#They weren’t wrong about the first part.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 18 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: You find out why you have been feeling so sick lately. Some things are good. Some things are bad. And other things are straight-up cruel.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues/abortion, kidney failure, poisoning, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The voices were so soft that you barely even heard them, but you knew they were there.

You were probably dreaming. But what were you dreaming about? What had you dreamed? Were you already fully awake – awake enough to forget what you had been dreaming about?

A sharp pain in your arm made your eyes flutter open and you glanced around in panic. It suddenly all came back again, quick and unyielding.

The blood. He had to be dead. But, God, why was he dead? And why had he followed you?

Your gaze flew around the room, helplessly trying to recognize where the hell you were, when it suddenly dawned on you. You weren’t home.

Maybe you were indeed still dreaming.

Or maybe it was a nightmare you were caught in.

You gasped loudly and tried to sit up, only to feel a pair of gentle, yet firm hands, push you back down.

“Stop, I- What-“

“Shh.” He kept you gently pressed against the bed and regarded you with a look so tender and concerned, it immediately increased your panic. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re in the hospital. You’re alright.”

You glanced around, only to then realize it. The white walls, the neon lights, the rustling and the people around you. One looked like a doctor, another one like a nurse, but she left quickly.

It slowly came back to you. The wardrobe. The dizziness. The god-awful amount of blood. Your first impulse was to ask him what had happened, but you kept quiet. Everything was just too much – and his expression was by far the worst about it. His brows were furrowed in concern and his eyes were soft and cautious, as if he expected you to pass out again any moment.

He hadn’t even managed to get properly changed. You still saw the faint traces of blood on his shirt, right under his jacket. And even his hands had that light, red glow of someone who had just butchered a lamb.

The faint cut right above his eyebrow was new. And it made your heart clench.

“What happened?” You whispered hoarsely. “How long was I-“

“The doctor was just about to explain.” He said as he gently squeezed one of your hands in his both. “I told him that you don’t speak Korean. He’ll explain it in English.”

Your eyelids fluttered in confusion. He was behaving so…odd.

Of course he had been gentle before, no question. But this was so entirely unlike him. He was so soft-spoken and careful. It was hardly the same man.

When the doctor cleared his throat, you snapped out of your thoughts and looked up at him instead. You were filled with dread, far more so than ever. Something was wrong, you could tell. A part of you expected him to tell you that you were going to die soon. Who knew? Maybe you would. It wouldn’t have surprised you. That was just what your life was like. Predictable and disappointing.

“We ran a few blood tests, miss, as I just now mentioned to your husband.”

Husband. The word rang in your ears.

You nodded.

The doctor, a man in his middle-age with kind eyes and a certain softness in his voice, sighed softly and slowly sat down on the chair by your bed.

“I have bad news and good ones. I would like to start with the bad news.”

You felt him tense beside you and his hold on your hands tightened ever-so-slightly.

By the time you looked up to meet his gaze, you realized, he wasn’t looking at you. Instead he was staring at the doctor before you, his eyes fixed on the man and his body rigid on his own chair.

You nodded again.

Oh God, what now?

“The reason for your breakdown was a circulatory collapse. That in itself isn’t all too bad. Your husband informed me of the fight you witnessed.” The blood on him. Clever. “That level of stress, combined with your high blood pressure, were what caused it. I ran a few blood tests and that’s where it gets complicated. I’m sorry to inform you that one of your kidneys is in the process of failing.”

You felt a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You had always known this would come someday. But you couldn’t help but ask.

“The slow one or the other one?” You asked quietly.

You felt him stiffen beside you and the pressure on your hand was almost painful by now. He stared at you with an incredulous look. “What do you mean the slow one?”

You found yourself staring at the doctor instead. Maybe you should have told him, you suddenly realized.

The doctor kept staring between the both of you, before he hesitantly settled his gaze on you again, after you just so openly ignored your husband, waiting for his answer.

“I think your wife is referring to her birth defect. She was born with a kidney that’s rather small and has a hard time keeping up the process of cleaning her blood, as while the other one is normal in size. But unfortunately, that’s not the one failing.”

You closed your eyes. “So, the good one.”

“That’s the thing. I noticed something about it. I found your blood levels concerning, so I ran a few more tests. There’s a lot of protein in your urine. Have you had a history of using the bathroom often?”

“Yes.” You said quietly. “But it was always like that.”

“Did it lessen over the years?”

That made you pause and you took a moment to actually think about it. Looking back, as a child, you had to use the bathroom at least every hour. But these last few years…

“Yes, I think so. Why?”

He nodded with a solemn expression on his face. “I assumed so. I have a bad idea about what might be going on. I’m sorry to say this, but neither of your kidneys was working properly. They were just barely keeping you alive at this point.”

“Wait.” His voice was so soft that you barely even heard it, but it was enough to make the doctor’s head snap up.

“Yes?”

“So, she was born with one kidney damaged. And the other one is failing right now.” His grip on your hand slackened and so did his expression. You slowly turned your head to look at him and the sight of him nearly made you go pale. He was pale. His eyes were and his hair a mess. You had never seen him look like this before. He looked so…so…afraid. “Did…Did something cause her kidney failing? Did someone cause-“ He stopped and you felt the way his hands were shaking.

And you suddenly realized what he was asking. What he was thinking.

Did I cause her kidney to fail? Is it me who almost killed her?

You quickly reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, but all he could do was stare at the doctor with the same horrified look.

The doctor leaned back in his chair, clutching the papers in his hand and he sighed deeply.

And to your horror, he nodded. “I’m afraid it were indeed external circumstances that caused your wife’s kidney to give in. I’m afraid someone might have poisoned her.”

For a moment everything was quiet, except for the soft humming of the machines, the slow drip of the IV. But then something in his face changed. The fear turned to the same murderous look he held whenever he got so ungodly angry.

“Poisoned her?” He said slowly.

The doctor nodded again. “I’ve found her sodium chloride levels are concerningly high. And unless she hasn’t been eating spoonsful of salt every day for months or years of her life, someone might have slipped her a preparation.”

His expression changed yet again and now he looked at you with a mixture of fury and pleading; pleading to believe him that it hadn’t been him who tried to poison you. But you were already more than aware.

“I know who did it.” You said quietly. Both of them stared at you in shock.

“What?” Asked the doctor.

You nodded slowly. “My mother. She gave me medicine for my slow kidney since I turned fourteen. I never questioned it.”

The doctor’s expression turned sour at the mention of that. “If that truly is so, we have to inform authorities and-“

“My mother is dead.” You said without flinching.

“Oh, that’s…alright, then. However, it would make sense. It’s good you stopped taking the medication. Had you continued to take it, it might have caused a cardiac infarction. Your husband said you just recently turned twenty-five. That’s not normal. It was highly intentional. Your mother caused great harm on you, miss.”

You took a slow breath to try and keep yourself from crying, but it was useless. Tears clouded your vision and you hid your face behind your hands.

Despite the tension in his body, the anger coursing through his veins, his hands were gentle in your hair.

“It’s okay.” He whispered in a mixture of furious and tender. “She won’t ever harm you again. No one will.”

It took you a few minutes to finally calm down again, but when you did, he gently pulled your hands from your face and looked at you with the same concerned look.

“So, what does this mean now?” He asked the doctor. “What will become of her?”

The man looked down at the files on his lap and shook his head. “On the long term, she will need a kidney transplant.”

It was the worst thing he could have said. The worst. A quick death was what you always anticipated and hoped for. Him losing his patience and shooting you in a fit of anger didn’t sound half as bad as that did. You knew how these things ended. You’d get on a list and you’d never ever get a kidney in time. And if you did, your body would fight it and you’d end up dying anyway.

He seemed to have the same thoughts, because you felt him freeze. His grip on your hand stayed the same, but all the color drained from his face. “Transplant?”

The doctor nodded. “On the long term, yes. We already put you on the waiting list, miss. We’ll do our best, I promise you and I stand by my promise. You’ve been through so much and you’re so young. We’ll do our best for you. Until then…you’ll have to go with dialysis.”

You were crying silent tears, begging and praying on the inside.

God, why me and why that? Why couldn’t it have been me who fell on the trainlines instead?

“Dialysis.” Your so-called husband responded in a breathless whisper. “That…that’s not so bad, right? It’s not like chemotherapy.”

The doctor nodded. “It’s still a great effort for her body to take, but it’s not comparable to cancer. She’ll be weakened, yes, but she’ll be able to perform basic tasks and take care of herself. And we’ll be working to find a kidney for her as fast as possible. A kidney isn’t as hard to find as a heart would be. It’s not likely. You might even get lucky and have a donor in your circle.”

He released a slow breath and drew gentle circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

“You said you had good news for us?” He asked quietly.

The doctor nodded slowly and set the papers aside. His expression calmed somewhat and he regarded you both with a long look, before his gaze settled on your face.

“You’re seven weeks pregnant.”

He might as well have punched you, because that was exactly how you felt.

You wanted to react, in any way really. But you had no idea how you felt. How you were supposed to feel. You only knew that you were terribly afraid.

And so you slowly looked over to the man hunched beside you, trying to gauge his own reaction. Was he happy about this? Was he angry? His face gave nothing away. He looked dumbstruck. And for the first since you knew him, he looked genuinely terrified.

“Pregnant.” He whispered.

His gaze slowly wandered to you and back to the doctor. “But her kidney-“

“It is not impossible to carry a child in her condition. There may be a few complications and the risk is slightly higher than it would be if she was completely healthy, but it isn’t impossible.”

“What does slightly higher mean? Higher chance to die? No, forget it.” He bit out. “We’re not doing this.”

“Forgive me, but-“

“No.” He said firmly. “I’m not going to let her die over this.”

The doctor cleared his throat and nodded. “I understand that. And what you’re going to do will be you and your wife’s own decision in the end. I’d just like to make the following clear: She can still take the dialysis, even while pregnant. We could perform a peritoneal dialysis. It would have to be done every day, but she could do it at home. It’s rather uncomplicated.”

He was still rigid beside you and just as he was about to snap at the doctor again, you spoke in a quiet voice, causing him to stop himself.

“Would it harm the baby?”

The doctor smiled a gentle, reassuring smile. “No.”

“And the baby wouldn’t have any disadvantages due to my lack of a functioning kidney?”

“There’s always the possibility that the baby might come early. We’d have to keep a keen eye on its development, of course. It could be that it gets born with a birth weight of under 2.500 gram. That’s not uncommon for cases like yours, but it by far wouldn’t be the first one.”

You felt your insides twist painfully. Everything was simply too much. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact that your own mother tried to murder you for some reason and now you were here. Pregnant. Talking about things like birth weight.

“Am I-“

“I told you, this isn’t up for discussion.” His firm voice suddenly interrupted you.

You bit your lip and looked up at the doctor. “Could I get a moment alone with my husband?”

He immediately got up and gathered the documents surrounding him. “Of course. Take as much time as you need.”

The moment the door shut behind him, he shot you a crazed look. “There’s no way in hell you’re actually considering this.”

You stayed silent. A part of you wanted to fight him on this, but you felt weak. Too weak to argue, too weak to even speak. Something had changed, something had changed so drastically that you didn’t even know what you wanted anymore. The only thing you truly knew…

“I can’t kill it.”

He took a deep breath and sat down beside you again. “We’re not killing it. It doesn’t understand what’s going on. It is too tiny to feel pain.”

“But it’s our baby.” The words slipped out in a pained whisper before you could stop yourself and the effect your words had on him was immediately recognizable. His eyes softened the same instant.

“I know.” He said quietly and reached for your hand again. “And I’m dying to have a baby with you. Really, I am. But not if it means you might die trying to bear it.”

“But the doctor said-“

He gently cupped your face in his palms and made you look up at him. “You’re sick.” His voice sounded as firm as it was gentle. His eyes were practically pleading with you. “You’re sick and I can’t lose you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and gently circled his wrist in your hand. You were probably being manipulative, you were biased anyway. Unlike your mother, you immediately loved your child. You didn’t understand it. Didn’t even fully realize that it was truly there, inside you, but you loved it. And you couldn’t kill it. Never.

You gently got hold of his hand and guided it down your chest, until it reached your abdomen and you pressed it down softly.

His eyes followed your movement and he seemed to hold his breath. He wanted it just as much as you did, if not more. You saw it in his eyes. The tenderness. The pain. The instant protectiveness. Everything you loved about him.

The man who cut your hair and hit you when you spoke out of line, he was gone. The man who took your name and your identity from you, the man who threatened you, the man who scared you – he was nowhere to be found.

He was still the same, dangerous man underneath it all. You knew that. There was no way you could ever forget it. After seeing him murder someone twice – and maybe a third time – you knew what he was.

But in that moment? In that moment, he was somebody else.

The husband type of guy.

Your guy.

Your man.

And you were his. Only his.

He released a slow breath and his gaze slowly wandered up from your stomach to your face.

“I can’t.” He said quietly.

When you shot him a confused frown, he sighed and leaned back, but he kept his gentle grip on you.

“I can’t lose you.”

You sighed softly and gently tightened your grip on his hand. “But I might die anyway.”

His eyes darkened at that. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare even think that.” He hissed.

“It’s true.” You said quietly. “How high is the chance that I get a kidney in time? How many people live in Korea?”

“Don’t think about that now.” The determination is his voice was almost reassuring. Almost. Like he knew something that you didn’t. “I’ll find a way.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “All you need to do is focus on yourself, alright? Nothing else. I’m going to take care of everything else.”

“Okay.” You said quietly, even though you were not even close to convinced. What would he take care of? What did that mean? You had a bad feeling about it. “But I’m not having an abortion.”

He exhaled slowly. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”

You smiled weakly. “And you hate that about me, don’t you?”

Surprisingly he returned the smile and gently touched your chin. “I love that about you.”

His gaze wandered back down to where his hand lay and he slowly shook his head. “Are you really sure about this? It won’t be easy.”

You bit your lip and nodded.

His brows furrowed in thought and he didn’t meet your gaze yet. “I’m going to be a terrible father.”

That sent a spark of pain through you, because you heard the sorrow in his voice. What a silly man he was. Didn’t he see it?

“No. You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

He scoffed and attempted to look away, but your hand shot out and you gently touched his cheek, guiding him to look back at you. He seemed surprised, but he still let you.

“You are going to be a wonderful father.” You said slowly and firmly. The firmness in your voice took you by surprise, but you didn’t back down. For some reason, you were more than convinced of your own words. “You’re going to be everything your own father wasn’t.”

Under the gentle touch of your hand, you felt him tense, but he didn’t look away and it wasn’t anger in his eyes. It was uncertainty. Fear, maybe. And a whole lot of disbelief.

“How would you know that?”

“I know how it feels to be loved by you.” You said quietly. It was true. He was a twisted freak, someone who had missed not many an opportunity to hurt you. But at the same time, he protected you. He cared about you and he went to extreme lengths for you. “Wouldn’t you die for me?” You didn’t understand your own question or why you asked it, but something made you. A higher power, something that took control over your mind and tongue.

His frown deepened and he tightened his grip on you. “What a dumb question.”

You nodded and gently caressed his cheek. “That’s why I’m sure.” You whispered. “I want this baby. I want our baby. Because I…I trust you to take care of me. Of us.”

He kept staring at you with the same thoughtful, pained frown, until he finally closed his eyes and gently buried his face against your midsection.

“You’re such a stubborn idiot.” He murmured.

You smiled and gently buried your fingers in his hair. “Such a harsh way to talk to the mother of your child.”

You heard his smile, even though you didn’t see it. “I have a few conditions though.”

He looked back at you with a stern glint. You raised a brow and waited for him to continue.

“You don’t do anything. All you’re going to do for the time being is lay in your bed, read your books and nothing more. You’ll leave everything to me and you’ll listen to me. Understood?”

For some reason, that made you smirk. “Or else what?”

His eyes darkened. “Understood?”

Your smile softened and you nodded. “Understood.”

He sighed deeply and regarded you with a careful look. He still didn’t seem all too convinced.

“Alright.” He murmured.

“One more thing.” Your eyes shot open and you looked at him, the softness and warmth gone from your tone. “What happened today?”

He tensed again and averted his gaze. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“What? But that guy who followed us-“

“Shh.��� He shot you a glare. “Stop it. No one followed us.”

You frowned incredulously. “I’m not letting you shut me out like this. Where did the blood come from? What did he want?” You said lowly, looking over his shoulder to make sure there was no one listening in on your conversation.

“This is neither the time nor the place.”

