other from falling, had finally snapped in two, and you and satoru were now in the darkest depths of the truth of what you both were.

except it wasn’t dark at all.

it was light and airy and heavenly, and you wondered why you had been so afraid when there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place, since the one you were falling with was satoru.

silly.

he pulled apart and looked at you, his striking blue eyes and white fluffy hair especially beautiful.

“tomorrow—” he began. “we’re gonna absolutely destroy everyone else there and land a spot in the top three, and then after i’m gonna take you out on a nice dinner and buy every single fucking dessert off the menu, and then i’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend. okay baby?”

you giggled then, the brightest rosy cheeks on display from the both of you as you eagerly nodded and threw your arms around his neck.

and tomorrow could not come soon enough, because not only were you looking forward to making your dreams a reality and competing against other figure skating pairs from around the world and the olympics itself, but also the thought of officially being satoru’s after years of wishing on little stars and day dreaming about what that would be like for hours on end.

until the moment was here. happening.

the indoor arena was electric and rowdy the minute the competition commenced, you and satoru in absolute awe of the energetic atmosphere as many individuals in the crowd waved their banners or screamed their loved ones names, an ambience very similar to the olympics as you both watched pair after pair perform their hardwork and dedication on the ice, goosebumps on your skin as you fidgeted and jittered.

out of twenty of your countries competing pairs, only three of you would be chosen for the olympics.

and you hoped to god you and satoru would be chosen.

“we’re almost up baby.” satoru patted your head, sitting on a bench in your designated area. “i think it’s two more pairs then it’s us.”

you nodded, nerves closing up your throat as your eyes darted over the rink.

satoru frowned.

“hey.” he placed a hand on your thigh, suddenly wanting to rip your nylon tights off so you could actually feel his skin on yours. “you nervous sweets?”

you nodded again, and he gave you a silly grin.

“don’t be! you’re literally akira the second. we’ll be fine!”

you laughed lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“and even if we don’t land a spot, that’s fine too.” he kissed your head. “it’s our first year anyways… we’ll know the game for next time and we’ll try harder.”

you picked your head up and smiled at him, his words settling your nerves just as soon as the last remaining pair took their places on stage, yours and satoru’s turn right after.

what you didn’t know, was that satoru was just as nervous as you.

but he knew you needed a rock and someone to comfort you— wanting to swoop in like a little hero and save you again… so he kept it hidden.

“fuck i almost forgot!” satoru jumped up and dug into his duffel bag, pulling out a roll of pale baby blue ribbon that matched your dress exactly. “you told me you didn’t have ribbon that matched your costume so i went and tried to look.”

he held it out for you cutely on his palm.

“does this one match?”

you picked up the roll, astonished and mushy inside that satoru actually went out of his way to find this specific ribbon color for you because you had expressed how unhappy you were with the darker shade you had, your eyes looking up at him in complete adoration.

“oh my goodness— thank you toru!”

you quickly undid the bows in your hair and slipped off the former ribbon, digging through your duffel bag for scissors and cutting off pieces from the new ribbon before looping them through your hair and tying, not needing a mirror since you’ve done it for as long as you could remember.

satoru’s cheeks went pink as he looked at your new pretty bows.

“does they look okay?”

“beautiful.” he responded, pecking your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the entrance of the rink.

“okay—” you breathed out. “this is it.”

“what kind of food do you think they’ll have at the dinner place we picked—”

“toru!” you giggled. “not now!”

he smiled sheepishly at you before leaning his forehead against yours.

you stuck your pinky out.

“birds of a feather?”

satoru grinned and looped his pinky with yours.

“birds of a feather baby.”

you both kissed your thumbs and once again, locked your promise.

the announcer over the speakers iterated your names and your country as you and satoru glided across the ice poised and graceful with your arms up, waving at the crowd and giving your mothers a special frantic wave before moving to starting position, unknowing of the way several other pairs and the judges themselves murmured about your reputation and your association with akira.

and you hoped she was watching over you both now. somewhere.

the music begun, contemporary and lyrical as you and satoru slid across the rink, already impressive and entertaining as you performed moves and lifts right off the bat, the sounds of your blades scraping against the ice oddly keeping you in time with your choreography as the number went on.

and you and satoru were feeding off of each other, the chemistry undeniable to a strangers eye that had no idea of your story as you conveyed passion through your expressions, each technical movement bleeding with the fact that you both had been olympic level trained since the age of fourteen and fifteen.

you were halfway through your routine now, the lasso lift coming up next as satoru harbored in his strength so he could properly propel you into that newly added spin.

you skated around him and he lifted you up into the air, the crowd cheering and excited at your beautiful remarkable forms.

except satoru’s hands were slippery.

why?

nerves. he quickly deemed it nerves as he had no time to deliberate since it was almost time to propel you up into the spin, his mind already racing over the fact that the slip in his hands was hindering his strength to keep you up there, and he worried that if he pushed you up, it wouldn’t be enough and you’d come tumbling down— hurting yourself.

but satoru had zero time to decide again as he went with protocol and pushed you up as hard as he possibly could and prayed you would go into your triple axel spin successfully and that he’d catch you.

but the minute that he did, the force yanked him back and his skates flew up in front of him, you falling down and your thigh hitting something sharp before you both went slamming to the ground— sliding apart from each other on the ice.

the crowd screamed and gasped in terror, sounds you were all too familiar with to what you heard three years ago filling both your fuzzy minds as satoru struggled to get back up, his head turning slowly around to see if you were okay and just sore like him—

until he saw your limp body on your side, your back to him with blood slowly pooling out on the ice and staining your pretty blue dress.

satoru scrambled up and skated straightaway in a panic to you before sliding on his knees as he reached you, turning you over and paling as he saw you were unresponsive and out fucking cold.

“baby?“ he shook you. “hey— baby—”

nothing.

why weren’t you answering him? why weren’t you awake?

his brain flashed images of akira’s body the day that she died, suffocating deja vu as the way you looked when he saw you like that on your side was a carbon copy of her from three years ago, his chest picking up speed as you continued to lay limp even after he shook you desperately numerous times like a madman.

and why was there so much blood?

blood that looked sickly bright red against the white ice, blood that stained his sleeves and shirt and hands as he held you up and supported your head, and blood that wouldn’t stop fucking oozing out of your leg as he trembled.

“hey— hey can you hear me?” satoru tapped your cheek rapidly, shaking you gently again with horrified eyes and still not getting a response.

“fuck! why is this happening this isn’t supposed to happen—”

how could he be your hero? how could he stop the blood and wake you up? how could he— how could he fix this how could he take it all back how could he fix this—

“no no no baby please—” he sobbed. “not like aki baby not like her man—”

he shook you again, your head lolling to the side as if— as if you were—

no.

“baby— birds of a feather right? birds of a feather we have to stick together you can’t— you can’t leave right?” he cried, chest heaving and vision blurry and you just felt so cold.

“you’re not leaving you’re not leaving me please not like aki please god���” he cradled you up to his chest in his arms and rocked. “you can’t leave me you’re all i know and i don’t wanna know anything else please baby—”

satoru’s frantic repeated heartbroken wailing echoed throughout the arena as the crowd erupted and moved around in hysteria, him still rocking you in his arms as he turned his head with terrified bloodshot eyes to look at both of your mothers, yours hunched over in a fit of screams and cries as his had her hands in her hair in utter disbelief and tears.

“fuck what do i do!” he sobbed, legs shakily standing as he slipped one arm under your back and the other under your knees, picking your limp body up as he saw a huge group of paramedics run over to him on the ice as he carried you over.

“help—” hic! “h—help me please—”

why couldn’t satoru be your hero when it mattered most?

several of them lowered the stretcher and took you from him, laying your lifeless self on it before hoisting you up and swiftly carrying you away, all of it horrifyingly and painfully similar to akira’s inevitable death.

were you gone?

satoru looked down and saw your baby blue ribbons on the ice, wet and stained with blood, once perfect bows in your pretty hair when he had you awake and breathing.

were you breathing? had you hit your head?

he couldn’t remember.

he couldn’t remember anything but your unresponsiveness, the way your skin was colder than the ice itself as he picked up your ribbons and looked at them in his hands— and the way your blood stretched over for what looked like miles and was still there.

in front of him. taunting him.

was the world so cruel as to take you too?

it wouldn’t. it couldn’t.

you’d never done anything wrong. you’d never treated anybody indifferently as you were sweet and beautiful and talented, always in servitude of others— in servitude of him as you taught him how to ice skate when you didn’t need to at six years old, you already kind and gentle at that young age when you could’ve easily shooed him away like a little bug and told him to fuck off.

and throughout your life too, as he was well aware he was an annoying dramatic piece of shit that whined and cried and ate your stashes of sweets all of the time— but you always just giggling and looking at him with adoration in your eyes, with your cheeky smile, with the little ribbon bows in your hair he loved so fucking much.

oh how he wished he didn’t always take your sweets at that moment. how he wished he wasn’t always an annoying blockhead and made you mad at times with his persistent personality and neediness as he stood there frozen in the rink staring at your blood— dark now and dull, wishing it was him instead of you.

you were knocked out for five days at the hospital.

you and satoru also didn’t make it into the top three at the international skating union competition.

you should’ve, as your score was already higher than any other pair there and only halfway through the routine too— but that’s precisely why you got knocked out.

if you had finished your number, you would’ve landed in the top three, but it ending halfway cut off the opportunity for accumulating more points, and eventually another pair surpassed your halfway score by two points.

but satoru didn’t give a shit. fuck the olympics and fuck the international skating union while your body laid still on the hospital bed for hours on end, him refusing to leave your side as he sat there and stared off into space with nothing in his head but hatred for himself as it was his fault that this happened and his blade that sliced you— eyes red and sunken and tired and refusing to eat or drink.

you had hit your head on the ice, but thankfully the trauma wasn’t anywhere near the severity of akira’s, it only inducing a strong concussion and sending you flying out of consciousness upon impact.

but it was the loss of blood that was the problem.

you had lost so much, too much of it.

it made you weak and frail and unable to do much and satoru worried that that’s what was going to take away your fighting chance of survival.

“you should go home satoru…” your mother sighed, standing by the door of your hospital room, her own eyes red and swollen.

he shook his head no silently.

“she’ll still be here… you need to eat something or sleep please. you look awful.”

satoru smiled weakly and shook his head again.

“m’fine.”

your mother pursed her lips to the side and she sighed again, nodding.

“i’ll come by early in the morning, alright?”

he hummed, giving her a tiny wave as she left and closed the door behind her.

satoru had brought a roll of pink ribbon from your little white box in your room, unrolling the pieces he chose and lifting his hands, taking the ends of your hair and trying to tie little thin bows the way you always did, but huffing softly in irritation when they just looked like shit.

he undid the one he was working on and settled for feeling the material of the ribbon between his thumbs instead.

satoru brought you bouquets everyday too.

sometimes three at a time as he continuously swapped out old flowers and replaced them with new ones, changed their water and poured fresh quantities into each vase to keep them alive, and often picked some more from the hospital garden when he went down to get some fresh air for a minute— the least he could do for nearly killing you.

and satoru had a lot of time to think while he waited for you to wake up— bitter and resentful at the world for letting him sit there healthy while you were out, so much so that he started thinking stupid shit like how he wished you would’ve forgotten him and dismissed his yapping dreams about ice skating when you met so you would’ve been an independent skater instead, so you then wouldn’t have gotten hurt by his idiocy and you wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed like you were now.

or swapped places. him instead of you so he could beat up the fucks that took akira away and beat up zeus or— or aphrodite or whoever the fuck that was responsible for keeping him from you so he could come back to you… unsure if you were doing the same thing as he stared at your resting face.

you should’ve just left him behind.

but he was sleeping when you woke.

arms propped up and crossed next to you on the hospital bed, his cheek mushed up on them and face to the side as you blinked your eyes open and was straight up confused, not a single memory of the incident flitting through your mind… until it did.

and it hit you bad.

your mind reeled with a pounding headache, tears prickling your eyes at the events that plagued through your mind— a part of you knowing there was absolutely no way you and satoru made top three and gutted about it, feeling shaken from the memory alone of you falling and hitting the ice.. but grateful.

grateful to be alive, for you knew akira wasn’t as lucky.

was it because of her that you had lived? had she pulled some strings to change your fate?

your eyes trailed down to a sleeping peaceful satoru, your gaze softening at how tired and broken he looked, bags dark and purple as he snored away next to you, your hand lifting and delicately settling over his fluffy white hair as you smiled that he was here next to you— caressing.

satoru shot up wide awake then as you jumped and retracted your hand, the both of you alarmed and frantic.

“baby?” he grabbed your hand and felt around it, feeling warmth for once as he stood up straight and shoved back one of the sleeves of his hoodie.

“you’re awake? are you actually?—” he pinched his arm hard over and over and you giggled.

you giggled— the sound filling his ears and lifting an undeniable dark ton off of his shoulders as he relaxed, tears automatically brimming his eyes.

“i thought i fucking killed you sweets.” his voice shook, arms gently coming around you and pulling you into an embrace.

“killed me?” you frowned. “toru what are you talking about—”

“oh god you have amnesia—”

“no!” you laughed. “what do you mean by almost killed me? you didn’t do anything.”

“i did everything.” he spoke flatly. “i fucked up that lasso lift. i pushed you up too hard and we fell. i cut you with my blade i made you bleed—”

“toru that was an accident.” you pulled back and your chest hurt over the devastated look on his face, wiping his tears and kissing his nose. “remember— aki’s partner felt just like this and we had to tell him too it was an accident. you can’t control something like that. at all. it’s just unfortunate circumstance.”

“i know but i still feel like—” he wiped his eyes and swallowed. “i still feel like i could’ve done something different. it should’ve been me and not you and i should’ve—”

“toru don’t even don’t think about things like that.” you shook your head. “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done, baby. and that’s okay.”

you gently scooched over on the bed and patted the spot next to yours, satoru immediately climbing and settling in, clinging on to you as he placed his head on your chest with his arm firm but careful around your waist, suddenly feeling how exhausted he actually was from the days he spent restless.

you couldn’t have imagined the pain satoru must’ve gone through waiting for you to wake up. you didn’t know how he even fucking managed as you would’ve been torn into bits and pieces not knowing if he was going to live or not, looking at his limp bloody body the way he had to look at yours and it reminding you of the event that brought you both the most trauma and grief.

you couldn’t believe you almost went out the same way.

satoru confirmed your thoughts later and filled you in on the results of the international skating union competition, rubbing salt into the wound a little more upon learning that you landed fourth, nearly there as you couldn’t help but cry a bit in your hospital bed when he told you that you could’ve had a spot, satoru hugging you and reassuring you that you’d both have your shot at it in the next four years.

your family was relieved that you were awake, tons of people piling in and giving you sweets and food that satoru hungrily eyed and gawked over, you laughing and passing him the ones he particularly enjoyed most as you conversed with your relatives.

and recovery was thankfully easy— doctors orders being just you taking it light and being careful not to bonk your head against anything, as well as taking care of the laceration on your leg— changing the bandage frequently every morning and night, satoru insisting he help you with that and with many other things that you needed as he tried to make up for what he still thought was his fault.

two weeks had gone by of just rest and peace and no figure skating, thinking you and satoru deserved this break, but also secretly petrified of stepping on the ice again after what had happened— neither of you wanting to hurt the other as you avoided the topic of training for the meantime at all costs.

“maybe we should work at a water park.” you suggested one day, the two of you seated on a park bench through the chilly mid january air as you shared a plate of chocolate drizzled strawberries you got from some nice lady and her fruit stand. “be lifeguards!”

“oh hell no!” he spoke with his mouthful before swallowing, readjusting the black round sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “you think i’m gonna be fine with watching random old men savoring after my wife in her little red bikini while i’m off saving some drowning kid? oh no thank you. let the kid drown.”

“toru!” you laughed, smacking his shoulder. “okay then what else?”

“janitors.”

you shrugged. “i like to clean. sometimes.”

“and your entire body is covered in those jumpsuits no stinky old men looking at—”

satoru’s phone buzzed against his jeans and he paused and pulled it out as you giggled, him barely glancing at the caller i.d before answering.

“hello?”

you mindlessly carried on plopping strawberries in your mouth and chewing.

“this is he…. oh hello! yes! how are you?”

you eyed satoru quizzically at his sudden formal change in tone, his eyes glued to the cement below.

“uh huh… really? o—okay! no yes for sure! thank you so much for the opportunity!”

opportunity?

you slowed your chewing and nudged his shoulder gently, wanting him to give you some kind of sign as to who it was on the other line.

“okay, we’ll keep in touch! thank you again!”

satoru slowly removed his phone away from his ear as the other line went dead, staring at his screen and you curiously leaning over only to see his call history log, a random number at the top.

“holy fuck.”

“what?!” you leaned in closer and tried to catch his eyes with yours, his shocked wide gaze slowly flittering to your face.

“that was the national olympic committee.”

you froze.

“shut the fuck up.” you covered your mouth. “toru what did they say what did they say—”

“one of the pairs that made it in the top three got disqualified.” he spat out quickly, shooting up and digging his fingers into his hair as he walked back and forth slowly in disbelief, spinning to face you. “i— i don’t know why i didn’t ask but we got bumped up.”

silence.

“we—” your chest rose and fell erratically, eyes darting around as satoru knelt down and grabbed your hands.

“baby we made it.” he tightened his grip. “we’re competing in the olympics—”

you squealed and jumped up and down and pulled satoru in, the both of you comically bouncing off the walls as you wailed and cried and blabbered on about how you couldn’t believe it and how a chance like this was even given to you, satoru lifting you and spinning you around but stopping and freaking out and apologizing profusely over your injured leg, you shaking your head and laughing, kissing him in return.

“we can’t avoid skating toru.” you spoke once you and him had settled down. “it’s literally what brought us together… and what brought us to aki. and even from you spinning me around like that it reminded me how much i missed skating with you.”

“i feel the same sweets.” he smiled, big and bright and handsome as he leaned over and kissed your rosy cheek. “i miss lifting you up and catching a glimpse of your ass underneath your—”

“toru!”

even though you and satoru were finally on board and accepting of bringing skating back into your lives, it wasn’t to say at all that the fear itself went away when you tried to do lifts or spins in the air with each other— apprehensive and scared as you practiced on the mats way more than necessary before moving choreography to the ice, satoru multiple times chickening out and needing a moment as he was petrified of hurting you again, and you glued in place at the thought of falling and slamming on the ground when you had just survived mostly unscathed.

but this wasn’t the time to be afraid over that anymore, and if akira were here, you both knew she’d smack you upside the heads and tell you to move… to get on the ice and do the sport you both loved and cherished most.

to finalize your dream and make it a reality.

and throughout the month that you and satoru spent before the commencement of the olympics, you trained like never before— no excuses as you worked tirelessly day and night with sweat literally dripping from your faces until every single goal was met and beyond, until every single throw from satoru was perfected and until every axel from you was delivered.

sometime during this month too, satoru finally got to take you out on that romantic candle lit dinner like he promised and asked you to be his girlfriend, him giddy and grinning the whole time and literally spoiling the moment as he meant to give you a chocolate dessert plate that said ‘will you be mine’ in chocolate syrupy letters, but accidentally eating it and smearing the words when he confused your plate with his, smacking his forehead repeatedly on the dining table as the silverware clattered— muttering about how dark it was and how he couldn’t fucking see, but you laughing so fucking much and clutching your stomach that your makeup smudged up at the corner of your eyes.

satoru was reminded again how much he loved you that day, because anyone else would’ve gotten tremendously annoyed and called him an idiot, but you…

you just giggled. giggled and hiccuped like always while he stared at you softly.

the love you and satoru shared stretched far beyond the concepts of what a platonic and romantic relationship was.

the love you and satoru shared was sacrifice. genuine sacrifice and yearn and absolute unadulterated love as you both without another thought would drop your careers for each other, would swap places if it meant the other would be safe from harm’s way, and would endure years of swallowing and pushing back feelings if it meant just keeping one another in your lives forever.

because that’s what birds of a feather was for to begin with.

a promise to stick together. a promise to keep each other safe.

a concept so pure and devoted that it translated onto the ice like no other pair when it came time for the olympics.

“you ready sweets?” satoru breathed out as you both stood in front of each other by the outside of the rink with interlaced fingers, shaking each other’s jitters out. “no matter what happens, we’ve already come so far and done so much, okay? we’ve done what we needed to do.”

“mhm!” you quickly nodded, satoru leaning down before you both rested your foreheads against each other’s with massive smiles on your faces, thunderous cheers echoing throughout the giant arena totally drowned out in your ears as you stared into satoru’s sparkling blue eyes.

“make aki proud.” you repeated softly, and he nodded, you hoping once again she was watching over you both.

you both stuck your pinkies out at the same time and looped them together.

“birds of a feather?” satoru beamed.

“birds of a feather.”

and you kissed your thumbs before sealing your promise.

you both watched the pair that you were going right after perform their routine, beautiful and difficult as you gnawed at your bottom lip in distress.

“toru…”

“yeah baby?”

“some of these pairs are crazy good…” you spoke over the music. “i’d honestly be happy with getting in the top twenty i don’t know if we can—”

satoru scoffed and shook his head, a sly smile as he looked over the rink with his arms crossed.

“nah, we’d win.”

and just like akira had done in her final olympic year— in her final moments, you and satoru made it known that it was your debut, that you had been hungry and desperate for this moment since the ages of six and seven, that you’d been raised and trained by a four-time olympic gold medalist for a decade as you executed the most technical and intricate moves and turns, you and satoru moving as one on the ice and identical as he took your hands and glided on the ice with you, raw emotion in your expressions that read love so clearly that it was impossible to miss.

with each lift, with each time satoru took you in his arms and spun, and with each time he simply held you close and tenderly to his chest as his blades scrapped across the ice with your pretty bows in his view— were all reminders for the two of you that partner figure skating was nothing without satoru and nothing without you.

the privilege of having another way to convey just how much you loved each other through the language of artistic expression and skates and ice, through the feel of each other’s skin, was one you nurtured and looked after and loved as the wind whipped through you and satoru due to the speed of your skates, performing quadruple axels like nothing while dropping the jaws of other figure skating pairs.

and because of this fact alone, how you both truly appreciated each other’s entities and had the indescribable power to correlate that into competitive sport—

was the reason why you and satoru won gold that day.

you and him, on your knees, gripping and hugging one another so hard and crying tears of joy as you both had come so far and gone through so much to get to where you were now, your dream now a complete and total reality as you stepped up onto that podium during the medal award ceremony just like akira had done— representing your country excellently with a big fat gold medal hung over your necks and a big fat kiss from satoru as he lip locked with you up there, flashings of cameras and bouquets and teddy bears scattered all throughout the ice in dismay.

“i love you!” satoru yelled to you over the roaring as you waved at the crowd, your mothers crying and blowing their noses and taking pictures from the edge of the rink as you and satoru cackled and pointed at them.

“i love you, toru!”

“no like seriously!” he put his waving hand down. “i wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. thank you for recognizing that i have love and dreams too baby and for not forgetting about me even when i’ve been the most annoying dipshit of your life.”

“you’ve never been that to me my god toru! where is this coming from?” he hopped off the podium once you two were given the all clear and he held a helping hand out for you to take, you doing so and carefully stepping down.

“reeaally?” he cheesed, cheeky and silly as his big pearly white smile made your cheeks flush. “so you love me then?”

“i literally would not be with you if i didn’t—”

“hooray!” he cheered, throwing his arms up as flower petals flew from his bouquets and around. “my girlfriend loves me! and we’re gonna have rough passionate olympian sex in our hotel room—”

“toru!—”

the love you and satoru shared wasn’t something silly like ‘i like you, you like me.’

it was call me when you get home.

have you eaten yet?

here, let me help you.

whatever you need.

yours and satoru’s souls were exactly the same— blended, intertwined, and stubbornly knotted together as no amount of tug and pull could unravel you both apart, satoru finding over the years that loving you was like muscle memory from the moment he met you, his nerves and reflexes gravitating him towards you on the ice that first time even when he knew there was a huge chance of him slipping and falling, but not being afraid of it at all as long as he just got to you, convinced he knew you in another life as you just felt so familiar the moment he saw your pretty little face.

and you’re so glad that he did get to you… that he stayed with you.

fourteen years of ice cream trips and sleepovers and horror movies from the moment you were teeny tiny babies to adults, experiencing the hardships of your teenage years of loss and grief, to then adulthood and college as you had the privilege of learning to navigate it with another being that was just like you, two little birds with no sense of direction other than to each other.

and it was all thanks to one woman and one woman alone.

“i honestly believe that if she was there, she would’ve brought one of those confetti poppers with dye in it and set it off.” you commented, you and satoru sitting on the grass at her grave site as you leaned your head on his shoulder and his head on top of yours, having literally just come off the plane from being at the olympics— your countries olympic button up thick jackets adorning your figures as your gold medals gleamed radiantly against the sun.

“i wish she was there.” satoru hummed, and you nodded softly in agreement.

“me too… but i’m sure she was! as a little birdie.”

he chuckled, finding your hand and interlacing your fingers as you stared at her tombstone like you’d done so many times before already… except this time it was bittersweet, you having accomplished what the three of you had strived so hard for at last.

“i miss her.” you murmured. “i miss her cussing.”

your eyes flickered down to her peace offerings, the little snow angel trinket you had gotten her still pretty and glossy and her as it sat happily on her stone platform.

satoru picked his head up and kissed the top of your head, propping his chin up on it.

“i miss her too baby.” he responded softly. “everyday.”

“but— i can’t thank her enough for giving us the bullets to fire with for skating.. y’know..” you ran the pad of your index finger along her tombstone, rough and scratchy as you traced little hearts along the edges.

“and she brought us closer together, did she not?” satoru pointed out.

she did.

a woman who was clumsy and loud and erratic with the biggest potty mouth you had ever heard that was passed down to you and satoru in the blink of an eye… but man did she know what love was as she taught it to you and reminded you both of exactly what it was each and every day.

you and satoru had accepted the fact that your hearts would never be whole again, for akira had taken half of them elsewhere and into the depths of the unknown.

but you were okay with that. completely and utterly okay with that.

for love had no limits.

you wanted her to keep it, as you and satoru stitched the remaining halves of your hearts together to create a new whole, as there was no one else you both would rather have that part of you with them forever besides akira.

and yours and satoru’s stitched up hearts grew increasingly bigger and fonder even after a couple of years later, even after winning three more olympic gold medals, you and him back at the same place in front of akira’s grave like always, sitting and laughing and chatting— but with two little baby toddlers that were half of you and half of satoru as they blubbered on about ‘mama aki’ and her trophies, a delicate twinkling ring on your finger and a golden band around satoru’s as your little family had a picnic over her final resting place.

“papa!” your son exclaimed, satoru immediately turning his attention to him in the midst of scarfing down a turkey sandwich.

“yes my offspring?”

you playfully glared at your husband.

“why do your eyes look scarier in the day?”

“HAH!” you slapped a hand over your mouth to hush your cackling, satoru’s face absolutely taken aback and offended.

“they do!” your daughter giggled. “they do! they do!—”

“baby do something!” satoru whined, shoulders slumping as he threw his head back. “i’m being bullied by five year old’s!”

you giggled and kissed his cheek, his pout quickly turning into a soft little grin as his face flushed pink.

“but your papa’s eyes are pretty you guys! and they match yours!”

“mmm— nope! scary!”

your two twin toddlers giggled uncontrollably as they thought being mean to their dad was the funniest thing in the world, you laughing with them as satoru flopped back dramatically and completely laid down on the grass with his eyes looking straight up at the bright sky.

“s’okay.” he spoke flatly. “if even my pretty little wife thinks my suffering is funny i’ll just burn my eyes to a crisp—”

“toru!” you slapped his knee. “too graphic in front of the kiddies.”

“but my suffering!—”

“mommy mommy!” your daughter tugged at your sleeve and pointed to the top of akira’s tombstone, a cute perfect white and brown bird perched up on the edge and peering curiously at the four of you, the creature not alarmed whatsoever of your children’s sudden movements as they scrambled to get closer to it.

satoru propped himself up with an elbow and stared before you both locked eyes, knowing growing smiles on your faces as he fully sat up— leaning and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting it linger.

aki.

and it was like you and satoru were reminded again of your promise that you still told each other every day.

a promise that consisted of your years together… of your love, of your undying fervor of sticking together, of your need of keeping each other safe…

of birds of a feather.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

[assriels]

lessons in touch

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel’s curiosity and penchant for spying reveals exactly why you’ve been more…enthusiastic in bed lately

word count: 5.8k :0

warnings: smut (not super detailed)!! 18+ mdni pls, az being nosy

a/n: this is one of my faves so far :’) i have this persistent silly headcanon that az is the biggest busybody of them all and that’s why he’s so good at his job

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Sex between you and Azriel was far from boring. It was a well known secret that Azriel had a predilection towards kink and experimentation, so your adventures with him between the sheets never left either of you dissatisfied. Far from it, actually.

Being with him was always pleasurable, wonderful, and unrivaled by any you’d had before him. During girls night, you had always attested to his prowess, said that his skills of observation extended past the battlefield and very much into the bedroom. And his wingspan…you would neither confirm nor deny whether the theory around Illyrian males and their wingspan was true, much to their chagrin, but the mischievous smirk that curled your lips was all they needed to confirm their suspicions.

Azriel was a skilled lover; he knew your ins and outs, understood almost innately how to coax pleasure from you with a simple, well placed brush of his fingers. More often than not, Azriel had you in a puddle on the floor before he could even take his pants off. Which, ordinarily, was a more than welcome skill — you loved how well he knew you, adored how he loved you so much that his brain was like a file cabinet of information about things you liked.

But you’d grown frustrated lately, more and more desiring to reduce Azriel to the same pleasure filled putty that he so often did with you. His composure was infuriatingly ironclad; you knew he felt the same primal, overwhelming desire that you did — such was the nature of the mating bond — but he was much better at masking it.

In short, you wanted to know what made him tick, what made him beg and whimper and plead with you to touch him. You’d been mated for a year now, and while his desire for you never waned, you had yet to find the one thing that made him sink to his knees and beg the way he so easily coaxed you to do for him.

It was no secret that your mate had a bold competitive streak. But your own stubbornness rivaled his own, leading to long, long card game nights and sparring matches — much to everyone else’s entertainment.

Though you knew you had no reason to feel such competitiveness when matters of the bedroom were concerned, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance that Azriel had so easily figured out how to make you squirm in a multitude of ways — with all your cards on the table — while you were still somewhat in the dark about his most favored bedroom inclinations. Azriel kept the secrets of his hand close to his chest.

So you vowed to yourself that you’d figure it out, test his composure to see how exactly to make that beautiful, calm countenance crack. It was like a game, but one you were more than willing to play and even more determined to win.

Ever the observer however, Azriel caught on to the changes in your excitement beneath the sheets, amusement and adoration coursing through his veins as he reveled in your sudden vigor, never shying away from a challenge.