“You said something about my mother.” You suddenly remembered. “Before I passed out. Tell me the truth. I’m not joking. What about my mother?”

He clenched his jaw. He was losing his patience, but so were you. “I didn’t-“

Now it was you who shot him a glare. “Tell me.”

“Listen.” He said slowly as he leaned back and shot you another stern look. “I can’t have you stressed out right now. Did you forget what happened last time?” He tugged gently on the IV as if to remind you.

But you didn’t let him and you caught his hand in your own. “Tell me. Right now. Why did he follow us? Did he-“ Your eyes widened and your grip on him loosened. “Oh God.” You whispered. “Oh God, she sent him.”

He immediately caught you by the shoulders as you tried to sit up. “Calm down, okay? Stop this. It’s not that dramatic.”

“She sent him.” Your voice grew shaky in panic. The same woman who had systematically tried to poison you. The same woman who marked you. Who isolated you. The woman who was supposed to love you and give her life for you. “Did you kill him?”

“No.” He said quietly.

“No?”

He shook his head. “He’s in the wardrobe.”

You felt yourself go pale. “What? In the-“

“Don’t. Panic.” He said firmly. “I’m not letting him leave like that. I have plans for him. I’m going to find out what he knows and how he found it out. And I’m not letting him get back to her. I have his phone and everything else.”

The dizziness came back the same instant and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Hey, hey.” He murmured and gently touched your cheek. “It’s alright. Don’t worry. You’ll never see her again. I promise you. Over my dead body. And you don’t have to see him either. All of that is nothing but a matter I’m going to take care of.”

You nodded weakly, but inside you felt nauseous. How on earth did she find out?

“And the blood?” You whispered.

He scoffed. “The bastard tried to inject me something. And he even had a taser. What kind of man would use a taser?”

You took a shaky breath. “But he didn’t?”

He shook his head. “You think I’d let him?” He smiled bitterly. “When I looked outside, I saw his gun and I knew something was off. I immediately knew he wanted something from you. Why else would he have followed us? I also have no idea how he found the right apartment by the first try. There are many things I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out. But you.” He shot you a stern look. “You are going to stay in bed and do nothing but take care of the little one right here.” He gently prodded your bellybutton with his index finger and it almost made you smile.

If it wasn’t for your mother, you would have smiled.

“I can’t go back to her.” You whispered. “I’ll die before I do.”

He inhaled slowly and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “No one’s taking you away from me. And anyone who tries, will see.”

After a while, the doctor came back. He explained a few more things and after running a bunch of tests, he announced you wouldn’t have to go through dialysis yet. He’d have to check your kidney progress twice every week and there would be no way to avoid it, by the time your slow kidney decided to give up entirely.

But until then, you’d check your blood pressure three times every day and unless it got worse – you were free to act normal. Of course everything was a bit complicated so he prohibited you from taking any demanding tasks. But so far, and unless you weren’t taking the dialysis, your pregnancy wasn’t high-risk. He said that he would prefer it, if you took things easy – “Oh, she will, don’t worry. I’m not letting her leave the bed.” – but he gave you green light for light tasks and intimacy. Before you left, he said something to the doctor in Korean. They both glanced at you quickly before they slowly left the room, leaving you there in confusion and suspicion.

The drive home was rather quiet. Both of you were lost in your thoughts and your fears, but he kept a possessive grip on your thigh the whole way.

“You can’t die, you know.” He suddenly said. “If you did, I’d follow you and kick your ass.”

You smiled softly and looked up at him, but his gaze was trained on the street and there was not a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I won’t.” You said quietly. “Who else would show you how to change a diaper?”

Now, that made him smirk. “As if you know that.”

You laughed quietly. “We’ll learn it together.”

He took a turn and parked in the car park. When he was done, he slowly turned to face you.

“Are you really sure you want to go through with this?”

“I am.” You said gently.

He took a breath and nodded. “Alright.” Just as he was about to open the door, you held him back.

“What did you ask the doctor?”

His brows shot up in surprise. “What?”

“You know what I mean. Before we left, you spoke in Korean. What was that about?”

He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze. He got worse and worse when it came to lying to you.

“Come on, let’s get inside. I have to take care of a few things.”

___________________________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: Surprise, surprise. Hehe. Also, guys, I have a feeling I'm stuck between half the readers wanting more angst and drama and the other half wishing for more fluff. Might have to throw some flashbacks in?

Love you!

[chleem]

Wonder what is going on with casual!drew and reader in valentine’s :////

⋆.˚ Warnings: angst w/ a side of fluff (read at own caution

word count: 3.5k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

As you made your way to checkout, you weren’t so sure anymore. 

It was your first Valentines’ with Drew, your casual relationship for…more than five months now. 

He was next to you, mindlessly pushing the cart, AirPods in one ear, eyes focused on the snack aisle. 

You couldn’t help but feel…disappointed? Sad? Weird?

It was casual, yes, but it was Valentine’s day. 

Valentine’s wasn’t just another day. It was the day, the one where people at least tried to show they cared—whether with a gesture or a simple acknowledgment. 

And while you’ve convinced yourself you were fine with the way things were between you two, a small part of you had hoped for something, anything. 

A hint that maybe, just maybe, Drew felt differently about you today.

No. He didn’t. 

Starting with this morning, no text. No call. 

Well, only one, and it was ‘dinner at yours?’

Okay, you had to admit, that got you a bit excited, because maybe he got something planned? 

But as the hours passed, there was nothing.

You didn’t see him at any point during the day, except for lunch. He was with his friends, laughing, hanging out, acting like… he would, on a normal day. But then, at one point, you could’ve sworn he flirted with that one girl.

The hours leading up were just bumping into couples in hallways, boring lectures, etc. 

And now here you were, walking through the aisles of the supermarket with Drew, sharing AirPods, grabbing groceries like it was…just another day. 

Maybe it was. You weren’t sure. 

As you walked toward the checkout, it was clear—he hadn’t even mentioned it. 

You glanced at him again, trying to gauge if maybe he was just oblivious, or if this was exactly what he wanted—no pressure, no expectations. 

Causal, casual, casual. 

But what you felt wasn’t relief; it was…you weren’t sure. 

Finally, mustering up the courage, you nudge his side, getting his attention. 

You could feel his blue eyes staring down at you as you both neared the end of the aisle. 

"Drew?" Your voice barely above a whisper as you looked ahead. God, were you nervous?

“Yeah?” His hand pushes on the cart, fingers drumming gently to the beat of I’ll make love to you. 

“…do you know what day it is?”

“Friday,” he answers almost immediately, and you can hear the slight confusion in his voice. 

Oh wow. So…he really doesn’t know?

“Right,” you say, your voice almost flat as you try to play it cool. “Friday.”

“Yeah?” This yeah was definitely a confused one. 

You and Drew exit the snacks aisle, making your way to the checkout counters. It's silent for a few steps, the air thick with the awkwardness, until—

"Something wrong?”

His voice is softer now, a little more tentative. He’s trying to figure out what’s going on, and part of you wants to just brush it off—tell him it’s no big deal.

You glance over at him, his blue eyes searching your face for some kind of answer, but you’re not sure of what to say.

Tell him and have him get you something last minute? 

That would…feel much more worse. 

But just as you’re about to settle on saying nothing, the seasonal aisle catches your eye. 

Aka, The Valentine’s aisle. Bright reds and pinks, heart-shaped boxes, plush bears, and cards scattered across the shelves. Everything screams Valentine’s and stands out like a neon sign, as if to make sure you’re fully aware that today was supposed to be special for someone.

It feels like the universe is saying, Here, you can’t ignore it anymore. 

Drew follows your gaze,

“Oh,”

He whispers, as if realizing. 

You watch his back, your eyes scanning the t-shirt that outlines his muscles, hoping to see anything—anything that might indicate he’s getting it now. Maybe a shift in his posture, a tightening in his shoulders, like he’s finally clued in. 

But no. Nothing. 

He stands there for a beat, his hands still resting loosely on the cart. 

In your AirPods, it’s now playing What a girl wants. 

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, until he turns back around, his eyes meeting yours, and there’s…a smile on his lips. 

A smile that, for the first time today, seems like maybe he does get it. 

“Okay,” his hands leaves the cart, wrapping around your waist. He pulls you close to him, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

Drew’s height towers over you, and he’s looking down at you with that, signature- almost smitten look of his. 

You rest your arms on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat matching the quick thrum of yours.

Is he gonna say it? Will you be my Valentine-

“Happy Valentine’s, y/n.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

But then, your eyebrows furrow, and the frown on your face betrays you, unable to hide the disappointment that creeps in.

You expected something more. You wanted him to say it, to choose you in that moment, to make this first Valentine’s together something that felt significant. 

And yet, it’s just… casual.

You pull back slightly, giving him a soft, but hesitant smile, the silence hanging heavier than before. You can’t help but wonder if he realizes how much this matters—or if it matters to him at all.

Drew seems to notice, and the hands on your waist gives it a slight pinch, “what?”

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the embarrassment that’s clouding your chest. 

Fuck- you really thought he was gonna say it?

No- no, it’s just casual. 

“Happy Valentine’s,” you whisper to him, barely above a murmur. Without giving him a chance to respond, you pull away from his arms, your hands gripping the cart.

Suddenly, you just want to get out of here. You don’t even know why— you just do. 

The wheels of the cart squeak as you push it forward, your pace quickening slightly as you make your way toward the checkout. 

Drew doesn’t follow immediately, but you can hear his footsteps behind you as he catches up.

His hands overlap yours on the cart, and you feel his chest press against your back as you continue toward the long line of checkout. His presence is undeniable now—warm and familiar.

He doesn't say anything at first, and for a moment, it feels like he's waiting for you to make the first move, to give him a sign that everything’s okay—or to tell him what’s wrong.

His fingers tighten around the handle of the cart, his hand large compared to yours. 

“It’s Valentine's day, right?” 

You can hear his smile, even though you’re not looking directly at him.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It is.”

“Okay…you mad?”

The line moves forward, so Drew gently pushes you and the cart forward. 

His breath hits your ear every time with how close he is, and you could feel yourself going limp, harder to stay upset now. 

“I’m not mad.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“…you wanna go back and forth like this?”

His tone is light, but you can hear the frustration that peaks out. He’s trying to keep it casual, trying to play it off, but you can tell he's getting frustrated too.

Before you can say anything, the cashier cuts in with a sharp “Next!” 

Drew steps back, the pressure of his body against yours vanishing, but his warmth lingers, as if it’s still tied to you.

The two of you move synchronously, like this routine is one you’ve done a thousand times. You start unloading the items onto the counter, the soft beeps of the register filling the silence between you.

But then, as you reach into the cart to grab the next item, your fingers brush against something familiar... condoms. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks, even hotter than before.

Oh, it’s not just any kind—it’s labeled Valentine's Special. 

The packaging is red and glossy, with hearts and some playful wording plastered across the front.

His hands come in contact with yours, and when you look up, it's Drew, gently taking the box from your grasp. 

“It was the last one...” he murmurs, so casually, but there's a teasing curl of his lips as he pretends to inspect the box. 

He then places the Valentine's special box on the counter, its vibrant, awkwardly festive packaging sitting there between you and the cashier like a beacon of... well, awkwardness.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, no longer upset, rather, more self-conscious than ever. 

It’s one thing to buy condoms, but another to buy different flavors or special packaged-ones. 

Drew doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. In fact, he looks almost too relaxed, like he's having fun with it.

Knowing you’re too focused on that Valentine’s condom on the counter, Drew finishes loading the rest onto the counter, the cashier bagging up the items. 

“How would you like to pay?” the cashier asks, breaking the silence.

“Card,” Drew responds, pulling out his wallet and swiping the card without a second thought. 

Drew finishes the payment, grabbing the bag, his eyes flicking to you with that amused smile on his face again.

One of his hands lingers on the small of your back, his fingers just barely grazing the skin there as he guides you towards the exit. He then leans in, his voice low and teasing, “excited, baby?” he whispers, the words almost like a soft joke.

As soon as you feel like the cashier is out of earshot, you can't help yourself, gently scolding him, although, the smile on your lips betray you, “Drew!”

He chuckles softly, not even the slightest bit rattled by your reaction. 

“Thought we, we’d try something special,” he shrugs. 

The supermarket doors open automatically, and you feel his hand slip down into the back pocket of your jeans, as he reaches for his car keys.

The feeling of his fingers brushing against your ass sends a jolt through you, making you yelp. 

The ticklish sensation makes your body instinctively pulling away just a little, which only makes it harder for him to look for his keys.

He lets out a soft laugh, the sound warm and amused, but his hand stays right where it is, maybe lingering a bit longer. 

Drew knows you’re ticklish, and he knows there’s no need to keep his car keys in your pocket.

But he does it anyways, all the time. 

“Hey,” you murmur, your hands going to rub your ass, where he touched. 

There’s still a smile on his lips as he finally pulls his fingers out of the tight back pocket of your jeans, pressing the ‘start’ button for his car. 

The sound of the car beeping open echoes in the quiet parking lot, and the trunk lifts automatically.

You both start walking toward the car, and Drew tosses the big bag of groceries into the trunk in one smooth motion, closing it after. 

Then the soft thud of the car door, as both of you settle in—Drew sliding into the driver’s seat, and you into the passenger’s. 

The familiar scent of his car hits you immediately, and its weirdly comforting in a way, but also stirring. 

Almost immediately, as Drew starts driving out of the parking lot, one of his hands rest on your thigh, the touch gentle yet grounding. 

Casual, casual, casual. 

You reach forward and press play on his car screen. 

Playing, Every breath you take. 

“Fucking classic,” Drew murmurs under his breath, eyes focused on the road ahead. 

A smile tugs at your lips at his comment, and you find yourself resting your head gently on his arm, surprisingly comfortable.

For the rest of the way back, the two of you just... settle into the silence. The music drifts through the air, and the shared playlist seems to pull you both into a space where words aren't necessary.

——

Once you stepped out the elevator, a girl stops you, her smile wide as she catches your attention.

Drew watches, as the two of you go on about…actually, he lost interest the moment she opened her mouth. 

He gives you a soft tap on your waist, and it immediately pulls your attention back to him. When you meet his eyes, he cocks his head toward the bag of groceries, a silent hint that he's going to head to your dorm first. 

You give him a quick nod, before returning to the conversation with the girl, maybe your classmate? Or friend? Drew didn’t care. 

As Drew makes his way down the hall, the sound of your voice fading behind him, he finally reaches your dorm. 

But…he stops dead in his tracks, his gaze falling to the floor in front of your door.

There, at his feet, is a large bouquet of roses. Bright, bold, and impossibly out of place in the otherwise quiet hallway.

What…the fuck? 

For a second, he just stands there, the usual confidence draining from his posture as he takes in the unexpected sight.

Drew then notices a small, white card tucked in amongst the flowers. His expression flickers, a quiet moment of hesitation before he slowly bends down.

His hand reaches for the card, fingers brushing lightly over the petals before finally gripping it. 

Drew’s eyes scan the words written on the card, his brows furrowing deeper with each sentence.

It slowly comes to his realization that this is a love letter…for you!

He blinks, re-reading the opening line. “‘I’ve liked you, y/n, for a very long time, please accept this…’” 

His grip on the card tightens, jaw clenched. The words on the card are so sincere, so lovingly—what the fuck?

Drew flips the card over, almost desperately, hoping to find any clue as to who might’ve sent this to you. 

And there it is, written in neat handwriting: Mike.

His mind scrambles for a moment, trying to place the name.

Mike…mike…mike…who the…

Then, it clicks.

Mike. That first-year at the bar. The one you bumped into a few weeks ago, the one at the library. 

It’s him. The guy who's clearly interested in you, and now he’s made his move with this…this huge bundle of flowers and cringey confession. 

His mind races, the feelings of frustration, confusion, and jealousy— all fighting for control. 

But, what he’s feeling right now isn’t what’s concerning. 

What’s concerning, is what to do with these roses? 

Then, he hears footsteps, coming his way, and slightly panicked, he crumbles the card up, forcing it into his pocket.

You stand there, only a few steps away, your eyes flickering between the roses on the floor and Drew bending- well, practically kneeling next to it now.

Closing the distance, you bend down next to him, eyes focused on the roses. 

And Drew sees it, clear as day; the way your eyes light up, that soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and the faintest flush on your cheeks— shy, happy, embarrassed, he didn’t know.

Your hand touches the roses, almost too delicately, and then, you meet his eyes. 

Drew's breath catches. There's something in your eyes—something that feels like…like the entire world is reflected in them.

He’s stunned, his words stuttering out, ”you—“

“Are these for me?” you ask, barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah... they are,” he finally mutters, his voice quieter than usual.

Drew couldn’t help but admire the way you looked- his attention now solely focused on you, as if everything else in the world had faded away. 

You turn to him, eyes soft and full of warmth as you say, “Thank you.”

As if feeling the weight behind those words, you laugh softly, trying to play it off. 

But Drew knows you better than anyone. You’ll cherish these roses till they wither away, he knows it.  

But then your words- ‘thank you,’ flash through his mind, and he lifts his eyebrows slightly, confused. 

“You ordered these…no?”

You thought he was the one that gave you the roses. 

His heart races for a split second as he considers how to handle this.

Then, he decides fuck it, a grin tugging at his lips as he shakes off the knot in his stomach. 

The last time he’d seen you this excited, it was after you won that hotdog-eating contest, and honestly, he would kill to see you that happy again. 

With a gentle shrug, he smiles, “you like it?”

You smile even wider, “very much.”

You pick up the big bouquet of roses from the floor, hugging it tightly to your chest. 

Drew’s grin softens, and he leans in just slightly, his eyes sparkling as he catches your gaze. “Really?”

You stand up, still hugging it as if it might disappear if you let go. “Mhm.”

Drew stands up, “no you don’t,” he whispers, but not a single cell in his body believed you didn’t like it; it’s painted all over your face. 

“I do! I love it,” you say, your voice growing all soft and genuine. 

He stood there, watching you, almost as if time had slowed. 

Standing here, outside your room, with you, with how you cradled the roses to your chest with such tenderness—it made something change inside him, something deep he couldn’t quite place. 

There was something about you in this moment, the sincerity in your smile, the way you looked so... happy.

Drew didn’t expect to feel so conflicted. 

He’d always been the one to keep things light, casual, to avoid feeling too much. 

Was this what it felt like to want more than just the surface? To actually care?

Drew opened his mouth to say something, to make a joke, to deflect—but he couldn’t. He was struck by how genuine you were, how completely different this moment felt from everything else.

“Thank you,” you whispered again, and the words hung in the air, almost as if you were thanking him for more than just the roses.

Were you? Were you thanking him for more than just those roses?

And maybe, just maybe, Drew realized that he was starting to get a little too comfortable with the idea of something more. 

Something more, with you. 

Aw, fuck. 

And he did it, he cuts own his thoughts off, "Prove it.”

Those words practically echo between you two, a challenge wrapped in a husky whisper. 

You glance up at him, a little taken aback, but Drew notices it, the way you quickly recover.

You take a small step forward, "Prove it?”

Drew’s smile is a mix of teasing and something deeper. "Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face. "Show me, show me you really mean it.”

Without thinking, you tilt your head just slightly, and then, just as Drew anticipated, you close the gap, pressing your lips to his. 

His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you in, as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more alive than any of the other moments you'd shared before.

In that kiss, there's no pretending, no games. At least for Drew, there’s no pretending. 

Actually, not a time was he pretending. When he’s kissing you, those kisses are full of all that’s unsaid, and Drew finds himself lost in it. 

And soon enough, the only thing that matters in this moment is the dent forming in Drew’s pants. 

Also…the huge bouquet of roses and grocery bag in the way, almost like a wall. 

He reluctantly pulls away, breathless, eyes flickering between your lips and the flowers. 

Silence flows through the both of you, until Drew speaks up, his voice soft, and in his ears, sounding a bit whimper-like.

“...I'm not hungry anymore." 

You’re not?” you ask, your voice a bit higher than usual.

“I am, but, for something else." 

“…but I’m hungry…” you reply, your words soft, and Drew catches the little pout forming on your lips.

He freezes for a second, seriously contemplating whether he should prioritize his appetite or yours.

Drew decides against it- laughing, the sound low and warm, “Okay- okay.”

Your smile returns, and you reach into his pocket for your dorm keys, hands close to his erection that pokes evidently against his jeans. 

Your eyebrows raise briefly as you take the keys out, unlocking your room. 

Drew watches you, amused but also slightly captivated by how you’ve turned this moment into something playful. But that’s your charm—the way you could take something as intimate as this and make it feel light, effortless. It’s always been that way with you.

But clearly- that guy, Mike, clearly saw something in you too. 

That thought makes a strange twist in his gut, yet, Drew quickly pushes it aside, not wanting to spoil the mood.

The roses might be from someone else, but this moment? That’s all his.

After all, it was Valentine’s Day. 

And it goes without saying, love is in the air, and nothing could ruin it. 

Or- casualness is in the air, or… whatever’s going on between you two. 

-------------------------------

is there a difference between 'will you be my valentine?' and 'happy valentines.'? i wonder...

elevator | other | official oneshot | extra 1 | extra 2 | extra 3

casual taglist: @maybankslover @rafeyswifey @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amb3rsaurus @bananaminn @rafecamerons-national-anthem @milky321 @drewnationalgf @iraslore @ursogorgeous13 @jamimers @hockeybabe87 @jqtsblyth @virgochaos @wolvestitches @dontblamethedrunkcaller @thoughtdaughter0

edit: i forgot they got airpods in during shopping...pretend they took it off once they got in the car, okay? ok.

[blvdprn]

— VALENTINE’S DAY SPECIAL

jjk (human) men x dom!top!male reader

special day with your lovely boyfriend

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, & naoya

nsfw — non-specified, suguru’s part is shorter srry, slight homophobia & misogyny from naoya surprise surprise

wc: not counted

It was your first ever Valentine’s Day with your boyfriend. Or rather, the first Valentine’s Day when neither of you was busy. Usually, one or the other had a job to do that day —seeing as work never rests— but today, finally, you were both free.

And you were pretty excited.

See, you’ve been planning a little something for a while. After a nice and romantic day filled with sexual tension and ending with a candle-lit dinner, a surprise was waiting for you and your boyfriend at home.

Your sex life wasn’t lacking per se, it was more so some things went unexplored because of an insufficient amount of time. Usually (and sadly), you guys had quickies. There was nothing special about it, it was just a way to relieve stress and show each other that yes you still find the other very appealing. I mean, how could you not? Living with an insanely attractive man and what’s that? Dating said, attractive man? Mmmm, yes, please.

Pushing the key into the lock after paying the bill and driving home, you were nearly shaking with anticipation for what was about to come. Opening the door to your shared house, you quickly pulled the man in, knowing damn well you’d get a noise complaint in the morning. Or at the very least, a nasty stink eye from your neighbours.

—GOJO SATORU : cock bondage

“Fuck!”

“Mm— what’s wrong Satoru? I thought you could take it?”

Right now he was spread out so beautifully for you, knees touching his shoulders and ankles near your shoulders as a result of you pushing his thighs upwards. You were fucking him deep and slow at the moment, making him see stars.

Oh, and how could you forget the pretty pink ribbon tied under and between his balls, reaching the base of his cute red dick and creating a small bow.

“I-I can! This is nothINGGGHH,” cried the man under you, moaning the last part of his sentence.

You laughed. “Doesn’t seem like nothing, sweetheart.”

Satoru blushed even harder, whether from you calling him out or the endearing pet name, you couldn’t tell. Pouting a little, he scratches the hands holding his thighs down. “Just take this thing off… I want to cum already and this stupid thing won’t let me!”

“Awe,” you coo. “Other than giving your cock a nice touch, that was the whole point of it.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Yeah, but you’re taking this dick though!”

“Man just shut up and— FUUUCK!”

Your hips switched pace, from slow to fast, but equally as deep. You should thank all those stupid times Satoru dragged you out on a run for the insane speed you currently held.

“S-shit,” you groaned. “Look at your cute little dick. Looks s-so pretty with the bow…” And although his length was perfect (just like him) and you were just teasing, it really did look pretty. The light pink of the satin ribbon contrasted nicely with the darker shade of him.

Satoru could barely respond, overwhelmed with both the feeling of needing to cum but not being able to, and feeling your cock touching his prostate with every thrust. Slight tears left his eyes, blurring his vision from fully seeing the way small amounts of pre cum ran down the satin around him.

You noticed this, and feeling pity for your pathetic boyfriend, you let one of his thighs go in order to untie the ribbon, knowing you were at your limit too. Immediately, he threw his head back, letting out a loud and whiny moan that would surely wake the neighbours if they weren’t already awake.

Muffling his moan with a kiss, you pulled out right on time, both of your hot fluids mixing together and on his stomach.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you mumbled against his lips. Only receiving a slight laugh in response.

When you were about to pull away, his legs slid down, wrapping themselves around your hips and waist with surprising strength from someone who was just shaking.

“Where do you think you’re going, babe? We’re not done here yet.” Satoru said, staring at your eyes darkly, and all you could do was gulp.

‘Oh, boy.’

—GETO SUGURU : collars

“Is this really necessary?”

“What?” you questioned. “You don’t like it?”

“Darling, it’s embarrassing.”

You huffed. “Which part? The leash or my name on it?”

“Both.” You could practically see him giving you a side eye from your question, even though his back was facing you.

“Well,” you hummed. “Just don’t think about it.”

“And how am I not supposed to do that?”

Expecting an answer, he didn’t imagine you would pull the leash back while giving a powerful thrust. Which is why he couldn’t control the loud and surprised moan that escaped from his lips.

“A-ah! A warning would’ve been n-nice.”

You shushed him. “Don’t think.”

“Mmh— this is going t-to make my throat sore…”

“Liar,” you tutted. “I’ve seen you swallow those curses. This is nothing for you, Suguru.”

He stayed silent, but not for long, because you started rapidly thrusting again with only one goal in mind.

“F-feels so good, darling!” He moaned, gripping the sheets below him, only being able to see your silhouette moving because of the small candles on each side of the bed. “Haaahh—”

Pulling the leash again, you lowered your body so your stomach was almost directly onto Suguru’s back and your face hooked onto his shoulder. In this position, his head was pulled back, and you were able to see the way the nameplate with your name on it moved with each of your thrusts.

Suguru moaned louder, somewhat liking how your name was engraved into something that was on him. He enjoyed the harsh feeling of the collar digging into his Adam’s apple. And he certainly savoured the sounds leaving your mouth that was directly behind his right ear.

Drool escaped his lips, having no choice but to let it fall out of his mouth because he wasn’t able to properly swallow it.

With one strong arm holding him up, he let the other grab your head, pulling you into a necessary and messy kiss. Gasping with every breath, his fingers tightened more and more on some of your longer strands, feeling himself about to cum.

“Darling— I’m ab-bout to—”

“It’s okay… You can cum more anyway.”

And with that, he knew the night was going to be long.

—NANAMI KENTO : wax play

Quiet pants slipped past your boyfriend’s lips. The heat of the wax on his skin was a great contrast to his cold body. It was embarrassing, how much he liked it. When you first brought it up, Kento was hesitant, never before trying something that was considered so… kinky (by his standards anyway, not yours).

“Ngh…” he moaned softly.

You smile at him, eyes bright with happiness. “It seems like you’re enjoying yourself, Kento.”

Pink dusted his cheeks, shamefully averting his eyes from your face. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

With amusement in your voice and a raised eyebrow, you ask, “Not as bad? But you’re making such cute noises.” Your teasing doesn’t stop there. “It’s bad to lie to the love of your life, you know, and on such a special day too.”

“Don’t tease. Fine, I like the warmth.”

“Of course you do, I knew you would.”

With that, you dipped the candle in your hand, hot wax falling and hitting the blonde man under you. His fit stomach clenched, abs pronounced more than normal as a result.

“By the way,” you muttered. “The wax turns into lotion.” To show him, you moved one of your fingers around some of the hardened wax, watching how it turned into liquid again, but this time it had a semi-cold watery texture. And to your enjoyment, you see the way his eyes watch and silently plea for your hands to move the wax somewhere else.

“That’s…” he begins, eyebrow twitching a bit. “Nice.”

“Very.”

Continuing to pour the hot wax down, down, down. You reach his naked thighs, seeing his pale skin slightly tremble. He wasn’t able to hold in the “hurry” that he covered by putting his hand over his mouth.

“S-shit!” Kento said, being muffled by his hand, letting out an uncharacteristic squeal the moment the blistering heat travelled to his inner thighs.

You chuckled, appreciating the almost once-in-a-lifetime view.

Closer and closer, all Kento was able to feel was a need that he never thought he’d have. A shameful and embarrassing thought rushed through his head, one that he wasn’t quite sure he could vocally tell you in fear that it was a little too much. But like always, you could read him like the back of your hand, so you knew exactly what he wanted.

“Fffffffuuuuuckk—” Was all he let out the moment the wax made contact with the base of his dick.

With an idea in your mind, you swiftly stained his cock with the red burning heat, hearing the desperate cries he let out for you to continue. Even louder moans reached your ears the moment your hand went into contact with it, sweetly massaging up and down so the now lotion wasn’t able to cool down quickly enough.

Kento unexpectedly reached down, grabbing onto your hand so the lotion could be spread everywhere. From his balls to his stomach and up his pecs, it didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing, only trying to feel the fire-like warmth from smearing all over him.

With his moans in the air and his senseless voice sounding in the quiet night, you knew this was just starting. After all, you guys hadn’t even fucked yet.

—FUSHIGURO TOJI : riding crop

Never in your fucking life did you think he was actually going to let you do this? I mean sure, you’ve explored a little bit before but you thought this was going to be too excessive for him, that he was even going to be annoyed with you.

But that wasn’t the case at all.

Sure he looked a little ticked off at first, but after thinking about it for a bit he laughed and challenged you.

Which is what brought you to now.

Toji’s strong form was lying on the rose-covered bed, something he scoffed at but you were sure you saw a tiny dust of pink on his cheeks before he turned away. His back was to you, a rare sight, seeing as it made him feel like he had no control. Although you were certain it also made him feel exposed and embarrassed if his red-coloured ears were anything to go by.

You could see his muscular back flexing with any slight movement he did, his veiny arms twitching and big biceps tightening.

All in all, he looked delicious.

The crop tightened in your hand, its leather end glided down the curve of Toji’s spine. A perfect fit, touching every nook and cranny, leaving absolutely nothing unmarked.

An annoyed huff left his nose. “Would you hurry it up?”

You tsked, “Patience.”

“That’s something I don’t have right now and you know it. Unless you don’t know what you’re fucking doing?”

With a hum, you decided to give him what he wanted, knowing this was going to be the last time you did so tonight.

A harsh slap was heard when leather hit unblemished skin, turning it into a soft pink.

Toji’s shoulders stiffened, and you were sure he held in any sounds he was about to make.

“Hey,” you called out. “Don’t hold your noises in.”

“I’m not, you’re just weak.”

‘Right.’

Hit. Again.

Hit. Again.

Hit. Again.

This continued on until his back was covered in colour, yet nothing escaped his lips. Not until the leather hit his ass.

“Fu—”

Continuing your assault on his round ass, you never gave him enough time to complain. And even though it was embarrassing for him, he was glad you didn’t stop, because he knew he wasn’t going to be able to say anything anyway, and it felt so good.

When you knew bruises were going to form, you stopped to turn Toji around, letting the crop trail from his giant pecs to his twitching dick. Only then did you notice that he had come already, but the look in his eyes was telling you to hit something else.

And who were you to deny? Guess he really had you wrapped around his finger.

—ZENIN NAOYA : feminisation

“What the fuck is this?” Were the only words to come out of your boyfriend when he saw the short red dress with a frilly skirt on your shared bed.

“A present.”

“It’s a fucking dress. Do I look like a damn woman to you?”

Ah yes, you decided this was going to be a slight punishment for all the times he’s said some dumb shit about women.

“You call women whores. Maybe I should treat you like one so you can know the difference, no?”

Naoya’s eyes screamed in rage, how dare you compare him to them? “It’s bad enough I’m with you —a man who can’t even give me an offspring— but now you want me to be a stupid woman?” His fists were clenched and ready to beat some sense into you (as if he could). “You fucking—”

And then suddenly his top half was leaning on the edge of the bed, wrists pinned behind his back by your hands, and his legs trying to keep himself up to not slide down and fall to the floor.

He hiccuped, not understanding how one minute he was about to launch a punch at you, then the next he had the stupid dress on with the skirt flipped up so as to not get in the way of your continuous thrusts.

“Awe,” you coo mockingly. “What happened to all the talking back? I thought you didn’t want to wear this, but look at you! Looking all pretty and taking me so well. Now aren’t you a doll?”