You had been more experimental in your bedroom endeavors as of late, asking him to bend you this way and that, introducing things that he never thought you’d be interested in — not that he was complaining in the slightest. Though your differences were strikingly obvious, Azriel would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about where your sudden interest in various sexual niches had sprung from.

Initially, it was all fun and games; if you wanted to explore then so be it — he’d match you stroke for stroke every time. But eventually, his nosiness had wedged its way deep into each crevice of his mind until he was all-consumed, curiosity devolving into a burgeoning anxiety.

Was something wrong?

Azriel was positive that if you were bored you would tell him. Had you heard something from one of the others that spurred you to want to explore more? Had you felt as though you had to introduce novelty every time to please him?

You had to have known that was far from the truth; no matter your state, Azriel had always made it clear to you that you were the most exquisite creature he’d ever had the privilege of knowing, let alone laying with. He didn’t think there was anything wrong…at least not for him. Maybe you felt like something was missing.

“Penny for your thoughts, brother?”

Rhys’s voice snapped him out of his anxious musings. Azriel hadn’t realized that he was pacing so furiously he could have worn a hole through the floor. Both Rhysand and Cassian had been watching with amusement glinting in their eyes. After all, it was a rare sight to see their ordinarily calm and stoic shadowsinger so worked up.

The same poker face Azriel had worn to win countless games of cards against his brothers masked his features now, but the twitch in his brow and the near missable ruffling of his wings were tells that Cassian and Rhysand were well acquainted with.

The shadowsinger had never perfected his stone faced indifference when he was thinking of you.

Cassian ventured a guess, “Have you upset Y/N?”

Cassian had meant to tease, but the way Azriel stayed silent had his eyebrow arching in question. Azriel ignored the curious glance from his brother as his mind ran in circles once more.

Had he upset you? Was your sudden experimentation in bed some roundabout way of telling him that he had done something to hurt you? No, no…that didn’t make sense, he was being illogical.

Or…Had he somehow missed picking up on something that you liked?

Your sudden interest in sexual exploration was far from a problem, but he got the niggling sense that you were up to something, playing a game that he wasn’t privy to. And he wanted in.

Azriel was private by nature, never revealing more of his relationship with you than absolutely necessary to his brothers, not wanting to overshare in fear that he’d fall victim to their incessant teasing. But this…maybe it would be useful to get their opinions about your sudden change in interests? Cassian and Rhys were both mated males afterall, and maybe there was something Azriel was missing. He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he fell victim to his crippling neuroticism more times than he’d like to. Curiosity and anxiety were two sides of the same coin.

So he indulged and told his brothers of your sudden vigor in bed, enthusiasm to try something new every single time. You’d been insatiable as of late and he didn’t know why; nothing had changed that he knew of and it was concerning him, he couldn’t stand not knowing.

“So,” Rhys started tentatively, narrowing his eyes in confusion, not quite grasping the issue that Azriel was so hesitant to endorse. “Y/N is trying new things in bed.”

And elsewhere, Azriel thought with a ghost of a smile on his lips. He’d leave that part out, though; Rhys probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing the details about the going-ons in the dining room of the townhouse. And the gardens. And the hallways.

“And you’re complaining?” Cassian asked, incredulous, similarly at a loss for his brother’s concern.

“I’m not complaining, Cass,” Azriel groaned and slumped unceremoniously into a chair (much like an irritated school child who’d been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to), immediately regretting his poorly thought out decision to confide in his brothers. “I’m just confused. I don’t know what she wants.”

“Have you considered asking her?” Rhys inquired, infuriatingly teasing smile curving his lips.

Azriel deadpanned and clicked his tongue, not believing that Rhys would assume he was so inept at communicating with his lover, “Of course I’ve asked. She just says nothing’s changed. I believe her, but it’s still bothering me and I don’t know why.”

Both Cassian and Rhys resisted the urge to laugh, mentally conversing about how Azriel’s affections for you often reduced him to an adolescent-like lovesickness, begging and willing to please. Az had been this way since they were children; fiercely competitive and subsequently pouty if he didn’t have the upper hand, always wanting to know and learn everything he could.

This side of the shadowsinger was one that did not make an appearance often, reserving itself until he was around the few he trusted wholeheartedly.

The past couple of centuries saw even less of this endearingly childish and competitive Azriel – even around his closest friends – as Night Court duties and his identity as Spymaster overshadowed most opportunities to be vulnerable in his relationships.

But when you came around, light began to spark beneath the shadowy depths of Azriel’s countenance as you slowly coaxed him to trust and love as fiercely as everyone knew he was capable of, with the reckless abandon that his childhood self so easily embodied.

“Maybe check her nightstand,” Cassian teased with a wink, only half joking, as a quiet happiness bubbled within him at the small glimpses of Azriel’s vulnerability. “Some of Nesta’s best kept secrets are hidden there.”

Before Azriel could furrow his brow and chastise his brother for snooping through his mate’s belongings, a realization hit him.

Nesta.

You had been spending an awfully large amount of time with the eldest Archeron sister in the library lately, choosing to hole up there in lieu of your other hobbies when you weren’t training or engaging in your various other Night Court duties.

But Nesta would be a dead end. There was no way he could approach her without tipping you off to his secret sleuthing. Though he and Nesta were friends, her loyalties laid with you; there was an unexplainable female camaraderie between you – a chosen sisterhood, if you will – and if he asked if she knew anything about what was going on, she’d go running to you, mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

The conversation with his brothers was about as helpful as he initially thought it would be, and he let himself succumb to their jokes about how wrapped around your finger he was. Azriel had endured it graciously, knowing better than anyone that they were right, that he was indeed wrapped so tightly around your little finger that he was unsure of where he ended and you began. That he would gratefully stay in the palm of your hand for as long as you would allow.

But that night, after you had told him not to wait up for you because you’d be having drinks with Feyre and Mor, Cassian’s voice reverberated insistently in his mind.

Check her nightstand…best kept secrets…

Azriel resisted the urge to snoop for all of ten minutes before his inherent nosiness clouded his judgment and got the better of him; afterall, his love for secrets is what made him such an effective spymaster. Before he knew it, he was rolling onto your side of the bed, inquisitive hands pulling open your bedside drawer.

Hidden among the small stack of books he had given you was a thick novel with a cover he recognized, but gave no second thought.

It was a book you said Nesta had lent you. When he asked if you liked it you said it was “only okay” and that you’d let him know if he should read it when you were finished. Despite your lukewarm review, however, it had never left your side, and he had found you on more than one occasion cozied up with it in your hands, cheeks dusted with a heat he knew all too well.

Azriel was well aware of the content of the books Nesta favored, often lending a reluctant ear to a whiny Cassian whenever she paid more attention to her books than him.

But there was no way your sudden excitement for novelty in the bedroom could be inspired by Nesta’s smutty recommendations��right? He leafed through, assessing hazel eyes quickly skimming the paragraphs, catching glimpses of the prose that had you so enraptured.

Azriel felt the back of his neck heat.

It was smut, as he assumed. But this was truly…filth. Pure, unadulterated, filthy smut.

Azriel was a lover of all books, never having been one to categorize or judge them by popular opinion. And, to be completely fair, he had read a decent amount of books filled with sex and romance.

But…he was sure that the acts detailed in this one would make even the Court of Nightmares’s debauchery look saintly. Even Azriel, who had been correctly assumed to be the kinkiest of the Inner Circle, felt tame in comparison to the words flickering across the pages of your book. How did you read this with such impassivity on your face?

Azriel snapped the book shut with such force the pages blew a cool, gentle breeze onto his heating face. He tried – and failed – to not picture you in the position the main character in your book was described in, unintentionally sending a soft hum of his burgeoning arousal down your bond. He was beginning to understand your desire to replicate the more salacious scenes detailed in your novels.

Having fun without me, Az? Came your teasing inquiry in his mind, as he meticulously replaced all of your belongings into your nightstand.

Don’t be nosy, he quipped back, extremely aware of the irony of his statement. And then after a beat he added, answering your question with a sincerity that never failed to grip your heart, Never without you, love.

You left him waiting for a response a little bit longer than you normally would as you attempted to control the thundering beat of your heart in your chest. You were convinced that no amount of time could ever diminish the effects that Azriel’s blatant display of love had on your composure. As much as he was wrapped around your little finger, you were just as tightly wrapped around his.

I take back what I said earlier, wait up for me.

Azriel smirked to himself, feeling a flare of triumph, It’s a date, then. Maybe I’ll find something interesting to read in the meantime.

If you caught on to his sly insinuation, you did not let on, just continued bantering with him for a few moments before returning your full attention to your friends, who were no doubt attempting to extract morsels of information from your obviously lascivious exchange with your lover.

But that night – even after Azriel had promptly fucked you into a blissful oblivion – had yielded no more information about your recent proclivity for finding a new kink, so Azriel did what he did best and spied.

He kept a watchful eye on the books you read, and tracked the times you asked him to try something new. He spent more time in the library than necessary under the guise that Rhys had put him up to some research.

Which was only half of a lie. He was in there to do reconnaissance, yes, just not for Rhys.

Azriel scanned the bookshelves for anything that seemed like it had been recently replaced, pages still clinging to the sweet scent of your skin. A title he recognized caught his eye and he slotted it out of place, flipping through the pages to confirm his suspicions.

This book was shorter than the others he’d seen you carry around, but certainly no less obscene. A smirk pulled at Azriel’s lips as he read a dog eared chapter that you had clearly marked for inspiration, recollections of your most recent tryst in his office flooding his awareness.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You had sauntered into his small, private study at the House of Wind, short dress skimming the curves of your thighs as you bent to greet him with a kiss to his cheek. He’d been distracted at the time — surveying maps and cross referencing with ancient textbooks — and barely tore his attention away from his work long enough to squeeze your hand in greeting.

But you didn’t seem to mind, opting to make yourself comfortable and purveying the books neatly organized on his shelves. When you’d found a book you thought would be interesting enough — though probably not quite as interesting as the one you’d just finished, per Nesta’s recommendation — you settled into the armchair across Azriel’s desk, shoulders against one armrest as your legs draped over the other.

Azriel looked up at you then, soft smile curving his lips. He loved when you kept him company while he worked; somehow, whenever you were around, work never seemed nearly as daunting or overwhelming.

You met his gaze with your own grin, silently communicating your support of him in the way that only mates could, tugging gently on the bond before winking at him and resettling your attention back to the book in your lap.

The both of you worked in that wonderfully comfortable silence for a while before Azriel caught you fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. The sun had begun its routine descent below the horizon, cool breeze stirring the sheer curtains framing his windows. Though summer had plagued the days with heat and humidity, the nights were still cool as the last dregs of spring eked away.

He looked up, intending on asking if you needed anything — a blanket, maybe — but the words died swiftly in his throat when he eyed a flash of bare skin as you swung your legs to stand, showcasing just enough for him to clue in to the fact that you were indeed not wearing underwear. Or anything else under your dress, if the peak of your nipples beneath the silk was anything to go by.

Selfishly, for a brief moment, Azriel decided that maybe keeping the windows open wouldn’t be so bad.

He pried his eyes away from your form making its way back to his bookcase, and instead attempted to tamp down the raging lust stirring in his belly so he could focus. But the mental picture of what he knew lay beneath the barely there fabric of your dress coupled with your scent made the lines on the map he was studying blur into nonsense.

Though intelligent and compassionate at heart, Azriel often found himself a slave to his baser male instincts when it came to you. There was little – if anything – you could do to quell the raging need to touch you, kiss you, be near you at all hours of the day; his desire for you was a constant hum belying his daily routine. He had not one iota of self control when you were involved, much to his simultaneous thrill and chagrin.

Inwardly, he cursed himself as he stole another glance at you as you stretched onto your toes to reach a book on the top shelf.

Beauty incarnate, truly, he thought. Azriel’s eyes tracked each slope and valley of the lines of your body, taking his time to commit each curve to memory, the way he should have been doing with the maps sitting now uselessly on his desk.

You looked at him over your shoulder, small pout on your lips, “Az, can you help me? I can’t reach.”

Azriel’s heart leapt. It’s like you were doing it on purpose, and in hindsight you definitely were. But despite the gnawing adoration encouraging him to fall to his knees and worship at your feet, he stood with the cool grace of someone unperturbed by their mate’s subtle seduction.

Azriel obliged you, coming up behind you, one hand curling around your hip to steady himself as the other reached easily to the top shelf to grab the book your fingertips skimmed. As he leaned forward, you could feel the hard planes of his chest against your back and you wanted to abandon all your plans to slowly seduce Azriel into a puddle on the floor, but you remained steadfast in your decision. Nesta had pushed a book into your hands and said she tried this once with Cassian and that the resulting hours were pure heaven, and you wanted to test the theory, curiosity rivaling that of your mate’s.

You barely registered Azriel putting the book in your hands, too lost in the warmth of his familiar touch. But you composed yourself quickly, leaning back into him to kiss him in thanks, not so subtly pushing your ass back into his hips. A feeling of revelry settled in your chest when you felt him already half hard beneath his pants, his fingers curling tighter around your hip.

Oh so reluctantly, you pulled away, perfect picture of obliviousness as you plopped back down on the armchair you were occupying previously.

Azriel thought he would collapse in on himself when you went to sit back down. You had him so tightly ensnared it was like he was still in the midst of the initial mating frenzy. He briefly wondered if the mind-boggling need for you would ever go away, though part of him knew hoped it never would.

He took a moment to compose himself — if that was even possible when one’s mate was clearly playing a dangerous game of seduction — bracing himself with one arm steady against the bookshelf.

Despite how much Azriel so greatly wanted to shirk his responsibilities to bend you over his desk, he wouldn’t. Not yet anyway. The work day wasn’t quite over, and the plans he was making for you would surely last too long to finish his research afterwards. So he steeled himself and took a deep, steadying breath, willing his blood to fill his head again so he could think with some semblance of clarity.

Though at baseline, he always found it difficult to think rationally when you were around.

While Azriel was trying — and failing — to regain his composure, you were feigning extreme interest in the book you had selected at random: The History and Systems of Fae War Treaties.

If Azriel had been paying any attention to what you were reaching for, he’d have caught on to your ploy, but luckily for you the mere sight of you was enough to render him at least somewhat incapacitated.

You took a peek at him over the back of the chair, triumphant satisfaction crooking your lips into a mischievous smile. Maybe this would be the day he finally cracks, you think to yourself.

But as the sun dipped lower beneath the skyline of Velaris below, and as Azriel stubbornly worked away at his desk, you felt the tiredness of the day settle into your bones, pull you deeper into the plush leather of Azriel’s loveseat. Cassian had run you ragged with training this morning, and Rhys and Amren had your mind working tirelessly as the three of you attempted to draft a peace treaty in a meager four hours.

But you wouldn’t sleep, not yet, not until you had reduced Azriel to a beautiful, orgasmic mess in his chair. Not until the hazel of his eyes were blown dark with desire and pleading as you straddled his hips.

The next hour was a fight to stay awake as the words on the pages in your lap began to blur into obscurity, mind muddling with theories and questions — though the book was an off handed choice, you couldn’t deny that the information was coincidentally incredibly pertinent to the discussion you were having with Rhys and Amren earlier in the day.

The telltale sigh of a day’s work completed pulled your attention away from your book, gaze settling on your mate. His hair was mused in a way that told you he had spent the last however long skating his fingers through it, but as always it fell perfectly across his forehead in defiance of the tiredness creeping up his neck.

Azriel’s eyes met yours and apparently your coy seduction earlier still held his body in a vice, evident in the way he stood and stalked to you. There was a cool, domineering edge to his movements and you knew your plan had worked to a degree, but the determination you had to break him down had leeched out of you the same way the night had stolen the day’s heat.

You hummed in satisfaction as he leaned down to kiss you, the pressure gentle and so, so sweet. A stark contrast to the dark and tempting storm of desire Azriel flooded your senses with down the bond.

Never once breaking the contact of your kiss, he’d wedged a knee between your legs as one hand braced against the arm of the loveseat while the other danced at the hem of your dress, endearingly asking for permission.

Your mouth curved against his and you guided his hand up to your hip, gasping delightedly when his hand tracked further up your waist, bringing the hem of your dress up with it as he slotted your hips more comfortably against his leg.

His lips traced a scalding trail of open mouthed kisses against your jaw, your neck, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest that had your hips rolling against him.

“So bold for me,” he said, his hand skating across your unclothed skin while he urged your hips to grind a little harder against his thigh. You gasped, the pressure so wonderfully perfect against your cunt.

Though your initial intention was to get Azriel all hot and bothered, you couldn’t deny that the game you had set yourself up in had the same effect on you; the lingering, almost lazy path his eyes swept over your body every time you shifted across from him left heat singing between your legs, untamed longing for you dancing down the golden thread between you.

“Az…” you rasped, arching your hips up to meet his still clothed body, the top of your dress pushed languidly down to your waist as Azriel played slow music on the skin of your breasts. The loveseat was a cramped fit at best, but Azriel’s surprising flexibility and dexterity made it work despite the general largeness of his wings and frame. He’d made even the smallest corners of the House work for your sexual escapades.

The memories of all the scandalous little happenings you two have been partaking in the past few months flitted across your mind’s eye like an erotic slideshow, and you groaned. Legs tightening around his in desperate search for more friction, more contact, more of him. His name on your lips again was a wanton plea, a sound so wonderfully obscene Azriel almost came in his pants.

“Hmm?” He hummed, closing his lips around your nipple, teeth gently tugging before his tongue was quick to soothe the ache. The way your hips were grinding so shamelessly against him had his head spinning with a swirling mix of lust and love, and he clung to the last shreds of self discipline he had. It was all he could do to not tear both of your clothes off and sink himself deep into your brilliant warmth.

Azriel had always been patient, mastery over his desire was a skill he’d honed meticulously over the past few centuries — though you had a way of quickly unraveling his self control with one flutter of your eyelashes. But he wanted to make this last for you, wanted to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible. So he pressed his thigh more firmly between your legs, his own hips slotting against the side of your body.

You gasped at the feel of him, of how hard he was against your hip, and you tried to reach him, tried to get him to release some of the tension you knew coiled in his belly. He groaned deep and breathless when you pressed insistently against him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he continued his ministrations on your body.

Azriel’s hands were everywhere, trailing paths around your breasts, up your neck, into your hair, and between your legs the way he no doubt was doing with the maps on his desk earlier.

It was infuriating how close you were already, how swiftly the tables had turned (though you half blamed the sudden onset of your fatigue the day had cursed you with), how with one well placed touch you were on the brink of collapse at Azriel’s mercy yet again.

He was urging your hips faster now, his fingers and lips making quick work of all the places he knew would have you keening. And before you could even register that he was still fully clothed, hard cock still straining against the confines of his pants, you were falling, breathless and dizzy with release.

The night had been far from over. You came twice more in that godsdamned loveseat – once with his fingers buried inside you and another time with his head between your legs – before he whisked you away to your bedroom where you finally, finally felt the delicious stretch of him inside you.

By the time the sun was making its appearance over the horizon once more, you had lost count of how many times Azriel had you begging.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Though your spicy little rendezvous in his office – and encore in the bedroom – wasn’t quite an exact replica of what played out in the book you had apparently just read, Azriel had thought your coy seduction had its intended effect. He’d been so fucking desperate for you that he couldn’t wait until you were out of his study to have you coming for him.

But, as he skimmed the pages of the chapter you marked, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he wouldn’t mind being fully at the mercy of your whims, wouldn’t mind submitting to the pleasure that you so easily coaxed from him. He was already always so eager to please you, so willing to crawl to the ends of the earth for you if you had so much as suggested you wanted him to.

“Azriel?” Nesta’s voice dripped with wicked amusement, effectively pulling him from his erotic reverie. “I never thought I’d see you in this section of the library.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t anticipated that he’d run into Nesta, a severely idiotic oversight on his part considering the House’s library was something akin to her own personal sanctuary. Azriel turned slowly on his heels to face her, mind working in overdrive to come up with a viable excuse for him being there.

“Nesta,” was all he came up with. Pathetic.

Her smirk turned deadly when she realized he was floundering. Arms crossed over her chest, chin tilted ever so slightly upwards, she looked the very portrait of smug amusement; he would expect nothing less of his friend who moonlighted as Lady Death.

Nesta’s eyes dropped to the book he forgot he was holding, and her eyebrows shot up in understanding, “Ah, I just recommended that one to Y/N. She gave it a hefty five stars. Said it was…intriguing.”

Nesta’s sly comments were enough to confirm Azriel’s suspicions that you were taking bedroom inspiration from the arsenal of smutty books the House stocked. And, with the way Nesta was biting her tongue, he could tell that she knew exactly why he was there.

Cassian, that fucking mouthy bastard.

Before Azriel could open his mouth to tell her that it wasn’t what it looked like – even though they both knew it was exactly what it looked like – Nesta stalked past him, pulling books off the shelf with striking precision. With a stack of five books balanced on one hand, she took the one Azriel was holding and reshelved it.

“These are Y/N’s favorite,” she said, this time with a little bit more softness and understanding as she placed them gingerly in his arms. “I’m sure she’d love if you read them.”

Azriel scanned each cover, a fond smile working to tilt the corners of his lips. You did love these; he had been familiar with these covers long before you were even mated, always keeping a lovingly watchful eye on the things you enjoyed, filing the knowledge away in his mind for later.

“Thanks, Nesta,” he said sincerely, adoration for you filling his chest with warmth as he remembered the excitement lighting your eyes while you read these books, cute flush radiating off your cheeks.

Nesta only nodded, giving his shoulder an encouraging few pats as she stalked off to another aisle, no doubt scouring the shelves for a new read.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Azriel told himself that he’d only read a few chapters — for research — but he hadn’t realized that he’d spent the better half of his day off lounging on the loveseat in his study.

Despite his previous reservations around the smutty books you’d so lovingly treasured, he found he was enjoying them — and not just for the well written, detailed sex scenes that you were pulling ideas from. He was two-thirds of the way through the second book, in the midst of the big climax, when you snuck up on him.

“It seems you’ve discovered my dirty little secret,” you said coyly, arms coming up behind him to snake around his shoulders.

Azriel jumped at your sudden appearance, inwardly cursing himself for teaching you how to sneak up on someone so effectively. He closed the book swiftly, feeling a flustered blush creep up his neck.

You pouted and rested your chin on his shoulder, “Aw, you were just getting to the best part! Don’t stop reading on my account.”

Azriel groaned but gave in, leaning back into your touch, “Don’t tease me.”

“I would never tease you, my love,” you said mockingly before kissing his cheek. “It is really the best part, though. The paint scene—“

Before you could regale the details of the main characters’ sexual escapades, Azriel took your chin in his fingers and slotted his lips over yours in a silent plea to stop your innocent tormenting. He reveled in the way you kissed him back without pause; he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way you loved him as eagerly as he did you.

“Dirty little secret, huh?” He quipped, lips brushing yours as a bemused smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. You rolled your eyes as you made your way around the back of the chair, gesturing for him to uncross his legs so you could settle yourself on his lap.

Your weight was a welcome comfort as he continued prodding you, “Is this why you’ve been so…eager lately?”

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you admitted, winding your arms around his neck as he scoffed in mock disbelief.

“Give me some credit love, I notice everything when it comes to you.” Came his quick response.

You pursed your lips, half in childish dissatisfaction that your little game was over, “I just wanted to know how to get you to beg for me. I needed ideas.”

Your nonchalance belied the wicked sensuality of your words and he chuckled, wrapping his wings around you both before mapping a scathing trail of kisses up your neck. The pillowy feel of his lips brushing your ear made you shudder, his teeth nibbling playfully at your earlobe as he hummed deep in his chest, “We have a lifetime together, there’s no rush. But since you want it so badly, shall I show you how well I can beg for you?”

Azriel’s offer sent an exhilarating shiver down your spine, and you so desperately wanted to give in, wanted to watch him come undone beneath you as he pleaded with you to touch him. But you shook your head despite yourself, competitive stubbornness the only barrier between you and what you wanted.

“I want to earn it, make you want me so bad you can’t help yourself.”

Your words were a breathy murmur that nearly had Azriel flipping you over right there on the too small lounge chair, but he resisted, prioritizing his assurances that you were the only thing he wanted every second of every day.

“That’s the thing, beloved,” he whispered in your ear, deep voice doused in honey reverberating in your bones as your desire flared so wildly it made you lightheaded. His hand, calloused palms rough against your skin, skated beneath the hem of your dress to grab hold of your hip and move you so you were straddling him.

This was the image you played over and over in your mind. The unbridled, unrestrained look of pleading in his eyes that blew his pupils wide, that had his hips shifting against yours in a display of just how much he wanted you.

“I always want you,” he continued. “I’d beg for you like I am dying of dehydration and you are my oasis. Just ask, and I’ll do exactly as you say.”

You were mesmerized, finger tracing the sharp contours of his jawline before ending at his chin, tilting his gaze up with the same practiced dominance you’d seen him slip into countless times before. You savored the way he shuddered at your touch, pretty lips parting as his chest heaved.

The corner of your mouth quirked, your breath a ghost over his lips, “Show me, then.”

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 3

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sexual issues. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: Your third session with Dr. Richmond gets more intense as he finally figures out how best to help you. He makes you dig deeper and uncover uncomfortable truths about yourself.

Word Count: 4,751k

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 Link

A/N: Alright now, I'm feeling a smidge bullied about this series. I am very thankful that ya'll love my series and while I know that it's out of love, I have a squirrel brain and bad noodle days. I would never want to put out a subpar fic. So the best way to encourage me is tell me what you liked about the fic! I have a praise kink, babes. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Terry

Terry sat in the office breakroom stirring his tea while it steeped. He had your file spread out on the small round table as he went over it one last time before your appointment today. Though, it remained a mystery if you’d actually show.

For the past week, he had been pouring over your file backwards and forwards trying to glean what you weren’t saying. What you were holding yourself back from saying. He didn’t usually like to bad mouth his professional colleagues, but their notes were sloppy; and that was putting it mildly. 

Terry rolled the tea bag around the spoon to squeeze excess water out and then placed it on the napkin beside his mug. He sighed and stretched, stuck too long already in one position. 

It was clear that he couldn’t bully you into opening up. That wasn’t what you needed. You were already on the precipice. So much of your insights were spot on. You didn’t really need him, but you needed a guide. Someone to mentor you or mold you…no, that wasn’t it.

Terry scratched out the word on the notebook he started for you. It’s not molding you, you already have a strong foundation. You weren’t putty for someone to play with. You were more resilient, more open, more determined. 

So if not mold…Terry rubbed his short goatee and adjusted himself on the orange plastic chair. He thought a change of scenery would help give him an attack plan. A way to approach your next session, but he was at a loss. He was uncomfortable in these cheap ass seats, for starters. And the ideas weren’t coming in the quiet, rigidly styled break room.

It was like playing wack-a-mole with you. Every method he thought of, you shot down. Every time he thought he had a way into that pretty head of yours, you switched gears. It was challenging and frustrating and exciting as hell. 

His pen hovered over the notebook, full of crossed out words and methodologies he could try. And for the first time in a long while, his mind was blank. He had nothing. How did he combat nine therapists and a woman hell-bent on doing everything herself? 

“Hey, Dr. Richmond! Funny seeing you here!” Dr. Crawford waltzed into the breakroom and opened the nearest teak cabinet. He pulled down a mug that proclaimed him as the best dad ever and he hummed to himself as he poured himself some coffee. 

Terry eyed the older man with a bushy mustache but a “dad” demeanor. He treated everyone kindly and he came highly recommended for good reason. He seemed to zero in on everyone’s problems like he had a nose for it. 

“Dr. Crawford. I’d actually like your help with something,” Terry said.

“Me? Oh, cool. Cool,” Dr. Crawford paused as if he were a deer caught in headlights. Regaining himself, he patted down his army green button up and approached Terry’s table. 

Terry flipped your file closed and made more space for Dr. Crawford. The older man sat down with a quiet huff and sipped loudly at his coffee. Terry hoped his face didn’t reveal his disgust, but the man was a good guy. Just a bit odd. 

“What’s on your mind?” Dr. Crawford asked, placing his mug down on the table. 

Terry rubbed his hands while he thought over how to approach his question without coming off like a creep. His feelings for you were strictly professional. Okay, maybe not strictly but Crawford didn’t need to know that.

“I have a female patient, difficulty achieving climax, well-researched, with issues with control. We’ve had two sessions so far and usually I’d wait for more data, but at the moment, she’s been through nine therapists,” Terry said.

“Nine?” Dr. Crawford asked.

Terry smirked and nodded. “Nine. She’s committed to the process and seems willing to try new things, but I’m concerned that I can’t find my baseline with her. She’s been through so many therapists, she’s done copious research on her own, like…how do I compete with that?” Terry asked. 

Dr. Crawford took a few sips of his mug and stared out of the windows towards the cityscape. “Nine therapists, you say? And no one’s helped her?” Dr. Crawford’s bushy mustache moved with his frown. 

Terry fought off a smile. Dr. Crawford hadn’t even met you and he was reaching conclusions faster than Terry. Nine therapists was a lot for anyone to not find any kind of solution. 

“I ask probing questions, I’ve given her some things to think over, but it’s only going to work if she’s willing to do all of it,” he said. 

“My advice? Start from the beginning. Find a way for her to trust you. If she’s been through nine therapists, I imagine they’ve done everything under the sun already. And if she’s as well-read as you say, you better come up with something better before she’s on to number eleven,” Dr. Crawford said. 

Terry chuckled. “Right, because she’s done it all, said it all…”

“And yet no one’s gotten to the core of the issue. You can talk solutions all day long but if you don’t know what the hell you’re treating, you’re just wasting her time,” Dr. Crawford said and knocked on the table. “It’s not competing against the others. It’s erasing them completely.”

Terry mulled that over as he took some notes. He liked that. It wasn’t molding you, more like shaping you. Stripping away all the misconceptions and untruths and whatever it was that you’ve read thus far. Everything your previous therapists had tried. His job was to uncover who you truly were.

Reveal…uncover…sculpt…that was it. He was merely helping you sculpt the woman begging to be let out. You were a sexual goddess trapped in marble. You were already there, just unpolished. He had to chisel his way there, not jackhammer it. You didn’t need kid gloves but you needed more finesse. 

Terry smirked as his pen scratched against his notepad, jotting down idea after idea. He hoped you showed. He hoped you took a chance on him and let him help you. Let him be your tenth and final therapist. And then release you to whatever bum caught your eye. 

“This is incredibly helpful, thank you Dr. Crawford,” Terry said. He threw away his trash and then gathered his tea, your file, and your notebook. 

Dr. Crawford’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, his neck turning cherry red. “Oh, I’m sure you would’ve gotten there without me,” he said with a wave. 

“I’m sure I wouldn’t have. See you around,” Terry said, tapping Dr. Crawford on the back. Talking to him reminded Terry of his own father. A tall, imposing man who was larger than life yet nothing but a gentle giant. 