Naoya was so fucking embarrassed, both by your words and what he was wearing. Why did he like this?

“S-shut the fuck uP— NGHH!”

With only one of your hands pinning his wrists, the other slipped past the cloth of the dress on the chest area. Luckily, your arms were long enough, so there was no need to take your eyes off his hole swallowing your dick, just to pinch one of his nipples.

“I’m not a w-whore! Stop it!” He cried out, but really, he didn’t want you to stop.

“Really?” You pulled on his perky nipple, feeling the way he clenched around you. “But your pussy seems to like it when I play with your tits?”

He whined, slight sobs making his shoulders shake. “Not a pussy!”

You moaned, liking how his voice rose when he said that. “You’re so wet here though.” And with that, your other hand let go of his wrists, Naoya hastily having to grab the sheets under him.

Your hand slipped around his surprisingly slim waist, grabbing a handful of his nodding cock and tracing your thumb against the slit.

“See? You’re so sensitive when I touch your clit.”

Naoya’s mind went blank, everything around him went ignored except for your words and the pleasurable feeling you gave him everywhere your hands and dick touched. Before he knew it, he came, panting against the sheets stained with his drool.

But, oh, you weren’t done with him yet. You still hadn’t come after all.

notes: better late than nvr! i ws planning on writing for sukuna & choso too but ran out of time so 🤷

[covenofagatha]

Practice makes perfect (Part 2)

Tell me it's all wrong 'til it gets to me

Some inspo from this brainworm

Word count: 4k

Warnings: g!p reader, Agatha is even meaner, degradation kink, humiliation kink, titjob, oral, reader once again is a walking HR violation, slight praise kink, one spank, fingering, sex, think this is it?

“Everyone have a good night?” Rio asks the next morning during breakfast. 

You’re spooning vanilla yogurt into a bowl and trying not to think about how much it reminds you of your cum dripping out of Agatha’s pussy. “I had a great night,” you answer, feeling everyone’s eyes turn to you, especially Agatha, who’s standing right next to you. “Um, yeah, Agatha and I actually had sex.” 

Rio snorts, as do a few other people in the room. You’ve gotten so used to no one taking you seriously that you like to play around and see what you can get away with. Whether it’s a truth or a lie, they don’t care because you blur the lines so often.

If only they knew how true that was, though. 

“So classy,” Rio says and you can almost hear her roll her eyes before she leaves the buffet to go find a table.

“Oh, don’t worry!” you call after her. “Agatha really liked it. It was all her idea.” Rio doesn’t even look back. If you weren’t the boss’s daughter, you’re sure you would’ve been fired at least four dozen times from just this summer. 

Agatha remains unfazed as she snatches the yogurt spoon from your hand. “You fucking wish. Never in a million years,” she retorts calmly and you giggle. 

She spends the rest of the day seemingly trying to get you back for that stunt: she salaciously licks yogurt off the spoon. She wears a shirt that dips a little too low and shows off the edge of her red bra. She looks up at you through her perfect eyelashes when you ask her if you can sit next to her at the table and she laughs cruelly after she says no. 

Or she’s doing everything she usually does and you’re just reading into it because you’re obsessed with her.

But when you find her in the pool alone after breakfast, wearing a two piece black bikini, it’s hard to believe that she’s not at least teasing you a little. You stand on the edge absolutely agape, your cock making an obvious tent in your pants. She smirks and gets out and walks over to you.

Water droplets cascade down the smooth expanse of her pale stomach and your mouth runs dry. You can see her nipples through her wet top and heat flashes through your body. Your head starts to spin. 

You whisper her name before she flicks water on your shirt and reaches down to pat your cock roughly. Your hips jolt forward and a muffled groan leaves your mouth and she snickers. 

“I’m surprised that didn’t make you cum,” she says but her tone makes it clear that she's still holding out hope you’ll embarrass yourself again.

“Built up my stamina these past few nights,” you retort. 

She scoffs. “Yeah, you really showed me yesterday. How long did you last? Not even a second?” 

“Okay, maybe the first time, but can you blame me after how worked up I was? And I lasted longer the second time,” you protest and she mockingly pouts. 

“Aw, poor you,” she tuts and you hate how it goes right to your cock. Her gaze drops down again to watch you strain more against your pants and there’s a devilish glint in her eyes when she looks back up. “I was right, you know. I knew you wouldn’t be able to last, I knew you were too fucking incompetent. You’re more pathetic than a common whore.” 

You whimper and clutch onto her arm with tight fingers because it’s the only way you can resist touching herself. 

She regards you pawing at her with the utmost disgust. “You’re so fucking dirty,” she snarls and heat swirls around your head and your knees almost buckle. Your cock is pulsing, growing, swelling—she’s going to get exactly what she wants. She knows it too. 

“Fuck, Agatha, please—” Your whines are pitiful and desperate and you look at her with the best puppy-dog eyes you can muster. 

Her voice lowers even more. “God, look at you. What a fucking embarrassment.” 

Your stomach muscles tighten. 

“What would your dad think if he saw you like this?” 

You hump nothing and hiss at the feeling of the rough fabric against your erection and her smile is wicked.

“What would any of them think if they saw you drooling over a woman twice your age? If they saw you harder than a teenager just because I told you how pathetic you are? You’re nothing more than a bitch in heat, are you?”

Agatha cups your cheek with a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to her words and you buck your hips again. The sounds falling from your mouth are weak and pleading and you think she’s about to finish you off. 

“You know,” she muses, tone now sweet as honey, “I better go get changed before we have to do whatever your dad has on the schedule for today. But you…you look a little hot right now. I think you need to cool off.” 

Before you can ask what she means—or ask for her to touch you—she grabs your arms, whirls you around, and gently shoves you. 

It feels like you’re falling backwards in slow motion and you feel your jaw drop as you watch her smile. 

You hit the water and you instantly recoil, the cold doing wonders to sober you up. Your erection has practically disappeared by the time you break the surface, gasping for air. 

“What the fuck?” you splutter and she tosses her head back with a laugh. 

Agatha finally shrugs when she stops cackling and you wade to the stairs, teeth chattering. Your clothes are clinging to your shivering body but she just watches in amusement. 

“Wanda!” you shout and your personal assistant comes running out from the house. Her green eyes widen when she sees you in the pool. “Can you get me a towel?” 

Agatha rolls her eyes as Wanda nods quickly. “Of course. Anything else?” 

You shake your head and she speeds off. 

“You don’t need her to tie your shoes?” Agatha quips and you grumble at her to shut up. Your family is rich—of course you’re used to the teasing about having assistants. Even as an intern at the company, you’ve delegated far too much of your work to Wanda and she always does it with no complaints. You’re betting the six figure salary your father pays her keeps her content. 

Wanda comes back with a towel and you snatch it from her when you finally get out of the pool. Agatha walks away without giving you another glance and you can’t help but feel rejected. 

She barely even looks at you the rest of the morning and then your dad calls his executive staff into a meeting for the whole afternoon so you lay on your bed, bored out of your mind. It’s the last day of the vacation and of course he wants to spend it getting ready for the next quarter. 

It’s tempting to jack off or to use the flashlight that’s sitting in your nightstand drawer, and you do try, but neither your hand nor the toy even comes close to how Agatha’s cunt feels so you give up with a huff. 

That night, you go to her room in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You’re not willing to take the chance that she’ll come to yours because you don’t actually know what’s going on between you. She is so fucking confusing. 

You flirt with her, she always shoots you down, and then she makes you fuck a fleshlight before she takes your virginity? The point of it was to prove that you wouldn’t last inside her, and she was technically correct. So does that mean this is all over?

Not if you have anything to say about it. And there was her stunt by the pool earlier, so clearly she’s not done yet either. 

Knocking rhythmically and quietly on her door, you keep your eyes peeled down the hallway just to make sure no one sees. You joking about having sex with general counsel might be fine because no one believes you, but it would be much harder to cover this up.

Agatha opens it a few moments later in a matching purple pajama set and lets out an exasperated sigh. Her glasses are pushed up on her forehead and you can see her laptop on her bed. 

You slip past her into the room without waiting for her approval and make a beeline for the scotch, pouring yourself two fingers of it. 

“Come back for more humiliation?” she taunts and you feel your stomach twist. “Think you’re a big girl because you managed to stick your cock into one person one time?” 

“You know,” you say, draining a glass without even wincing at the burn of the alcohol and turning around to point at her, “that was all your idea. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want me just as much as I want you.” 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and her gaze drops to the tent in your boxers. “I don’t think that’s possible,” she retorts dryly. 

You put the glass down and start to advance as she stands her ground firmly. “You didn’t have to fuck me. You didn’t even have to come to my room the first night. But you did. And I know how affected you were last night, you were fucking enjoying yourself.” 

She laughs cynically and rolls her eyes. “Please, honey, I’ve had better sex with my vibrator.” Ignoring the way that causes more blood to rush south—because now you’re thinking about her moaning loudly while falling apart holding a toy against her clit—you smirk. 

“Then why did you fuck me?” 

Her face twitches and she jerks her head to the side. “Take your clothes off and get on the bed.” 

You’d ask again if there was anything on your mind other than your throbbing cock and her hot cunt so you tear off your shirt, shove off your boxers, and jump on top of the covers. Your cock is standing straight up, oozing precum onto your stomach and twitching against nothing. 

“God, you’re fucking pathetic,” Agatha hisses and you hump the air, a strangled whimper leaving your mouth. “All it takes is a few words and you’re leaking for me.” 

She unbuttons her blouse again and you don’t think you’ll ever get bored of the sight of her tits, perky and supple and rose-colored nipples that you need in your mouth. She slides down her shorts and your breathing quickens, feeling heat flush through your neck and upper chest. 

“Agatha, please,” you whine. Agatha scoffs and climbs on the bed next to you on her knees and slips a hand between her legs. You stare, open-mouthed, panting, as she works at her clit. “Wait…can I?” 

Her hips jolt and you think you can hear her groan through her clamped lips. “You want to—what? Fumble around incompetently? Think you can even find my clit?” 

You nod urgently while your cock pulses and another spurt of precum dribbles out. “I want to, please,” you gasp, “I want to taste you.” 

“Fine. Try not to cum immediately again,” she snaps without any of her usual bite and moves so she’s laying next to you, her legs spread open. 

Situating yourself, you feel the air get kicked out of you when you get your first good look at her pussy. 

Agatha is fucking soaked. Her cunt glistens, lips swollen and pink and almost fused together, and you can see her clit peeking out at the top. Your mouth is watering and your cock gets harder if possible. You can’t resist lowering your hips to the bed so you can get some pressure on it. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe in awe. “You’re so wet.” 

“Are you actually going to do anything or just stare?” she says, tone laced with venom. “Maybe you should call your assistant, I know she does everything else for you cause you’re too incompetent.” 

You whimper and grind onto the bed, cock throbbing, shaking your head with wide eyes. You can do this.  

She purses her lips. “That’s too bad. She could probably actually get me to cum.” 

Heat tears through you and you surge forward with a vengeance, licking roughly up her cunt and she hisses before roughly grabbing your hair. 

“Slow down,” she barks and you mumble an apology before flattening your tongue and gently dragging it through her folds. “Better.” 

You say something that’s muffled by her pussy and you hump the bed faster because she squeaks when you rub your tongue against her clit. 

She swears under her breath and you can’t even focus anymore because of the dizziness in your head and the aching in your cock. The taste of her has overwhelmed your mouth and your nose and you’re sloppily devouring her while she tries and fails to stop her hips from rolling. 

“I can’t—fuck—Agatha, I’m gonna—” You can feel your stomach tightening, can feel your cock pulsing, and you know you’re about to cum from grinding on the bed and eating her out. 

Instead of mocking you, she growls and yanks you up by the hair until you’re practically straddling her stomach. Tendrils of precum pool on her skin and you swallow roughly. 

“Since you’re going to be fucking useless until you get off,” she sighs and grips your hips to pull you up even higher. Your cock drags against her, leaving a sticky trail in your wake and you have to put a hand out on the headboard to catch yourself when you realize what she’s doing. 

Your cock rests between her tits and she lifts her head up to spit on you and your hips jerk forward. The mess of her saliva and your precum is driving you absolutely crazy and you begin rutting against her. 

Her fingers dig into your ass and help you move and your cock fits perfectly in the crook between her boobs. You hold onto the headboard, panting while you look down at her, and there’s a heat in her eyes that you only see at work—when she gets exactly what she wants. 

“God, you’re pathetic,” she says without any of her usual malice. The pink from her cheeks has spread down her chin and to her upper chest that your cock is dragging against. “Can’t do anything for yourself so you need me, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you choke out, your thrusts becoming shorter. The stickiness is making you throb and your grunts get louder.

Agatha spanks you and you shudder, your cock pumping out a spurt of precum, and then she lets go of your ass to push her breasts together so her soft, supple tits are wrapped around your hard cock and you sharply inhale. 

But then she leans down and flicks her tongue out against the tip of your cock and you can’t hold it back anymore. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck—I can’t—fuck,” you babble before your cock explodes, drenching the bottom of her face and the top of her chest in white. She lets out a gasp at the feeling of your seed on her skin and the sight of her covered in you makes one last strand of cum squirt out. 

You slouch back while your cock twitches and Agatha drags two fingers through the mess on her clavicle before stuffing them in your mouth. She looks delighted when you make a surprised sound before grabbing your hair and pulling you down and making you clean up your cum. 

“Good girl,” she purrs when you’re all done and then nudges you back down between her legs. The praise makes your stomach grow warm—apparently you like that just as much as the degradation. “Think you can focus now?” 

Nodding eagerly, you look at her pussy and your mouth falls open. She’s dripping onto the bed, folds spread open, and you can see her throbbing. 

This time, there’s no hesitation in putting your mouth on her and you moan lasciviously at her taste. Your eyes dart up to watch her face as you dip your tongue inside her and curl it and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. 

But then you lick back up and suck on her clit and she can’t help the audible groan that escapes her. The sound makes your cock pulse and you can already feel yourself starting to grow hard again. 

“Keep doing that,” she orders and you double your efforts, lashing your tongue against her clit and then sucking and her head falls back. “Two fingers inside me, now.” 

Her walls instantly bear down around you and you whimper, the vibrations making her hips roll. She is so warm and so hot and you never want to leave her cunt. 

“Fuck me harder, god, you’re useless,” she hisses but it quickly turns into another moan when you thrust in deeply and curl them until you find the spot that makes her clench. Your slurping noises, along with her sounds of pleasure, are going straight to your cock and you start to grind against the bed gently for some stimulation. 

“You like this,” you say into her cunt and she violently shakes her head while beginning to ride your face and fingers. Her walls are gripping you, trying to drag you in as deep as you can go, and you can feel every ridge and groove when you fuck her. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me.” 

She yanks on your hair and you moan. “Stop fucking talking,” she seethes and you chuckle, the vibrations reverbrating against her pussy and making her whimper. You think she might actually be getting somewhere. “Good thing I brought my vibrator because I’m going to be needing it after you—fuck—”

You suck on her clit roughly and her voice breaks off. She’s grinding harder on you, drenching your face and fingers, and she’s fucking panting. So are you, right against her pussy and your stomach flexes to keep your steady rhythm of humping the bed going strong. Your jaw and wrist are burning but from the way she’s clenching furiously around your fingers, she’s getting close. 

And you know that if you stop right now, Agatha would never let it go. 

So you keep doing exactly what you’re doing and her hips start to falter and her breathing gets heavier. 

“God, you’re such a slut, whoring yourself out to a woman twice your age,” she groans. “You’re so pathetic, fuck—”

Her hands scramble and tug on your hair and you’re about to make a snarky comment on how she’s just so desperate for your cum when she grabs onto your hard and leaking cock and angles it at her entrance. 

You barely have time to breathe before her legs hook around your waist. “Don’t you dare cum,” she warns and you huff out a laugh before pushing into her wet cunt. 

Agatha’s walls grip your cock and you freeze, your head dropping down to rest on her tits and you pant open-mouthed against her skin before sucking on her nipple. Her hips arch up to get you deeper inside and you let out a lewd moan. She feels so good and you can feel her throb around you. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your cock twitching. It’s such a different angle from her being on top of you and you love it. You start to move slowly, just to hold off your impending orgasm. 

You can see everything—the way her tits bounce with each thrust, the way her hair is sprawled out underneath her, the slight sheen of sweat on her chest, the bulge your cock makes in her stomach. 