Terry exited the break room and steamrolled down the bland, drab hallway towards his office. His mind filled with more ideas than he knew what to do with. New things to try. New things to explore. If you let him, he would show you exactly what you needed. 

He rounded the corner in time to see you step back from his office door. He stopped in his tracks and watched you for a moment, watched your unguarded expression as you hovered. You were dressed in dark jeans and a red sweatshirt, a small purse over your shoulder, and you clutched your journal against your chest. Your hair was neatly styled and it fit you. 

Many expressions played across your sweet face. You had a tilt to your head and a lilt to your mouth. He would pay top dollar to know what you were thinking. What mental battle you waged inside. Or whether or not you’d knock on the door.

&&&

You

You sighed and rubbed your head. You had been debating if you would attend today’s appointment or not. You felt less than grown up storming out of his office. He must’ve thought you were the biggest goof in the world. 

You fought yourself the entire ride over, constantly looking at every corner as an opportunity to escape. To flee. But you kept passing it up because each corner also tasted terribly like defeat. 

In two sessions, Dr. Richmond had you re-thinking everything. Besides being drop dead gorgeous, he had a big brain to back it up. And damn if it wasn’t working. You wanted more. You wanted to explore everything about yourself. 

Living in your body was painful. But god, you felt so alive. The numbness receded with each passing day as you practiced. You needed to see it through. So with a rumbling gut and sweaty palms, you forced yourself to stay on the road and attend your appointment.

You sighed. This was going to be fucking painful. You raised your hand to knock when soft footfalls sounded behind you.

“No need,” Dr. Richmond said. 

You turned to your right to see him come to a complete stop in front of you. Sugar Honey Iced Tea, he was dreamy. He wore a tan colored long sleeved T-shirt and dark navy pants. The sleeves were rolled on his forearm, veins poking out in his deep almond skin, peeks of tattoos, and he held a mug in his hand. His other hand clutched a notebook and a thick file. Your file. 

You looked from it to his hands to his forearms. Your eyes pinged everywhere on him but his face. Dr. Richmond cleared his throat and tilted his head.

You pinched your lips together and smiled, your eyes crinkling at being caught staring. “Dr. Richmond, great - uh - good to see you,” you said. God, if you listening, strike now, please. Please. Please? 

“I’m glad you’re here. I feared I would’ve been alone for the next hour,” he said. 

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I was definitely debating. But I said I was committed, and I meant it,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded and then waved his hand forward. You opened the door and held it open for him to enter behind you. You practically skipped to the couch and stood awkwardly in front of it. You held onto your journal but threw your purse on the coffee table.

You watched as Dr. Richmond deposited the mug, notebook, and your file on his desk. You watched the long length of his body, drooling at the fluid way he moved. He must live in the gym or something.

His shirt hinted at a rock hard body, but you wanted to see more. And that was totally the wrong thing to think about your sex therapist. You huffed and looked away from him, up towards the ceiling. 

There should be a law against attractive authority figures. He should be banned from the profession. Retire and go on somewhere. 

The door closed behind you and you jumped. “Would you like it open?” Dr. Richmond asked.

“Nope, I’m good,” you said. You turned to him and gave him a wide smile. “I’m just nervous.”

Dr. Richmond smiled and put his hand in his pocket. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You’re in charge here, remember that,” he said.

You nodded and watched as he crossed the room. Instead of going towards his chair, he perched next to the desk and faced you. “Before we get started, I want to clear the air. I didn’t mean to push you so hard. I approached our session wrong and I apologize,” he said. 

“In what way?” You asked. 

“I assumed that with so many therapists that you didn’t need the song and dance. That you didn’t need the introductory session,” he said.

“No, that was right. I need a push. I know I have more issues to work through than I thought. And so far, everyone’s just been coddling me. Treating me like what I’m feeling is in my head. And I spend all my life in this motherfucker. I know it’s not in my head. Sorry for saying motherfucker,” you said and smirked. 

Dr. Richmond rocked back on his heels and matched your smirk. He nodded his head. “Then we can both move forward together,” he said. He moved around his desk and then sat in his high backed chair. He pulled the mug towards him and blew on the steaming mug. 

His lips should not look so damn kissable. Lush and pink, he had big sexy lips that just made you want to kiss forever. He was a work of art made real. He took a sip from his cup and then pulled the notebook and your file closer. 

“Have you been keeping up with your homework?” He asked.

You nodded. “Yup. Living in my body. Feeling my feelings. Admiring myself,” you said. You finally felt calm enough to sit down on the couch. You stared at the Lego set in the zen garden and shook your head. 

“And?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes and opened your journal and flipped to the pre-appointment jitters. You listed main points that you didn’t mind sharing with him. You told him all about what experiencing living your body felt like. 

It was scary and there were times that you slipped back into your head without realizing it. Zoning back in was always painful, like stepping into the sun after sitting for a three hour movie. You talked about how strange it was to feel like you had been asleep all this time, pushing everything to the back of your mind.

Later, later, another time, when you weren’t so busy. But you were always busy. Always running and moving and thinking and stressing. 

“That must be exhausting,” he chimed in. 

“You have no idea,” you said. Your shoulders dropped from around your shoulders and you mentally groaned. This was going to turn into your Sisyphus. You were going to kick that healing rock up the mountain and just when you thought you’d finally make it, you’d just go tumbling back down. Hope, you fickle bitch. 

You and hope had a toxic codependent relationship. It didn’t really fuck with you like that, but you kept letting it back in your heart. 

“Where do you think this need to cut yourself down before someone else does come from?” Dr. Richmond asked.

You fanned yourself and gaped at him. “Buy me dinner first at least, Dr. Richmond,” you said. You shared a laugh with him and shook your head. “So I wouldn’t be disappointed with my parents when they didn’t give me the reaction I wanted for my accomplishments.” 

Dr. Richmond leaned forward, his eyebrow shooting up above the golden rim of his glasses. “You really do over-analyze yourself,” he said.

You shrugged. “It’s a compulsion. If I don’t, the world burns,” you said softly. Your eyes pricked with tears but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. You weren’t going to shy from this. You weren’t going to disappear into your mind. 

Dr. Richmond took another sip of his mug but to his credit, he didn’t write anything down. That would have somehow been embarrassing. You waited while he sat there and you busied yourself with picking at your nails. 

“We need a fresh start,” Dr. Richmond said. He picked up your file and then opened a drawer. He dropped the folder and the metal popped with the weight. He closed the drawer and then faced you. 

“I’m not your tenth therapist. I’m your first. If you let me, I’m going to help you achieve what you want. You’re going to find sexual satisfaction whenever you want. Whether that’s alone or with a partner,” he said. 

“That’s what I want,” you said.

He nodded and then gripped his mug but he didn’t bring it to his lips. “You said if you didn’t over-analyze yourself, the world would burn. Do you believe the world will literally burn or do you just think something bad will happen?” 

You rubbed your sweaty palms on your jeans and scooted forward on the couch. “Rationally, I know that’s impossible. But irrationally? I’ve never been brave enough to test it,” you said. 

Your mind spun at a thousand hertz per second. It never shut up. Never stopped rolling. Never stopped running. Never stopped with the constant chatter in your mind. You didn’t know what would happen if you had a calm mind. The only time you got some semblance of relief was when you were high.

And even then, your mind was still running in the background. Popping up with new tabs constantly. Because if the chatter stopped, you’d have to face the silence. And you just didn’t know how you’d act. Or if the world would burn. All you knew was that your mind kept spinning and so did the world. 

“Tell me about how you were treated as a teen. How did your parents treat you and how did your peers at school treat you?” He asked.

You giggled. “Okay, if not dinner, then ice cream? I’m a simple cookies n’ cream girly,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “Jokes are just a way to procrastinate,” he said. Goodness that voice. That subtle twang in the back of his throat that hinted of a Southern background. 

You huffed and leaned back on the couch. No one said healing was easy. So you told him. You told him about your over-analytical helicopter parents who were so fearful of something happening to you that they placed you in an invisible bubble. 

They had to know where you were at all times, they had to know your friend’s parents and have them on speed dial, they asked after your every move, and you asked permission before even thinking about going in the fridge. 

You had to become hypervigilant and pick up on cues that your mother was going to grow a second head from all her yelling. You never knew when she would give you a kiss on the cheek or yell at you for no reason. You had to scan her face for microexpressions, trying to gauge which way the wind would blow with her. 

As for your friends…they were cool for what you had at the time. You were no longer friends with them as they’d moved on and left you in the dust. But at the time, any little weird thing you did they poked fun at. And if it wasn’t them, it was the boys in your class. As if you couldn’t step a toe out of line without someone pointing it out for everyone to hear. 

If you jumped onto a chair, then people would turn and stare. If you waved your hands, there were three people there to call you weird. And if you joked and sung badly on purpose, people thought you were serious and made fun of you for being tone deaf.

You tried on plenty of personalities throughout the years, trying to mix and match what people expected of you. You eventually grew comfortable with being weird but that hypervigilance never left you. 

“Would you say you feel safe to be yourself at all?” Dr. Richmond asked. 

You twisted your lips and shook your head. “I wouldn’t know what that is. My mom read my diary once and I never wrote anything down ever again. Until you gave me my homework,” you said. 

&&&

Terry 

You just…listened so well. He knew now that it was a product of your upbringing, being the child who was only seen and never heard. Marching to hundreds of orders given by your overbearing mother and absent in spirit father. 

Add onto that that your peers at school treated you as if there was something wrong with you, it was impossible for you to become comfortable. To achieve safety of mind and body. Who could explore themselves like that? When so many conspired to convince you that you weren’t a person deserving of grace? 

Terry took a sip of his mug and watched you deflate further. Like every truth you kept trapped inside was what kept you animated and full. Without it… 

Terry stood up and rounded his desk, somehow needing the boundary out of the way. Maybe he’d sit in the other chair opposite the table from you from now on. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. 

Fuck. You never even had a chance. He prayed that you hadn’t been abused or hurt by anyone ever. It was a miracle that you didn’t have a string of abusive ex-boyfriends or a thicker medical file in a hospital somewhere. Sweet, open women like you deserved to be cared for. Protected. 

You were a sub in more ways that you realized. And his fondness for you, his attraction, only grew with each session. How? How would he let you go when you graduated from his help? 

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to really think before you answer,” he said. He replaced his glasses on his face and tilted his head forward to emphasize his point. This was a hard question but it needed to be asked. 

You leaned forward, clutched your journal to your chest, and pinched your lips. But you nodded and mimed zipping your mouth. 

“Who said they were right?” He asked.

He watched as your face smoothed out to an adorable blank. Your mouth flattened as you looked at him. Again, he wished more than anything to know what you were thinking. What questions raced in your mind. 

He grew concerned when you continued to stare without saying a word. But he didn’t interrupt. He wanted to see where you took it. What you would do. So as you stared, he stared. 

He took in your sweet, rounded features. Your adorably styled hair. The red in your sweatshirt highlighted your beautiful brown skin. You finally took a deep breath and then stared up at the ceiling.

“In all my life, no one has ever asked me that,” you said. You brought your hands to your eyes and swiped at them. You needed to let them fall but he wasn’t going to push you on that right now. 

You stood up and then rubbed your forehead as you paced back and forth. He continued to watch you self-soothe right before his eyes. He wondered if you were conscious of that too. Did you miss anything? 

“And…people just accept it when everyone seems to agree that you’re uncool or weird or whatever, ‘cause of what you said about the group thing. People want to fit in and belong but…no one died and made them the fucking authority on what’s cool. No one put them in charge and they’re not the popular police,” you said as you continued to pace like a ping pong ball. 

“Misery loves company. Hurt people hurt people. However you wanna spin it, nothing brings people closer together than hating the same thing or same person. There’s a sense of validation when people agree with you. And people think mob mentality only applies to bad situations, but it applies everywhere. Because there’s safety in numbers, people would rather go with the flow than be singled out.” 

You threw up your hands. “Why didn’t I learn this years ago? And now I just feel stupid for it never even occurred to me that they weren’t right,” you said. You sat down on the couch with a huff. 

Terry put his hands in his pockets and smirked. He glanced at the clock. He didn’t have you for much longer. He flexed his jaw at the thought. What he wouldn’t give. 

“You shouldn’t feel stupid. Think about what kind of environment you were raised in and continue to live in. You had to be aware to avoid danger. To avoid being singled out. You had to adapt to survive. That takes courage and bravery. You did what you had to do to survive and that’s all anyone is doing.

“But you don’t have to just survive anymore. You get to choose. You get to choose right here and now to live. Live with your whole body because you are here, you are perceivable, you matter, and you can take up space and the world will be fine,” he said. 

Tears swimmed in your eyes and you stood up to face away from him. You faced the window and your shoulders shook. You gripped yourself in a low hug, not making a single sound. 

Terry moved to his desk to grab the box of tissues silently. He made noise so that you knew he was approaching and he placed the box on the end table under the window. You turned your body from him but grabbed a tissue and swiped at your eyes. 

The only sounds he heard was the tick of the clock on the wall and your random sniffles. The shake in your shoulders subsided bit by bit until you looked up at the ceiling. 

Terry remained close by so that you knew you weren’t alone.

&&&

You

Fuck, you felt like a fucking idiot. All these years. Nine fucking therapists. Shitty boyfriend after shitty boyfriend. Your mother’s latest tirade and your father’s empty shrug. All for this man to ask you the one question that shook you to your core. 

Who said they were right? Who said? Who gave them the right to make you think that there was something wrong with you? That your very existence was a plight on the world and it’d be better if you weren’t there? 

Who fucking said? 

It was all so simple and yet complicated. You hung your sense of safety on the need to “do the right thing at the right time”. If you did something “normal”, then no one could make fun of you, and you passed through another day fooling everyone with your disguise. 

And fuck! Wasn’t that freeing? Your chest ached and your eyes pricked with unshed tears, but it was already embarrassing that Dr. Richmond witnessed you crying. You liked to reserve that for sappy, cheesy romance movies on Netflix. 

Your heart felt heavy, weighing down your chest to a near uncomfortable level. You knew you needed to release all of it but not now. Not after only three sessions with this man. 

Who was he? Why was he like this? Where the fuck did he come from? 

“I see why they pay you the big bucks now,” you said, wiping at a tear that dared escape your eye. And you had a random ache in your belly? Feelings were weird. And sticky. Like constantly stepping on glue traps plastered all over the kitchen floor. 

“Why did you place so much bearing on their opinions?” Dr. Richmond asked. You liked that he had stayed close by while you broke apart. It was so rare that you did it in front of others. You were glad that he wasn’t the hugging type. Or the one who filled the room with hot air about how much it was needed and you should let go. 

“Because I don’t want to be alone forever. I want proof that I mattered to someone,” you whispered. You sniffled but held back the tears. You blinked a few times and held firm. Later.

“How can you matter to anyone if you don’t matter to yourself?” Dr. Richmond asked softly. 

The clock ticked in the background and you glanced at the clock. You were a little over your session and you were thankful that the next person hadn’t barged in. You wiped your face once more and then turned to Dr. Richmond.

He stood with his hands in his pockets and a kind smile on his face. His biggest strength was that he was unassuming despite his size. He knew when to use it to his advantage and when to switch it off. He was in tune with those around him and it was rare to find a man with a calming aura. 

“I matter to myself but probably not as much as I think,” you said. “I’ll work on that too.” 

Dr. Richmond nodded. “Your homework is to practice loving yourself. Speak kind words, think nice things about yourself, and remember that your brain is a big ass liar,” he said.

You giggled and ducked your head. “Alright, alright. I’ll be nicer to myself. You missed your calling as a mind reader, Dr. Richmond,” you said. You grabbed your journal and purse from the couch and coffee table and then exited the room, feeling way lighter than when you went in.

Wheww! Need some more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 2

Taglist:

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu @playgurlxoxo

@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

@steampunkprincess147 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @theblacklewinsky @soft-persephone @notapradagurl7

@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[bunnis-monsters]

Legend of the Drider(Pt2)

Male!Drider x Fem!Reader

Kofi Request

Pt 1

summary: the aftermath of mating with the drider of myth

wk: 800+ words

Life with your drider lover was surprisingly… fulfilling,

After successfully being able to carry his clutch of eggs, he was happier than ever with you. Since mating with you, he had been treating you like a princess.

No… a queen.

Although he had already mated with you, the creature was a traditional man, going about the courting process one normally would in his culture.

The first thing he did was find an abandoned cabin. You needed somewhere safe and comfortable to live, especially as the fall started to change into the unforgiving winter. Being high up in the mountains meant it was rough, and he wanted his mate to be warm and happy while carrying his clutch.

The cabin wasn’t anything special, and you’d have to do some renovations before it would be livable. Thankfully your mate had collected many trinkets, coins, and random wallets containing large sums of money. It was a courting present to you, and it all went to repairing the cabin.

Once it was livable, he was determined to keep you under him and warm at all times. He was almost like a cat, trying to lay in your lap and rub his scent on you.

“Heavy…” you whimpered, causing him to slowly skitter back a bit. He lowered himself, sitting on the ground so his torso was level with you on the couch.

“Better?”

You nodded, kissing his cheek.

Sex was a common occurrence, and he had the strange urge to tie you up and stuff you full of more eggs. He knew you were already carrying his clutch, but the scent of your pregnancy hormones made him go wild.

Feeling his fangs press against your neck, you let out a soft mewl. He loved giving you a low dose of his aphrodisiac venom to make you squirm while he pushed his cock into you.

His hands stayed on your belly, rubbing gently while he kissed the bite marks he had left on your neck, lapping up the little pinpricks of blood.

“Such a sweet thing… how I adore you.”

He was soft and sweet with you, always making sure your pregnancy cravings were taken care of and you felt loved. His heart swelled with pride to see you so content and well taken care of, proving that he was a good mate and providing you with everything you needed.

It was easy to take your college classes online, and even though your lover got a bit sulky when you said you eventually wanted to follow your dreams and become a photographer, he did everything in his power to make it happen.

While your babies grew in your belly, your lover began producing tons of spider silk. He confessed that he learned to knit from one of the females, and started making little sweaters for all of your babies.

Some baby driders came out fully independent, which made you sad to think about. You had severe pregnancy hormones and you wanted to mother some baby spiders damn it!

He reassured you that his species required motherly care, and that because he had mated a human, the babies would be more human-like.

The cabin became less like a place to live in and more of a home. Your lover hunted at night, and slept through most of the day. He was such a clingy thing, curling with you and whining if you got up to pee at night. He hated being away from you for even a second… especially as his paternal instincts started kicking in.

Recently he had been aggressive towards any other creature that dared to come near the cabin, and started building a nest out of his silk webs so you’d have somewhere comfortable to give birth.

As your due date drew nearer, he grew more possessive and territorial, making sure to scent and mark you. It wasn’t often that you had any time for yourself, he was inconsolable when you experienced even the slightest pain.

“I don’t want you to be in pain, love. I’m so sorry, I know it’ll hurt to give birth… I wish I could make it all go away.”

He was with you for the whole process, his hand in yours as you gave birth to 3 healthy drider babies. They were small, with the cutest little spider legs and chubby cheeks. Each fussed and cried as they entered the world, already seeking comfort from you, their mother.

From that moment on, everything seemed to click into place. Your little ones nursed as you teared up a bit. You had brought these little ones into the world, and your lover couldn’t be more happy with it.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

Your question was met with a chuckle. Your love leaned down to nuzzle against you, his eyes half lidded with contentment.

“I don’t think so, I know you will.”

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[sweetfictionalworld]

The Deal - Chapter 3

Pairing: Hwang In-Ho/The Front Man x Female Reader

Story Summary: You get suspicious of Player 001 and confront him. That decision leads to a deal that will change the fate of your life forever.

Chapter Summary: In-Ho returns after the third game, and needs to distract himself.

Warnings: Nsfw, Smut, Oral Sex.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

"You can sleep here. There's some night clothes for you in the box."

In-Ho led you into his bedroom, containing nothing but a king-sized bed with golden sheets and a black box with a pink bow.

You swallowed and glanced over at him. "What about you?"

In-Ho smiled and walked up to you, his now bare hand cupping your face. You stared up at him, hearing the nervous drumming of your heart pulsate in your ear as you looked into his dark-brown eyes twinkling back at you.

"Don't worry, little one. I will join you as soon as I can. But for now, I have to sleep with the players."

His thumb ran across your bottom lip, his gaze fixed on your mouth and for a second you thought he would kiss you. You held your breath in anticipation, feeling the electrifying pulse vibrate between the two of you. Then, he suddenly let go, as if he woke himself from a dream, and the moment was gone. He left without a word and you lifted your fingers to your lip, grazing the trail of his touch as you stared at the closed door behind him.

Morning came sooner than you expected. You must have fallen asleep despite the thoughts tumbling around in your head. Were you actually starting to fall for this man? The nervous flutter in your stomach when you thought of him certainly suggested so. Well, fuck...

You looked at the clock on the wall in In-Ho's bedroom. 8 o'clock. There was another box waiting for you on the floor outside the bedroom door. You opened it and found a silk dressing gown, in gold of course. Damn, In-Ho was really obsessed with gold. You slipped into the gown and went to the bathroom to brush your teeth. One of the guards had brought more stuff for you yesterday, like toothbrush and toothpast and other hygiene stuff. When you were finished freshening up, you went into the main room. There, you saw a luxurious breakfast waiting for you. Those guards were really quiet, weren't they? You hadn't even heard them come inside to set all this up.

As you started eating, your thoughts went to the other players and the horrors they were going through right now. And here you were, eating this rich breakfast and enjoying the softness of a real bed and the warmness of a hot shower. You lost your appetite right then and there.

There weren't much to do when In-Ho wasn't around, so you picked up one of his books and made yourself comfortable on his armchair with a glass of whiskey. You really didn't care for the flavor much, but it was something to numb the guilt dwelling in your stomach. The guilt of sitting here whilst the other were down there, getting murdered. Guilt over the fact that the man responsible for those deaths made you feel things you hadn't felt since you fell in love with your husband. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You closed your eyes and repressed those thoughts to the back of your mind as you took a deep breath and started reading the book in your hand.

You were half through the book when In-Ho returned, still in his green track suit. His face was shiny with sweat and his right cheek was sprinkled with blood. You swallowed, remembering all the dead people after the first game. His face was hard and cold, so different from the man you'd dined with yesterday.

"Are you okay?" you asked and stood up from the armchair.

"I'm fine," In-Ho mumbled back and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard the shower starting and sat back down on the armchair, waiting for him to come back out.

When he did, it was in his Front Man outfit, with the mask on and everything. He approached you with determined steps, and you stared up at the black mask as he stood in front of you.

"Get up."

You quickly did as he ordered, didn't dare to question the harshness in his voice. In-Ho sat down on the armchair, put on his jazz music and removed his mask. He took a sip from your whiskey glass and closed his eyes, licked his lips before he put his mask back on.

"Get down on your knees."

A pang of heat went through your body at his words and you swallowed as you obeyed his command. You watched with widened eyes as In-Ho zipped down his pants, reached inside and pulled his cock out.

"Go on, little one. Do what you're here for and satisfy me."

A part of you felt hurt that he'd seemed to forgotten the conversation you'd shared yesterday. Was it only you that felt that the two of you had shared an intimate moment and gotten to know each other a little bit? And the other part of you...that part could feel his words awakening a forbidden desire inside of you.

You gave your lip a nervous lick as you wrapped your hand around his cock, feeling him twitch at the touch. He was long and thick, much bigger than any guy you'd ever been with before. You leaned forward and gave the head of his cock a cursory lick. He tasted salty and sweet at the same time.

In-Ho released a sharp breath and you gave another lick, but this time you dragged your tongue along the underside of his shaft, across the pulsating vein there. A low growl vibrated from his throat and you couldn’t help but feel proud that it was you who emanated those sounds from him.

You parted your lips and took the head of his cock into your mouth in one single, fluid motion, earning a sharp hiss in return. Slowly, you started to move your lips up and down his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth.

As soon as your tongue touched the base of his cock, In-Ho bucked his hips and let loose another hiss, and you felt his fingers curl into your hair. You pressed your tongue against him again, prodding and massaging down his shaft as you continued to move your mouth along his length, and you reveled in his reactions as he hissed and growled. He couldn’t seem to decide whether to grab onto your hair for support, or to hold you steady. Eventually he decided on the latter, and he held your head still as he began to lightly thrust into your mouth, drawing a guttural groan deep from your throat.

Your small, needy moans seemed to drive him quickly toward the edge, as his hips moved more urgently and sporadically as he fucked your mouth. You couldn’t keep pace with his thrusts, and you could feel him begin to throb against your lips and within your mouth. In-Ho released a final sharp hiss as he grabbed your head and thrust forward. His cock twitched and then began to throb violently as he spilled his hot seed onto your tongue.

As In-Ho was still milking himself into your mouth, you looked up at him. For a brief moment you wished you could see his face, imagining his eyes half-lidded, unfocused with pleasure as he watched your mouth still firmly around his member. The throbbing pulses along his shaft had faded, and his vice-like grip on your hair was loosening as you pulled yourself off of his cock.

Then, In-Ho tucked himself back inside his pants, stood up and walked out of his quarters as if nothing had happened.

You found yourself sitting there on the floor, feeling used as the hopelessness of the situation struck you. No matter the deal you made, you feared that you would never get out of this place alive.

[lincolndjarin]

Not So Secret Santa

javier peña x fem!reader

this is a part of the @pedrostories gift exchange!!

summary : you get the only person you didn't want for your offices secret santa.

warnings/tags : 18+ mdni, enemies/friends to lovers, canon divergence, steve is your boss/close friend, reader and javier have a complicated relationship, reader is insecure, brief mentions of alcohol, porn with plot, smut, light angst, javier and reader fight physically but it's very light with no actual injury, masturbation, semi-public sex, p in v, idk how to properly tag this but javi likes boobs in this so he touches boobs, unprotected sex (don't do this, wrap it this holiday season), use of a makeshift gag, rough yet very loving sex because it's christmas and christmas magic means i can write what i want.

tldr : you and javi have sex in his office and you put his tie in his mouth to shut him up.

word count : 4.4k

✦ : merry christmas @taro-666 !!! i'm your secret santa !!! i hope you're well this holiday season and i hope you enjoy this fic !! i haven't written much peña, despite how much i love him so i hope i did him justice and i hope you have a wonderful holiday <3 <3 (also sorry this is a little late (20 minuetes left before midnight so we're good). i was out with family all day and was only just now able to get to my laptop, i promise i didn't forget about you lmao)

no use of y/n, reader has hair and painted nails & javier sort of half picks her up at one point, nothing else is described besides clothing.

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Please, Steve, I’ll give you a week's pay.” You lean across his desk, genuine desperation in your voice after an hour of begging. 

“Not gonna happen.” He doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“A month.” Your voice is starting to pitch up, something similar to anguish in your tone. Your offer finally gets a reaction out of him as his eyes widen, head tilting up.  

“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” He’s examining your expression, trying to determine the sincerity of your claim. 

“My entire Christmas bonus.” 

“Okay, stop.” He sighs, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re not allowed to switch.”

“When did you become such a stickler for the rules?” You cross your arms in front of your chest. 

“It’s just a secret Santa. He’s our friend, whether you like it or not, you two are close and this shouldn’t be this big of a deal, now go, please, I need to finish up here so I can leave at a reasonable hour.” He loosens his tie as you sigh. 

“It’s not just a secret Santa, Steve. It’s an opportunity for him to tell me that I once again didn’t do something right. No matter what I get him, it isn’t going to be good enough.” Even as you’re saying it you can see that he isn’t going to change his mind about this. 

“He’s a dick to everybody. That’s inevitable, it just means he’s comfortable with you.” He’s already turning back to his work. 

“Please, Steve.” 

“No.”

You glare down at him, giving him your angriest look as his gaze tilts back up to meet yours. 

When it’s clear that he isn’t going to switch you turn and leave, slamming his office door in the process. 

“Don’t forget, I need you here early to help set up for the party!” His muffled voice seeps out into the hall as you walk away. 

Once you’re out in your car and far away from prying eyes you unfold the damned slip of paper you’d drawn earlier today. 

Javier P. 

Of course, you got stuck with fucking Peña, a nickname you’d given him a few months ago. He absolutely hates it but the entire time you’ve worked for the DEA he’s gone out of his way to bother you. Sure, he’s your “friend”, in a strange, complicated way. But he still drives you up the wall with his constant need to one up you and the way he’s constantly making passes at women around the office. 

And it’s not like you have any problems with him sleeping around, lord knows you’ve had a fair amount of one night stands, but he just has to hit on every woman you work with. 

Every single woman, except you. 

You’d never admit it of course but a part of you will always be self conscious about that fact. It doesn’t help that Javier absolutely adores bothering you at every possible moment. He loves nothing more than to pester, annoy, and mock you, spending nearly half his day leaning over your desk despite the million complaints you’ve sent Steve about his persistent partner. 

He’ll sit on your desk, doing an endless amount of things to cause you distress. Like crowding you with his cigarette smell and vanilla cologne as he tells you you’re filling papers wrong, or telling you what colors to paint your nails, or solving your cases before you can even get to them, or teasing you about your shitty car. Today he wouldn’t stop bothering you about your weekend plans like he doesn’t already know exactly where you’ll be. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” He’d asked with that devastating smirk and eyebrow raise combo. 

“I have to go buy my secret Santa gift, just like everyone else.” You’d turned away, avoiding eye contact as he scoffed. 

“What about Saturday?” He continued to pry, you wanted nothing more than to shove his perfect ass off your desk. 

“The Christmas party, Javi. Just like everyone else.” You had sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose as Emilia had walked past your desk. Javier immediately forgot your entire conversation as he turned to her. 

“I love your nails.” He’d pushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand out to take hers, getting a closer look at the well manicured designs. 

You had tuned out after that. Not wanting to be involved in the exchange as you went back to typing. Acutely aware of your own nails. 

Red chipped paint. 

You couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to be the object of his affection.

It wouldn’t matter if he did hit on you, you would probably reject him anyway. 

Probably. 

It doesn’t matter, it’s never gonna happen so why let it bother you? 

With a sigh you toss the paper into your cup holder, reaching to turn on the radio, maybe some Christmas music will make you feel better. Of course nothing happens as you turn up the volume knob but it makes you want to scream regardless. 

Stupid fucking Peña. 

Stupid broken radio, stupid shitty car. 

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath as you shift into drive.

Before you know it you’re back in your car in the DEA office parking lot, this time a few things are different though. 

You’re dressed nicer, trading your slacks in for a skirt and your dress shirt for a sweater. And of course you now have a small wrapped box in your lap. 

Since you had yesterday off for the holiday you spent your Friday at the mall, searching for a gift for Javier. Eventually you had settled on three little things; Nicotine gum, mostly because you’ll get more work done if he isn’t constantly dragging you outside for his smoke breaks. He complains too much about going alone and it’s always been easier not to argue, now he can stay at your desk with his gum. Beard oil, the fancy stuff he always insists on using in his mustache. You’d bought him the wrong kind last year for his birthday and you still haven’t heard the end of it. And a lighter, you had to beg the shop owner to make an exception and do a same day engraving of his birthday. 

Jesus. 

You know way too much about him. 

You arrived two hours early as requested by Steve to help him set up. With the wrapped box tucked under your arm you anxiously tap the patterned wrapping paper with your freshly manicured nails. 

“You should paint your nails green, I love green.” He had said through a drag of his cigarette. 

Why did you let that idiot's opinions influence this decision? You feel foolish. The green chrome polish shimmering in the street lights in the parking lot as you step into the building. You had extra time while you were waiting for the engraving and you just couldn’t help yourself when the salon was just a few stores away. The image of Javier holding your hand and examining your painted nails while telling you how nice they looked was just too tempting. Maybe he’d even ask if you did it just for him, and you could drag him into a closet at the party, the exact situation you watched unfold last year. Except in that scenario you weren’t the lucky lady he’d run off with that night. 

There’s no time to be thinking like that.

You shake off whatever filth you were imagining as you look around the hectic mess of garland and glitter.

Steve is already stressing, setting up tables as you set your gift under the tree before getting to work. The office is already mostly decorated but with his new position as supervisor Steve is insistent that everything be perfect his first Christmas in charge. So you plate food, and you mix drinks exactly as he wants them, and you hold the ladder steady when he insists on putting more lights up. When you’ve got about a half an hour before guests start arriving you’re finishing up and last minute touches, the two of you crowded around a drink tower. 

The tension from your conversation yesterday seems to have fizzled out as you become engrossed in your work, when you’ve both finished he gives you an appreciative look.

“Thank you, seriously, it means a lot.” You help him adjust his tie as he straightens out his shirt. 

“Anytime, although I’m surprised you didn’t just ask Javier.” You pat his shoulder as you finish, brushing a stray blonde hair out of his eyes. 

He laughs, a nervous chuckle that makes you raise an eyebrow but when you open your mouth to comment on it he lets out a relieved sigh as the first of your coworkers arrive.

More people show up than you could have expected. 

You stay near Steve for most of the beginning until he gets dragged away by one of the higher ups who had made an appearance, leaving you alone to sip your drink against the back wall. You hum along to a Christmas song that plays loud enough to drown out any conversation you might eavesdrop on to entertain yourself in his absence, your eyes scan the crowds as you try to match up the people you work with with their spouses. 

You’re getting ready to find another group to talk to when you catch a glimpse of him standing against the opposite wall, talking to Bonnie, the woman who works in the cubicle next to yours. 

Fucking Peña. Dressed in a stupidly tight green dress shirt. 

You should leave them alone, especially if he’s trying to make a move on her. But you can’t help it as you make your way around the room towards them, a vague sense of jealousy settling in your stomach. 

String lights twinkle across the ceiling of the office, creating a warm ambience throughout the space, just as you’re about to tap him on the shoulder you overhear their conversation. 

“I had to beg Steve to switch with me, took an hour of convincing and a week's paycheck but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.” His back is to you as he leans in closer to Bonnie. 

He’s probably talking about one of the other women from the office. Steve probably had someone Javier was trying to impress and that’s why Steve didn’t want to trade with you, he had already promised his pick to Javier. 

Whatever, you can’t be too bothered about that. It does make you want to return to your spot on the other side of the room but you don’t get the chance to as the music is turned down rather suddenly.

One of the secretaries, Benjamin, stands on a chair, making an announcement that it’s time to do the secret Santa. You manage to twist through the crowds so Javier never sees you, finding his gift and bringing it to where he now stands, simultaneously keeping an eye out for your own gift.  

You hand him the box, watching the way his face lights up. 

“You picked me?” He grins as you nod, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Benjamin waits behind you, leaning in to whisper while you watch Javier open his gift. 

“It was short notice so we didn’t have time to get you a back up gift but your secret Santa told us at the last minute that he forgot to get you something, he promised to bring in something after New Years, I’m so sorry.” You feel a little disappointed as he murmurs but it isn’t that big of a deal, it’s a busy time of year and people can forget things. 

“No worries, do you know who it was? I’d like to at least tell them it’s fine.” You turn away from Javier as he smiles at the nicotine gum, Benjamin's eyes flicker from your face to Javier’s before he gives you a sympathetic look, walking away. 

Javier traded for your name? 

As your head tilts to look at him now you can see the smirk he’s now sporting. 

“ …but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.”

Javier had made a conscious effort to get your name just so he could not get you something.

Huh.

That doesn’t feel great. The look he gets to see on your face is betrayal and then just sadness. You don’t really care what the reason for his decision is, you turn and walk away from him regardless. If he tries to say something to you it’s drowned out by the music that starts once again. 

Why are you so upset over some stupid joke? If it had been anyone else you wouldn’t have cared, you’d have brushed it off as a harmless accident but this wasn’t an accident. 

Maybe he didn’t really think of you as a friend. 

Maybe all of the teasing and one-upmanship really was from a place of animosity and you were just too blind and too infatuated to see it. You want to cry but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so you sift through the bowl of keys, searching for the Star Wars keychain attached to your lanyard but you can’t find it. The combination of the blaring Christmas songs with the frustration you’re currently feeling only makes you more emotional.  

You don’t want to go to the bathrooms where you might run into someone and you can’t go to Steve’s office because he might be talking to his supervisor, so you go to the only place you know there won’t be people. 

Javier’s office. 

You walk as quickly as you can, slipping inside as you slam the door shut behind you, clicking the lock in place before turning around, resting against the door as you feel tears spilling from your eyes. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your head snaps up.

Today is just not your day.

Did he know you’d come here? How the hell did he beat you here? He’s fidgeting with the lighter you bought him, watching it light and go out as he sits with your keys in his other hand. 

Your face feels hot as you take in the sight of him. 

“Give me my keys.” You hold your hand out, wiping your eyes with the other as you wait. Of course he doesn’t hand them over, that would be too easy and today is insisting on being difficult. 

“I really liked your gift. Seriously, this is… outrageously thoughtful.” He murmurs, seemingly unaware of your mood until he takes a closer look at you, his expression shifting as he realizes your eyes are rimmed with red. “Why are you so upset? What happened?” He slides open a drawer, tossing your keys into his desk while you consider calling a cab. 

What a foolish question. 

How could he possibly not know?

“I want to leave, I’m sick of this party.” You turn to leave, maybe Steve can drive you home. 

“Come on, the parties barely started.” He’s on his feet, he doesn’t try to corner you, if anything he sets himself against the wall. 

“And I want to leave.” When you reach for the doorknob he grabs your wrist, holding it as he stares at you, a look of impatience crosses his face. 

“Don’t tell me you’re mad about the secret Santa.” His brows furrow. 

“This isn’t about a stupid secret Santa.”

“It sure seems like it is.” He’s still holding your wrist, why is he still holding your wrist?  

This isn’t about the secret Santa. It’s a lot more than that, and after ages of keeping your thoughts to yourself in front of him you just let it out. 

“This is about the fact that you don’t even care about me enough to make any sort of effort. I know you deliberately chose me, you specifically chose to do this to me and I don’t care that it’s just a stupid prank. It still- It’s still a shitty thing to do.” Your voice starts cracking half way through and you can feel your eyes welling up again but it doesn’t matter anymore, you were wrong, the two of you aren’t friends. 

“So this is about the secret Santa.” 

Of course he wouldn’t get it. 

“You’re an idiot.” You finally pull your wrist from him. 

You aren’t sure what else to do so you shove him, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud as you push past him to get to his desk, hoping to grab your keys but he catches your waist first. 

“Can you stop being so stubborn for five seconds and just let me explain myself?” You can tell his patience is wearing thin, his voice is strained as he pulls you back against him, caging you against his chest with his arms. 

“Fuck Javi- let me go-” You try to kick his knees but he anticipates it, shifting his legs to avoid you.

“Just wait- listen to me.” He swings you around a bit as he tries to still you, you can feel his breath hitching, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back. The two of you thrash around for another moment until you freeze, feeling something poking your hip. When he realizes why you stopped putting up a fight he lets you go in an instant. “Shit- I-I’m sorry.” He stammers as you turn around towards him, eyes wide. 

You never thought you’d see Javier Peña flustered yet here he is. When you take a step back his cheeks are burning red, his fingers twitch nervously at his side, and as much as you try to ignore it, his pants are tighter than usual. (And considering how tight they usually are this is quite a feat.) He won’t look you in the eye. 

“It- It’s fine, Javi.” You adjust the hem of your skirt, trying to fix your hair. You just can’t catch a break today. “It was an accident, there was a lot of- of friction and it happens. I think I should just go.” You stutter a bit trying to find the right words. This entire evening has been catastrophic, and you’re more than ready to call it a night. 

“It’s not an accident.” He mumbles, finally looking at you, not bothering with subtlety as he adjusts himself. “You should probably go.” 

If it’s not an accident you don’t want to go. 

You want to stay and keep making accidents, starting with rushing forward into him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. Which is exactly what you do. At first he doesn’t react and you worry you read the situation wrong but when you pull away, just an inch, his hands envelop you. 

Hips, waist, back, shoulders, hair. He’s everywhere, all consuming as his teeth graze your lips, in an instant your backside hits his desk.

When he finally does remove his lips from yours his are slick and a tiny bit swollen, his pupils swallow his irises whole. 

“I loved your gift, I wasn’t joking, it’s perfect and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t care about you. Of course we’re friends, you-” As he rambles on you ball up the end of his tie, unceremoniously shoving it between his teeth. 

“Talk later, this now.” You grab the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up over your head, watching his jaw tense at the sight of your chest, his hands playing with the strap of your bra as you hop up onto his desk. Hiking your skirt up, he slots himself between your legs, your own fingers push your panties to the side as he reaches behind you, easily twisting the clasp of your bra to release it, tossing it to the side as his enormous palms engulf your breasts. 

You dip your fingers into the wetness between your legs, briefly taking a moment to wonder how you found yourself here. Just moments ago you were ready to leave and consider your friendship with Javier over, yet now you’re spread out on his desk, on display for him as you sink your fingers into your eager cunt. 

You don’t get to linger on the thought for long because he groans into the fabric of his tie and you’re pulled back into the moment. 

Jesus you’re soaked. 

You have no trouble pushing two slick digits into yourself. You can feel the outline of him against your thigh and you know that you need to warm yourself up to take him. He’s too engrossed in your tits to do it right now and you’ve waited too long for this, you don’t want to wait, you just want to have him. 

He’s tender at first, squeezing and softly tracing the outline of your areola until he seemingly can’t control himself any longer and he pinches, rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as your whine. Back arching of the oak of his desk as you curl your own fingers. Even through the tie his moans are still somehow louder than yours, you’re briefly worried about someone hearing as you let out a whimper while he tweaks your nipple but the music’s so loud at the party you can hear Mariah Carey from here. 

You don’t stop for a second, putting your focus on reaching the peak that you find yourself already getting startlingly close to. You can feel yourself pulsing as you pick up the pace, reveling in the way his eyes devour the very sight of you. You’re agonizingly close when he grabs your wrist, removing your fingers carefully as you try and resist, wanting to finish what you started, you’re about to whine when he begins unzipping his pants. You can feel your pussy clenching at the very sight of him, of course he isn’t wearing any underwear under his dress pants so the second his zipper is fully down his cock springs free.

Javier fucking Peña has a gorgeous cock. 

Standing stiff and proud without either one of you even having to touch it. Pretty and pink on the tip, already leaking down the shaft. And heavy, as he takes it in his hand, his other hand gripping your waist as lines himself at your entrance. He takes a moment, eyes scanning your face, silently asking for permission. 

You can’t nod fast enough but the second that you do he slides into you. 

You could never conjure up something this good in your fantasies. The way he fills you, stretching you open as he whimpers into the fabric of his tie, you like that he listened, that he kept it in his mouth this long. His strokes are needy and fast, like he’s been waiting for this for so long and now he can’t help but be ravenous. You were already painfully close before he filled you with his perfect cock, it takes only a few minutes for you to be right back there. His fingers dig into your waist so hard that you’re certain he’ll leave marks as he slams in and out of you, pulling out almost entirely with every thrust. 

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his trinkets rolling off his desk and onto the floor. 

“Javi, Javi, Javi.” Between gasps you chant his name, the sound encouraging him as he pushes in deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit until you see stars. Your cunt clenching around him as your orgasm is ripped out of you. Messy and loud and blurry, he fucks you through it. You’re so blissed out you can barely focus on the persistent pounding into you until you manage to come back to your senses and his hands leave your waist, instead intertwining with your fingers as his hips twitch forward and you feel him hastily pull out of you.

He spits his tie out, opting to instead bite your shoulder as he comes, the groan that leaves his throat is obscene. Raspy and filthy as he collapses down on top of you, the two of you sweating and gasping amongst the paperwork and pens now scattered across his desk. 

Did that really just happen?

He manages to collect himself first, leaning back and tucking himself into his pants before quickly tending to you. He grabs a few tissues, wiping your stomach where the product of your activities lay, before redressing you, slipping the flats that had slipped off, back onto your feet, pulling your skirt back down to cover you as he slides your panties back into place, and retrieving your bra and sweater, lifting you into a sitting position as he redresses you, kissing your cheeks, nose, and forehead the entire time. 

“All good?” He whispers, gentler than you’ve ever heard him as you nod, grinning. 

“Good enough to make me forgive you for not getting me a present.” You reach into his drawer, grabbing your keys before sliding off of his desk. 

“Maybe this was your present.” He tilts his head, kissing you again, smiling all the while. 

“That was the perfect gift then.” Probably the best you’ve ever gotten.

“Are you gonna stay for the rest of the party?” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin. 

“I think I need to go to bed after that.” You laugh as you jingle your keys, turning towards the door as he catches your lips in another kiss. 

It makes your heart flutter. The continued affection makes you think this isn’t a one time thing. You want more. You want conversations about feelings, and to talk about what just happened, you want to feel him inside you again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you’re going to get all of that. But right now you’re tired, so the rest can wait. 

“Can I walk you to your car?” You nod as he murmurs.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, walking you out of the building towards your car, opening the door for you and giving you one last kiss with a promise that he’d call you tomorrow, before you watched him walk back into the building.

Your phone buzzes as you turn your key in the ignition, the sound of Wham! fills the car, Last Christmas playing softly. You take your phone out of your pocket, checking the text notification from Javier. 

[ i forgot to tell you how pretty your nails are. merry christmas hermosa ]

Your head turns up in surprise as you realize your radio is working. A new radio system is installed in the center of your dashboard, with a little green bow taped to the top, and a paper tag with Javi’s familiar messy handwriting. 

from : your secret fucking santa

a/n : happy holidays everyone!!

[domesticgoddess22]

banana creampie

a thanksgiving one shot

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader summary: Your dad is hosting Thanksgiving this year, and he's invited his closest friends, including Joel Miller, who drives you to get ingredients for your famous banana cream pie. warnings: dbf!joel, age gap (early 20s/mid 40s), car sex, unprotected piv, daddy kink, breeding kink, cowgirl, rough sex, creampie, daddy issues, TLOU AU no outbreak, dubcon, praise kink word count: 3.3k rating: explicit MDNI

Happy Holidays <3 This is a little something I cooked up on Thanksgiving day, so I hope you enjoy it. Sorry it isn't edited yet.