“Agatha, Agatha, fuck, please, I’m gonna—fuck, please, I can’t,” you cry, your cock pulsing rapidly inside her. She clenches around you with each thrust and she bites her bottom lip roughly to control her sounds. 

“Wait, just wait, don’t cum yet,” she groans, strangled and needy, and you know you’re about to cum but you’re desperate to make her cum before you do. 

So you reach between your bodies and find her clit and furiously start to rub at it and she moans. “Tell me,” you order, “tell me that I’m making you feel good.” 

She laughs breathlessly. “You think because you’re on top, you’re in charge? Honey, you can’t do anything without me. You’re so pathetic that you only get this hard for me, right? Tell me that.” Her words are getting tighter and you duck back down to swirl your tongue around her nipple. 

“Just you, Agatha,” you murmur and she shivers from your hot breath. Tension is building in your cock and your stomach and your back and you thrust harder because you need her to cum. “I only want you, fuck, it’s always been you.” 

And then she keens, eyes rolling back in her head, and her cunt spasms around you. You feel a gush of wetness and you groan weakly before pumping her full of thick, hot cum. She gasps when she feels your seed paint her walls white and you collapse on top of her while your cock spurts out a few more loads into her. 

“You finally did one thing right,” she quips after a few moments and you laugh before nipping at the curvature of her breasts. 

“That’s the best performance review I’ve ever gotten,” you say, and once you’re fully soft, you pull out of her and sit up on your knees to spread her folds open. 

Your cum oozes out and your cock twitches at the sight and she gasps and squirms. She reaches down and swipes through the mess leaking out of her and then shoves her fingers into your mouth. 

The taste of both of you makes you whimper and she swallows roughly. You move back down of your own accord and slowly drag your tongue through her folds, getting your mixture all over your mouth. You steadily clean your cum out of her while holding eye contact and her struggle to remain composed would make you hard again if you hadn’t already cum twice in the span of about fifteen minutes. 

You make sure to lick her clit a few times and she writhes underneath you, stifling her sighs. Her cunt is a mess by the time you’re done, swollen and pink and still wet and she tugs you away because the stimulation has finally gotten to be too much. 

Flopping onto the bed next to her, you lick your lips and wonder what it would be like to kiss Agatha. You turn to look at her to find her eyes already on you. 

“What happens tomorrow?” you whisper and her gaze flickers down to your mouth. “When we go back.” 

Agatha sighs and gets out of bed, finding her pajamas on the floor and putting them back on. “We never speak of this again. And that means no more little jokes.”

It stings but you smirk to deflect. “Afraid someone will think the great Agatha Harkness deigned to fuck the boss’s daughter? That’s like, reverse sleeping up the corporate ladder. They’d probably applaud your charity. Or—you know what? I bet they’d be jealous. Everyone wants a piece of me, you know. Too bad general counsel already tamed this tiger.” You bite at her playfully and she snorts before fixing you with a serious stare. 

“This never happened,” she says solemnly and you nod. But before you can ask if you should leave, she lays back down next to you and her hand brushes against yours. You stiffen, but don’t pull away and her touch lingers.  

You lay so still, trying to breathe as quietly as you possibly can, so maybe she’ll let you stay. 

Her hand doesn’t move from yours the entire night. 

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[aureatelys]

can't lose when i'm with you

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 7k a/n: happy valentines day! this idea came to me as a joke but then i couldnt stop thinking about it. also i know nothing about golf or country clubs so sorry in advance if i got anything wrong.

summary: You work as a beverage cart girl at your local country club and your dad ropes you in to make him look good during a business meeting with his new best friend.

content warnings: 18+ MDNI PLEASE, dbf!hotch so age gap, kinda flirty!reader, porn with no plot, dry humping on a golf cart yessir, semi public sex, m masturbation, some dirty talk, men (not hotch) being gross and touchy

read below or here on ao3 here <3

You’ve been working as a beverage cart girl at your dad’s country club for the past several months to save money for school. At first, the bluntness of some of these older men flirting with you caught you off guard, but after you got your first $100 tip just from serving a group of three men a couple of beers and flashed them a smile, you were hooked. Flirting was part of the job, which became easier and easier for you the more shifts you took.

After all, it was easy money—refilling the drinks in the coolers, driving around a well-kept golf course while underneath the shade of the cart, and handing out drinks with a little smile and a hair flip. Sometimes, you even sat nearby and cheered Ted on as he hobbled over to take his shot.

You even got to add some personal touches to your beloved cart—a pink fuzzy steering wheel cover, a blush pink sheet covering the leather seats so your thighs would stop sticking to them, a pillow in the shape of a heart for your back, and a cute miniature disco ball hanging from the roof because old people love to pretend like they can party again.

And the men weren’t too bad. You’ve had a few run ins with some on the handsier side, or ones that straight up asked to have sex with you, but luckily your manager dealt a swift and heavy hand and you never saw them again. Otherwise, the customers were mostly decent, as long as you were okay with some heavy flirting and generous eye-fucking.

It’s a typical busy Saturday when you meet Aaron.

You knew your dad was having some sort of “business meeting” with the highly decorated FBI agent he’s been recently obsessed and hanging out with, and he knew that you were mentioned the most in the country club’s Google reviews. He wanted you to put him in a good mood, which was basically in your job description. You didn’t mind since your father promised a hefty tip for you at the end.

You spot them a few yards away—your father’s lucky red hat, muted in color due to wear and tear, and another man nearly a foot taller standing near him. You call out for them and speed your way there in your rickety little cart when your dad waves to you.

When you pull up next to them, it looks like they’ve just finished Hole 2, which means this would be absolute prime time for you if they were typical customers.

“Hey boys,” you call out. You’re about to ask them if they’re thirsty when you get a good look at your dad’s friend.

He’s tall, almost outrageously so with how far you have to crane your neck to look at him. He’s also ridiculously handsome; strong brows, intense eyes, and floppy hair that looked so soft you craved running your hands through them. Wide shoulders, thick arms, and a little soft around the middle in a way that made something flutter in your stomach.

He was definitely not your typical customer.

“Hey sweetie!” Your dad comes to give you a kiss on the top of your head. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

He’s such a good actor, you think as you beam up at him. “And I didn’t know you were going golfing today. You guys thirsty?”

“Absolutely! I’ll take a beer, how about you, Aaron?”

“A water is fine.” Christ, even his voice is hot—low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine despite the summer heat.

You make your way to the cooler in the back, squinting as soon as you’re out from the shade and into the blazing sun. “A beer and a water for my two most handsome guys coming right up!”

As always, your dad laughs, but when you peek a glance out of the corner of your eye from where you’re bent over, half of your body basically in the cooler as you fish out a water bottle, Aaron was wearing an obviously practiced neutral expression.

You finally find the bottle, your hand nearly going numb from how much ice you had to dig through, and hand it to Aaron with a grin. “Here you go.”

He meets your gaze and you’re drawn to the pretty brown sugar shade of his eyes. “Thank you.” He’s polite, not even a smile gracing his lips before he’s twisting the cap off and tipping his head back to take a long swig.

You swear your throat goes dry at the tantalizingly long line of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You’re able to get a closer look at him this way— the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the tight red polo was stretching over his broad shoulders, and the way his hands were so large it made the water bottle look almost comically small.

Your father’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Aaron, this is my daughter. Sweetie, this is Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief of the BAU I told you about?”

Boy, have you heard about him—your dad hasn’t shut up about him over the past month, talking about how he’s such a great guy, how he’s been at the Bureau for over a decade, and how he’s been bragging about his golfing skills and that the two of them just had to play some time.

You don’t exactly remember what today’s meeting was about, something about implementing a new training program to his agents? Either way, he had hoped you would use your spectacular customer service to help his odds, but you’re sure he wasn’t hoping for you to have the thoughts you were currently having that involved his hands on your hips and your mouth pressed against his throat.

A ringtone blares, nearly making you jump, and you watch as your father steps away to take a call.

You put on your best customer service smile and put your hand out, pink nails glinting underneath the sun. “Nice to meet you, Aaron. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Something quirks at the corner of Aaron’s mouth as he puts his hand in yours. You try not to pay attention to how his hand nearly dwarfs yours or how you could feel the rough calluses on his fingers. “You as well.”

“Unit chief, huh?” you ask, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. “I bet that’s a really stressful job. You should come visit me more. To de-stress.”

And it’s like Aaron’s face transforms into something softer, younger. You watch in delight as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, mouth twisting in an effort to hide an amused smile. “Should I now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, leaning your hip against your cart. You’re suddenly glad you wore your shortest tennis skirt and sleeveless top that emphasized your cleavage quite well today. “I’m here almost every day and we close at 6.”

His body turns towards you, stepping in closer. You think you catch the faintest whiff of his woodsy cologne, breaking through the freshly cut grass smell. “Is that why your dad was so adamant about going golfing today? So his daughter could flirt his way into me approving his training curriculum?”

An incredulous laugh nearly bubbles out of you at his instant ability to read through you despite only knowing each other less than 5 minutes. You assume he’s the unit chief for a reason.

“Is it working?”

He says nothing for a moment, just looking you up and down in a way that made you want to shift, though not uncomfortably. He studies you and your pristine white sneakers, the hem of your tennis skirt brushing against the warm expanse of your thighs, and your hair in a high ponytail. He glances at the cannisters of edible glitter and mini umbrellas on your bev cart. You see his eyes dance with amusement when he notices the mini disco ball swinging from your roof.

When he looks back at you, eyebrows relaxed, the professional flat line of his mouth was gone and instead replaced with something more private. “Yes.”

Excitement settles in your chest, light and golden. You feel your face flush out of your own accord and hope you can blame the summer sun beating down on you and not your father’s coworker, no more than 20 years older than you, flirting with you.

Your father suddenly appears right around Aaron’s shoulder, always with impeccable timing. He looks just as flushed as you feel, sweat building at his hairline while Aaron looks impossibly dry despite the humidity. “Ready to move onto the next hole, Hotch?”

And just like that, Aaron’s face smoothly changes to polite professionalism and not like you were seconds away from throwing your arms around his neck. He nods and gives you a courteous smile, something playful tugging at his lips. “It was nice to meet you.”

When your father fishes through his wallet to pay for the drinks, and hopefully your tip as well, Aaron lays a hand over his before he’s pulling out his own from his back pocket. “I got it,” he says, before handing you two crisp $100 bills.

“Oh,” you say before you could help yourself. And because it’s Aaron, whom you’ve never met before and not like your other customers, you didn’t feel quite comfortable in taking his money. Yet. “This more than pays for the drinks…”

He shakes his head and pushes the money towards you. “I know.”

You take his money, solely because you don’t want to cause a scene when your father was already stuttering over himself in an attempt to still cover the bill himself. You notice how thick his fingers are over the folded bills and ignore the warmth tingling up your spine when your fingers brush against his.

“Thank you, Aaron.” You don’t miss the way his eyes barely narrow at the sound of his name from your lips or the imperceptible clench of his hand at his side.

You try to hide the smirk threatening to show on your face when you get back into your cart, your silly keychains hanging from the ignition clinking with the action. You put your cart in drive and look over your shoulder at Aaron, your father’s attention already enraptured by the phone in his hand.

“See you around, handsome.”

You think you see a faint hint of pink at the tips of Aaron’s ears before you drive away.

-

You don’t see Aaron for several weeks.

You try not to let it bother you, starting to come to terms with the possibility that he just wasn’t interested in you or that you were too young and juvenile for him. So what if you’ve been picking up more shifts lately, just in case he decided to show up? Or spending your entire paycheck on cute outfits that hug you in all the right places? That isn’t anyone else’s business except yours.

So it’s totally because you’ve been bored all day when you let out a squeak of excitement at the text you get from your dad letting you know that him and Aaron were on their way to the country club.

It’s a slow Thursday afternoon, which means the men that do show up to play, clearly avoiding their wives, believe they can keep you around at their beck and call. A group of 3 older gentlemen who were somewhat regulars had asked you to drive them around in your golf cart despite regulations not allowing customers to catch a ride, but they’ve already racked up hundreds of dollars in drinks, so you’re sure your boss wouldn’t mind.

They’re also a little touchy, wanting to teach you how to play so they have an excuse to put their hands on your hips and not so subtly cop a feel, but their usual tips at the end of the day easily pays for half of your rent. So, you play along by flipping your hair over your shoulder a bit, maybe even acting a little ditsy when they talk about golf as if your dad hadn’t thrown you in lessons as soon as you were able to hold a club.

That’s why you’ve been sitting behind your wheel entertaining grandpa for the past 30 minutes, his friends actually focused on the game, as he rattles on about his ex-wife, how he’s currently looking for a younger girl to take out, and the best way to move your hips when you shoot.

“If you stand up, I can show you how,” he says hoarsely, standing so closely you can smell not only the acrid scent of beer that he’s been sipping on but also the general musty smell of old people you’ve unfortunately become familiar with.

You fake a laugh, even playing it up by leaning forward and patting his wrinkled hand from where it’s inching closer and closer to you on the headrest. “Oh, Jerry, I don’t think we have time for that. I have to make my rounds.”

When you spot Aaron and your father driving over the hill, the rattle of the shitty golf carts a familiar tune, you immediately lock gazes with him. It’s like watching a movie in slow motion the way you’re able to discern when Aaron notices the older man’s close proximity and your clear uncomfortable posture— his eyebrows drawing up in barely concealed shock before knitting in concern, eyes narrowing.

You let out a breathless laugh at the silent rage, plain as day, before scooting out through the other side of the cart and away from Jerry and his beady eyes.

“Where you going, hot stuff?” Ew.

You put on your sweet customer service smile, often used to placate the rowdier men, before you brush away imaginary dust and start throwing away the trash left on your cart. “Jerry! I still have to do my job!”

You’re relieved when Jerry finally takes the hint and shuffles away towards his golf bag that he left near the teeing area just as Aaron and your father pull up next to you with a screech, giving you a slight breeze. When Aaron steps out of the cart, the most mundane action in the world, he looks unfairly attractive. You stare at the slight flex of his biceps when he holds onto the roof of the cart before tearing yourself away and turning towards your dad.

“How are my two favorite guys?” you tease, giving your dad a hug when he opens his arms out.

“I don’t know about Hotch but I’m ready to kick his ass,” your dad laughs, patting Aaron’s back like they’re suddenly best friends. Which is almost true, seeing as how your dad has somehow become even more obsessed with him, having not stopped talking about losing to him several weeks ago and has evidently somehow roped him into another day on the course.

“Well, I don’t think I should choose sides,” you giggle and glance at Aaron. He’s squinting at you, as if you’re speaking a completely different language, his expression still strained and posture tense.  

You smile at him and give him a cheery little wave. “Hi Aaron.”

“Hi,” he says slowly, shoulders slowly relaxing, and hearing his voice makes you breathless all over again. “Are you okay?”

And it’s sweet, the obvious way Aaron is checking in on you as if you don’t do this every day. Truthfully, you’re used to it and it’s not like the men take it too far. You’re more focused on the fact that this is your second time meeting Aaron and he’s already concerned about your wellbeing and personal space like the true gentleman he is.  

You almost want to tease, poke fun at him, but then you remember your father standing mere inches away who probably wouldn’t like you flirting so unabashedly with his friend/coworker.

Instead, you roll your eyes and head towards your cart. “I’m fine. So, what can I get for you, handsome?”

You’re pulling up the POS on your iPad when you notice Aaron hasn’t answered yet. You turn to lean your hip against your cart, meeting his gaze steadily from where he’s studying you.

You decide to blatantly look him up and down— drinking in the fitted dark green polo, showing off the veins decorating his forearms, and black slacks, making him appear taller and hanging enticingly low on his hips. His hair is tousled from the wind and you notice some gray dusting at his sideburns. And then there’s something about the Rolex on his wrist, God, he’s so hot.

Aaron notices you checking him out, because of course he does. His eyes barely flicker down your body, not quite taking the same liberty as you, but you feel want curling in your stomach when he licks his lips.

“A gin and tonic sounds great, sweetie,” your father says, once again interrupting your thoughts, before he’s immediately launching into a ramble regarding what you assume is some office gossip.

“A water is fine,” Aaron says in between your dad’s breaths. He gives you a sheepish little twitch of the mouth that you shouldn’t find so endearing before he turns to give your dad his full attention.

You make your dad’s drink, the motions automatic and familiar, before you’re opening the cooler and bending over to reach a water bottle at the very bottom. You weren’t really doing it on purpose this time, too focused on getting the coldest bottle at the bottom of the cooler for him, but you still feel a thrill run up your spine when you hear a choked cough behind you.

At least you chose a skort today and not a skirt, though you’re sure it still doesn’t leave much room for the imagination with its flimsy white fabric.

A smirk tugs at your lips, hidden by the cooler, before you turn around with a polite smile and drinks in your hands. Maybe you weren’t wrong about being too juvenile for Aaron after all. “Here you guys are.”

When Aaron’s fingers brush against yours, something hot twists itself into your stomach and settles in between your thighs. You meet his gaze and notice his eyes, dark and almost predatory, pupils nearly completely blown.

You distantly hear your name being called through the blood rushing in your ears. When you break from the hold Aaron’s stare has on you and turn to where the sound came from, you spot Jerry still standing near his golf bag. He and his friends evidently still haven’t taken their shots and moved on yet, instead beckoning you over with a wave as if you were some bumbling waitress.

“Well, duty calls,” you feign a sigh. When you turn back around, Aaron’s wearing an almost petulant frown as he watches Jerry continue calling for you.

“We’ll see you around, pumpkin,” your dad says before slapping a $50 dollar bill in your hand, tutting at Aaron when he starts to pull out his wallet. “Let’s get a move on.”

And then he’s walking away, once again leaving you and Aaron alone.

You move to clean up your cart from where you made your drink, expecting Aaron to silently follow your father and not seeing him for several weeks again. You’re pleasantly surprised, maybe even a little smug, when you hear Aaron clear his throat, as if unsure what to say. And wouldn’t that be something—causing a unit chief of the FBI to hesitate.

“You get off at 6, right?”

A lazy grin blooms across your face as you meet Aaron’s eyes. He appears composed, stoic, but you can see the uncertainty swimming in his eyes, the frown still tugging at his lips as if he can’t get the thought of you with Jerry off his mind. He’s rubbing his thumb across his fingers and you wonder how it would feel on the bare skin of your hips.

“I sure do,” you chirp. “I’ll see you then?”

You can tell that Aaron wasn’t expecting you to give him another chance at backing out. His eyebrows raise in surprise, similarly to how they did when he first met you, like he thought he had you all figured out.

“See you then.”

-

Although you’re stuck with Jerry and his friends for the next 3 hours, you can feel the heavy weight of Aaron’s watchful eyes on your back the entire time. There were even several moments where you thought he was going to burn a hole in the back of your head, or especially Jerry’s, every time he put his clammy hands on yours to help you with a swing or at the small of your back.

And so what if you played it up a little, knowing that you barely knew Aaron but you were already digging your way under his skin?

Knowing Aaron was only several yards away, you laughed extra hard at Jerry’s jokes and bent over a little more every time you set the ball on the tee. It was exhilarating, playful in a way you’ve never felt before. You couldn’t deny that noticing the carnal way Aaron reacted to you, how he stared at you like he wanted to eat you alive, didn’t get you all hot and bothered. You’re sure the wetness between your legs was proof enough.

By the time 6 o’clock finally rolls around and you’re pulling up to the extra storage shed at the back of the country club, your wallet has grown a couple hundred dollars more and your cart’s glove box has gained a couple more slips of paper with phone numbers to gather dust in.

You’ve just finished unloading your cart and cleaning out your shelves when you hear another cart pulling up behind you. When you turn and realize that it’s Aaron, that he actually showed up, you feel giddy in a way you haven’t felt since you were a teenager.

“Hey you,” you say over the stack of crates you’re trying to organize. “Let me finish up real quick and then we can go.” Go where, you have no idea, but you’re sure the two of you will figure it out.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, standing so close to you now you can get a full whiff of his cologne. It’s something woodsy and warm that settles comfortably in your chest.

Any other day, you would’ve taken up his offer if only as an excuse to see him lifting crates of drinks and drooling over the way his arms would surely nearly burst out of his sleeves, but you’re honestly almost done and ready to get the hell out of here. “I’m almost done, I promise. But next time you can help so you can show off.”

Aaron immediately rolls his eyes, but you watch with glee as something quirks at the corner of his lips. “Yes, I sat in my car in the parking lot and waited for you just to show off.”

Damn, he is so cute when he’s actually making jokes with you.

You put away all of the cleaning products and lock the door before you’re stepping out to stand in front of Aaron where he’s hovering near your cart.

When you crane your neck to look up at him, you’re suddenly aware of how alone the two of you are, tucked away in a secluded area at the back of the country club where only employees have access to. The two of you are surrounded by trees, thankfully shielding you from the sun, and there’s only one path in and out of the area. The near constant drone of cicadas would be almost annoying if your attention wasn’t all focused on Aaron.

“So, why did you wait for me then?”

And just like that, Aaron’s eyes darken and he clenches his jaw. Now that there was nobody else around, teasing him almost felt like you were poking at a grumpy bear. A cute and very hot bear, but a bear, nonetheless.

“So I can do this.”

And then he’s placing a gentle hand on your waist, hot despite your already sun-kissed skin, and leaning in slowly, as if giving you the chance to back out in case he was reading your signals wrong.

You don’t think you could’ve laid it on thicker, so you meet him halfway to finally press your mouths together.

His lips are soft and he smells like sunscreen, and the way he kisses you is so tender it makes your chest tighten just a little. But it’s not enough.

You step closer into him, throwing your arms around his neck, and deepen the kiss. You catch him by surprise, detecting the exasperated smile against your mouth, but then his hand tightens its grip on your hip and he’s pulling you until you’re pressed flushed up against him.

You can feel the muscles in his chest and the softness of his stomach this way, and it’s so fucking delicious you can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth and into his.

It’s like a dam breaks loose because Aaron groans into your mouth, now causing you to smile, and then he’s spinning you around until he’s sitting in your golf cart and you’re planted right on his lap, straddling him with your knees on either side of his hips and the steering wheel digging into the small of your back.

You gasp in surprise, nearly dizzy with the action, but it melts into a breathy moan when Aaron’s hands run all over you—down your back, your hips, the flesh of your thighs, and then grabbing onto your ass so hard it just pushes you further into his lap. The barely there friction of his belt buckle against your pussy from the movement has you rolling your eyes back into your head, causing you to cant your hips forward again to chase the sharp pleasure twisting in your stomach.

“You’re so,” he mutters under his breath, face tucked between your breasts as he attempts to press open-mouthed kisses against the skin exposed by your black work polo. “Pretty.”

Then he’s lifting up your shirt until it gathers underneath your arms, just enough so he can move the band of your sports bra up so he could put his warm, wet mouth on the underside of your breasts. You know you must smell like sweat and sunscreen, your clothes still sticking to you, but that seems to just spur Aaron on as he moves up to suck a nipple into his mouth, flicking it repeatedly with his tongue.

“Aaron…” you exhale, pushing your chest into him to chase the wet heat of his mouth as he continues alternating sucking and licking at your nipples, hardening nearly immediately under him. It feels so fucking divine, you don’t think having your nipples played with has ever felt this good. You don’t even want to think about where else he can use his mouth. “Not here…”

He pulls back from your breasts and you’re mesmerized by the spit-slick shine of his lips as he meets your gaze from below you. His hands immediately come to replace his mouth, initially groping at you until thick fingers are grazing over your nipples before gently pinching. “There’s a banquet going on at the front of the club so no one’s coming back here.”

You have to bite your lip to prevent a whimper at the hot pleasure-pain from your breasts, your own hands coming up to tug at the damp hair on the back of his neck. Aaron groans at that, a sound coming deep from within his chest, and he jerkily thrusts his hips up as if they moved of their own accord.

You can feel the line of his hard cock against your inner thigh, so close to where you desperately want him, and your patience wanes thin for just a moment. Of course Aaron checked out the club first before coming back to meet you, as if he was planning on ambushing you behind the country club the entire time.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Aaron says, voice tight as if he was holding himself back from taking you right there on your golf cart with the fuzzy pink blanket on the seat and fairy lights hanging from the dashboard.

You’re tempted take him up on his offer and stop; climbing off his lap and inviting him back to your apartment so you can moan and scream all you want in your very comfortable bed, because Aaron seems like the type of man to want to hear every single noise.

But the thought of both of you being so desperate that you can’t help but rut against each other behind a fancy country club, where you’re at risk of anyone walking around the building and finding you? With your shirt rolled up and Aaron’s fingers nearly pressing bruises against your hips? You really should not find that as intoxicating and hot as you do.

It’s going to be uncomfortable, with the summer sun just barely moving to set over the horizon and your golf cart sometimes being too small even for you. You feel sweat already forming on your upper lip and hair sticking to your neck, internally hitting yourself for not buying that $5 fan that mounts on your dash.

Yet, as you look down at Aaron from where he’s propped his chin on your chest to meet your gaze, somehow looking both cute and ridiculously hot, you knew you couldn’t back out.

“Okay,” you whisper, grinning down at him before your fingers intertwine with his hair again to lean his head back and kiss him.

You think Aaron chuckles but you’re already swallowing it, shuffling somehow closer until the entire line of your body is against his. The top of your head keeps bumping into the roof of the cart and your thighs are already burning from the uncomfortable position of sitting up, but just then you angle your hips differently when you drop down and his bulge rubs against your clit in a way that has you sucking in a sharp breath.

“Fuck, you’d look so pretty riding on my cock,” Aaron breathes against your lips, the grip he has on your waist tightening as he starts to move you up and down on his lap. “I bet you’re so wet for me.”

His left hand trails down your thigh, moving inward, and you squirm when you feel his thick fingers pressing against your cunt, wetness already seeping through your panties and the shorts of your tennis skirt. He briefly rubs through down your slit, spreading the wetness around and causing the fabric to cling to you.

“Is this all for me, pretty girl?” he murmurs, not even giving you the chance to answer before he’s moving the fabric aside to press his hot fingers against your soaked cunt.

You let out a long moan at finally being touched, the ache between your thighs becoming unbearable. You try to angle your hips in an effort to get more of his fingers on you, maybe even inside of you, but Aaron annoyingly avoids your hole and instead intently traces them gently through your folds before moving up to rub circles against your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, eyes nearly fluttering shut and your thighs trembling as the tight coil in the pit of your stomach builds so fast it knocks the breath out of you.

Aaron hums. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod, at a loss for words as you chase the building pressure. He rubs your clit agonizingly slow, like he wants to prolong this as he intently studies your reactions.

You’re about to beg him to hurry up when he stops and removes his fingers from underneath your skirt. Your breath stutters at the loss of sensation until you notice Aaron holding his hand up to eye-level.

His thick fingers are obscenely drenched in your wetness, nearly glistening. You should feel embarrassed, that you’re so horny for him that you’re getting off at the possibility of being caught, but you don’t. In fact, noticing just how much Aaron is enjoying you enjoying yourself makes you feel even more flushed, more needy.

You lean in to bring his two fingers into your open mouth, swirling your tongue around the rough callouses as your own musky taste infiltrates your senses.

When you look down to meet his eyes, yours no doubt glossed over, he nearly growls as he yanks his fingers out of your mouth and kisses you, tongue prodding against yours. You feel a rumble from his chest as he chases the taste of your pussy in your mouth.

When he pulls back, he has a wild look in his eyes that does nothing to quell the fire in your stomach and the growing ache in your pussy. He runs his hands up and down your sides, nearly reverent, before thrusting his hips up so his cock presses against you. “Do you think you can come like this?”

Honestly, you think you could come in 30 seconds, with the way he grabs and moves your hips so deliciously you swear you could feel every inch of him, staring at you as if he couldn’t believe you were giving him the time of day.

“Yes,” you breath, and then Aaron is giving you a wicked grin, something dangerous in his eyes.

He moves you until you’re fully seated on his lap, giving your knees a break, and then moving you back and forth against his cock, the drag of his slacks against the fabric of your shorts rubbing deliciously against your clit, causing you to nearly choke on your own saliva.

You rest your forehead against his, both of you panting, as you start grinding against him. Even through the several layers of fabric, you can feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing in between your cunt and against your clit. You nearly feel dizzy, like the heat was getting to you, as your hands scramble to find purchase on his broad shoulders.

“Just like that, honey,” Aaron pants as you watch a droplet of sweat run down the side of his face through half-lidded eyes. “Make yourself come just like that.”

You’re shamelessly whimpering in between your moans now as you grind against him faster, the tightness in your core growing at the lewdness of his words. Aaron just lets you rut against him, essentially sitting still besides his hands on your hips helping you move back and forth. You feel the stickiness on your inner thighs, a mixture of sweat and your arousal, and you bet if you glanced down, there’d be a wet spot on his slacks. That image in your head sends you reeling and nearly over the edge, your thighs squeezing around his hips.

“Come on, sweetie.” Fuck, even the low tone of his voice adds to it, the raspiness giving away how just as equally turned on he was. Your chest is heaving, thighs trembling, and you’re so fucking close. “I can’t wait to fuck your pretty pussy later, make you come, over and over on my cock.”

Aaron rolls his hips then, and the new angle has the head of his cock pressing against your clit just so that has you gasping, back arching, and you finally fall over the edge as your orgasm hits you like a fucking train.

Your breath is knocked out of your chest, your eyes squeezing shut as you desperately chase the feeling of his cock against your clit as your clench around nothing. You distantly feel Aaron still grinding your hips back and forth as you ride it out, the tight hold he has on your hips just adding to your bliss. The repeated motions eventually become overstimulating, almost too much, but it deliciously adds to your aftershocks and causes you to release a choked whimper.

When you blearily blink your eyes open, Aaron is staring at you like he’s drinking you up, memorizing every little detail about you. The hair at his forehead is curling from the sweat and his face is tinged pink, but his eyes are a pretty molten brown and there’s something soft tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey handsome,” you say breathlessly, giving him a weary smile as you bring your hand up to wipe away the sweat on your own forehead. When you purse your lips, Aaron huffs a laugh and immediately leans in to give you a chaste kiss that does nothing to calm your racing heart.

You feel Aaron languidly move his hips up against you, making you hum against his mouth. When you look down, not only do you see the line of his cock where he’s still impossibly hard, but also a barely visible wet spot on his black slacks. From you.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, embarrassment burning hot on your ears.

“I’m not,” Aaron says before his hands come down to swiftly unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants and briefs until his cock springs free.

Your mouth instantly waters because fuck, is he big. He’s thick, a drop of precum beading at the slit with a delicious-looking prominent vein that runs on the underside that you can see when he wraps his left hand around his cock and starts jerking himself off.

“Do you want me to…” you trail off, your hands twitching from where they’re still on top of his shoulders and eyes zeroing in on his large hand on his cock.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he huffs. “I’m close, just sit there and look pretty.”

You think your brain short circuits, because no way is this man not only okay with you rutting up on him, but also got close enough to coming from watching you come? And now he doesn’t even want you to touch him, he’s okay with just looking at you as he gets himself off?

Your heart thumps erratically because Aaron looks like the absolute definition of sin; hair slightly damp and tousled, his bicep flexing from where he’s erratically jerking himself off, and his chest heaving deliciously. His lips are parted and he’s watching you with half-lidded eyes, your shirt still bunched under your arms and exposing your breasts and your aching thighs wrapped around him.

You lean back against the steering wheel, ignoring how it digs harder into your back, as you decide to flip up your skirt until your clothed cunt is exposed. The piece of fabric is nearly see-through with how wet you are, and you bite your lip when you bring a hand down to move the fabric aside and angle your hips up until your bare pussy was exposed.

Aaron lets out a strangled noise, and you watch in awe as his hand around his cock pumps faster until it’s nearly a blur. You look up to see his eyes trained on your pussy, wet and puffy. The squelching of him fucking into his own hand, so turned on that he was steadily leaking precum from the slit of his cock was so fucking filthy that you felt the beginning sparks of arousal tugging in your abdomen again.

“Are you going to come all over my pussy?” you whisper.

Aaron suddenly lets out a deep and guttural groan, his breath stuttering and hand stilling, before he comes with his head thrown back. You watch, mesmerized, as hot spurts of his come land on your bare pussy, some even catching on your folds as you clench around nothing.

It’s so fucking hot, he’s so fucking hot.

It’s silent while you both catch your breath, the mindless chirping of birds dwindling down as the sun finally starts to set and the air begins to slightly cool.

You pull your shirt down before you lean over to reach for the tissues you usually keep in your purse on the floor. The way you have to twist your body while still on Aaron’s lap is uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he helps you sit back up with hands on your sides.

He wordlessly takes the pack of tissues from your hand to clean you up. He’s meticulous, eyebrows almost comically furrowed in concentration as he makes sure you’re presentable again. When he’s done, he looks around for a trash can and, upon not finding one, he stuffs the tissues in his pocket. You give him a teasing disgusted look, to which Aaron responds by rolling his eyes.