**update: I completely forgot to mention that I got a lot of inspiration from a scene in Macfrog's cowboy like me, when MC and Joel go to the grocery store.

~~~~~~~~

Rays of orange spilled across the living room carpet, the sun peeking through the curtains that ebbed and flowed to the cool Austin breeze. The slivers of the light that dotted the couch warmed your bare legs, still shining from the lotion you lathered yourself up with. You turned the TV volume to blasting to overpower the chaotic sounds of your dad’s cooking. 

“You gonna get dressed and help your old man out here, kiddo?” Your dad’s head poked out from around the archway that led to the kitchen, a greasy spatula in hand and your brow furrowed at the drips that now splattered on the white tile.

“I am dressed,” you contested, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You just came back from college, celebrated your twenty-second birthday even, but your dad would always see you as a kid.

He frowned, eyes closing as he shook his head in disapproval before dipping back into the kitchen. It would take some getting used to, your new attire since coming back from NYU, that is. If there’s one thing your fashion degree taught you, it’s how to dress. You wore a juniper green corset top, laced up from the front and tied together to display your breasts nicely. The top was fashioned with a black, skin tight mini skirt with a slit along the right thigh, leaving little to the imagination.

You groaned, rolling off the couch lazily, but careful enough not to ruin your hair. Big, glossy curls cascaded down your back, bouncing slightly as you stood. There was a bow as red as wine that held your hair together in a half updo, so any cream from the pie you were about to make wouldn’t splash into your hair.

You dragged your feet to the kitchen, cracking open the pantry and digging for the ingredients to make your famous banana cream pie. 

“So whose all comin’ again?” You asked, eyeing the recipe to determine if you should still double the portions. You knew your dad’s friends were comin’, they always did, but you figured you’d check and make sure there wasn’t any changes.

“Donna and Rick, Keith, Rob,” your dad began listing off his friends, cursing when a splash of sausage grease sprayed his arm. “Oh yeah, and Joel and Sarah are comin’.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh?” You tried to come off casual, like your heart wasn’t about to burst in your chest at the sound of your dad’s best friend–the hottest guy on the block. “Thought they were goin’ to Tommy’s this year?” 

“They were, but Tommy and Maria are sick, so there’s been a change of plans,” your dad said, oblivious to how Joel’s name reddened your cheeks.

“That okay?” Your dad finally asked when you didn’t say anything.

“‘Course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“I guess I forgot to tell ya with all the holiday craziness, it must of slipped my mind. Do you have enough ingredients to make your little tart?”

“Pie,” you corrected. “It’s a banana cream pie, dad.” You chewed your cheek, annoyed with his inability to pay any attention to you.

“Right, of course, of course. Do you have everything you need?” He’s half focused on checking the turkey now, the oven door screeching at the hinges as he stabs a thermometer into the near-browning meat.

“Actually, I’m gonna need more cream if I double this recipe.” You frowned, thinking about how you’d need to run to the store on Thanksgiving day and fight traffic and long lines. Not to mention, you haven’t gotten your license yet, there was no need for it in New York with all the subways and taxi cabs. 

“Call Joel ‘n ask him to be a doll and pick some up for you ‘fore he gets here.”

You slipped back into the living room, away from the hiss of sausages cooking, and flipped your phone open. Joel picked up, the sound of his rumbly voice left you forgetting what it was you called for in the first place.

“Hey, darlin’. What do you need?”

“Hey. Was just wonderin’ if you could be a doll and pick up some heavy cream for me before you get here?”

You heard him laugh through his nose. “On Thanksgiving Day?” 

“The stores are open for a half-day,” you said flatly. “But I guess if you don’t want my famous banana cream pie, then don’t bother.” There was a sweet, playful lilt to your tone at the latter, but their was a shuffling sound followed by a car door slamming.

You heard the sound of the front door crank open, as old and rusty as it was, and your head whipped around to see the very man you were on the phone with. He held a case of bears in his other hand. The two of you mirrored each other, flipping your phones shut.

“Look who decided to come back from New York.” Maybe it was wishful thinking or ovulation that was playing tricks on your mind, but you swore that his eyes clung to your hips, your breasts. 

“For now.” You said, ending the conversation right then and there. You didn’t want to entertain questions about what direction your career was going in and all that bullshit that you didn’t have answers to. “So I take it you’re not gettin’ cream then?”

“Didn’t say that. 'Course I want your pie.” He smirked at you right as Sarah came flying in, a giant sack of potatoes in her hand. She nearly jumped out of her boots when she saw you, screaming your name in excitement.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!” Sarah dropped the potatoes on the floor with a thump, rushing to hug you. Your arms tightened around her, breathing in the sweet, citrusy scent of her curls.

“Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in forever! And you’ve gotten so big!” It was true. Last time you saw Sarah was probably a year ago. She had just started middle school, but now she was almost as tall as you. “What, did ya hit a growth spurt or something?!” She beamed at you proudly.

“I’m 5’1” now!”

“Where’s your dad?” Joel asked.

“Kitchen. Makin’ a mess, cooking up a storm.”

“Hey bud,” you hear Joel say casually to your dad. And then you hear him say that he’s going to take you to the store, ordering Sarah to get started on the potatoes while the two of you run out. You feel your face go hot and your palms all sweaty at the thought of being alone with Joel. The two of you have never been alone before.

You rush to the side table, dotting your lips with a subtle, pink gloss. Joel strides back into the living room.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“It takes two people to go pick up some cream?” You taunt, and not quite sure why you do. Your heart was soaring at just the thought of being alone with him, and maybe it was because of that you put on the facade. The mask that you didn’t want to, just so he didn’t somehow find out that you were dying to be around him. 

“Did New York teach you to be this sassy? I liked it better when you were just Texas sassy.” He smirked, grabbing his keys and motioning for you to follow him to the front of the house to his truck parked in the driveway. Still the same old chevy. Still the same old Joel. 

“Aww, are you sayin’ you missed me?” You liked keeping up with his playful, teasing banter.

“We all did.” There was a sweet look in those big brown eyes that, for the first time, locked on yours. “Didn’t think you were gonna come back to this old town.”

“Yeah, I’m still figuring things out I guess. New York… wasn’t everything I had imagined it would be.” The thought seeped in and you felt the pang of disappointment. 

“You’re young. You have plenty of chances to try things, fuck up, and then try som’ new.” 

The engine roars to life, and you realize then that you were freezing. But it was too late to change now, Joel was already halfway down the block by the time you really gave it some thought.

“Those flimsy pieces of fabric not keepin’ you warm?” He gave you a quick side glance. He sounded like a scolding father with the way he said it. Not the same judgement as your dad, but of a similar breath, as if to say ‘I told you you shouldn’t have worn that in this weather.’ 

“I’m fine,” you scowled, but Joel must not have believed you as he cranked up the heater. 

“I have a sweatshirt in the back, you can wear that when we get out.” He jabbed a thumb toward the back of the cab, and then gave you another side glance, this time his eyes were on your thighs. “I know I ain’t your dad but–”

“No, you’re not.”

“You wear som’ like that, on a day like today, Kieth is gonna get drunk and his eyes’ll be all over you,” his face scrunched in disgust.

“I can handle Kieth,” you snorted. Kieth was your dad’s other friend, one that has been blatantly lusting after you every time you’ve come to visit. Your dad never seemed to notice, but it seemed like Joel had.

“Or…” You teased, lips pulling into a cat-like smile. “I can just let him look at me, if he wants to. He’s a decent looking guy, could probably use a little fun since he’s been divorced for what, two years now? Three?” In all honesty, if Kieth hadn’t been standing next to Joel every time he came around, you’d probably think he was the hottest guy on the block.

Joel’s grip around the steering wheel tightened. “You like him?”

“I dunno. I’m young, I don’t know what I want. I have plenty of time to fuck up.”

“My advice to you? Don’t fuck up with Keith. Guy’s a fuckin’ mess. And your dad would probably kill him.”

Your head slams back against the headrest and you let out a roaring laugh. “My dad wouldn’t even notice.” 

“He would.”

“Well, then who should I fuck up with then?”

“That’s for you to decide, darlin’.” Joel’s voice was low, his sweet Texan tang like music to your ears.

“But not really because you said I can’t have Keith, so who does that leave me with? You?” You bit your lip and smiled while Joel continued to look straight ahead at the open road. “I guess it’s only fair. It’s only been three years since Kieth’s divorce, but it’s been nearly a decade for you.”

It was quiet for a minute, and you worried that you pushed to far. Flirted to hard. You waited for him to scold you, say something and make you feel ashamed for your advances and commenting on his failed marriage.

“You’re gonna piss off your old man, sleepin’ with all his friends,” Joel finally said, and it was that comment that gave you the opening to press forward. Joel put the car in park when you pulled up to the country market, the lot nearly empty. Not quite as a packed as you thought it’d be. 

“Not all of them.” Your gaze bore down at his lap and then slowly, slowly let your eyes roam up his chest until you met his, lookin up at his through thick lashes, biting your lip. “Just one.”

He shifted in his seat, cracking open the chevy door. “Let’s get your cream.”

You wore Joel’s sweatshirt, just like he told you to. It smelled like him, a musky, woody scent that made your pulse quicken with each inhale. He trailed behind you as you all but skipped down the aisles, heading straight for the cream. You grabbed another set of bananas too, just in case you needed to top off the pie. Joel was eerily silent the entire time, and you hoped it was because he was horny, not becuase he was mad. Or maybe it was a little bit of both. You smiled devilishly at the thought.

When you dropped the bananas and cream on the belt, you pulled out a few bucks to pay for it all, but Joel’s wallet was already out, handing the cashier a few bills. “Hey, I was gonna pay for it.”

The cashier, a kind old woman, bless her soul, just smiled at the two of you. “Let daddy pay.” Your face dropped and Joel stiffened, grabbing the receipt and storming out. You tail after him, but his footsteps eat the ground, and you’re practically running to keep up.

“Woah, woah, woah! Slowdown their cowboy, I’m not used to running this much.” 

He flung the door open, jumped in the truck and took a long, deep breath. He was silent again. Joel was always a man of few words, and you always wondered what he was thinking. There were times over summer break–when you’d come back to visit, wearing nothing but a string bikini while you splashed around in his pool–you wondered if he thought of you. 

“Is everything okay?” You tore his sweatshirt off, feeling the heat build up on your skin now that something was amiss with Joel.

Joel groaned quietly, letting his elbow rest on the side door and burying his eyes in his left palm. 

“You’re so young. We shouldn’t be… shouldn’t be talkin’ like this. It ain’t right.”

“I thought we were just havin’ fun.” You said, eyebrows stitching inward at the fear of rejection.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fun.”

“Then what’s the problem?” An innocent question, and then your eyes trailed back down to his pants and it was then that you realized you didn’t need an answer.

“Seeing you, prancing around in your little fuckin’ skirt and your shirt that barely covers your tits… fuck. I–that’s part of why I gave you my sweatshirt. So I didn’t have to look at you and torture myself anymore.” He starts, slowly turning his gaze to look at you. “But it didn’t make a difference. You… are so fuckin’ gorgeous I can’t hide my desire. Can’t go back to your dad’s like this.” He buried his face in his palm again, wishing away his erection. 

Wetness pooled between your thighs at his confession. You felt your mouth water as you eyed the length of him through his jean, a pulsing throbbing mass that you’d give anything to have a taste of.

“Then let’s not go back like that.”

He turned back to you, slowly. You exchanged a look of mutual agreement, and as he opened his mouth to respond, you slid a leg over him and perched yourself on his lap, straddling him. Feeling the heat of him through the fabric of your panties. He rolled the sit back slowly, and then ground his hips against yours, his mouth hot on your neck, sucking and licking at your sensitive skin. The hair of his beard scraped against your chest and shoulder, but you didn’t care. 

“Baby…” he whispered into your ear, hands groping your mounds, thumbing the sensitive peaks. And then his mouth was back to sucking your neck, pulling soft moans from your lips as he did so. He slid his hand up your shirt, his calloused palm flush against your bare skin. His body heat warmed you in the cold november air.

Your moans became louder and more frequent with every fondling stroke of his hands on your breasts, your hips, and your ass. The wetness of his tongue against your neck. You cried out his name, begging, pleading him for more as your ground your hips on his lap. He groaned in approval.

“This what you want?” He asked, teasinglly pulling your pants to the side and letting his finger feel the wetness there before pulling away. 

“Yes, yes, please, please, please.”

And then he let his fingers slide along your clit before rubbing in a smooth, circular motion. “Fuck, you’re wet…” 

You moaned and begged him to continue, and your sweet cries left him thirsty for your lips. His mouth locked onto yours, tongue exploring you without any reservation. He kissed you roughly, like you belonged to him, and when you moaned at his touch between your legs, the rumbling growl that came from somewhere deep within his chest poured into your mouth. You cried out, spreading your legs as far as you could in the driver’s seat and let yourself fall into the white hot release, body convulsing as he rubbed you through your high. 

As you came too, you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling. His cock was out not even a second later, the massive, swollen head slick with precum. He was huge, both in girth and length, and you almost shied away. Worried he wouldn’t fit. But he didn’t give you time to turn back as he lifted your hips from his lap, lined up at your entrance, and then forced you down on him in one long stroke. 

“Good girl,” he said into your ear.

You screamed, biting his shoulder to hold back any other screams that might tear from your lungs and give you both away. Your hips moved on their own accord, bouncing on his cock, bigger than any dildo you’d ever used. 

“Joel… fuck me! Please, please!”

His hips bucked up, slammed into you, somehow deeper with every thrust. He growled, eyes trained on your bouncing breasts that are now exposed, the corset snug underneath them, propping them up for his pleasure. His hands found a spot on your hips, gripping you hard enough to bruise. 

He slammed into you, filling you to the brim in violent thrusts. You continued to bounce, your movements matching his but his stamina outmatched yours and you let him use your body for his pleasure. He fucked you, the truck bouncing in rhythm to his thrusts, the sound of Pink Floyd’s Shine On You Crazy Diamond playing quietly on the radio. You thanked God for the cold air fogging the windows of the truck, otherwise you’d be on display for the world.

“Come inside me, please daddy.” You begged, and then wrapped our arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

And that’s what undid him. You. Both of you. Joel bucked his hips into you in sloppy, violent thrusts. You screamed, reaching the blissful release again, screaming daddy, daddy, daddy as he took you there, pouring his white hot cream into you in an endless load. You begged him for more and he buried himself into you.

And then your body went limp against his. Once bouncy, boisterous curls now sticking to the sweat on both of your faces.

“Fuck…” Joel groaned, pulling his cock out of you. Both of you pulled yourselves back together. You combed your fingers through your hair and Joel handed you a wipe to clean yourself up. “‘M too old to be this impulsive. Look what you did to me.”

You smirked, wiping the white milk from between your legs. “And I’d do it again.”

When Joel pulled up to the driveway, you noticed more cars parked out front. “Looks like everyone else showed up.”

Keith was in the living room as you and Joel entered the house, a frown plastered on his face when he looked at you, your neck, and then cast a glance at Joel. You looked in the mirror by the door and found a hickey the size of a golfball tattooed on your neck, covering it with your curls as soon as your realized the evidence.

“Hey, look who finally came back!” Your dad strolled over, a smile on his face that you knew would be wiped away the second he found out what you did with his best friend just moments ago. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Yeah, we got the cream.”

More cream than you needed, actually.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: A year after the mysterious disappearance of Beth and Hannah, your group of friends gather in the same lodge to commemorate them. Your search for the truth leads to a heated argument with Mike, leading to a moment that could change everything about you and him.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Friends to lovers. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Cute interactions between Mike and the reader. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Hate sex. Anal sex.

A request that I received. Hope you enjoyed it <3

Words count: 5000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥

𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢'𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥 Part 2 of it

You adjusted the blanket you had draped over Chris, snickering as you admired the doodles scrawled across his face like crude mustaches, poorly drawn glasses and a pair of horns. The temptation to add your own 'autograph' was too strong to ignore.

Beth stormed into the room, her face flushed with worry. She was shaking Josh's shoulder, trying to rouse him from his drunken stupor.

"Beth? Everything alright?" you asked, straightening up. The humor drained from the room as her panic became contagious.

Beth barely glanced at you as she threw on her pink jacket. "Hannah ran outside? She had barely anything on." Her words came fast, clipped with urgency as she gave up trying to wake up her brother.

"Wait, what? Beth, slow down. What happened?" you asked, but she didn't stop moving. She threw the cabin door open, cold wind rushing in as you saw your group of friends all outside.

You stood frozen for only a heartbeat before you bolted after her. The icy air sliced against your skin as you burst outside, squinting through the storm.

The others were already gathered by the porch, their faces painted with guilt and surprise. Beth's voice rang out.

"You're all jerks!" she shouted. Her breath puffed visibly in the cold as she turned on her heel and ran into the dark woods.

There was no hesitation in you. Your legs moved before your brain caught up, feet crunching through the thick snow.

But a hand grabbed your arm, jerking you back with more force than you expected. "Wait!" Mike's voice cut through the storm. His fingers dug into your sleeve. "What the hell are you doing? You can't just run out there!” His words rang sharp and harsh, a bark more than anything. The wind swallowed some of his words, but you caught the roughness in his tone.

He stepped closer, his grip tightening. Mike's mind was a chaotic mess, tangled with feelings he wasn't ready to admit to himself.

Why did you have to look so determined? So... stupidly brave? The thought of you disappearing into the woods made his stomach churn, especially the idea of you possibly getting hurt.

He wanted to keep you safe. Needed to. The words that came out of his mouth weren't carefully chosen. He'd fucked up the delivery.

Mike realized too late how his voice had come out too sharp, too loud. He saw the flicker of fear cross your features, the slight widening of your eyes. It made him feel like a monster, like the very thing he was trying to protect you from.

He loosened his grip on your arm slightly, his thumb brushing against your sleeve as if to soothe the sting of his earlier tone.

You twisted your arm free with a sharp motion, stepping back just enough to meet his eyes. "I'm not letting her freeze out there.” Your tone left no room for argument as you turned and sprinted toward the woods, your boots crunching in the snow.

The cold bit into your skin as you pushed further into the forest, the wind howling through the trees. Your breaths came in sharp bursts, visible in the icy air. The snow muffled most sounds, but the crunch of your boots and the distant echoes of Beth's frantic calls drove you forward.

"Beth!" you shouted, your voice swallowed by the wind. Anxiety gnawed at you as you stumbled over a hidden root, barely catching yourself before hitting the ground.

You strained your eyes, scanning the dimly lit path for any sign of her. Your fingers were already numb from the cold and each step felt heavier than the last. The distant sound of rustling made you pause again, but this time it was louder, closer.

The snap of twigs to your left made you whip your head around, heart pounding. You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to keep moving.

Beth's footprints stretched out ahead of you, already partially obscured by the falling snow. You kept your eyes on them, your breath coming in sharp bursts, each one visible in the frigid air.

Suddenly, a loud snort broke through the quiet, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. You turned just in time to see a herd of elk emerging from the trees, their massive forms moving as one through the snow. Your heart raced as they barreled toward you, their breath visible in the cold air.

"Shit!" you shouted, throwing your arms up as the herd closed in. One of the elk collided with your body, its sheer weight and force knocking you off balance. The force of the impact sent you sprawling, your body hitting the ground hard. Pain exploded in your head as it struck a rock hidden beneath the snow.

The dull, sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air as you opened your eyes to the harsh fluorescent light above you. It flickered faintly, a faint hum accompanying the pounding ache in your skull. It felt like your brain was trying to escape your skull, every throb echoing with the force of your heartbeat.

You winced, squeezing your eyes shut as you brought a trembling hand up to your forehead. The texture of gauze met your fingers and another sharp wave of pain coursed through your head. You groaned softly, as though the sound itself might relieve the pressure.

Flashes of red and blue lights flickered behind your eyelids like a half-forgotten dream. The memory was faint, disjointed. You recalled the blaring sirens of police cars and paramedics talking urgently around you. You tried to piece together what had happened, but the harder you thought, the worse the pain became.

Shifting slightly, you felt a weight on your legs. Confused, you looked down and saw him.

Mike.

His head was resting on his folded arms on the edge of your bed, his shoulders rising and falling with each soft, muffled snore. His jacket was wrinkled, the same one he'd been wearing... last night? You blinked, fragments of the evening slipping further from your grasp.

With what little energy you could muster, you reached out and poked his head lightly with your finger. He stirred, groaning softly as he slowly lifted his head. His hair was a mess, and the bags under his eyes made it clear he hadn't slept well, if at all. His expression shifted from confusion to sharp relief as his bleary eyes focused on you.

"You're awake," he said, his voice hoarse as he ran a hand down his face. "Thank god."

You noticed how he winced slightly as he adjusted himself, probably stiff from sitting in that awkward position all night. "How long have I been out?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you winced at the sharp edge of your headache.

Mike scratched the back of his neck and let out a soft grunt. "All night," he mumbled. "And this damn chair didn't make it easy. Feels like my spine's been rearranged" He leaned forward, scraping the chair closer to your bed, and placed a warm hand on your shoulder. "How are you feeling? Besides the obvious, I mean."

"Like shit," you admitted, your hand still pressed to your forehead. "What even happened?"

Mike hesitated, his jaw tightening. "First, I just—“ He looked away briefly, his eyes darting to the window before returning to you. "I'm sorry, okay? For yelling at you last night. I shouldn't have-"

"You yelled at me?" you interrupted, blinking at him in confusion.

His brows furrowed, his lips parting as he processed your words. "Wait. You don't remember?" he asked cautiously. He leaned back slightly, his hand stilling on your shoulder.

You shook your head slowly, the movement making you wince. "No. I don't even know why I'm here. I just remember...snow? And, uh...something about Hannah?" Your heart sank as the pieces refused to fall into place. "Are they okay? Hannah and Beth?"

Mike's eyes darted away, his lips pressing into a thin line. He rubbed the back of his neck again, a nervous habit you'd come to recognize over time. "The cops are still looking for them," he said finally, his voice low. "That's all we know right now."

You stared at him, your stomach churning with unease. "That's all? What do you mean, 'that's all'? What the hell happened out there?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. He wanted to tell you about the prank but the words lodged in his throat, tangled with fear. Fear that you'd hate him if you knew the truth.

Before he could say anything, the pain in your head spiked again that made you clutch at your temples. It felt like someone was smashing your skull with a hammer.

Mike cursed under his breath and stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He stormed out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him with a sharp thud.

"Hey!" you heard him shout from the hallway, his voice echoing through the sterile corridors. "Can we get some help here? Like, now?”

“We'll send someone over shortly," A nurse huffed, her voice muffled by the mask she was wearing.

"He's been like this all night," a nurse muttered, barely looking up from a mountain of paperwork stacked precariously on the counter, the exasperation in her tone clear.

"Yeah, 'shortly’ better mean now," Mike muttered under his breath. He returned to your side a moment later, dragging his chair even closer and sitting down heavily. "One of these idiots will be here soon," he said, his tone dripping with irritation. He glanced at you, his hand brushing against your arm, "You good for now?"

Despite the pain, a small chuckle escaped your lips, "It's six in the morning. You probably woke up everyone on this floor."

Mike shrugged nonchalantly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "After the night I just had? I couldn't give a fuck about someone else's beauty sleep"

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him curiously, "You stayed here all night?"

His smirk widened into a grin, though his eyes betrayed the exhaustion behind it. "Damn right I did," he said proudly. "Had to be the first one to greet your cute face when you woke up.”

Your cheeks flushed and you looked down at your lap, a shy smile playing on your lips. "Thanks," you murmured, your voice soft but sincere.

Mike leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he glanced at you. "The paramedics said you were lucky," he began, his eyes fixed on the floor. "You had blood all over your face. Scared the hell out of me.” His voice faltered slightly and he rubbed the back of his neck. He shook his head, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Your heart tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. "What happened?" you asked softly, leaning forward as much as your pounding head allowed.

Mike's eyes darted toward you briefly before looking away again. "Ashley freaked out," he continued, letting out a weak chuckle. "She thought she heard one of the doctors say ‘cerebral death' or something. She lost it and well, everyone else started losing it too."

The sheer absurdity of the situation hit you and a small laugh escaped before you could stop it. Mike's grin widened, this time genuine, as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You should’ve seen Chris. He stumbled in here hungover, with all that crap we drew on his face. Ashley showed him a picture of his face and he spent thirty minutes in the bathroom trying to scrub it off."

That did it. You burst out laughing, the sound light and genuine despite the dull ache in your skull. Mike's grin widened, a flicker of pride in his eyes at making you laugh.

A soft knock at the door drew your attention. A nurse stood in the doorway, her face lit with a gentle smile as she watched the two of you "I need to do a quick check-up," she said, stepping inside.

Mike's expression faltered slightly and he pushed himself up from the chair. "Guess that's my cue to leave," he muttered, glancing at you. He hesitated for a moment before mumbling, "I'll be right outside."

You nodded, watching as he shuffled toward the door. Just before he stepped out, he turned back, giving you a small smile. "Don't let her poke you with too many needles," he joked, his tone light

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "I'll try."

As the door closed behind him, the nurse moved to your bedside. "He's quite something, isn't he?" she said as she began checking your vitals.

You blinked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

She chuckled, glancing at you briefly. "Your boyfriend. He's been here the whole time, you know. Pacing the halls, pestering the staff, demanding updates on your condition." She shook her head fondly. "He was a bit of a pain to deal with, but it's sweet how much he cares."

Your face burned at her words, and you stammered, "He's not... we're not...together. We’re friends." you mumbled, more to yourself than to her.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. She didn't respond, simply humming thoughtfully as she finished her examination.

The months following the incident on the mountain were a whirlwind. The memory of what little you could piece together was hazy.

True to his nature, Mike didn't let the weight of the situation drive a wedge between the two of you. Instead, he used it as an excuse to insert himself into your life more than ever.

It started subtly. A few texts here and there. Calls to check in. Then, he began showing up on your college campus unannounced, a crooked grin on his face each time.

At first, it was endearing, if a little overbearing. He'd pop up with coffee in hand or he'd insist on walking you to class, ignoring the curious stares from your classmates. The visits became frequent, regular. Sometimes he'd bring coffee, other times takeout, claiming he happened to be in the area. You weren't sure if it was pity, guilt, or genuine care that drove him, but as the months passed, his presence became a comforting constant.

When he and Emily broke up a few months later, you were the one he turned to. You'd let him in your dorm without hesitation, offering him a spot on your couch and a sympathetic ear as he vented about everything. It wasn't long before the dynamic between the two of you shifted. He lingered more. He'd stay late into the evening, keeping you company as you studied or binge-watched shows together. Even when you'd fully recovered from the incident on the mountain, he didn't stop coming around.

New reasons to stick around arose, like asking for help with studying, turning up with textbooks and assignments he'd borrowed from friends, spreading them across your desk as though he actually intended to study. Or just showing up with snacks and claiming he didn't want to eat alone.

Those nights were more about proximity than productivity. Mike would sit close, his arm brushing yours as he leaned over your notes, pretending to understand what he was reading. His cologne, warm and woodsy, lingered in the air, distracting you more than you cared to admit.

There were moments where he'd stretch, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal the faint line of his abs. Or when his knee would press against yours, lingering just a little too long. You'd catch him watching you sometimes, his gaze hooded and thoughtful, but he never said anything.

When the message came from Josh, it wasn't a surprise. A year had passed, and the anniversary of Beth and Hannah's disappearance loomed heavy over all of you.

Mike was with you when you got the text, lounging on your bed with one arm casually supporting his head. He didn't say much when you read it aloud but his jaw tightened and his fingers twitched against the fabric.

The drive up to Blackwood was quiet. Mike insisted on driving, his hands gripping the wheel with more tension than usual. Snow blanketed the winding roads, the mountain looming in the distance like a silent sentinel.

You sat in the passenger seat, stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn't looking. His profile was sharp against the faint glow of the dashboard lights, his expression unreadable. It stayed like that even when you arrived at the lodge. Josh greeted you with his usual grin, but there was a hollowness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

The group trickled in slowly, the reunion was bittersweet, filled with awkward hugs and forced smiles.

It had been almost a year since that night at the lodge, but your thoughts were miles away. Or rather, they were a year behind.

You hated this. Hated how your mind constantly circled back to that night, grasping at fragments that never fully materialized. You despised how you couldn't remember anything but what you hated most of all were the looks of pity from your friends whenever you asked about it.

They never gave you answers, just vague reassurances that it wasn't your fault, their eyes filled with that awful sympathy that made your stomach turn. How could they know that? You didn't even know what had happened.

But you didn't feel better off. You felt lost. And being back here, on this mountain, felt like reopening a wound that had never really healed.

You stepped outside for a quick run, plugging your earbuds and moving, hoping the rhythm of your steps would stir up fragments of forgotten memories, buried deep within the corners of your mind.

A sudden, sharp sting struck the middle of your back, jolting you from your rhythm. You stumbled to a stop, pulling out one earbud as you spun around. A snowball, already disintegrating into a puff of white, rested in the tracks you'd left behind.

Standing a few yards away, panting hard with his hands on his knees, was Mike. His breath came in visible bursts, his cheeks flushed from exertion. That damn smirk of his, cocky and self-assured, spread across his face as he straightened.

"You forgot this," he called, holding up your phone. The device gleamed in the sunlight, its screen dotted with melted snowflakes and the music you put on still going.

You frowned, realizing you must have left it untouched on the couch. As you walked back toward him, he closed the distance, holding it out. "Seriously, though, what are you training for? The Olympics?"

"Thanks," you said, snatching the phone from his hand with a grin. "Maybe you're just slow." There wasn’t even a signal here, why did he make all of this effort to bring it to you?

"Maybe you're trying to ditch me," he retorted, stepping closer. The smirk softened slightly as his eyes flickered behind you, scanning the trail to ensure no one else was there. "Kinda hurts, y'know."

Your heart raced for reasons that had nothing to do with your jog. "Oh, yeah? I'll be sure to write you an apology letter."

"Don't need a letter," he murmured, his voice dropping. "I'm more of a face-to-face guy."

The snow crunched beneath your boots as you walked side by side with Mike, the cold biting at your exposed skin. The air was sharp and still, the kind of quiet that made even your shallow breaths seem loud. You and Mike didn't have a real place to reach, you just had to be there for each other.

Mike's voice pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. "You've been quiet," he said, his tone soft but probing. "What's on your mind?"

Before you could answer, the trail curved and the remnants of yellow police tape caught your eye. It flapped weakly in the wind, still attached to the trees like a ghostly reminder. Your steps faltered, and Mike noticed immediately.

"You okay?" he asked, stepping closer. His brows knit together in concern as he studied your face.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. "They... they never closed the case, did they?"

Mike shook his head, his gaze moving from the tapes to you. "No. They didn't."

Your hand instinctively went to your forehead, fingers brushing the spot where you'd hit the rock that night. The dull ache of memory lingered there, even after all this time.

"Do you remember anything?" Mike's question was hesitant, like he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Last night, I had a dream," you began, your voice quiet but steady. "At least, I thought it was just a dream. But now, being here... it feels more real.”

Mike's expression shifted, a flicker of anxiety. "What happened in the dream?"

You took a shaky breath, your eyes fixed on the tapes covered in snow. "I was talking to Beth. She looked so real, like I could reach out and touch her. She said something about Hannah. I... I don't know. It's all so jumbled."

Tears pricked your eyes as you continued. "I remember trying to follow her. And then there were these sounds of animals. Something pushed me and I fell. That's when I woke up."

Your fingers pressed against your head, right where the rock had hit you. The sensation made your stomach twist. "It's just... it's all so confusing."

Mike took a step closer, his voice gentle but insistent. "Hey. Look at me." When you raised your eyes to meet his, his expression was serious. "Don’t push yourself. If you don't remember, maybe it's better that way."

You hesitated, then reached out, taking his hand in both of yours. Your grip was firm, almost desperate. "Mike, Please. I need to know. Why did Hannah run away that night?"

The question hung in the air and you felt Mike stiffen beneath your touch. His jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with conflict. For a moment, you thought he might not answer at all.

"It was supposed to be a joke," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. He pulled his hand away, running it through his hair as he took a step back. "A stupid, harmless prank. Something Jess came up with to stop Hannah’s weird obsession with me. That's all it was supposed to be."

Your stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

He looked at you then, his gaze pleading. "We didn't think she'd take it so hard, you know? But when she saw everyone she ran. And then Beth went after her. You know the rest." He trailed off.

You stared at him, disbelief and anger bubbling up inside you. "So you're telling me you humiliated her? In front of everyone? That's why she ran out into the cold?" Your voice rose, incredulous. You stepped back, shaking your head as anger ross to the surface.

Mike's face twisted in anguish, his own voice rising defensively. "It wasn't supposed to end like that—"

"Wasn't supposed to what, Michael? Run? Disappear? Die?" Your voice shattered on the last word and you shoved him lightly in the chest, your anger boiling over. "You knew what she felt for you! How could you think that was okay?"

"I know!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the trees. "I know we screwed up! I know I screwed up, okay? But it wasn't supposed to end like that!" His voice wavered and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his composure. “I didn’t want you to think i was some asshole” he was scared of losing you. He didn’t think he’d have to deal with this after all of this time. "I didn’t wanted you to stress or feel guilty at thinking that you could have done something"

You took a step back, your breath coming in short gasps, your heart pounding like it was about to rip through your ribs. His gaze softened, a painful sort of regret in it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. He was scared of losing you. Afraid of being nothing but the mistake you couldn’t forgive.

“I couldn't stand the thought of you looking at me like you are right now.“ His eyes searched yours desperately, his breath shaky as if every word he was saying was dragging him deeper into the hole he’d dug for himself. You could see the pain in his face, the regret that tore him up from the inside. “I didn’t want you to stress or feel guilty to think that you could’ve done something but failed miserably. I was trying to protect you," he said weakly.

His words hit you like a slap, reopening the wound of that night. You stepped back again, your chest heaving with the weight of everything he was saying. All you could hear was the deafening roar of your own heartbeat.

“You weren't protecting me," you snapped. "You were protecting yourself. Your image, You kept this from me because you were too scared to own up to what you did."