When you climb off his lap with a groan, your hips and knees pop. You stretch your back out a bit by twisting your body back and forth and notice Aaron getting up as well, watching you with a confused, yet fond, expression.

“You’re too young for your body to crack like that.”

You laugh. “Whatever you say, grandpa.”

You’re suddenly being pulled into Aaron’s embrace with a squeal, an arm snaking around your waist, instinctively putting your hands up on his chest as you steady yourself.

“I think I’ve more than shown you that I’m not a grandpa,” he mutters, lowly and directly in your ear, making you nearly swoon against him.

You clear your throat, using him as leverage to push back at him until you’re able to meet his eyes. “Well, not-grandpa, would you be able to wash my cart blanket? Since it was your idea to dirty it up.”

You can tell Aaron is holding himself back from rolling his eyes again. Instead, he chuckles, letting you go so he could grab the fuzzy pink blanket that is actually most likely devoid of any suspicious stains.

“Can I ride in your car?” you ask, giving him a shy smile. “So I can… see how efficient your washer and dryer is? The material for that blanket is very expensive, you know.” Never mind the fact that you got it from Target nor the fact that you drove yourself to the country club.

Aaron obviously sees right through you, not bothering to hold back a soft laugh. Witnessing him joking with you, his guard down, has your heart thumping just a little bit harder.

He stretches his hand out to you, palm up. “Come on, let’s go inspect my house appliances then.”

You place your hand in his, silently giggling to yourself when you notice how large his hand looks compared to yours, and sidle up next to him despite both of you still damp with sweat.

“Let’s go, hot grandpa.”

The laugh that Aaron lets out, soft and sweet, makes you so grateful to your dad for getting you this job.

taglist <3 @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover lmk if you would like to be added!

[ktownshizzle]

Nerd & Nerdier | Chapter 1

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader, Jeon Wonwoo x reader; endgame? x reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Attempt At Comedy, Roommates au, Love triangle

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. Not when it’s Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo, who decide they both want you. Unhinged, awkward, and nerdy as hell, they proceed to compete for your attention in the most unnecessarily dramatic fashion that culminates into a… rap battle.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Wildly gratuitous, You might 100% chance you’ll fall in love with both of them so that’s a problem, no mxm dynamics to be expected

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: None

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 15, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: I am quite nervous about this series if imma be really honest bec this the first time I am doing a BTS-SVT crossover fic, but basically Yoongi and Wonwoo are ruining my life so I need to cope, please be kind I literally do not know what I’m doing. All I know is I have written out a good chunk of this series and I promise it’ll be fun. :) Thanks Jae @angellekookie for being my first test subject. I hope you all enjoy!~

TAGLIST IS OPEN | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. That’s what you told yourself when you signed the lease, all bright-eyed optimism and naive faith in your ability to coexist peacefully with two quiet, low-maintenance roommates.

You were wrong.

Because Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo weren’t just introverts. They were weaponized introverts.

The kind that moved through life with an air of effortless detachment, as if emotions were things that happened to other people, not them. The kind that could sit in the same room in absolute silence for hours without any need to acknowledge each other’s existence. The kind that, despite their best efforts, were also painfully awkward. 

But that’s okay. In fact that’s part of their charm.

You think they’re both cool, if slightly nerdy. Yoongi was a music producer and Wonwoo was a game developer. They both have a penchant for photography, their cameras holding space in a special shelf in your living room. Yoongi liked cooking, Wonwoo liked reading. Both of them are passable singers, but you’ve heard them rap (under their breaths) to Epik High whenever you played their old songs, and both got flow, not gonna lie.

While Yoongi had the energy of a cat who tolerated your presence at best, Wonwoo had the aura of a ghost who wasn’t sure if he was haunting you or just existing in the same space by accident.

And despite your awkward first interactions, Yoongi eventually warmed up to you in the way one might warm up to a stray cat that kept showing up at their doorstep—begrudgingly, but with an unspoken fondness. Wonwoo, on the other hand, started making these tiny, barely noticeable gestures of consideration, like leaving the light on if you were out late or subtly pushing your favorite snacks to the front of the pantry because you were too short to reach them from the back.

And you, completely oblivious to the trouble brewing beneath the surface, assumed that was that. Roomies being roomies. 

What you didn’t realize was that somewhere between stolen bites of Yoongi’s late-night ramen while listening to his records and the post-work gaming sessions you have with Wonwoo while sharing popcorn, both boys had started to notice you in a way that was definitely not roommate-friendly and vice versa.

Roll the tape…

(01)

You weren’t even thinking when you snuck into the kitchen that night, mind set on one thing and one thing only: honey butter chips.

It wasn’t your fault that you finished your bag (Calbee puts some kind of crack in there, you swear), but you know someone else might still have a bag or two on the top shelf, if only you could rea—

“Tryna steal hyung’s stash again?”

You jumped, turning to see Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his glasses slightly askew and his hair falling over his eyes. The loose shirt he wore hung off his shoulders just right, and it suddenly struck you how broad those shoulders actually were.

“Fuck,” you whispered, heart still racing. “You scared me.”

As he walked over, you couldn’t help but notice how quietly he moved, almost like he was gliding. And when he reached past you to grab the snacks with ease, you caught the faint scent of his shampoo, something clean and subtle that made you a little dizzy.

“How’d you know these were what I wanted?” you asked softly.

Wonwoo’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer. “You always reach for them first at the store,” he said, like it was obvious.

And maybe it was. 

He casually opened the bag with one clean twist, the foil crinkling in the quiet kitchen before handing it to you. Without a word, he reached in and popped a chip into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Then he smiled—small, lopsided, and so effortlessly boyish that it caught you off guard. You’d never realized how cute his smile was until now.

As he walked away, you stood there, clutching the bag of snacks to your chest as Wonwoo headed back to his room, leaving you alone in the kitchen with a weird fluttering in your stomach.

(02)

One night, sleep evaded you completely. Maybe it was the weight of the day, or maybe it was the sudden pang of missing your family that you couldn’t shake.

The faint sound of music led you to Yoongi’s room. You hovered at his door, unsure, until—

“Come in,” his low voice called out.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of his monitor. Yoongi sat at his desk, sleeves pushed up, fingers tapping rhythmically against his keyboard. You tried not to stare, but there was something unfairly attractive about how effortlessly cool he looked, even half-asleep.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Mmhm,” you admitted with a hum. “Just… missing home, I guess.”

Yoongi’s expression softened just slightly, enough for you to notice. “Mm. That shit sneaks up on you,” he muttered.

“Can I stay?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Somehow, it felt weird taking up space in his bed. So you sat on the floor instead, hugging your knees.

After a beat he joined you on the rug and he played a track for you. The music was soft, layered, and it made something inside you ache in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Like a happy memory…”

Yoongi chuckled softly. “Yah, don’t go emo on me now.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension in your chest eased a little.

At some point, your head found its way to his shoulder, your exhaustion catching up with you. Yoongi froze for half a second before leaning his head gently against yours.

Neither of you said anything when you stirred a few hours after.

Neither of you needed to.

Roommate Rule #1: Don’t Fall for Your Roommate(s). (Too Late)

Things like that kept happening. Quiet moments. Moments that weren’t meant to mean anything but lingered far longer than they should have. Little details you started noticing about them, that maybe you shouldn’t have.

The way Yoongi’s sleeves were always rolled up, revealing strong forearms that you had no business looking at for that long. The way Wonwoo’s glasses would slide down his nose when he was focused, and how you found yourself wanting to reach over and push them back up for him.

You pushed those thoughts aside. Because they’re your roommates.

But something had already shifted. You just hadn’t realized how much.

Which led to the current situation:

Yoongi, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching you laugh at something Wonwoo just said. 

Wonwoo, sipping his coffee with a smug little tilt of his lips, aware that his hyung was watching and he’s thriving off it.

And you, completely unaware that you were the unintentional catalyst for an impending nerd war aka the royal roomie rumble aka the most awkward month of your life.

Are you even ready?

;)

A/N: How are we feeling????? I'm really excited about this series. (I know I have a million WIPS but pleaseee... this one has been HAUNTING my dreams)

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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)

[meazalykov]

goodbye means forever

ingrid engen x f!reader

summary: you cannot stop the inevitable

warnings: angst, reader kinda abandoned ingrid due to a mistake in communication.

things haven’t been the same at barcelona for a while now.  

it started with the coaching change. new tactics, new ideas, new rotations that never seemed to favor you or ingrid with it came to romeu.

no matter how hard you trained, how much you gave on the pitch, there was always something missing in the eyes of the staff. it was as if your star quality just dimmed, as if you were pushed into the background.

you were still starting most matches, but it was totally different than from the first season you came. you weren’t playing the full ninety like before, weren’t the first name on the teamsheet anymore.  

for ingrid, it was even worse.  

as a center back, she relied on consistency, on knowing who was beside her, what the system required from her. the constant shifting of defensive pairings, the coach’s indecision, the sudden preference for younger players…it was exhausting.

she never complained, not in front of the team, but you saw it at home.

the way she sank onto the couch after training, the way she lingered in the shower longer than usual, the frustration simmering just beneath her calm exterior.  

at the same time, the drama started coming inside of the dressing room.  

it started small. little things between teammates that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow became everything. disagreements in training, tension in the locker room. whispers about who should be playing more, who should be benched. 

it was nothing new. competition at a club like barcelona was always fierce, but this time it felt toxic. it wasn’t pushing anyone to be better; it was just wearing everyone down.

the loss against levante proved that, the first league loss since 2023. 

you and ingrid were supposed to be some of the best in the world. a left winger who could glide past defenders like they weren’t even there, a center back who could read the game better than anyone. 

now, it felt like you were both taking steps backward. as if you were back in lyon and her in wolfsburg.

so you talked.  

at home, away from the ears of your teammates, you and ingrid talked about transfers.  

"lyon is interested," ingrid told you one night, sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone. 

"they want me in the winter window."  

"lyon?" you repeated, raising a brow. 

"ingrid, that’s back home."  

she shrugged, not looking up. 

"for you.. not me... so?"  

"so... are you really thinking about leaving?"  

ingrid sighed, setting her phone down. 

"i don’t know. i love barcelona, but this... this isn’t the same club we were promised.. if that is the right way to say it."  

she wasn’t wrong.  

"it’s just... lyon just has a different– a different level of competition i guess?," you murmured, unsure how to phrase it without sounding dismissive of your ex-club.  

she nodded. 

"y/n, it’s stability. it’s a chance for me to enjoy football again. isn’t that what we want?"  

you hesitated. 

"what do you think i should do?"  

ingrid looked at you then, really looked at you. 

"i don’t know, baby. i don’t think you’re happy here either."  

you weren’t. you knew that.  

going back to lyon? that wasn’t an option for you. ingrid has never played at lyon before, but you have. you don’t think that lyon is in your path again.

you already did that part of your career, and it never felt like home.  

chelsea had been on your mind for a while. keira had an offer from them too, and lucy was already there. it made sense. it felt like the right step for you.  

you didn’t say that. not yet.  

the winter window dragged on, full of rumors, speculation, constant questions. neither of you spoke about transfers at the club. 

you couldn’t. it was an unspoken rule…no distractions.  

at home, it became everything. it's the only thing that you and your girlfriend could talk about. 

"i think i’m taking it," ingrid told you one night, curling into your side on the couch.  

you tensed, fingers pausing where they were tracing lazy circles on her back. 

"taking what?"  

"the lyon deal. but... not yet. i want to finish the season here."  

you swallowed hard, not sure how to respond because it was already done for you. chelsea had sent the final paperwork. you had accepted.  

"ingrid..."  

she lifted her head slightly, sensing something in your tone. 

"what?"  

you took a deep breath. 

"i’m leaving."  

the scandi’s entire body stiffened.  

"what?"  

"i…i thought you were leaving in the winter, and i—"  

you protest. 

"when did you decide this?" she asked, sitting up fully now, looking at you with wide, betrayed eyes.  

"last week."  

she let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. 

"last week? you’ve known for a week, and you didn’t tell me?"  

"i didn’t know how," you admitted. 

"i thought you were leaving too. i didn’t think we’d.."  

"i never said i was leaving in the winter, y/n."  

silence.  

she exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. 

"so... that’s it? you’re going to london?"  

you nodded, stomach twisting.  

"and you didn’t think we should talk about this? actually talk about it?"  

"we did talk about it."  

"not like this!"  

your chest ached. 

"i didn’t want to make you choose between me and barcelona."  

"but you made the choice for me, didn’t you?"  

you had no response to that.  

the last night before you left was quiet. too quiet.  

ingrid lay beside you, but there was a distance between you that felt impossible to close. you wanted to reach for her, to tell her that everything would be okay.  

you didn’t because you didn’t know if that was true.  

the morning came too fast.  

you stood at the door, bags packed, heart heavy. ingrid was in front of you, arms crossed, looking like she was trying so hard not to fall apart.  

"we’ll figure this out," you told her.  

she swallowed. 

"yeah."  

"i love you."  

she nodded, blinking rapidly. 

"i love you too."  

you kissed her. soft, lingering. desperate.  

then you walked away.  

london was different.  

chelsea felt strange at first, like you didn’t belong. the rivalry you had with them back in barcelona still lingered in your mind.  

keira was here and came along with you, and lucy had been here a season already. they welcomed you with open arms, helped you adjust.  

surprisingly, the team? they made it easy.  

there was no drama. no tension. no toxic environment.  

you could just... play.  

it wasn’t perfect, not yet. you still missed ingrid. 

you still hated the way the spanish media twisted your transfer into some betrayal, still saw the comments, the hate.  

ingrid is receiving hate for the lyon rumors too.. how dare she try and transfer to another club but demand a starting spot once the window has closed? according to the media.

for you, you hoped that you’ll be loved in london. you hope that ingrid can continue to be the best with barcelona until she can transfer clubs. 

however, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.  

london is a breath of fresh air.

masterlist

[snoopychris]

loml

warnings: angst with foreplay, p in v, lots of mentions of pregnancy

as much as the media could try to portray it as the best place on earth, sometimes it was the absolute worst. Hollywood. the only industry on earth where if you messed up once, forget about everything you had ever worked for. if you ended up on the wrong side of a breakup, forget about ever being seen on a red carpet again. if you had famous parents, forget about any credit ever being given to you– it would all tie back to your parents unless you were charming enough from a young age. luckily for you, thats right where you landed. you were Hollywood’s sweetheart from day one, known equally for your charm and being Jason Segel’s daughter. 

it was fairly known that you had never paid for any sort of role in your life. never getting anything just handed to you, no, you always worked for it. you were always known for working for it. known for trying to be as independent from your father’s projects and having your own. it wasnt a shocker to anybody when you had started your own clothing brand at age 21. it was at the launch party when you first met matt. the youtube boy— who was skyrocketing to fame with his brothers on their own accord— right there at your party. like the rest of the world you had seen him online before, but it was so different in person.

whereas his online persona was the quiet one of the group, the one who got the least amount of action, his real and true self was the exact opposite. he was charming in every sense of the word. 

even with all the flashing lights and loud noises that should’ve been distracting you, even with the constant nagging from the photographers and interviews around you, and even with your dads constant tugs on your arm to get you to pay attention, all you could manage to focus on was him. and the same way you could only focus on him, matt could only focus on you. 

nick was nagging him to take a few pictures, chris was begging him to light up just one more time, his manager was trying to pull him away to go get some publicity. the distractions just weren’t working. for either of you. and when the both of you finally locked eyes, you both just knew. complete strangers at the start of the night, but by the end of the celebration, it was the start of the best love story hollywood had seen in recent years.

one month in. 

the giggling in the house was all that could be heard. it had been nonstop for hours at this point. chris and nick would usually be sick of the lack of silence in the house, but seeing their brother so happy made it more than okay. they could have left a while ago, but it was a lot more fun to watch this love story unfold than to go to a random store to shop. you and matt just fit so perfectly together. even the lines on your palms managed to match up. it’s like somebody in the heavens above had made one person and split them into two bodies. that’s just how perfect it all was. 

the two of you hadn’t been seen together in public yet— much to the dismay of the paparazzi who had seen the spark that ignited at your party— but it was better this way. even without an official label, it was better to keep some stuff more public. this wasn’t their relationship after all, it was yours. it was yours and it was everything both of you had ever needed and more. there wasnt a single second where anything felt wrong. it was nothing but mutual love and happiness. 