Tears stung your eyes as you turned, marching back toward the lodge, each step fueled by adrenaline. Your mind was a storm of anger, betrayal, heartbreak, all crashing into each other and leaving you feeling raw and exposed. Behind you, you could hear Mike's footsteps crunching in the snow as he followed.

"Hey! Wait!" Mike called after you. You didn't stop. You didn't even turn around.

"Will you just listen to me?" he called, his voice desperate.

"I don't want to hear it," you shot back, not stopping.

He followed you all the way into the lodge, the warmth of the interior doing little to melt the ice in your veins. You stormed into your room, slamming the door behind but Mike caught it before it closed, slipping inside before you could lock him out.

"I said leave me alone," you muttered desperately at this point, your headache flaring as the tension in the room reached a breaking point.

"I'm not leaving until you hear me out," he raised his voice, his voice firm.

You tried to push him toward the door, your hands on his chest, but he wouldn't budge. "Mike, I can't do this right now. I need time to think-“

Before you could finish, his hands shot up to cup your face and his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was rough, desperate and completely unexpected. It silenced your protests, your words melting into a muffled gasp as he poured everything he couldn't say into the kiss—his guilt, his fear, his love for you.

For a moment, you froze, your mind racing. But then, against your better judgment, you found yourself kissing him back, your hands fisting in the fabric of his jacket as the anger blended with everything else.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath was shaky. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice raw. "For everything. I'm sorry."

Mike's lips were on you before your mind could catch up, rough and desperate, dragging across your neck with a frantic intensity that left you breathless. The cold wall behind you was a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed firmly against yours, his chest solid and unyielding as he caged you in. You hated how easily your body responded to him, how even now, with anger boiling beneath your skin, his touch made your pulse race.

"Don't leave me," he murmured against your neck, his voice cracking, barely above a whisper. His light beard scraped your skin, the sensation a pleasant tickle. "Please. Don't."

You hated him. God, you hated him in this moment for the prank, for the lies, for keeping the truth from you for an entire year.

But you also loved him. Loved him too much to ignore the ache in his voice, the raw desperation in the way he kissed you, like he was trying to hold onto you with everything he had left.

Your emotions were a storm, a chaotic swirl of love, anger, betrayal and longing. How could he do this to you? How could you still want him so badly after everything he'd just admitted? You clenched your fists, trying to push him away, but he caught your wrists, pinning them gently but firmly against the wall above your head.

His lips trailed lower, finding the sensitive spot at the base of your neck and you let out a shaky breath despite yourself. His kisses were softer there, almost reverent, as if he were apologizing with every press of his lips. But the soft apologies were interspersed with rougher ones. Teeth grazing, tongue lapping, his beard burning against your skin as he claimed you inch by inch.

"You don't get to-" you started, but his mouth cut you off, his lips capturing yours in another bruising kiss. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, his desperation bleeding into yours as he tried to pour every unsaid word, every ounce of regret, into the kiss. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your teeth catching his bottom lip before your tongues tangled together, fighting for dominance.

He pressed into you harder, one of his hands releasing your wrists to wrap around your waist, his fingers digging into your sides like he was afraid you'd disappear. The other hand slid lower, cupping the curve of your ass and lifting you slightly off the ground.

"Mike-" you gasped, but he swallowed the sound, his lips moving to your jaw, then back to your neck.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed at you to stop. The wall was unforgiving against your back, but Mike's body was warm and solid, anchoring you in a way that made you hate him and need him all at once.

His fingers moved to your belt, undoing it with a quick flick of his hand. His breath hitched as he pulled your pants down just enough for your ass to be exposed, the cool air hitting your skin and making you shiver.

His hand slipped between your legs, his touch impatient and unrelenting as he found your entrance, his fingers pressing against you with a sense of urgency. You bit your lip hard, trying to keep quiet, but a small sound escaped as he pushed one finger inside, the stretch sharp and sudden

"So tight," he muttered, his voice low and wrecked. He added another finger almost immediately, scissoring them quickly, his other hand wrapping around your length and stroking you in time with his movements.

Your head fell back against the wall, a shaky moan escaping before you could stop it. You hated how easily he unraveled you, how your body betrayed you with every gasp and shiver.

"Mike," you said again, this time his name coming out as more of a plea.

"Just let me make it up to you," he whispered, his lips finding your ear. "Please. Let me show you."

You didn't respond, couldn't respond. Your hands found his shoulders, gripping tight as he prepped you with a frantic kind of precision, his fingers stretching you faster than he usually would. He wasn't being gentle, and you didn't want him to be, not right now.

When he finally pulled his fingers away, you felt the loss acutely, but it didn't last long. He shifted, pressing his hips against yours and you felt the thick length of him brushing against your entrance. He paused just long enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "Do it."

He didn't need to be told twice. He pushed inside slowly, the stretch burning in a way that made your toes curl. He was big and the feeling of him filling you completely left you breathless. You clenched your teeth, digging your nails into his shoulders as he bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours.

"God," he groaned, his voice strained as he buried his face in your neck. "So fucking perfect."

You couldn't speak, couldn't think. Love, hate, anger, need all blended inside of you, something that had you arching against him despite the ache in your chest.

Mike pulled back slightly before thrusting into you again, the movement rough and unrelenting. His hand gripped your thigh, holding you in place as he set a punishing rhythm, each thrust hitting deep and hard.

Your hands slid to his back, fisting in his shirt as you tried to muffle the sounds escaping your lips. The last thing you needed was someone walking in on you and Mike like this, locked in a battle of lust and emotions that neither of you could control.

"Say you're mine," he growled against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "Say it."

You didn't answer, your head thrown back as his hips snapped against yours.

"Say it," he repeated, his voice rough and commanding

"I hate you," you gasped, though the words lacked conviction.

"No, you don't," he shot back, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. "Say it."

You broke, your voice cracking as you moaned, "I'm yours."

The words seemed to spur him on, his pace quickening as he held you tighter, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was just as desperate as his movements. You kissed him back with everything you had, pouring your anger and love and need into him as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

When you finally came, your entire body tensing as pleasure crashed over you. Mike wasn't far behind, his movements becoming erratic before he buried himself inside you one last time, a guttural groan escaping as he came.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. The air between you was heavy, charged with unspoken emotions.

Finally, Mike spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry,” his voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. He looked... broken. The confident, cocky Mike Munroe was gone, replaced by a man who was baring himself entirely, leaving every flaw and fear exposed.

"I want to hate you. God, I want to hate you for what you did. For lying to me. But—" You sighed, your fingers curling into his shirt. "I don't think I can." you admitted, your voice steady but low.

His hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist, relief flickering across his face before it was replaced with remorse. "I'm gonna make it up to you," he said, his tone firm. "Every damn day if I have to. I swear."

You wanted to believe him. And maybe, despite everything, you already did. But trust wasn't something that could be rebuilt overnight, and you both knew it.

Stepping away from the wall, you let your hands fall to your sides. Mike followed your movement, his hands still hovering, as though afraid to touch you without your permission. You gave him a small nod, a silent reassurance, and he finally relaxed, stepping back just enough to give you space.

"Let's go," you said after a beat, pulling your shirt back into place and brushing at the wrinkles.

He frowned, confused. "Go where?"

"To that chalet Josh mentioned," you said simply, glancing toward the window. "Want to get away for a bit?"

Mike blinked, surprised, but he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

You grabbed your coat from the bed, pulling it on as you headed for the door. Mike followed, hesitating for a moment before tentatively reaching for your hand. You let him take it, though the gesture felt heavier now, weighted with unspoken promises and unresolved tension.

The two of you stepped out into the cold, the snow crunching underfoot as you made your way back to the trail. The walk was quiet, but it wasn't the same silence as before. There was something unspoken between you, a fragile truce that held for now. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but so was the love, the connection that had grown between you over the past year.

You glanced at Mike. He caught your gaze, offering you a small, tentative smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, full of bravado and charm. It was quieter, softer, and somehow more real.

You returned the smile, albeit faintly, before looking ahead again.

For now, it felt like maybe, you could find your way back to each other.

And maybe that was enough. For now.

Note: if you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3

[greeniegirl23]

Feels Like The Very First Time (ft. Sub Alastor!)

(Minors, don't interact! Go mop the floor!! >:( P.S. I feel like we as a fandom need to experiment more with Virgin Alastor, I love this idea of slowly introducing him into sex. :3)

A year and three months. That's roughly about how long you and Alastor had been dating. It started out as a partnership before blossoming into something more. You found flowers at your personal office in the hotel for a while until Alastor finally worked up the nerve to even ask you to dinner.

Courting The Radio Demon was nice, he was tall and handsome, sure, but he was also a really good listener and tended to give sound advice despite his skills of deception. Essentially he treated you like a Queen and you practically wanted for nothing.

That is, until you decided you both were ready to elevate your relationship in a more intimate manner.

Alastor, of course opted to take the role of being dominant as long as you could take such a major transition slowly. Starting small with extra kisses on the lips, teasing touches here or there, and eventually full blown make out sessions. Alastor tried, you know he really did but ultimately always ended up ruining the mood via happy little accidents.

He tried to cradle your body only to scratch you enough to cause pain, the bad kind of pain that made him have to stop and tend to your wounds. You told him it was okay and that you could try again another time. Okay, he could do that. Cradling didn't work so he thought to try love bites. Everything was going well until the taste of your blood made his cannibal instincts kick in, resulting in him biting the shit out of you. He apologized to you for a week and a day after giving you light first aid. Fuck, alright.

Maybe if he tried to hold you with the pads of his fingers instead of his claws? It was going well, amazing even! He managed to work adorable whimpers from your lips, pinning you down on the bed while giving you proper hickies on your skin when all of a sudden you started laughing because surprise, surprise! This little darling is ticklish.

No matter how many times Alastor tried to pretend it didn't bother him but you could see through his lies as his confidence seemed to diminish. Every time you tried to encourage or initiate a moment, he had an excuse ready to throw on the table to skedaddle out of the situation as fast as possible. If you tried to talk to him about it, he would tell you he was fine and quickly change the topic to something else. It didn't help that he was slightly embarrassed for being a virgin as well, but he was too proud to ask for advice from anyone much less admit to such a thing. One day you decided you had enough of this loonicy and that you were gonna take control. A sense of determination overcame your person.

You were so going to do this!!

Starting simple with your beloved, you essentially did everything he did, without the screw ups of course. Keeping everything light, loose, and loving you eventually made it to where he was comfortable with him making out with you in bed again. Then as it got more heated, you slowly meandered your way on top of him. Breaking the kiss, he was surprised to say the least.

"..Darling?" He questioned, with one eyebrow raised and a puppy dog tilt to his head. You silenced his query with a flat response. "Do you trust me?"

He hesitated, but eventually gave you a small nod in confirmation. Giving him a quick peck on the lips you silently promised to take care of him. "If you need me to stop, just say the word."

It didn't take long for you to find his weak spots. Behind his ears, the back of his neck, the base of his tail, his chest underneath all the deer fluff.

Soon enough he was practically puddy in your hands with a fairly sized tent in his pants that you had been teasing lightly. Grinding yourself nice and slowly against him.

It was interesting really. Your big bad Radio Demon was reduced to a huffing, blushing, panting mess. Right now though, he was your Mona Lisa and he was fucking beautiful. You made sure you made him frustrated, just enough to move his hips against yours in a desperate attempt for relief.

With a swift movement of your body, you ended up on your knees in front of him, taking your time to work his pants and boxers off. You wasted no time popping the tip of his length. A bitter, salty taste of his precum bloomed on your tongue. Taking half of him into your mouth, you gave him careful licks and purposeful sucks. All though you did keep it light in order not to make him too overwhelmed.

Unsurprising to you, he didn't exactly moan, but he did groan in a unique radio-esqe way. His other sounds were the same way, being a product of his radio abilities. His internal dials flipped through stations that played fuzzy gibbering from long ago. Long ears were pinned back, and his smile was struggling to stay up with every move of your lips.

Immediately you knew when you hit the spot, when he jolted rather aggressively. Letting out a small ‘agh!’. Grabbing the sheets on the bed until the stuffing spilled out, static jibbering became straight up interference and the buzzing noises spiked in volume.

"Please!.. Darling--...--I need...!" He somehow pulled together voices from different stations to form coherent thoughts, rendering Alastor into a form of speechlessness in his own way. A rare form for him.

"Are you sure you're ready?" You asked teasingly. Pulling away from him while rubbing his tip with the soft pad of your thumb.

"Yes!!" A loud screech with a male voice echoed in the room.

Reluctantly pulling away from him, you licked your lips to savor his taste and gave him a minute to breathe as you removed your panties, before seating yourself back into his lap, trying not to moan as your sex made beautiful friction with his.

Alastor could feel the small river of slickness that was slowly covering his length. You were teasing him like the sly girl you were and just as he was about to protest, a rather pleasant warmth slowly wrapping around him. “Damn woman…” he thought. Clenching his teeth together as you sunk down on him further and further, until your hips were flush with one another.

You'd be lying if you said the way he seized and twitched didn't bring a puff of pride to your chest. The way he closed his eyes and sighed, the few whimpers that he did let out made you clench around him. The selfish thought of shattering his pelvis with your hips until you milked him for all he was worth crossed your mind, but you shook it away because of your promise. Perhaps another day you could do that. Your eyelids fluttered as the top of his length nestled snugly against your cervix, moaning at the sensation. Fuck you had been waiting for this..More lengthy than girthy, he fit damn their perfectly inside your walls.

You rolled your hips to test his reaction, he seemed perfectly fine, egar if you will.

Taking that as a green light to keep going, you started at a slow pace that didn't require too much work from either of you. You could hear the soft clicks from where you were intertwined, blushing from such lewd sounds but being happy that you but finally, finally getting the release of pent up emotions you had for Alastor after so long. You didn't mind all the other things he did for you to make you feel loved, but this was different. This was trust and vulnerability in its purest form, you felt flattered that he'd let you put him in such a position, much less have complete control over said situation.

It didn't take long for you to speed up, riding him in the most passionate way you could. Peppering his face with kisses, his neck with hickeys, and using your hand to explore his broad shoulders and lean built torso.

Alastor wasn't slacking off either, it was adorable to see him try to mimic what you were doing. Being mindful of his claws, he placed his hands on your hips and started to experimentally thrust upwards, receiving beautiful moans from you in return from the pressure. He felt alive and alert, everything was on fire in the best way possible. Pleasure burned in his stomach as he knew what was coming but he didn't want it to end so soon. You both had just gotten started!

He twitched aggressively inside you. It was obvious he was trying to hold himself back from cumming so soon but you weren't going to let that happen. Wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning against his body for more leverage, you started bouncing off of his lap at a hard pace. His radio static spiked to a very high pitch and you could have sworn you heard him shout your name. His hands gripped your sides and left deep scratches in their wake but you didn't care, you were going to make him bust a nut if it was the last thing you did, you had enough of this constant holding back nonsense.

You moaned in his ear. The change in position allowed his skin to run against your clit in a satisfactory way, bringing you closer and closer to your high as well. Skin slapped against skin and you knew he was so close by the way he started to desperately move on his own, thrusting while still letting off a thick buzz of radio interference. Suddenly a sharp microphone screech omitted from Alastor's person, his body tensed entirely as he shot rope after rope of his cum directly to the deepest part of you. Throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, almost as if what he was feeling was too much for him.

It felt good to have that warm and filling feeling inside you. It felt good to watch your lover fall apart at the seams when he was usually so composed. You'd never forget the sight of his face, the smell of his sweat, or the beautiful sounds he made while you slowly brought him down from cloud 9.

Despite the fact that he came quick you were more happy that you made him cum at all. Crimson talons grew lax around your waist while the results from your bold attitude proceeded to form a white ring around the base of Alastor's pelvis. Lazily he rolled his hips into yours, just to get those last few sparks of absolute pleasure before the feeling died out completely.

After he remembered where he was and what year he was in, Alastor’s jaw hung open for a moment as he swallowed thickly. Slowly, he held his head up and with a few deep breaths he spoke using his mouth again. “You didn't..I..couldn't..--”

“Shhh, it's okay.” You cooed. “It was your first time. I'm not mad.” Alastor slowly shook his head, still huffing and puffing. His voice didn't hold his usual Transatlantic accent at the moment, instead you were blessed with hearing a rare but old Southern drawl. “That isn't fair to you.”

“I say it is. I had fun making you feel good, I know how your mistakes were making you feel somewhat insecure…”

Crimson eyes turned away from your own as a faint red dusted his cheeks. There was no use in trying to convince you into letting him help you, the look in your eye told him you had already made up your mind and that he was the priority when it should have been the reverse.

He should have been the one holding you, caressing every inch of you without messing up. Kissing you in the most intimate places until you came undone by his hands and calling his name to the high heavens.

Alastor's thoughts were cut short when you pressed the back of his head into your bosom. Gently scratching behind his ears and kissing his forehead with a giggle. “Stop thinking and cuddle me..”

His ears twitched from the contact. Wanting to object to the demand, he decided it was pointless and instead leaned back into the pillows at the head of his king sized mattress. Exhaustion overtook your body as you began to get sleepy, nuzzling against Alastor's warmth you mumbled. “I love you Alastor..”

“I adore you as well darling,” He paused. “Wouldn't you prefer it if I removed myself from you.”

“Nuh uh.” You hummed. “It's just fine where it is..”

[madridfangirl]

A Weekend in Ibiza - Part 3

(Jude Bellingham blurb)

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4)

4k words. Jude*female reader. Smut & suggestive language.

A/n - When we don't get Jude holiday content, we make shit up

..................................................................................................

Jude stared at the blank screen after she hung up on him. In utter disbelief.

He really thought he was in. The wine & note was such a master stroke. A public message but one only she would understand. That, coupled with the song, was absolute pants-dropping stuff. Proof that he could do more than just think with his dick. 

He had been quite proud of himself for coming up with it. And, unless his radar was completely broken, he had sensed a change in her tone & voice too.

But poof. The pat on the back was clearly premature. 

Fuck this shit. 

Determined to go back to how smooth & satisfying this vacation was going till this morning, Jude returned to the club. And to the set of women he was holding off when he thought he was gonna be otherwise occupied. 

His mates could see he was off the rails tonight. Grinding & grabbing freely. Caution out of the window. High on loads of tequila and some other emotion he wasn’t in the mood to share, not even with them. They let him be, only intervening when he was gonna end up with someone in the club’s loo, and sending them back to the villa.

As a gorgeous & supremely enthusiastic woman bounced on him that night, throwing her head back in pleasure, screaming his name, Jude laid back and shut his eyes, imagining those sounds in another voice. Later, he crashed on the living room couch, face down, drifting to a restless sleep.

You woke up the next day, still undecided, but glad that you had held off last night. And not jumped into something without thinking it through. 

Kicking yourself for avoiding outdoors all day yesterday, you booked a long snorkelling & island hopping trip, soaking in the sun and the glorious water. And kept your phone on airplane mode. Afterall, this was meant to be a relaxing holiday in your dream location. Ibiza wasn’t going to be just about him. Heck, you didn’t even know he existed till yesterday morning. Peaceful times.

Amidst the fun & frolic, though, his thoughts kept creeping up. You couldn’t shut him out, much to your surprise & dismay. This was strange & unusual, but you fought the feeling.

Till you got back to your room that afternoon and succumbed to checking his Insta. The real meaning of the phrase ‘dropping to one’s knees’ became all too clear in that split second.

He had uploaded a set of rigorous workout photos. In a sleeveless black vest and the tightest pair of training shorts you had even seen. Sweaty thirst traps, basically. The comment section had exploded, as did your ovaries.

You had meant what you told him yesterday - casual sex had never appealed to you. Hook-ups were not your cup of tea. You had been in two relationships previously and sex had happened only after an emotional connection. It had been a while since then but you had never felt such a NEED before.

This guy though - the pull you felt towards him, the way your body responded to just his thoughts, the desperation you felt to get his hands on you (& yours on him) - it was an unearthly feeling. Like all the forces in the universe had aligned to bring you two together. 

His persistent attention was flattering, you couldn’t deny. For some unfathomable reason, he really wanted you. 

It was high time to admit, that, you wanted him too.

And what better place to get this anomaly out of your system than this faraway exotic land, where no one recognised you. What happened in Ibiza could literally just stay in Ibiza.

This realisation gave you new found clarity, and courage. Still not enough courage to call him though - you opted for texts.

‘9 pm tonight? My room?’

You’d rather die than go to his villa, that much you were set on. God knows what all would have happened there. 

He saw the message after a few mins, around 6 pm.

‘Why wait till then?’

You took in a few deep breaths. Shit was getting real.

‘Ok. Room 209.’

‘Will be there in 20.’

20 mins. He was gonna be here in 20 mins. Million dollar question - what to wear? But but, this wasn’t a date. So it didn’t matter that you hadn’t packed anything worthy of a date night with someone like him. It was just gonna be a night with him. And for that you knew exactly what to wear. After all, you didn’t believe in half measures.

The bell rang, and there he was. Dressed in a tucked in sheer blue shirt and tight white pants. 

Tall, handsome, and so big. Towering over you.

You let him in & shut the door, leaning your back against it. 

While Jude leant against a nearby desk, facing you. Blatantly checking you out, surveying your skimpily clad body. Trademark cocksure smirk & posture, like he always knew it was only a matter of time before you’d fold. And he’d get his prize. 

You almost wanted to shoo him out right away, just to see the expression on his face.

But, he looked SO SO DELICIOUS right now that your throat felt dry and you started to wonder why he wasn’t all over you already.

‘So, how do you wanna do this?’

You shrugged and said abruptly, wanting him to get on with it.

He chuckled loudly, lips curving into a gorgeous smile. Plump, lush, pink lips claimed all your attention as he sauntered over to you, placing his hands on the door, caging you in between.

You turned your face and crossed your legs as his hot breath hit your cheeks, overwhelmed by his proximity. Soft lips pecked your neck as he moved to whisper in your ear.

‘Wanna get you nice & ready for me. Yeah?’

You nodded eagerly, and he smiled against your cheek, moving to your ear again.

‘Say the word and I’ll stop.’

Before you could respond, he gripped the hem of your kaftan and lifted it over your head. Your arms moving up involuntarily to do his bidding.

Leaving you in your new turquoise blue bikini set. The one you had bought on a whim but never did have the guts to wear. Until now.

He hummed appreciatively and his eyes turned a shade darker as they raked your form. 

Jude kissed the pulse point on your neck and licked down in a straight line, shoving his tongue in your belly button.

You mewled embarrassingly, trying to pull him up to your boobs, needing his touch there. But he just shushed you and smiled against your skin as he kneeled down. THE BASTARD. 

Deft fingers removed your bikini bottoms, leaving your core bare to him. Cool air & warm breath hit you there, making you shiver in anticipation. 

It was killing him to not just take you then & there, but he could tell you were too tense. He wanted you pliant & needy, for what he had in mind tonight. This seemed like the best way to get there quickly.

His head nudged between your legs, spreading them apart. His mouth found your clit, sucking & licking softly. You flinched, trying to close your legs instinctively but his hands grabbed your thighs, hooking one leg over his shoulder to give him better access. Grabbing his hair with one hand and the door knob with the other, you held on for dear life as his tongue slid down your folds.

This was not an activity he did often, or at all. But what he lacked in experience & skill, he made up with eagerness and effort. Your helpless moans massaged his ego, providing extra motivation to elicit more such sounds. Your trembling thighs cocooning his head perfectly. Your wetness tasting bitterly sweet on his tongue. Your fingers digging into his scalp, trying to push him into the right spots & angles that drove you wild.

And wild you were. Moaning with such abandon, right on the door - half the rooms in the corridor would have heard you by now. 

His mouth was heavenly, but his eyes were another story altogether. Shimmering with hunger and pride - for reducing you into a mewling mess. His mouth fucked your core but his eyes were fucking your whole being, reaching the depths of your soul.

But then, he slowed down. Not stopping fully but not going nearly as fast as you needed. Keeping you on the edge.

‘Tell me.’

He rasped from between your legs, voice muffled.

‘That fucker - you didn’t go with him, right? Say you didn’t let him touch you. SAY IT.’

You wanted to choke him with your legs for choosing this moment of peak vulnerability to make you admit this. CONNIVING BASTARD. 

‘I’ll keep you like this all night if I have to, baby girl.’

His silky, smooth voice was filled with promise. His slow strokes accentuated your agony.

‘I HATE YOU.’

You groaned, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right.

‘Tell that to you body.’

‘FINE. HE DIDN’T TOUCH ME. HAPPY NOW?’

Jude paused completely. Forcing you to look into his eyes. When you did, a strong hand spanked your butt, on the leg that was hooked over his shoulder. You gasped for air, the shock and sting and pleasure making you nearly double over.

He resumed his work with renewed vigour, each stroke a power move now. His hands gripped your ass, keeping you in place, the force sure to leave marks, which was probably the point of it.

You cried out as his relentless moves forced your body to reach its peak, faster than usual. The familiar sensation built in the pit of your stomach, travelling through your lower body and releasing through your core. Into his waiting mouth.

He lapped you up, but didn’t stop, applying more pressure than earlier to your most sensitive spot, as if testing the limits of your body. You struggled against his grip, in vain, and the overstimulation made you climax again, quickly.

‘P-please…wait…’

Your choked voice got his attention. Unhooking your leg slowly, he stood up, wiping his face with the back of his hand, letting you rest against him. Your drained body falling into his warm, worked up, still fully clothed one. His fingers clearing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

Time stood still for a minute, as he swayed you a little in his hold.

Then, the sharp sting on your butt made its presence known. The fog lifted from your head as you remembered how he basically played you. Manipulated you into admitting something you never would have otherwise. Was that his plan all along?

But he made you feel so good.

Fuck that. He made you lose a point in this battle of wits and you hated losing. It was time to regain control.

Jude felt a soft but firm hand push at his chest. He stepped away, blinking in confusion.

‘I need a shower.’

You said curtly. And the insufferable boy smirked again, cocking his head.

‘I’ll join yo..’

‘NO.’

You cut him off swiftly, enjoying his mouth opening & closing like a buffoon as you sneaked out of his hold & walked to the washroom. Only to be stopped by a strong grip at your elbow.

‘Be back in 10. Or I am coming in.’

‘No you’re not. Also, FYI, if you are expecting me to return this favour at some point tonight, that’s not gonna happen. I don’t do that…stuff.’

You marched to the washroom, locking the door behind for good measure. It took quite a few splashes of cold water to counter how hot you were still feeling, especially between your legs. 

You stared at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror, closing your eyes and reliving his touch. Very aware that you hadn’t felt pleasure like that before. And he hadn’t even properly taken you yet.

Somehow, by satisfying you, he made you even hungrier for him. You wanted more, so much more. His mouth, his hands, his body, at all your sensitive spots. And you wanted to touch him too, so so badly. 

The need for him overtook all your senses & you marched back out. Stopping at the door with the near pornographic site in front.

Jude had stripped to his briefs, glorious hard muscles on full display. And was gulping down a bottle of juice from the mini bar. Little droplets escaping from the corner of his mouth, sliding clumsily down his chin, on to the pool of soft hair on his chest. 

He stopped when your eyes met, intrigued by your feverish expression. 

Time to drop all pretenses.

Taking off the only garment you had on, your bikini, you swiftly walked to him, as his eyes widened, glued to your chest.

You pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed and climbed into his lap, guiding his large palms to your boobs, moaning as they squeezed you firmly.

His mouth was still slightly agape, forming a delicate O, making his glossy lips all the more edible to you. Then, he gazed into your eyes, his hands still groping you thoroughly.

‘Who are you, and what did you do to the girl I met yesterday?’

Great question, you couldn’t believe yourself either.

‘You killed her, with all your naked hotness. I WANT YOU.’

He just moved his hips so his crotch brushed against you, demonstrating with HARD evidence how much he wanted you too. His fingers pinched your hardening nubs, as you fell into the crook of his long neck.

‘Juude.’

His whole body jerked, having waited so long to hear his name from you. 

‘Touch me, please.’

He followed through, like his life depended on it. His warm, strong hands roaming your bare back and his wet sultry mouth tending to your front. You gripped and pulled and bit at whatever of him you could find access to, as your nails dug into his rippling back muscles. He left his fair share of marks as well, paying special attention to your neck and chest. Your lips crashed into each others, FINALLY, as your tongues clashed for dominance, his winning eventually as he left you breathless & dizzy. Your indelicate movements in his lap driving him nuts throughout. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, groaning into your ear.

‘Need you…right now.’

‘Umm-hmm.’

Jude grabbed your face, lust dancing in his eyes.

‘You ready to take me, yeah? Like a good girl?’

You nodded & braced yourself for what was coming. He wasn’t gonna go easy, not after you made him wait so long. The thought both excited & unnerved you.

Next second, he tossed you from his lap on to the bed, his large frame looming over you. Your hands moved to grip the sheets but he flipped you again, to your hands and knees.

‘But…’

‘Shhhhh.’

You wanted him face to face, so you could feel him close, so his eyes could fuck the depths of your soul again. But his need was more primal right now.

His finger prodded at your core, checking your readiness. Finding you dripping wet but still too tight for his liking. He added another one to stretch you further, burying them in till his knuckles. 

Jude leaned over your back, stroking your boobs with his free hand, kissing your shoulders, whispering in your ear.

‘Breathe. Relax for me, doll.’

You would have given him the world at that moment if he had asked like that. He should have been a hostage negotiator, with that honeyed charming convincing voice.

He felt your walls unclench in real time, cooing appreciatively in your ear.

‘Such a good girl.’

That felt like a bigger validation than graduating top 1% of your class in uni or landing a high flying consulting job. Both of which were your biggest achievements. Till that point.

A minute later, he was running his covered tip up and down the edge of your folds. But his own need didn’t allow him to tease for long, and he entered half way in with a single thrust, pausing to let you adjust. 

Your hands and knees gave away at the intrusion as you fell face down into the pillow. It had been a while and his size didn’t help either. He placed a pillow under your lower waist to lift your ass up, giving him the angle he needed. Then pulled out & thrusted again, going three quarters in this time.

You already felt so full, biting the pillow to curb your moans. 

‘Just a bit more, yeah? You’re doing so good. So good for me.’

Enchanting you with that silky sweet voice, he thrusted in again, entering fully. So deep, you could almost feel him in your throat. He stayed still, letting you get used to him. You desperately reached behind with your hand, looking for some contact, and he held it firmly, giving it reassuring squeezes. 

Jude felt like his head would explode any moment with arousal. The shifts in her demeanour, from sweet & coy one moment to this wildfire he had met today, were giving him sexual whiplashes. He was worried he’d burst too soon, given how painfully hard he already was, & embarrass himself.

Unable to wait any longer, he started moving inside you. Slow, deep, rhythmic strokes, driving you mad. One hand balancing your ass, while other moved underneath to find your clit. Doubling your sensations to ease his path. As you moaned his name like a chant, the sounds making him harder.

Chasing his release like a mad man, his hips picked up pace soon, as did his hand. You cried into the pillow, feeling hot all over, as he played your body like a fiddle, for the second time tonight. Your head started to spin, as he pounded you mercilessly into the mattress. Your legs started to shake & your walls started to clench around him.

‘Not yet.’

He commanded hoarsely, denying you the friction of his hand anymore. You whined, and tried reaching down with your own hand, but he grabbed it mid-way.

‘I said, NOT YET.’

You mumbled some gibberish into the pillow, which he didn’t bother to register. Too far gone by this point.

Suddenly, you felt his weight on your back, crushing you further into the mattress. His voice in your ear wasn’t silky soft this time, it was downright menacing.

‘What did you call me yesterday, a little boy fresh out of his teens, huh?’

You desperately shook your head, having no memory of it. But he remembered. Every. Single. Word.

The force of his next thrust made your voice choke in your throat. Burning your insides. The pain unlocking a different layer of pleasure. He was all-consuming. All around you. Deep inside you. Your existence was anchored on him, everything else blurred into the background.

‘Still think so?’

You had lost the ability to think or feel anything, other than the sensations he was giving you.

‘I…I don’t. Please Jude, let me….I can’t….pls…’

The helplessness in your choked voice gave him the final nudge he needed. His strokes became sloppier, deeper.

‘Now, doll. Let go now. Cum for me.’

Right on cue, you let yourself go. Almost embarrassed at the timed precision with his command. The delicious squeeze of your walls & your cries tipped him over the edge too. He continued to stroke lazily, letting all the pent up need release. Then crashed on top of you, panting into the side of your face, still buried to the hilt inside.

‘H-heavy.’

You struggled underneath, with whatever minuscule energy you had left. He caught it, pulled out slowly and rolled off you, smiling contently, tracing lazy patterns on your sweaty back.

While he dispensed off the condom, cleaned himself & put on his briefs, you stayed out like a light. Only coming to life when you felt a wet towel between your legs, kicking it away instinctively given how sore you were. Faintly hearing a light chuckle somewhere.

Jude let you be for a few minutes. But when you still didn’t move, he wrapped an arm around your waist, slowly turning you to face him. You groaned at the light hitting your face.

‘Heyy, you’re ok?’

You hummed and snuggled into his warm, broad, inviting chest, shielding yourself from the light. 

‘Let’s get some food into you, yeah?’

Food arrived 30 mins later, by which time you had recovered enough to realise he couldn’t answer the door. Couldn’t be seen in your room. While he argued you looked too fucked out to get in front of the waiter right now.

You won the argument, shooed him into the washroom (as he tied the bathrobe tightly around you), and collected the food-table at the door itself. The room was too much of a mess for anyone to see.

Both ate in peace, falling into a comfortable silence. You, in particular, were shocked at yourself, at how easy you felt around him. Given you had no experience of such arrangements while he, well, his was a different story altogether.

You wondered at what point he’d wanna leave, and how come he hadn’t done that already. But he was showing no signs of wanting to leave. It was 10 pm, and they ended up putting on a random movie on Netflix, snuggled together in bed. The movie ended at 12, and he still didn’t make a move. 

‘You could leave if you want to. It’s fine.’

He looked at you curiously. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was hurt.

‘Do you want me to leave?’

No. Not at all. 

‘Isn’t that what you’d normally do?’

He shrugged, and you didn’t push it further. Falling asleep into his comfy arms. While he stayed awake for a bit, gazing at you & questioning his unusual behaviour tonight. Finally drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

You were awoken way too early the next morning, with his kisses on your shoulder. 

‘It’s 6 am. Let me sleep.’

‘Are you still sore?’

Of course. He wanted another tumble. Is that why he stayed? You tried to be mad but your voice betrayed your excitement.

‘Just a little. Not much.’

He smiled that gorgeous smile, drawing one from you too. And got on top of you, granting you your wish of being face to face with him.

Your bodies moved in sync, as if already in tune with each other. Unlike the rush of adrenaline last night, this time was slow & soft. Him being mindful of the residual ache in your limbs. His pace & force never exceeding a certain threshold. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, as you pulled him down for a kiss, gazed into his beautiful eyes and shut out the world. If this was gonna be the last you ever see of him, then you wanted to commit every inch of his handsome face to memory. 

‘How long are you here for?’

He asked suddenly, pulling you out of your trance, while still moving inside you.

‘Till tomorrow morning.’

‘What are you doing today?’

You had booked a day long tour today, filled with activities.

‘Nothing.’

His eyes twinkled happily, turning you into mush. 

‘Good. Let me just sort out a few things & I’ll be back in a couple of hours, yeah?’

His mouth reached your breasts, sucking & nibbling in tune with his thrusts, making you work extra hard to string words together.

‘W-we can’t go outside.’

‘It’s fine, we’ll stay here.’

‘You don’t hv other plans?’

He very much did. Infact, the plans were heavily dependant on him, & he’d have to go sort it out soon.

‘Nope.’

‘Okay then.’

You closed your eyes, as he rocked you to ecstasy.

..........................................................................

I died a few times while writing this.

And I still have plans for the last day / final chapter. Someone kill me.

Would absolutely love to hear your thoughts here / in inbox. Thank you for the feedback and interest in this story - it kept me motivated to turn it around soon.

[leighsartworks216]

Moon Blood

Astarion x gn/fem!Tav/Reader

(Basically anybody who experiences periods can read this I just don't know what to tag it as)

Tav is described as having irregular periods and a heavy flow, which I know doesn't really leave it open to everyone. But it's true to my experience, so I'm sure some other irregular-period people can also appreciate this

(Also it's just a really self-indulgent story I wrote for me lmao)

Warnings: blood, blood drinking, period fic, references to sex, swearing

Word Count: 1,210

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You roll over in your bedroll again, groaning as quietly as you could as you clutch at your abdomen. An aching pain roiled just below your belly. And there it seemed determined to stay for however long it deemed fit.

Your moon bloods were always a shock - you never knew when they would happen and you never knew how long they would last, because the gods seem to think it’s funny to make it so relentlessly inconsistent. Not to mention how heavy they could be. After everything you’ve faced on your perilous journey so far, this was the fucking worst.

The pain rises to a peak. All you can do is curl in on yourself, hugging your stomach as tight as possible to will the pain away. Does it help? No. But there’s nothing else that could… Well…

You feel like an idiot when you knock on the wooden post outside Astarion’s tent. You were pretty sure he already knew of your problem, if the restlessness whenever he was near was any indication. You couldn’t imagine the temptation, but you could admire his resolve. That wasn’t why you were here.

He calls a muffled ‘Come in’ and you push aside the canvas door. You see the change instantly. The way his eyes darken with the scent of blood, his smirk more predatory than usual. You begin to wonder if this was a bad idea.

“Hello, darling,” he purrs, low and seductive. His book is set aside in favor of standing to greet you in the small space. His hands slide around your waist, nails pressing lightly into your spine. He leans down, pressing his nose to your pulse as he whispers, “You smell delicious.”

You clear your throat. “As tempting as that is…” You step back slightly, and he doesn’t try to stop you. Instead, he pulls his face from your neck and rests his hands at your sides. One more step and he would let you go entirely. “I just want to cuddle.”

He huffs, face scrunching in annoyance. “You come in here with a banquet between your legs, and all you want is to cuddle?” The irritation can hardly be read as genuine when his thumbs begin to rub circles into your hips soothingly.

“Mhm. My cramps and back are killing me,” you explain. You gesture back outside the tent. “I could go ask Gale, if you think you’ll be too tempted.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he hisses, but it’s an empty threat.

He pulls you with him back to the pile of pillows he was lounging in before, sitting down and leaning comfortably against the pile. You stopped, standing just before him, even as he nudged your hip toward him, silently telling you he was ready for you to join him.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright with…” You don’t know how to phrase it in a way that doesn’t sound strange. But your need to make sure he is comfortable wins out above everything else. “With smelling the blood all night?”

His eyes soften as he smiles. The tinge of animalistic hunger still lingers behind it, but your dismissal of his preposition has pushed it toward the back, almost entirely hidden. “I’ll be alright. I’m not starved enough to lash out at any moment, I swear.”

You frown. “You know that’s not what I’m worried about.”

He chuckles despite your scolding. “I know.” You give him a pointed look and he rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Yes, dear, I’ll be alright smelling your blood all night. Now are you going to stand there all night?”

Assured in his comfort, you finally lay down, draping yourself over him, legs slotting between each other and arms holding each other close, and your head resting on his chest. The first few times you cuddled like this, you were worried your weight would make him uncomfortable, or worse, remind him of his 200 years of abuse. But he insisted, when he didn’t want to be cradled to your chest, of course.

He rests a hand at your lower back and begins working his fingers into the aching muscles there. You sigh and relax further into him. He doesn’t need air, but his chest still rises and falls with slow breaths. It’s disconcerting without a heartbeat to accompany it, or it would be if it was anybody else. But it’s Astarion, and instead the sound of his breathing alone was soothing.

You rest there for a moment, eyes closed. The position you’ve taken eases some of the pain, hand-in-hand with Astarion’s nimble touch. For now, the pain is a little more bearable.

You lift your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you, soft and at ease, eyes round with affection. “If you want to, you can eat,” you tell him. You jump to add, “From my neck.”

He chuckles. “Thank you for clarifying,” he teases.

“Well, like you said, I’m here with a banquet. I don’t want you to suffer just because I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m hardly suffering, dear,” he assures. “But I will take you up on your offer.”

You smile as you tilt your head, exposing your neck to him. He sits up, shifting you as he does until you’re eye-to-eye, before he buries his face against the nearly-faded marks he’s left. He continues to rub your back as he uses his free hand to cup the back of your head, keeping you in place and steady. He takes his time to press kisses all around his target. Your moon blood makes you taste sweeter; your skin smells so enticing. But he can savor it later.

You only get two warnings he’s about to bite: the hand holding your head tangles its fingers in your hair, holding you more firmly in place, though still being gentle about it; and the flat of his tongue running along the old punctures.

The sharp pain of ice in your veins never lasts. His mouth sucks and tongues at the punctures, drawing your blood out with practiced ease and drinking it down greedily. You close your eyes and relax into it. You trust him. And the odd feeling of your blood being pulled from your veins like liquid through a straw and the dizziness that accompanies it is much more bearable without vision.

Once he’s had his fill, he pulls his mouth off your neck and licks languidly at the last few drops until your blood clots. He slowly lowers himself back into the cushions, careful not to worsen your light-headedness with the motion. You rest your head back on his chest like a rag doll, limp and tired. He cards his fingers through your hair a few times before simply wrapping his arm around you. He mindlessly continues to rub circles into your back, keeping the pain at bay for you to sleep.

You try to speak through half-intelligible thoughts as exhaustion and comfort begins to claim you. Mostly ‘thank you’s, though a heavily slurred ‘I love you’ surfaces once or twice. He gently sushes you. And then you’re fast asleep, as if speaking was the only thing keeping you awake.

And in the morning, well, he’s more than happy to take care of you.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars

[emchante]

Omg, congrats on 1k, love that for you, so deserved. I think an appropriate celebration would be a Daniel request, so here I am.

Ex! Danny unexpectedly reuniting with the reader, except they never really got over each other. One thing leads to another, and smut ensues with ❛ go on. fuck yourself on my cock. ❜ from the prompt list.

lost and found | d. ricciardo

nonnie, oh my god. this prompt was so fucking hot, and i loved every second writing this. honestly, these are drabbles, but i'd be so down to do a full fic about this. enjoy<3

ex!daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, riding, dirty talk, dom!daniel, public sex.

the club pulsed with energy, yet the world around you faded into a blur as you locked eyes with daniel from across the room. it had been years since you’d seen him, and the moment you caught sight of that familiar smile, your heart raced. even after all this time, the chemistry between you was undeniable.

as you navigated through the throng of people, he stepped toward you, confidence radiating off him. the air was thick with unspoken words, memories of late-night conversations, and moments that had been left unfinished.

“i can’t believe it’s really you,” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. his gaze roamed your body, igniting a familiar heat you thought you’d buried long ago. the way he looked at you was too familiar, too intimate.

“yeah,” you replied, your breath hitching. you had to act casual, act normal. he could be himself, you can be yourself, “it’s been too long, dan.”

before you could say another word, he pulled you into a secluded corridor, away from prying eyes, and shoved you into one of the empty bathroom stalls. the world outside faded, and it was just the two of you, lost in the magnetic pull that had drawn you together again.

“still as gorgeous as ever,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a wave of desire coursing through you. you gulped at his words, your ears burning as his soft lips grazed against it.

“daniel…” you started, but he silenced you with a searing kiss, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer. you melted against him, your body craving more. he spun you around as you kissed, sitting down on the toilet lid as he pulled you onto his lap. a moan escaped you as you felt his prominent erection against you.

“go on,” he breathed heavily, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his voice low and commanding. “fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart.”

the words sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a fire deep within. your heart raced, and without a second thought, you nodded, surrendering to the moment. you reached for his belt, fingers trembling with anticipation as you unbuckled it, your eyes never leaving his.

“fuck, yes,” he urged, his eyes darkening with desire, “you know how much i’ve missed this, baby? how much i’ve missed your tight, pretty cunt around me? no pussy is as good as yours, been thinking about it since we split.”

you whined as you pushed down his pants, revealing the hard length of him, and your breath caught in your throat. the sight of him made your mouth water, a primal need surging within you. you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slowly, relishing the way he groaned at your touch.

“now, show me,” he demanded, his voice thick with lust. “show me how much you want it. show me you’re still a slut for my cock, because i know you are. that’s one thing i know hasn’t changed.”

with a determined glint in your eye, you raised yourself up, slipping your panties to the side before you positioned yourself down, the head of his cock pressing against you. you took a moment, savoring the anticipation, before sinking down onto him, a gasp escaping your lips as he filled you completely.

“just like that,” he encouraged with a deep moan, his hands finding your hips, guiding you as you began to move. the pleasure was intoxicating, more so than the alcohol, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy crashing over you. you could feel him pulse inside you, his own pleasure mirroring yours.

“fuck, you feel incredible,” he groaned, his grip tightening as he encouraged you to ride him harder. “don’t hold back. let me feel you, let me know how much you’ve missed my cock.”

lost in the rhythm, you surrendered to the sensations, the world around you forgotten. the connection between you was electric, and as you moved together, the years of longing melted away, leaving only the raw, undeniable chemistry that had always existed between you. it was clearly a bad decision, one you needed to talk about. but now, you were pleasure driven, chasing your orgasm as your cunt took daniel’s full cock.

“more,” he urged, his voice low and desperate. he started to thrust harshly, chasing his own orgasm as his eyes switched from your dazed expression, to the sight of your sopping cunt taking his whole cock.  “i want to feel you cum, sweetheart. going to make you cum for every year we’ve been apart.”

[sissylittlefeather]

If I Can Dream: Chapter 3

A/N: I hope you are all enjoying this one! I love Jo so much and this story is about to really heat up. Head to my Masterlist for the first two chapters!

Summary: It's 1975 and Jo Bellamy has been in love with Elvis for 20 years. She doesn't even care that they haven't met yet. All she needs is a chance and she's determined to get one

But Elvis doesn't feel much like Elvis anymore. What happened to the man he used to be? He's pretty sure he's long gone.

Can a chance encounter with Jo change the ill-fated trajectory of his life?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, we've reached the smut! Oral sex, p in v sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, also erectile dysfunction frustration

Word count: ~4k

But he misses her in his arms, the big bed feeling cold and empty.

******

Jo drags herself through work on Thursday, coming home to immediately get in the bath with a bottle of wine. She puts on an Elvis record, the B side to Promised Land, and sobs to the sound of his voice. She knows it's silly to be sad over something that never really happened, but she'll never stop loving him. The record stops and she gets out of the tub, wrapping herself in a fluffy robe and resetting the needle. It’s Midnight plays again and she lays on the bed crying with the album cover in her arms. She's in this position when Evelyn calls.

“Oh, Jo-Jo, surely you knew it wasn't going to go anywhere. The man dates beauty queens and Playboy bunnies.” Jo takes a big gulp of wine.

“Yeah, but you weren't there when we woke up on the couch together. We talked for hours.” Evelyn sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, you're right. But will you give it up now? You met him. You went to his house. And now it's done. So please, ask Alan to the wedding. I don't want you to be the only one without a date.”

“Yeah.” Jo takes a deep breath and sighs. “Yeah, I'll ask Alan tomorrow.”

******

Elvis spends the whole of Thursday in bed. The aching loneliness is back and he just can't seem to find a reason to do much else. At around 1am, there's a soft knock on his door.

“Who is it?” Jerry pokes his head in the door.

“It's just me, boss.”

“Hey, Jer.”

“You alright?” Jerry enters the room and sits on the end of the bed.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Elvis doesn't move from his position in the bed on his side. Jerry looks at him silently for a while. He's not sure what to do to help, but he knows he needs to try something. An idea comes to him; it's risky, but he has to try.

“What happened to that girl?” Elvis tries to keep his breathing even.

“What girl?” Jerry rolls his eyes. He knows Elvis knows who he's talking about.

“Jo? Wasn't that her name?”

“She's gone.” Elvis closes his eyes and tries not to picture her, think about her laugh, or the scent of her hair.

“I thought she lived in Memphis.” Jerry knows he's pushing his luck here, but he's not going to give up.

“She does! Leave me the fuck alone, Jerry!” Elvis sits up and yells, cringing with the stiffness of having been in bed all day. Jerry purses his lips.

“All I'm sayin’ is you were happier in those 24 hours with her than you have been in years. Maybe it's worth givin’ her a call.” He stands and walks from the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Elvis lays back down and tries to think of anything but Jo, but it doesn't work. Eventually, he sits up and stares at the phone. He picks up the receiver no less than four times before he gets up the courage to dial her number.

Jo’s phone rings and rattles her from her deep slumber. Her head already hurts a little from the wine, but when she realizes what's happening, she takes a deep breath and grabs the phone.

“Elvis…”

“Hi honey.” She looks up at the ceiling and tries to keep her tears in her eyes. “Were you, um, were ya sleepin’?”

“Yeah, I was. It's almost 3am. Again.”

“Oh…” Elvis starts to lose his nerve, thinking this was a terrible decision. “I'm sorry; I-I'll leave ya alone.”

“No! It's okay. I'm… glad you called…”

“Are ya?” She laughs softly.

“Yeah, of course I am.” He smiles and relaxes into the conversation. His first instinct is to ask her to come over, but he stops himself before he does. He's afraid that might send the wrong message.

“You workin’ tomorrow?” She sighs.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He nods, forgetting that she can't see him. And then it just slips out before he can stop it.

“You should come over when you're done.” He cringes a little, knowing that this whole thing is probably a mistake.

“Elvis, I'd love to, I really would, but I promised my niece I would take her to see Christmas lights.” Jo curses under her breath, hating the idea of turning down a chance to see him again. “Why don't you come with us?”

“Oh, honey, I-I-I-” He stumbles over his words trying to come up with an excuse.

“I've just decided. You're coming with us. I think you need to get out of that house.”

“Jo, honey, I don't-I can't-”

“What? Ride in a car? Yes you can. I'll pick you up around 5:30.” Something about the way she says it makes him feel like he couldn't say no even if he wanted to.

******

At about 5:45pm, Jo pulls up to the Graceland gates with her niece Amy in the backseat of her old pea-green car and asks to be let in. Jerry is so happy to see her back that he's practically bouncing when he opens the front door.

“Hey, Jo! He'll be down in a second.” She nods and they wait in the foyer. Eventually Elvis comes down in a two-tone blue suit. He had originally had on one of his tracksuits but decided to change at the last second, and he's glad he did. Jo is so cute in her little cowl-neck sweater dress and boots that he almost hopes photographers will find them. She lights up when she sees him and he can't help but smile too.

“Hi! This is my niece-” The little girl sticks out her hand.

“Amy Louise Jenkins.” Elvis smiles down at her and takes her hand, shaking it gently.

“Elvis Aaron Presley. It's a pleasure to meet you.” Jo has to physically stop herself from melting on the spot. “How old are ya? You seem about the same age as my Lisa Marie.”

“I'm seven, but I'll be eight in May.” He nods.

“I was right. Lisa will be eight in February.” She smiles and turns to Jo, taking her hand in one and Elvis's in the other.

“Let's go see some lights!” Elvis looks at Jo over Amy's head and shrugs. Jo suppresses a grin and they make their way out to her old, beat-up car. Elvis looks at it and turns to her with his eyebrows raised.

“Not all people drive Cadillacs.” Jo whispers.

“No, honey, I know that. It's fine.”

The rest of the evening passes with all three of them belting out Christmas carols as they drive around the wealthier neighborhoods in Memphis looking for lights. In the beginning, Elvis wouldn't sing, but with some gentle cajoling from Jo and Amy, he finally breaks down. When Blue Christmas comes on, he sheds any last hints of nervousness and puts on a full show. The girls both applaud wildly and he has to grab the wheel when Jo almost crashes into a parked car in her enthusiasm. When he does, he unintentionally puts his arm behind her on the seat and she leans her head on his shoulder.

“You want me to drive, honey?” He speaks softly, enjoying the feel of her so close to him.

“Yeah, do you mind?”

“Not at all.” She parks the car and he replaces her in the driver's seat. He's surprised but pleased when she settles onto his shoulder again.

By 8 o’clock, Amy is snoozing soundly in the backseat and Elvis follows Jo's directions to her stepsister’s house. When they get there, Jo looks into the backseat and sighs.

“I'm not sure how I'll get her to the door without waking her up.”

“I got ‘er.” Elvis is not sure where his confidence comes from, but she's no bigger than Lisa Marie and he carries her all the time. They get out of the car and he scoops Amy into his arms, walking up to the front door. For a second, he forgets who he is until Jo's brother-in-law answers the door and his jaw drops. Jo realizes what's happening and interjects.

“Hey, Rob, this is Elvis.” Her brother-in-law scoffs.

“Yeah. I know.” Elvis tries to smile genially.

“She fell asleep in the car. Hope this is okay.” Rob nods, still a little starstruck and takes Amy from him.

“Thanks…”

“Goodnight, Rob.” Jo takes Elvis's arm and turns him around to head back to the car. She can only keep her giggles under control for a few feet before she lets them out. He looks at her, amused.

“What's got you tickled?”

“His face! I forgot who you were for a second.” He chuckles.

“Honestly, so did I.” They get back in the car and she leans on his shoulder again for the drive back to Graceland.

When they get back to the house, Elvis parks Jo's car in the driveway and his stomach sinks at the thought that she'll go home soon. Again, he wants her to stay, but he's nervous about her expectations in the bedroom.

“Can I come in?” He raises his eyebrows, surprised at her boldness.

“Umm…”

“I'm just not ready to go home yet. And I feel like every time I leave, the likelihood of seeing you again decreases.” He swallows, knowing that she's right. The more he allows himself to think about it, the more he worries whether this should continue. But when she's here right in front of him, it's hard to turn her down. He feels himself nod.

“Yeah. I dunno what we'll do-”

“We'll find something. Let's go.” He has to admit, her happy-go-lucky attitude is infectious.

They get into the foyer and she looks around the house while he stands there awkwardly.

“Umm…”

“You don't have a Christmas tree.” He hadn't even realized. Usually he's instructed someone to set it up by now, but this year he forgot.

“No, I guess I don't. I'll have someone set it up before Lisa Marie comes.”

“We’ll do that!” He looks at her confused.

“Tell someone to set up the tree?” She purses her lips.

“No, ya brat, we’ll do it ourselves and decorate it.” He scowls.

“I ain't a brat.”

“I know. So quit actin' like one. Let's get the tree. Where is it?”

“I think it's in storage somewhere. Mary probably knows.”

“Well, okay then. Let's go.” She walks towards the kitchen and he follows her. He's quickly learning that when she puts her mind to something, she's going to make it happen regardless of the obstacles. In general, he's not used to this level of agency or determination in a woman, but at his age it's kind of nice to not be in charge for once.

With Jerry and Mary's help, they manage to locate the tree and boxes of decorations. It takes them a while, but after lots of direction from Jo and laughter from both of them, they manage to get it done.

“Okay, plug it in!”

“Yes ma'am, miss bossy.” He gives her a little salute and she giggles. The sound of her laugh warms him from the inside out and he thinks to himself that taking her instruction is worth it for this feeling. The thought gets even stronger when he plugs in the tree and she squeals with delight.

“Oh, it's so pretty! Elvis come look!” He stands and walks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist instinctively. Maybe he could just let this happen.

“It is pretty.” He murmurs in her ear.

“You know the best way to look at a Christmas tree, right?”

“This seems like a pretty good way.”

“C’mere.” She moves away from him and he decides he needs to get her back in his arms as quickly as possible. He watches as she lays down on the floor with her head up under the tree. “Ahhh, get down here. It's gorgeous.”

Shaking his head, he lowers himself to the ground and grunts as he arranges to be under the tree. He's not sure how he'll get up again, but when he sees her with the colored lights shining on her face, he decides he doesn't care.

“Isn't it pretty?” She looks over at him and he brings his hand up to her cheek, running his thumb across it gently.

“Beautiful.” He can no longer stop himself as he leans over and presses his lips to hers.

The kiss is soft and sweet, but when he pulls back to look at her, his heart skips. He hasn't felt like this about a woman in a long time and it scares him. She leans in to kiss him again and he backs away.

“You wanna tour?” He smiles awkwardly and she blinks a few times.

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” She's completely confused by his quick shift, wondering if she's done something wrong, but she follows his lead as he moves from under the tree. It takes them both several tries and quite a bit of grunting, but eventually they both make it back to standing. He holds both of her hands in his and looks down at her. Almost against his will, he leans in and kisses her softly. There it is again, the heart skip that makes him so nervous. He pulls back from the kiss and just looks at her. She's completely perplexed by his kisses and subsequent hesitation, but before she can say anything, he wraps an arm around her waist and starts to lead her through the house.

The last place he shows her is the pool. He realizes it hasn't been drained and curses Jerry. It's freezing outside, so he holds her again from behind with her head against his chest.

“We should jump in.” She says quietly. He laughs and presses his lips to her temple. Why can't he keep himself from kissing her? He’s torn from that thought when she speaks again. “I'm serious! I've heard it's good for you. Let's do it.”

“Honey, you're crazy.”

“Am I? I'm doing it.” She pulls away from him and walks to the edge of the pool.

“Jo, no. It might be dangerous.” Putting her hands on her hips, she turns to face him.

“Nah. And anyway I thought you were a daredevil? What happened to the guy who had firework fights?”

“He had to grow up.” There's a hint of bitterness in his voice. She shakes her head, walking towards him and resting her hand on the side of his face.

“No. Time passed. Growing up is optional.” He leans down and kisses her again. It's like he can't get enough. She mumbles against his lips. “I refuse.”

Then, she turns and takes off running, jumping into the pool fully-clothed. The cold water overwhelms her body with sensation, shocking her system.

“Jo!” When she surfaces she lets out a little scream and shivers.

“Come on! Don't make me do this by myself!”

“You're fucking crazy, honey.”

“Yeah! And you're a pussy.” He scowls again, his masculinity offended.

“No, I ain't.” Her teeth chatter, but she refuses to back down.

“Prove it.” He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Damn it, honey.” She giggles as he walks to the edge of the pool. He looks up at the sky when she gestures for him to join her. The stars twinkle down on him and he wonders: what if he does take this plunge with her? Would it kill him? Unlikely. And if he doesn't do it, what is he choosing instead? Suddenly, he's not just thinking about the pool. He looks back down at her, shining with life and sparkling like the stars. “Alright, fuck it.”

And then he jumps. His whole body screams when the icy water crashes into his skin. But he survives and feels more alive than he has in years. He surfaces and pulls her to him, kissing her deeply. This time when his heart skips, he leans into it, slipping his tongue into her mouth and pushing his body against hers. Every part of him buzzes with life and need and something he can't quite put his finger on. She shivers in his arms, not sure if it's the cold from the water or the heat from the kiss that's running through her. He pulls back and runs his fingertips down the side of her face.

“Honey, you're shakin’. Let's go inside.” She nods and kisses him deeply again.

They manage to get out of the pool and run through the house to the upstairs bathroom, giggling like teenagers and dripping all over the carpet. He starts a hot shower and they both start stripping off wet clothes. When they're down to their underwear, he grabs her and pulls her to him, crashing his lips into hers in a full open-mouthed kiss. They tumble into the shower together and moan as the hot water touches their skin. He doesn't stop her when her hand drifts below his waist, dipping into his underwear. To his own surprise, he's hard as a rock and he groans as she strokes him gently. His hands move over her whole body, unclasping her bra and pushing her panties down frantically.

“Bed?” She mumbles as she removes his underwear, leaving them both naked. He's so relieved she suggested it, he nods vehemently without moving his mouth from hers. A decade ago, he would've just bent her over in the shower, but now he needs something a little more stable. What he doesn't know is she does too. She might be 4 years younger, but she's no twenty-something and the thought of getting on her knees in the shower is not appealing. They quickly dry off, still pressed together, and he walks her backwards into the bedroom, where she lays on the bed and he crawls on top of her, dropping hot kisses on her skin wherever he can reach. She spreads her legs and he goes to push into her, but the move from the bathroom was a little too much for him.

“God fucking damnit!” He curses loudly and she grabs his face.

“It's okay.” When he tries to protest, she shakes her head and pushes him onto his back. “Do you think this is the first time this has happened to me? It's okay, Elvis.”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, but he whips them open again when he feels her mouth around his soft cock.

“Honey, I don't know if-”

“Shh. Let me work. You just think about what it would feel like to fuck me. Focus on the sensations of it. Tell me how my pussy feels, babe.” She goes back to moving her mouth on him.

“Jo…”

“Tell me.” He sighs and closes his eyes again. What she's doing does feel really good and imagining having sex with her is easier than jumping in the pool was, so he tries to think about it.

“It's tight… wet…”

“What else, babe?”

“It's… squeezing my cock just right…” He starts to get into it, losing himself in his fantasy and the way her mouth and hand feels on him. “I can feel you cum; you're so sexy when you cum for me.”

He moans softly and she tries not to smile as he begins to harden in her mouth. She swirls her tongue around his sensitive head and takes his balls in her hand to massage them as she works.

“Fuck, yeah baby. God that's good.” In another few seconds, he's as hard as he was in the shower and she sits up, stroking him with her hand.

“You wanna actually feel me now? See if your imagination was right?” She hovers over him, dragging the tip of his dick against her entrance to cover it in her arousal.

“More than anything.” He grabs her hips and she whimpers as she starts to sink onto him, moving slowly to give herself the chance to adjust.

“Oh god… fuck.” She groans as he fills her fully, his cock so deep inside her as she grinds against his hips. She starts to pick up a steady rhythm of sliding him in and out, bouncing and rolling and moaning.

“Better… it's better…” He groans, running his hands up to cup her breasts. She arches her back as she pushes him even deeper, his cock hitting her g-spot with every movement.

“Fuck, Elvis…”

“You've got a dirty mouth, honey.” She laughs.

“You didn't seem to mind when it was wrapped around your cock.” He blushes a little, still unaccustomed to women who own their sexuality. His hands move down to grip her hips as he helps her move on him.

“Careful. Keep this up and I'll fill that pretty little mouth again.” He grabs her chin and runs his thumb along her bottom lip. She pulls his thumb into her mouth and swirls her tongue on it.

“You promise?” She smiles mischievously and he grabs her, pulling her down onto his chest.

“Gonna fill this pretty little pussy with cum first, honey.” He whispers in her ear as he starts to thrust up into her from underneath. She whimpers, the change in position pushing her to the edge of an orgasm.

“Yes! Oh god… I'm so close…” He feels her walls flutter around him and grunts.

“Come on, honey. Cum on my dick. Let me feel it.” That's all it takes for her to tumble over the edge into oblivion, her pussy pulsing around him as the pleasure runs through her body like lightning. The feeling of her throbbing around him is enough to throw him over the edge too and he holds her tight to his chest as his orgasm rips through him, his cock emptying deep inside her.

They lay there for a bit trying to catch their breath, both of them trembling. Eventually he loosens his grip on her and they relax. She lets him slip out of her and then rearranges to lay next to him in the crook of his arm. Her fingers run through his chest hair and he kisses her forehead.

“Hey, honey?” He turns a little to look down at her.

“Yeah?”

“What is this?” She lifts her arm when she feels his fingers on the skin of her ribcage. He lifts his head a little to try to see what he noticed when she was on top of him.

“It's a tattoo.”

“I didn't know women got tattoos.” She rolls her eyes a little.

“Janis Joplin has one.”

“What's it say?” He tries to read it, but he's at the wrong angle.

“‘To live would be an awfully big adventure.’ It's from-”

“Peter Pan.” She looks at him in awe.

“Yes, how did you-?”

“I read a lot, honey.” He runs his fingertips over the words softly. “You know, you've always reminded me of someone. Now I know who it is.”

“Who?”

“Tinkerbell.” She laughs and kisses his nose. He looks into her eyes and she stops laughing. The reality of the situation hits her like a ton of bricks and all of a sudden her eyes fill with tears. She squeezes them shut to try to keep the tears from falling and buries her face in his chest. “Hey, hey. What's wrong?”

He finds her chin and makes her look up at him, the tears sliding down her cheeks. She desperately searches for a way to express what she's feeling, but the words aren't there. Finally, she's able to choke out something.

“Nothing’s wrong. It's good. Isn't it? It can't be this good.” He softens and kisses her forehead, pulling her in close.

“Oh, Tink. It is good.” He looks down into her face, holding her cheek in his big hand. “It is good.”

Too good, he thinks as she nods and settles against him. Too good to last.

******

What will happen next?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley

[sapphire-writes]

Holiday In The Hamptons

Part 3 of The Campaign

pairing: modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You join the Targaryen-Hightower family in the Hamptons, determined to get back what Aemond took from you.

word count: 7.2k

rating: 18+/explicit (see details below the cut)

warnings: p in v (explicit sex), oral (fem-recieving), edging, overstimulation, blindfold, restraints, fingering, rough s*x, degradation, begging, kissing, pussy slapping, choking, hand kink, finger sucking, alluding to some Daemon/Rhaenyra targcest, language

note: it's been a while! I have no words-- i was inspired and here is the monster I created, I hope you enjoy!

You’d secretly hoped Rhaenyra would throw out the idea of a family outing after the debate with Aegon went sideways. She’d been graceful, smooth, and calculated as always. And Aegon?

Well, Aegon was Aegon. 

You suppose Otto Hightower had attempted to prep him. But it didn’t stop him from being a pompous asshole through the entirety of the debate. Interrupting, laughing, and dismissing all of Rhaenyra’s arguments with baseline claims of his own. It was hard to watch. 

And yet the public was eating it up. 

Funny, they called him. An arrogant, egotistical, narcissist. But funny. The media was far more forgiving of Aegon than Rhaenyra. You suppose that’s why Aegon made a better frontman than Aemond. He was awfully charismatic. 

Though you just know it was killing Aemond inside to not be the one behind that podium going head to head with Rhaenyra. A battle of wits is Aemond Targaryen’s idea of a great time. He wouldn’t have needed Aegon’s cheap tricks to win the debate. He probably could have bested her (though that killed you to admit). 

“Shrieks Through the Keep,” she read the headline on her phone as you sat in the back of the limousine on the way to the Hamptons, “Rhaenyra Targaryen snaps at Aegon Targaryen during last night’s debate, her reaction reminiscent of her predecessor Maegor Targaryen. Fucking ridiculous.”

Luke sits beside her, Joffrey beside him lost in his Nintendo Switch, furiously pressing buttons and cursing under his breath. Jace and you sit across from them, knees pressed together. You’ve been stiffer around him lately, ever since----

“You did wonderfully,” Daemon had insisted, squeezing Rhaenyra’s knee, “Bunch of stupid cunts.”

Rhaenyra clicks her phone and the screen dims before leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Luke reaches forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s only the first debate,” Daemon insists, “The others will be better.”

Rhaenyra lets out a pitiful laugh dropping her head into her hands, pressing her thumbs right under her brow bones. You’ve seen Aemond do the same thing when he’s stressed. Seven save you, can you stop thinking about that asshole?

“Can we talk about something else?” Rhaenyra asks, “Anything else.”

Joffrey pays no attention, his dark curls falling into his eyes, the faint sounds of his game echoing in the small space. Luke’s leg bounces nervously, his eyes darting to you, begging for some help. 

“What’s your favorite memory of Summerhall House?” you ask her, eager to change the subject to something else as well. 

The side of Rhaenyra’s mouth ticks upwards in a small, sad smile. She straightens up, leaning back against the leather seat. Her eyes look past you, searching for a memory. 

“My father brought me here when I was a child,” she tells you, “Every summer we’d come. Just the three of us.”

Daemon watches Rhaenyra carefully as she speaks; his violet eyes never leave her face. You wonder where Daemon had fit in on their family holidays. 

“My father hated the beach, hated it,” Rhaenyra continues through a chuckle, “But my mother loved the ocean. We’d spend hours at a time going back and forth. Swimming, drying out on the sand, going back to the water. Father would watch from the deck, always holed up with his models.”

Daemon takes her hand. You watch a pink blush begin to form on the apples of her cheeks, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. Your throat tightens. Aegon had his fair share of gossip present in the tabloids, but so did Rhaenyra. 

Not a rumor you hope has truth behind it.

But it’s hard to deny when it's happening right in front of you. Still, you remove your gaze from their intertwined hands and rest your head against Jace’s shoulder. 

“You miss him terribly,” Daemon says, thumb stroking the back of Rhaenyra’s hand, “I do as well. He’d be happy that you’re doing this. He always wanted the family together.”

Rhaenyra nods at his words, violet eyes glancing up at her Uncle’s face. He smiles at her softly before turning his head toward you and Jace. You meet his eyes for a brief moment before averting your gaze, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

When you look up, he’s still watching you. You force a tight smile which Daemon Targaryen does not return. He knows you know, your mind teases as a weight settles in your gut. You close your eyes, pressing your face against Jace’s neck inhaling the scent of his cologne. You feel his arm tighten around you. 

“Not long now,” he murmurs, and you hum in response. 

Though you pretend to be asleep for the remainder of the drive, you can feel the fiery gaze of Daemon Targaryen burning through you. 

When you arrive at Summerhall House you’re greeted with laminated itineraries and Alicent Hightower-Targaryen waiting at the front door. She holds one out to you, her brown eyes warm and inviting, auburn curls hanging freely down her back, dressed in an emerald green silk dress that falls just below her knee. 

Though it's been half a year since the death of her husband she doesn’t look the part of a grieving widow. In fact, she appears more radiant than ever. The death of Viserys Targaryen suits her. Her eyebrows crease together as Daemon brushes by her, ignoring the handout. Her eyes move behind you, eyes searching for someone else.

“Where’s Baela and Rhanea?” 

Daemon stops at the decorative table, eyeing the bowl of fruit in the center. Ruby red apples lay piled atop a bed of pears, and fresh mandarins. He reaches for an apple, taking off his sunglasses while inspecting the shiny outer flesh.

“Baela is galavanting around Europe. Last I spoke to her she was in Greece,” he says, biting into the apple, “Rhaena is much too busy preparing for her LSAT to be bothered with this farce.”

Alicent prickles at that, her jaw clenching, and her shoulders straightening. 

“I’m tired,” Daemon announces.

“We’re supposed to have dinner,” Alicent calls as he begins his ascent up the staircase. Her words fall on deaf ears as Daemon continues down the hall until he is out of sight. She sighs, trying to hide her frustration as she turns back to you, “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? The espresso martinis are fabulous.”

Rhaenyra smiles politely, reaching out and squeezing Alicent’s forearm.

“None for me, I’m afraid I’m rather tired as well,” she admits, smiling bashfully, “I think I’ll tuck in for the evening.”

“Luke and Joffrey will share the beach room,” Alicent tells her, “Jace and…” she looks at you, as though remembering you’re present, “Y/N….you’re in the room at the farthest end of the second floor.”

You smile tightly.

“Thank you, Alicent,” you tell her, heading upstairs. As much as you want a drink, you’d rather not be stuck with forced polite conversation with Alicent. 

The following morning is lights, camera, and action. Playing the role of a happy family is non-negotiable today. You meet everyone at breakfast by the pool, under the shade of the veranda. Mimosas, fresh fruit, omelets, and croissants greet you. You sit across from Daemon and Rhaenyra, as Jace pulls your chair out for you, reaching for a chocolate croissant. 

Otto Hightower sits at the head of the table, his gaze icy. You can tell he’s watching Daemon out of the corner of his eye, his tension palpable. 

“Aemond arrived rather late last night,” Daemon says, taking a bite of his omelet, “Though I’ve yet to see Helaena. Where is my niece?” 

You can’t help the rush of stupid warmth that rolls through you. He’s here. Absent at the family breakfast though. Dickhead. 

“Helaena should be joining us this evening,” Alicent says, sipping her mimosa, “I must’ve dozed off, was Floris with Aemond when he arrived?”

Alicent’s eyes are bright, lit up with curiosity. 

You wonder if they get along. It appears Alicent likes her, by the look in her eyes. Through the grapevine, you’d heard that mummy didn’t approve of Aemond’s previous fling. That ended rather quickly. Jealousy creeps through your veins; icy tendrils weaving up your spine. Jace meets your eyes smiling.

“D’you like your croissant?” he asks, his grin lopsided.

“Love it,” you tell him, returning his smile with a much colder one. 

Jacaerys Velaryon is nice. That’s about all there is to him. An easy man to have on your arm. Easily influenced. Easily manipulated. He has potential, for sure. You’d gotten the same look of approval from Rhaenyra that Floris undoubtedly got from Alicent when Jace had brought you home. 

“Believe he said something about her taking the next flight out?” Daemon says, eyebrows cinching together as he tries to remember, “Weather wasn’t cooperating. Something like that. We didn’t engage in further conversation.”

You bite your tongue so you don’t ask where he is. Luke is the one to broach the subject. 

“He coming out today?” he asks, referring to the yacht party planned later that afternoon.

“He’s resting now,” Otto informs Luke, “But everyone is expected to be there. On their best behavior.” He says the words pointedly, through gritted teeth.

You reach for your drink taking a long sip of the tart beverage. Rhaenyra cocks an eyebrow at Otto’s pointed tone, reaching for the water glass beside her plate and taking a sip. 

“Can I have one?” Joffrey asks, eyeing your mimosa.

“In your dreams,” Luke scoffs, causing the younger boy to pout. 

The majority of the morning is spent lying by the pool. You’d put on your swimsuit as soon as breakfast ended, heading back down to get some sun. No sign of Aemond. He must be holed up in his room doing gods knows what. You can’t help the feeling of anticipation that curls in your belly. 

The yacht party is meant to happen that afternoon, and as time creeps closer you decide to take action. The intimate family gathering is not one you need to participate in any way, not like the upcoming party later in the week. There’s unfortunately no way out of that event. 

“I don’t know,” you tell Jace, “You know I get seasick, baby.” You don’t. 

“I don’t want you to get lonely,” he insists, “I’ll stay behind-”

“You go ahead,” you insist, “I’ll be alright. I have a couple of calls to make anyway and I can lounge by the pool.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” you tell him, placing a kiss on his cheek, “Seriously, have fun! Bond with everyone.”

Jace is reluctant but doesn’t argue. You wonder if he cares at all, deep down. 

Helaena greets you when she arrives, clad in dark green slacks and a white tank top, a cigarette hanging from her red mouth. You’d only been introduced once before, though you remember her vaguely, a year ahead of you back in school. She’d changed her hair recently, it was cut in a retro shag style, bangs in front of her eyes.

“Jace brought a friend,” she comments, walking towards you, hands in her pockets. 

You turn your head, still spread out in your chaise lounge one foot propped on the seat, an arm thrown under your head. 

“Surprised I’m still around?” you ask, noting the unashamed way Helaena’s eyes drag across your body.

“Nah,” she says, pulling her cigarette from her lips, “More surprised you’re still putting up with him.”

“Hmm,” you hum in response, “You bring anyone?”

“Why, you interested?” she teases, with a grin, “I’m not getting anyone involved with this shit show. You’ve the right idea, staying behind.”

“I don’t like boats,” you tell her.

Helaena drops her cigarette, stamping it out under her foot.

“Mhmm,” she says, eyes unconvinced, “Enjoy your alone time.”

You don’t answer as she retreats back into the house. You hear the muffled voices as everyone begins to leave for the party. Aemond doesn’t come outside, and doesn’t ask why you’re staying behind. You try not to let that vex you, but can’t help it. Sighing, you close your eyes as the sounds of distant voices fade, along with the car engines in the driveway.

Suddenly, an idea strikes as the sun begins to dip below the horizon no longer offering the heat from earlier in the day. Getting up from your spot, you throw on your cover-up and tread into the house. It’s silent, beside the gentle sound of the central air system. 

You need to find your necklace. The one Jace had given you. The one you’d so carelessly left behind during your last rendezvous with Aemond. Jace hadn’t stopped asking about it, and you just knew it gave Aemond some sick sense of power, holding that over you. 

You hurry up the stairs, padding down the hallway until you reach Aemond’s room. You’d heard Alicent mention last night which room he and Floris would be staying in. Taking a deep breath, you open the door. 

Aemond’s room is neat; just as you’d expected. His two suitcases were closed standing side by side at the foot of his bed. White pillows are fluffed to perfection; you doubt Aemond was the one to tend to it. His bedside table is bare save a lamp and a dog-eared book without a dust cover. The title remains a mystery. There’s a matching table on the opposite side with an empty silver dish and a small lap. 

Moving further into his room you stop in front of a large floor-length mirror, trimmed with gold, and spare a moment to shamelessly admire yourself. The Hamptons look good on you. From the afternoon spent in the warm summer sun, your skin already has a luminescent sun-kissed glow. You tilt your head, parting your lips slightly. 

Should’ve brought your phone with you; a selfie in this mirror would be worth a thousand words. You don’t suppose anyone will be back for hours. You can come back later for a little photo shoot. Your mouth quirks into a small smile at the thought of Aemond scrolling through Instagram and seeing you in his room. 

You know exactly how you’ll do it. On your knees, a hand toying with the strings of your bikini bottoms, plush thighs on full display. Your sheer cover-up dangling off of one of your shoulders revealing a delicious amount of skin your bikini top barely covers. Lips curved into a perfect pout.

You just need to find that necklace. 

That would be the icing on the cake. 

Peering into the attached bathroom you note all his hair and skincare products lined up in a neat row across the marble sink. You raise a brow at his perfectionism. 

Anal prick. 

You rummage through the drawers under the sink, most of them practically empty. A hair straightener, a hairbrush, a thin-toothed comb. 

No necklace. 

You growl in frustration slamming the drawer shut. Sitting back on your haunches you place a hand against your forehead. Maybe he didn’t even bring it, I mean, why would he?

You remember the look on his face, the stolen glances. That stupid fucking smirk. Your cheeks flush, warmth creeping down your neck.

He brought it. It’s here somewhere.

You tap your fingers against your knee, hand bouncing nervously. You need to keep looking. Rising from your spot on the floor you make your way back into the room, glancing around. Flinging open the closet doors you paw through suit jackets and trousers letting your hands dip into the pockets of each one. C’mon, it has to be here somewhere---

“What are you doing?” a cool, calm voice asks, sending a shiver down your spine like you’d been dosed in ice water.

Slowly, you turn, meeting the blue and purple eyes of Aemond Targaryen as he leans casually against the doorframe. 

He’s not supposed to be here. 

Yet, here he is. Dressed in gray slacks, and a black button-down pressed to perfection with not a wrinkle in sight. Green tie around his neck as though he’d just come from a meeting. He’s holding a legal pad in his left hand, a pen pinched between his thumb and forefinger. His silver hair pushed back out of his face, rounded glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. You roll your shoulders back and keep your chin up.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” he asks, entering the room. He tosses the legal pad carelessly on the side table before reaching into his back pocket and removing his phone as well. Your eyes narrow as he rolls his sleeves up.

“You know what,” you tell him, tapping your foot against the floor.

Aemond releases a hum, still not answering. He lifts his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, letting them rest on top of his head. 

“Where is it?” you repeat, becoming more impatient with each passing second. 

Aemond doesn’t meet your gaze, instead, he takes a step forward. The bed is the only thing that separates you. He looks up at you then, violet and blue eyes staring into yours intently. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells you, nonchalantly, “If you’ve misplaced something how is that my problem?”

“It is your problem,” you say through your teeth. Aemond brings his hands in front of his chest, the veins on the back of them prominent. You watch as he slowly removes a ring on his left hand, taking time to twist the silver band from his middle finger. 

Your mouth goes dry as he repeats the movement, twisting the metal that rests on his ring finger. That ring he wears nearly every day, stamped with the Targaryen family crest. He resumes his movements, focusing on the ring that remains on his right hand. A small silver band around his thumb. When it's free, he holds his hand out across the bed. 

An offering. 

You’re not sure what compels you to reach forward, holding your palm open-faced under his. He uncurls his fingers, rings falling into your awaiting palm. He hasn’t touched you and yet your whole body feels flushed. 

You close your fingers around the cold rings, pulling your hand away. Aemond jerks his chin, motioning toward the nightstand beside you. You turn, placing the rings haphazardly in the small empty silver dish. They clang loudly against it and Aemond stares at you disapprovingly.

“Are you going to give it back, or not?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest once more. 

“Why are you here?” he asks, ignoring your question and walking to the edge of the bed.

“I get seasick,” you lie to him as you did to Jace.

Aemond merely chuckles, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He reaches to the top of his head, removing his glasses, and placing them on his dresser. A lock of silver hair falls in front of his eyes as he turns back to you, mirroring your pose.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you want,” you snap, “What are you doing here?”

“I had work to finish,” he says with a shrug. Aemond’s hands drop to his belt, and he begins to undo it. “So I decided to stay behind.” 

The hairs on your arms stand up and heat rushes to your face, and the top of your chest. You suddenly become very aware of how trapped you are on this side of the room. You’d have to climb over the bed if you wanted to leave. 

You glance at the door as Aemond pulls his belt free of the loops of his slacks. A sharp whine echoes in the room as the leather rubs against the fabric. 

Your attention turns back on Aemond, you watch as he tosses the belt onto the bed. You swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat. 

Aemond takes a slow step, rounding the corner of the bed. You don’t say anything as he walks closer, nor when he brings a large hand to rest against your outer thigh. He’s barely applying any pressure, you can just feel the heat of his large palm against you. Your lips part slightly at the sensation. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, letting his fingers trail up your thigh, “Hmm?” His fingers curl under the strap of your bathing suit bottom, snapping it against your hip. You flinch slightly at the light sting. 

You inhale a deep breath, looking up at the chiseled features of his face. 

“I want my necklace back.”

The perfect pout of his lips curl at the edges, a satisfied smirk appearing. 

“Well then you’re going to have to work for it,” he tells you, his voice rough and commanding. 

To your despair, heat rushes to your core at the authoritative tone of his voice and the feeling of his hand still on your upper thigh. You hate admitting it, but you’d been thinking about that afternoon in the hotel ever since it had happened. Getting off to the memory of it, nearly every night. 

“We’re not doing this again,” you tell him as his opposite hand finds your waist. He swipes his thumbs against your hip bones, squeezing into the soft flesh. He’s so close, your crossed forearms graze against the fabric of his button-down. You shake your head, “I hate you.”

Aemond tilts his head back, not releasing his grip on you. Your arms uncross on their own accord, and you bring your hands to his tie. Your fingers work the knot, loosening it and removing it from his neck. You toss the green fabric onto the bed, moving to the buttons of his shirt. 

“Say it again,” he murmurs, fingers digging into you hard enough to leave bruises. He pulls you closer, his nose bumping against your cheek. 

“I hate you,” you breathe, working through all the buttons. Aemond chuckles darkly as you tear open his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest. 

You drag your fingers down between his pectorals, tracing in between the muscles of his abdomen. They flex under your soft touch. Aemond releases your hips to shrug off his shirt, abandoning the material on the floor. 

You watch it pool at his feet, before his hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you flush against him, capturing your lips in a punishing kiss. It’s brutal; all clashing teeth and tongues as he keeps one hand securely on the back of your neck, the other tearing at the thin material of your coverup until it falls to the floor. 

His free hand drags down your side before settling on your ass; it’s so large he encompasses the cheek nearly entirely, squeezing the soft flesh harshly and dragging a gasp from your throat. He backs you up toward the bed, kissing you all the while. You can’t think when he kisses you, all you can focus on is the feeling of him. It’s nothing but hot, burning need pulsating through your veins. 

Aemond pushes you, none too gently, onto the bed before climbing on top of you. His hands roam down your body, your back arching at his touch. 

He leans back on his haunches, reaching for the belt. You can see evidence of his arousal straining against his slacks, his eyes hungrily raking over your scantily clad form as you gaze up at him through your lashes. 

“Wrist up.” 

You breathe heavily, before doing what he asks, placing both your arms above your head. Aemond loops the belt around your wrists, binding them to the metal rod of his headboard. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, and the ache between your thighs grows. Aemond’s eyes flicker to your face as he tugs the bindings. The smirk that appears on his face says one thing.

You’re not going anywhere.

“You need me to stop,” he says, as he moves away from you, “You need to be untied. You want this to be over; you say keligon.” 

“What’s that mean?” you ask, your voice sounding breathier and more desperate than you’d have liked it to.

“It’s High Valyrian,” he tells you, “You say that, I’ll untie you. I’ll stop.” Aemond returns to you, grasping your chin in his hand, “What do you say if you want me to stop?”

You stare into his eyes, surprised by his seriousness. “Keligon.”

“Good girl,” he says, lightly tapping your cheek with his fingers as he releases his hold. 

Aemond reaches for his discarded necktie. He smoothes the material in his hands before bringing it to your face. Your eyes widen as you realize his intentions, but you make no move to stop him. You allow it. 

You want it. 

The tie sits perfectly against your eyes, blocking any semblance of light. All your other senses feel heightened, your skin feels electric. You can’t see him, can only feel the bed shifting from his weight as he moves above you, making sure it’s tied snuggly around your head. Suddenly, you feel his slender fingers, dragging down the strap of your bikini top, taking his sweet time before he reaches the knot that sits in the valley between your breasts. 

“Cute suit,” he murmurs, fingers fiddling with the knot, “You bring this one just for me?”

You can feel the material give, your breasts releasing back to their natural state as the knot comes completely undone. Aemond drags his fingers over the material lazily exposing your tits to him. He hums appreciatively as the cool air makes your nipples pebble. 

“I have a boyfriend,” you tell him, earning a chuckle. 

“You do?” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down your sternum, over the sensitive skin of your stomach. You take your lower lip between your teeth, skin erupting in goosebumps. You already want to pull against the restraints, wriggle, and thrash away from his teasing hands. 

“My poor nephew,” he muses, tugging at the straps of your bottoms, “He fuck you like I do?”

You haven’t slept with Jace. It’s not really part of your arrangement. Not that Aemond needs to know.

“You fuck Floris like you fuck me?” you challenge. Aemond’s hands pause their movements.

Just like earlier, a wave of jealousy rolls through you. Envy churns in your stomach, and you clench your jaw. 

“Floris and I are colleagues,” Aemond says slowly. He sounds as though he’s choosing his words very carefully. 

“You don’t have to baby me,” you lie, “I’m a big girl, I understand this world.”

Aemond is silent for a moment, and you wonder if he’ll push the subject more. He’s still for so long you nearly tap out, keligon on the tip of your tongue when suddenly he finishes removing your bathing suit bottoms. Completely naked before him, tied up like a summer holiday present, your body trembles with anticipation. 

Stop being jealous, you tell yourself, feeling him move on top of you once more. It’s just sex. Fucking good sex. That’s all it has to be. 

Aemond trails wet, hot kisses down your neck, his greedy hands digging into your thighs keeping you spread open so he can rest between them. He’s still wearing pants, you can feel the fabric against your thighs, and pressing against your bare pussy, the sensation driving you insane. 

His mouth trails lower, settling on your right breast, his tongue circling your pebbled nipple. Your back arches off of the bed, hands pulling against your restraints. The leather tightens against your wrists, digging into them painfully. 

Your lips part and a breathy moan escapes your lips as he sucks on your breast. Your legs wrap around his slender waist, desperately trying to get some friction to relieve the ache between your thighs. Your clit drags against the front of his slacks, grinding against his bulge sending sparks of pleasure dancing through your body. You’re nearly pulsating with need as he releases your tit with a wet pop, humming in satisfaction. 

Aemond drags his lips through the valley of your breasts, before repeating his attentions. He moans-fucking moans---as he bites at your tender nipple, ripping a cry from deep in your chest. 

“Look at you grinding against me,” he comments, as your hips buck upwards attempting to meet him, “That wet little pussy is making such a mess on me right now.” 

Your face burns at his comment, but you can’t see what he means. You can only feel how desperately wet you are, the slickness coating your inner thighs. You thrash against your restraints and hear him click his tongue.

“Poor baby,” he says, with mock sympathy, sucking harshly against the side of your breast. He brings his free hand to play with your unattended nipple, tweaking it harshly. 

You’re not sure if it’s the extra attention he’s giving your tits or the blindfold, but you can feel the tension in your gut growing tighter, heat building in your core. You bite your lip, whining desperately, back arching. Aemond lets out a breathless laugh, never stopping his ministrations with your nipple, capturing the other with his lips once more. 

“Are you gonna cum?” he murmurs against your breast and you curse at the vibration it causes, “You better not….you hear me?” Aemond drags his lips over your breast, trailing them up your neck and just below your ear.

His hand leaves your opposite breast, finding its way under your head and tangling in your hair. He tugs the roots harshly, pinpricks of pain and pleasure trickling down your neck as you whimper. Aemond’s breath is hot against your ear as he speaks. 

“You better not fucking cum, you hear me?” he growls, “Not until I tell you to. You can do that, can’t you?” His hand tightens in your hair.

“Yes,” you gasp, “Yes-fuck!��

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, rewarding you with a kiss, “Fuck, you have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

Your cheeks flush, heat rushing to your face at his words. You twist against your restraints as he kisses down your torso once more. 

“I should’ve been more specific,” he muses, kissing right below your belly button, “You’re not cumming unless I’m feeling generous enough to let you.” He kisses the top of your hip bone, squeezing the other side. 

“Is that clear?”

Nothing feels clear, your whole body is on fire. The embers of your previous denied orgasm burn brightly in your throbbing center. Aemond moves lower, pressing your thighs back against the bed. You can feel his breath fanning on your soaked center. 

A sharp slap stings against your dripping pussy and you cry out.

“You’re not nonverbal yet, are you?” he asks with mock concern, “I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“No,” you tell him, “I mean, yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss on top of your mound before dipping his tongue lower, spreading through your silky, wet folds. 

Aemond moans at the taste, dipping lower and letting his tongue tease at the opening of your clenching pussy. His tongue just breaches the tight muscle of your entrance, nose brushing against your aching clit. 

“Fuck,” you mewl as he presses his tongue further inside of you groaning as you clench around the warm, wet muscle. 

He murmurs something, even though his face is buried in your pussy and you can’t even attempt to understand him. All you can do is tug against the restraints and moan pitifully as he has his way with you. Your legs tremble, thighs aching as he presses them back further into the mattress. He decides to release them, bringing his hands under your ass and lifting you slightly off the bed to press even further against your core. 

Aemond removes his tongue to your displeasure, placing an open-mouthed, wet kiss on your pussy, dragging his lips and tongue to circle your clit with slow, calculated strokes. 

“Seven--fuck!” you cry, legs shaking around him as he gently caresses your sensitive button, another chuckle leaving him at your desperation. 

“Oh baby,” he says softly, pressing two long fingers inside of you, “You look so pathetic when you try not to cum.”

“Fu-uck,” you cry as he curls his fingers, beginning to fuck you with them. The wetness between your thighs, paired with the words he’s speaking to you make you flush with humiliation. 

You’ve never been this wet before, not for anyone. You can hear it, hear him fucking you with his fingers. The gentle squishing sounds of your soaked pussy fill the room. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he comments, rubbing against your g-spot. Your spine arches, mouth dropping open, a wanton cry leaving your lips. “Oh, that’s such a good girl.” 

“I think you can take one more, what do you think?” he asks, “C’mon, beg me. Use that big brain of yours, find the words.”

“Yes, yes please,” you beg, “Please give me another, I need another--” you’re cut off as Aemond slips a third digit into your pussy, fucking you with his fingers relentlessly.

“Please let me cum,” you beg, feeling him sit up as he continues to finger you. 

“No,” he says sternly, placing a kiss on your stomach. 

“Please, plea-”

“I said no.”

A frustrated, guttural moan leaves you and Aemond keeps going. You’re terrified for a moment, legs shaking uncontrollably, knowing you won’t be able to stop the wave of pleasure cresting inside of you. Luckily, by some saving grace, Aemond slows his movements, before carefully removing his soaked fingers from your fluttering cunt. 

Disappointment courses through you at another ruined orgasm, followed by the relief of not going against Aemond’s wishes. You can feel tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, dampening the fabric of the makeshift blindfold. 

You feel his soaked fingers press at your lips, parting them as they dip inside your hot mouth. You moan at the taste of your arousal, sucking the lengthy digits much like you did that first night inside the coat closet. 

“Gods you’re so perfect like this,” Aemond croons, his opposite hand moving some sweat-coated hair from your damp forehead, “So eager to please.”

Defiance prickles under your skin and you fight the urge to bite down on his fingers; not hard, but enough. You feel Aemond stiffen as though he can read your thoughts, and feel his hand yank the blindfold from your eyes. You blink, adjusting to the light as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. 

He reaches up, fiddling with the belt, releasing your wrists. Arms sore, you bring them to your chest, hugging them against your breasts. You can’t help but pout, and Aemond watches you carefully, eyes narrowing. 

“Tell you what,” he muses, taking your wrists in his hands and massaging them gently, “I’m feeling rather generous today. Even though you broke into my room, and went snooping through my belongings.”

You watch him carefully, chest heaving. Aemond continues to massage your wrists, eyes glued to your breasts, watching them rise and fall with each breath you take. You swallow, eyes dropping to his erection that strains against his slacks. Your cheeks burn as you notice the wet patch on the front, no doubt caused by you grinding against him. 

“I’ll give you the necklace,” he says, letting go of your wrists and curling his hands around the meat of your upper thighs, “Or I’ll let you cum. Your choice.”

You clench at his words, clit throbbing desperately between your legs. You want to cum so badly that it's nearly painful. You whine pitifully as he squeezes your thighs. 

“I’ll let you think about it,” he assures you, that stupid smirk reappearing on his face, “On your hands and knees, get that pretty pussy in the air.”

Aemond releases you sliding off the bed and undoing his trousers. Shaking, you turn over, propping yourself on your hands and knees. You feel Aemond’s hands once more as he maneuvers you on the bed, fisting your hair and yanking your head up. 

Your eyes meet your reflection in the grand mirror, Aemond naked behind you, his well-endowed cock fully hard and weeping. He brings his lips to your ear. 

“I want you to watch,” he whispers, releasing his grip on your hair. 

He moves instead to spread your ass cheek, opening you wide for him. You feel his cock press against you, the fat head sliding through your soaked folds, dragging it teasingly from your center to your clit. 

“Aemond,” you whimper, “Please--”

Slowly he sinks into your wet heat; the girth of him stretching you out deliciously. Your whole body trembles, your head falling forward as he bottoms out; your walls pulsating around him. Aemond runs his hands over the swell of your ass, down your sides before taking both wrists in his large hands and pulling you backward. The force drags your head up, meeting his eyes in the mirror once more.

“I told….you….to….watch,” he says, punctuating each word with a hard slap of his hips against your ass; cock sliding easily in and out of your soaked pussy. 

Small mewls leave your lips as he continues to hold you, never losing the rhythm of the brutal pace he’s set. 

“Why’d you want that horrid thing back anyway?” Aemond asks, sounding displeased, “I gave you a necklace the last time we saw each other.”

Your eyes are wide, tears threatening to spill over from the pleasurable current roaring in your belly. Aemond smirks at your lack of response, releasing your arms. They fall limply to the bed, and you force your shaky forearms to keep yourself propped up. 

“Don’t you remember?” he asks, fingers digging into your thighs, “You ungrateful little slut.” 

You do remember, how could you possibly forget? You’d had to take another shower to remove his warm, sticky spend from your neck and chest. 

“Perhaps you’d like a new one,” Aemond muses, leaning on top of you, and wrapping his hands around your neck.

Not one, but both of them rest comfortably around your throat, flexing along the sides. His cock continues to slide effortlessly in and out of your tight, wet heat; cockhead rubbing incessantly against your sensitive walls and bullying your sweet spot. 

You try to say his name, try to find any words, but they come out a garbled, breathless moan.

“Do you like it?” Aemond asks, flexing his hands against your throat, “Don’t you look so pretty?”

His hands---gods his hands---look fucking perfect around your neck, as tears spill freely down your cheeks. His veins are prominent on the back of his hands, even more so when he flexes them, slightly cutting off your air supply. You’re too light-headed and cock drunk to answer him with anything other than a wanton, breathy moan. 

“Thank me,” he murmurs, rutting against you. The coil in your gut winds tighter and tighter.

“Wha--” you manage, mind clouded by lust.

“Thank me for your gift,” he says, flexing his fingers for emphasis. He tightens his grip momentarily, before releasing some pressure, allowing you the opportunity to answer him. 

Aemond lifts a brow expectantly, slowly rolling his hips against you. 

“Thank you,” you gasp, “Thank you, Aemond.”

Aemond hums appreciatively, fucking you with renewed enthusiasm. You close your eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to stop the roaring of blood rushing in your ears, your orgasm speeding toward you at full force.

“You’re close aren’t you?” he grunts, “What’ll it be, baby?”

“Please, please I wanna cum,” you whine, “Please let me cum, fu-uck!” 

Aemond pulls you up flush against his chest as soon as you say the words, fucking up into you. He keeps one hand on your throat, the other dipping between your legs to rub circles around your clit. 

“That’s it, fucking cum all over my cock,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “That’s a good little slut, there you go.”

Your body tense, legs shuddering as you’re thrown into your release, the coil in your gut snapping as you clench around his thick cock. You’re crying from the intensity, a desperate sob escaping you at the prolonged release. As your high subsides, Aemond releases you, turning you on your back.

Your whole body tingles as he climbs on top of you, sliding back into your fluttering pussy in one smooth motion. You gasp as his cock rubs against your g-spot, as he lazily begins thrusting into you once more.

“Aem-mond,” you moan, as he slings one leg over his shoulder, spreading you wider.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, smirking as he slings your other leg over his shoulder, making himself a necklace of his own, “You wanted to cum so bad, you can do it again, can’t you?”

Your mouth is open in a silent scream, watery eyes looking up at him, drinking in the satisfied smirk he wears. Your whole body tenses, the beginning of another orgasm building in your abdomen. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he taunts, “C’mon don’t stop now. You’ve been such a good little slut for me, you deserve it.”

“Please, please-”

“Yes you do,” he croons, “There you go. I feel this little pussy tightening around me. Squeezing me so good.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, a strangled cry leaving your lips as his thumb brushes against your swollen clit, sending you over the edge once more. Aemond doesn’t slow his hips, he keeps fucking you into the mattress as you’re pretzled over him.

“That’s a good girl,” he sing-songs, balls slapping against your ass as he increases the pace of his thrusts, “Don’t stop now, it feels so good doesn’t it?”

A sharp cry leaves your lips and you force yourself to nod, unable to formulate words in your blissed-out state. Euphoria pulses through your veins and floods your body with warmth. It’s like you’re burning with pleasure, your entire being aflame. 

“I can’t,” you moan, though your body betrays you. You can feel the tightening sensation in your gut, the tingling feeling of another orgasm building. 

“Yes you can,” Aemond insists, “C’mon you wanted it so bad, you greedy little thing. Take it, c’mon fucking take it.”

Your thighs shake around his neck, and Aemond’s jaw slacks as you clench around him. 

“Yes, oh fu-uck, yes!,” you whimper, and Aemond’s cock twitches inside you as you’re thrown over the edge once more making your vision go white. 

Aemond thrusts a few more times before you feel his cock pulsate, and warmth blooms deep in your abdomen. He lets out a grunt as he finishes, followed by an elongated moan that sends a shiver down your spine right down to your core. His head falls against your shoulder, peppering the damp flesh with soft kisses. 

He stays like that for a moment, before moving off of you. 

“Don’t move,” he says, walking toward the bathroom. 

You couldn’t if you wanted to. You hear the water run and watch as Aemond returns with a damp washcloth. His cock sways as he walks toward you, glistening with your release. Gently, he cleans you up, taking care to avoid your abused clit. 

After several moments, you find your bearings. Reality hits you, and you grab your swimsuit, throwing it back on hastily. 

“This can’t happen again,” you insist, though your trembling legs betray you, “Not with everyone here-”

“You’re not really in a position to make demands,” Aemond says, matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?”

“I like this arrangement,” he tells you, “Both you and I are in relationships that benefit the family. That’s fine, dutiful even.” Aemond brushes a lock of hair from your face, letting his hand rest on your cheek, “That doesn’t mean we need to deny ourselves.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You can barely think with his hands on you. You bring your hand up quickly, slapping him away. Aemond gives nothing away; no flash of hurt or rejection is evident on his chiseled face. 

“I’m not denying anything,” you tell him, the lie bitter-tasting.

Aemond only stares those blue and violet eyes of his boring into yours. His gaze reignites the fire in your belly, the primal want aching deep in your bones. 

Motherfucker. 

You hate him. 

You hate him.

Yet you want him all the same. 

“I don’t believe you,” he says softly.

“Believe what you want,” you tell him, “Jace is good for me. He’s a good person.”

“Ah yes, Jacaerys Velaryon. Your conversations must be thrilling,” he says, stepping closer to you, “I know you. Whether you like it or not, whether you admit it or not. I know what makes your brain tick inside that pretty little head of yours. You may fool the press, hells you may fool the rest of the family; but you can’t fool me.”

You don’t answer him. Ignoring the tight feeling in your chest you simply grab your cover-up and throw it around your shoulders leaving his room.

note: as always, likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated, but never expected! if you'd like to be notified when I post please follow and turn on notifications for @sapphire-writes-updates in lieu of a taglist!

[unsolved-duvall]

I know — I'm sure, it's fact, that Eddie would accept and listen to any kinky confession of hi SO without judgment, and he'd find it kinda hot. Like he would be so turned on only by you talking about what makes you all hot and bothered, he would encourage you so much you'd just keep talking and talking and talking and he'd be sooooo red, and soooo so hard-🙈 sorry, is it too much?

𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 - 𝐞.𝐦. (𝟏𝟖+)

Nothing is ever too much on this blog, Eddie has a chokehold on all of us, it’s okay <3

Eddie would practically melt hearing you talk about your kinks. The man would almost stop breathing. He thinks it’s so fucking hot that you can be so open and honest with him about what you like, what you want him to do to you, or with you.

And imagine that you maybe aren’t the type to be so open about these things normally. Maybe you’ve been dating a while, the sex is good. Really good. Eddie is the only man you’ve been with who has actually made you cum. Maybe before him you even struggled to get yourself there. But Eddie will take as long as he needs to have you a moaning, whimpering mess underneath him. He refuses to stop until your legs are shaking and all you can say is his name, and he’s barley holding it together himself. “Yeah angel? Fuck you look so hot when you cum, Jesus”

And that’s good. You love having sex with Eddie, you’re practically horny teenagers. If you have any free time, you’re having sex. Whatever that may consist of changes depending on the mood you’re both in, but it always ends with you clinging to him whilst he tells you how good you were for him.

And Eddie loves that. He loves being in control. He’s so grateful for the amount of trust you put in him. He knows that letting someone else have so much control over your body is a scary thing, and he’s always checking in. If he thinks you’re too far gone, that you can’t properly consent anymore, he’s stopping. No questions asked. Even if you’re blabbering away, begging him to keep going. He won’t do it. “Nuh-uh baby, you can’t even remember your safe word. We’re done. You were so good for me baby, I promise” He needs you to be completely there and with it when he makes you fall apart underneath him.

And aftercare with Eddie? Fuck.

He will never skip aftercare. He knows how much you need it every time. But especially if you’ve been in sub space, he knows that drop is going to come. The rush of emotions, the vulnerability that comes after being in that headspace. And Eddie needs it to, needs you to know how much he loves you, he needs to know how much you love him. “I love you so much baby, thank you for trusting me.” “Love you too, Eds”

So sure, the sex is fucking hot. But what’s even hotter? When one day you start to tell Eddie about your kinks. He had noticed how slowly you had started opening up to him, telling him what you liked and wanted to try during sex. But one day it’s like the dam burst and you needed to tell him everything. Wanted to tell him everything. So you did.

And Eddie’s certain he’s died and gone to heaven but holy fuck hearing you talk like that has him gripping the arm of the couch to stop him from pinning you underneath him and fucking you until you can’t remember your own name.

But he won’t do that.

Because hearing you tell him your kinks, your turn ons, every dirty thought you’ve ever had? Fuck.

A couple of times he noticed you start to go red, your voice going quieter and your hands fiddling with each other. You were nervous. He knew all your tells, of course he did. But he needed you to keep talking. He needed to know how he could make you fall apart for him.

So he’d encourage you.

“Yeah? Keep going, angel.”

“Fuck baby why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“You’re killing me here sweetheart.”

And you tell him everything. Everything. And Eddie’s making a mental list of everything you say. Because he will do every single thing you’ve told him about. He’s determined to try every kink, every turn on with you. Some of them he’s never even thought about himself, but with you sat in front of him he’s pretty sure he’d sell his soul to the devil if you told him that’s what you wanted.

By the time you’ve finished talking Eddie’s barely breathing anymore. He’s sure he’s never been this hard before. He’s also sure that he’s never loved someone more than he loves you. Not because of the sex, but because someone trusts him enough to be so vulnerable with him.

By the end of the night you’re pinned underneath him on his bed and he’s looking up at you from between your thighs. You don’t know how many times he’s fucked you already. How many sloppy make out sessions you’ve had between rounds, how many times he’s eaten you out. But there is one thing you know.

He’s going to be the death of you. You’re certain of that.