“hey lovebirds we’re going to In-n-Out, do you guys want anything?” Chris asks, grabbing onto his car keys from the table. it feels like its part of a movie script when both of you reply with the same thing. “plain double-double with fries!” the grip you had on matt’s shirt tightens when you break out in another fit of giggles, face burying into his chest as he holds onto you as if you were about to leave him forever. Chris smiles at his brothers actions, following nick out the front door. “Nick fifty bucks says the get married.” Chris whispers, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. Nick shakes his head in denial, pushing his brothers wallet back. “it wouldnt be smart for me to bet against it. i know they’ll get married.”

three months in. 

for the first time in your entire Hollywood career, you had a date to a red carpet that wasnt your father. this time, Matt was right by your side for the entire night. the outfits the two of you wore were coordinated to one anothers to the last detail. your dior converse-style shoes matched matt’s tie, your baby pink dress matched matt’s baby pink suit, your headband matched his belt, and even though the cameras would never see it, even your undergarments were matching. his grip on your waist was tight, as if making sure that nobody got too close to you or to make sure that nobody was bothering you. the flashes coming from the crowd were constant and expected, but this time just felt so different than all the times before. 

this time it felt like the moment was being photographed, not the people. it felt like every good feeling in the world all tied into one with a ribbon. matt’s whispers of silent nothings into your ears just made it all better. one picture in particular made magazine covers. an image in which matt was gripping onto one of your hands while his eyes were locked onto your lips and his free hand was pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, all while you were looking directly into his eyes while the rain began pouring over the previously sunny california skies. it looked like it could be straight from a romcom. it seemed like your relationship was straight out of a romcom. 

when the event was over, there was no question about where you would end up. your apartment was nice and quiet— far enough from downtown los angeles to give you the privacy you so desperately needed sometimes, but close enough to be within a drivable distance to the constant events and shoots you had to do. upon arrival, matt’s soft lips were kissing all over your body in the most loving way possible, words in between every phrase that left his mouth as if he were writing a poem and you were his muse. “my sweet girl” kiss “god, am i lucky.” kiss. “this is everything i could’ve ever asked for and more” kiss. “you make me feel things nobody’s ever made me feel before.” kiss. “you truly reformed me, darling.” kiss. the last kiss was the most passionate. it was just so genuine. you couldn’t believe the sort of life you were living right now.

“you’re such a romantic, y’know that matt?” you whisper, hands moving to loosen his tie. both of you knew that the night would end up like this from the moment it started, but it was the best possible outcome. he shrugs as he lays you down onto your bed gently, stripping you of your clothes as well as his. he doesn’t hesitate to slide into you as soon as he has a condom on, pulling you into another passionate kiss.

his hand lays on the back of your neck as he begins to move in a gentle pace, making sure that the entire time you felt safe, comfortable, and most importantly, loved. this wasn’t just any act of sex the way both of you had experienced with others before, this was the act of lovemaking. in a way, it was like losing your virginity all over again because of how different it was. in the post-coital bliss the two of you were experiencing, matt still nestled in side you, the words just slipped from his mouth. “i love you. i love you so much.” you smile up at him, your eyes saying everything that he needed to know, but it didn’t take long for your mouth to catch up. “i love you.”

six months in.

“are you sure i look okay? i just… im really trying to make a good first impression and y-your mom seems so sweet but what if she doesn’t like me. or what if she thinks my outfit is ridiculous and that you could do so much better than me and what if she jus-” your rambling was cut off by a sudden kiss, breaking you free from the grasps of your mind and its cruel words. “you look beautiful. she’s gonna love it. she’s gonna love you just as much as i do.” he whispers, his hand resting on your thigh as he pulled into his family’s Boston driveway. your flight had landed an hour ago, and the hour between your arrival to Boston and your arrival to his house was one of the most stressful hours of your life. his words of reassurance were more than what you needed. 

the dinner went better than you could’ve ever imagined. matt was right. his parents loved you. his brothers seemed to only love you even more. it was as if you had always been a part of the family. his hand had never left your grip, holding your small hand tightly in his. he wanted to put a ring on it so badly. but he knew it was too soon. he knew it wasn’t time yet. his mother seemed to know just what he was thinking by the end of the night. while you were sitting in the living room having a small chat with nick, matt got pulled aside by none other than marylou. 

he hadn’t done anything wrong all night, so he truly had no idea what it could be about. he was quite worried to be completely honest. “i want you to propose with grandmas ring. you tell me when you’re ready and i’ll give it to you. you guys are just so good together that i can sense that it’s going to happen. i’m so happy for you my dear boy.” she whispers, tears forming in her eyes as she speaks. her thumb brushes over matt’s cheek before she gets pulled into a tight hug, a whisper filling her ear. “i promise you’ll be the first to know mama.”

one year in

“this just in! bum bum bum!!!” you joke, matt’s grip on you only tightening at your words. “matt sturniolo keeps americas sweetheart locked in a 10 by 15 foot bedroom in order to keep her with him at all times. stay tuned to see how the story unfolds.” matt lets out a loud laugh at your words, fingers pushing through your hair. “yeah okay princess if that’s what you think this is.” he replies, a kiss being pressed to your forehead. you giggle as you sit up on his waist, hands playing with a loose string on his shirt. he can’t help but admire you in this moment. “matt cmon i haven’t been home—my own home— in three days! i still have a family y’know. plus… my jelly cats miss me” 

“so move in with me.” he whispers. your heart stops. you think he’s just pulling some sort of prank on you. it’s just too out of the blue to be real. “matt don’t play like that.” you mumble, burying your head in the crook of his neck. “i’m not playing! i just think… we spend so much time together anyway… you’ve got the money and i’ve got the money… we’d finally have some privacy. we could even get an apartment together instead of moving into yours.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “okay.” you whisper back, nodding against his neck. he can’t believe his ears. “okay? wait so we’re moving in together?” he asks excitedly, laughing when you nod and kissing your face all over. it was the start of a new chapter for americas favorite couple.

one year, 3 months in.

the panting that filled the room was just the right amount of overwhelming. most of it was coming from you, but a few were coming from matt. his leg was draped over yours, keeping a hold on you subtly. “we’re out of condoms.” he whispers, tracing shapes on your thigh. you nod as you look over at the bedside table, licking your lips. “you’ve been breaking in all the surfaces in the new place… should’ve gotten a twin pack.” you giggle, moving to rest your head on his chest. matt’s arm moves to wrap around your shoulder, finger moving to trace shapes on your back.

“i can’t help it. i’ve got the prettiest girl in the whole industry in my bed. our bed. and i would love to go another round if she’d let me.” his words make you chuckle, pouting your lip teasingly. “if only it worked like that. no, not without a condom. you know that.” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his slight stubble.

“oh come on. you’re tellin me you’re never gonna let me hit it raw? never ever?” he jokes, wincing when you slap his arm gently. his eyes widen at you, as if he’s actually expecting an answer. when he pinches your arm you realize that he is. “well of course i will just… not anytime soon. and i mean i’ve been on birth control since i was sixteen so really the chances are reduced but… the idea of having kids is kinda scary don’t y’think?” you mumble, furrowing your brows. matt shakes his head, stretching one hand out behind his head.

“no not with you. i think i could do anything with you. think you’d be great at all that mom stuff.” your gaze softens at his words, pressing another kiss to his lips gently. “one day.” you whisper, shifting your position to be fully on top of him. he nods in retaliation, kissing your forehead. “one day.” 

one year, six months in. 

“to a miss y/n segel.” matt states, handing a fancy looking envelope to you straight from the mail. “thought you said you weren’t waiting on anything.” he continues, flipping through the junk mail that arrived. you nod, gently opening the envelope. “it’s cause i wasn’t. i don’t know what this is.” you whisper, gasping when you pull out the contents. “miss y/n… we here at Prada are big fans of your work and the message you try to spread to all of your loyal followers and anybody who will listen. with this letter we cordially invite you and a plus one to visit our headquarters in Milan after Paris Fashion Week concludes this upcoming Winter. please reply at your earliest convenience to the information attached at the bottom of the letter. we hope to see you soon.”

“we’re going to milan…” you whisper, eyes darting to meet matt’s. his eyes widen in shock, glancing down at the letter before pulling you into a tight hug from behind. “oh i dont know… i dont have one of those invites.” he jokes, you push his head away from you playfully, looking into the same blue eyes youd fallen in love with over the 18 months you had known him. “well in that case…” 

Matt’s life flashes before his eyes when you sink down to one knee, Prada envelope in hand. “Mr. Matt Sturniolo… will you… go to Milan with me?” you giggle, the faux-proposal turning cogs in matts head. “yes! yes yes yes a thousand times yes!” he laughs, taking the envelope as if it were a ring. he wonders if you would react the same way when he proposed to you in the future. he hopes you do. 

one year, seven months in. 

shopping for a fashion trip was a lot harder than it seemed. matt was with you every step of the way, but shopping for him was a lot harder than shopping for you was. you groan when you leave the fourth department store of the trip, burying your head in your boyfriends chest “‘m tired… this is hard.” you whine, his hand flying to your hair as he chuckles. “yeah? y’struggling? i told you i think you look great in everything. especially that little white one.” you shake your head, the prominent pout on your face telling matt everything he needs to know. “fine… fine! i’ll take you home” you smile giddily when he makes his way towards the exit, only stopping when you see the most gorgeous dress youd ever seen in a store window.

your breath gets caught in your chest at the sight of it. you just have to have it. your legs carry you into the store, asking an associate to try it on in your size. the second that the dress is on your body, you know that its just the dress for you. it seems like it was made for you with the way the color patterns and style is everything you couldve asked for. 

“Matty?” you whisper, tucking one of your hands into one of dress's pockets. Matts heart damn near stops at the sight of you in it. “it looks nice… really nice. I really like it. you gonna get it?” he asks, pulling you close with a small spin. you giggle at the action and shrug, glancing down at the price tag. “I dunno… its twelve hundred dollars. kinda a lot for a dress dont y’think?” the hesitation in your voice is clear. the lack thereof in matts is clearer. “let me buy it for you. you deserve something nice every now and then, my love. Ill buy this for you and anything else you want. forever and always.” he smiles, sticking a pinky out to you to offer a pinky promise. you lock your fingers with his, nodding at his words in agreement. “forever and always.” 

two years in. 

“Chris… oh my god he’s so little!” you smile, glancing down at the newborn in the hospital bassinet. everybody had been shocked when chris was the first Sturniolo to become a dad. it was a happy accident as the result of a one night stand. he had kept it a secret until his son had been born, the news coming from an incoming facetime call matt received. the two of you had rushed your way over when the call ended, putting you in the place you are now. “Chris hes perfect… oh my god its a baby!” you whisper yell, making sure to be careful due to the babies size. Matt chuckles as he pats his brother on the back, a sign of encouragement.

if matt was worried about becoming a father one day, he couldnt imagine how his little brother was feeling right now. the coos coming from the baby keep earning giggles and baby noises from you, making both matt and chris smile widely. “I want one” you pout, glancing over your shoulder to look at matt. his eyes are about to pop out of their sockets at your words. it had been briefly touched on in the length of your relationship before, but this time felt so much more serious than the other times. he nods, crossing his arms at your words.

“technically that ones fifty percent mine… take him.” he jokes, earning a slap on the chest from his brother. he winces, pouting his lips. “that ones mine… just give her her own.” chris replies, reaching to grab his now crying son from the crib. Matt eyes you up and down, gesturing you over. his arms wrap around you, chin resting on the top of your head. “ill get you one… one day. cant give you one while youre on the pill now can you” he jokes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. you give into all of the touches, watching as chris interacts with the baby. your heart flutters a bit, imagining it being matt playing with your own children rather than chris being with his. one day. 

two years, six months in.

“what if we just dont go tonight? we can stay here… have some mindblowing sex. i can even wear the set you like! cmon pleaseeeeee? I promise ill make it much more worth your while than dinner at the cheesecake factory.” you plead, putting your earrings on regardless. youre wearing the dress that matt had bought you for milan, arguably a bit fancy for the cheesecake factory, but matt insisted you wear it. he shakes his head as he sprays on his cologne, placing your hands in his. “y/n. we’re going. i’ll take you up on that offer of the sex later though. I wanna have a nice dinner with you.” you smile up at the boy, nodding your head.

“Okay… okay fine you win. youre like a disney prince oh my god.” you giggle, placing a hand on his cheek. he gives into the touch, pressing a small trail of kisses up your arm. when he finally reaches your face, he presses the most gentle kiss on your lips. you smile at the simple actions, gripping onto his hands. “Fineeeee. but i want multiple types of cheesecake.” you negotiate. Matt nods, patting his coat to make sure he has everything he needs. he lets out a sigh of relief when he feels that his keys, his phone, and the little velvet box are all in his pocket. 

when you finally arrive to the restaurant, youre shocked to see that its not the cheesecake factory the way you were expecting. your breath hitches when you see the interior. the dress youre wearing makes sense now. that little bastard was just trying to trick you. the host leads you to your table, where theres already a bottle of your favorite wine waiting. your eyes dart to matt when you hear him laughing, a smirk evident on his face. “What? werent expecting this were you?” you shake your head, a blush creeping onto your face. his face is confident, but his body language is different. he seems a lot more nervous than usual.

“what’s up with you? youve been so secretive lately… i feel like i havent seen you till today” you ask, mind instantly going to the worst case scenario. matt shakes his head, deciding that if he was going to take this leap, he had to do it now. your hands cover your mouth when matt drops to one knee, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat to pull out his grandmothers ring. 

though his breath hitches in his throat when he starts speaking, he pushes through with what he has to say. “i um… i met you when i was 21 years old. im 23 now. i dont think i could ever imagine going from ages 21 to 23 without you right by my side… truly. youre everything i couldve ever possibly asked for and more. i cant imagine a future without you. i cant imagine a life without you. theres no me without you. you take me to heaven every single time you smile… a-and i cant imagine starting a family without anybody else. and y/n… fuck. i dont think i was alive until the day i met you. ive said it a million times before and ill say it again. youre the love of my life. so… will you marry me?” theres tears in his eyes by the end of it, matching the tears in yours. you choke back a sob as you nod rapidly, whispering a long string of the word yes. matt chuckles nervously as he places the ring on your finger, pulling you into the longest kiss he’s ever given you. 

2 years, 9 months in

“hey princess.” your dad mumbles as he walks past you in the meeting room, hand resting on your shoulder. defamation scandals were not for the weak of heart— especially for the people who hadn’t done anything wrong. you weren’t even sure where it had come from. some paparazzi who didn’t get the picture he wanted was claiming that you had broken his camera and that matt had broken his nose. your dad had a lawyer ready for cases like this, calling him up the instant that the lawsuit had come through. “daddy i didn’t do anything wrong!” you whisper, looking over at your dad. he nods in response, rubbing your shoulder. “i know you didn’t.” you sigh at the idea of being stuck in this room for another while, especially since matt was still nowhere to be seen. 

it feels like you manifested him when he walks into the room, dressed in a suit and tie with a briefcase in hand. he came prepared. matt sits down next to you, greeting you with a kiss to your cheek. “hi my love” he whispers, gripping onto your thigh. “sorry i took forever… the contractors for the house were late and then i got stopped by every red light in los angeles.” you sigh contently as you lay your head on his shoulder, a usual spot got you. his arm wraps around you instinctively, ready for the challenges to come. “we’re gonna get through this. and then we’re gonna go home… and you’re gonna see your brand new house. and then if you want we’ll never attend a red carpet again.” you nod at matt’s words, each part that slipped his lips making you feel better about the case at hand. the relationship was stronger than it ever had been before, and it was the perfect combination of online and offline. you just hoped the media wouldn’t find out about the new house the way they had found out about the apartment and used it as means of exploitation.

“what if we lose? what if we lose the case and we go bankrupt and we can’t have a big wedding and we can never start a family and w-we just don’t get the life we’ve been planning” you ramble, tears forming in your eyes. matt cuts you off with a kiss, shaking his head as he rests his forehead on yours. “any life with you is the life i’ve been planning. in sickness and in health. i’ll never leave you ever.” you giggle at his words, nodding slowly as you begin to relax. “you were like sent from the gods i swear.”

3 years in.

“hey hey hey! hey julian get back here!” matt yells, chasing after chris’ young son while you walked into the door after your photo shoot. you giggle at the sight, setting your bag on the floor and swooping the toddler into your arms. you’re met with a squeal and a collection of laughs from the young boy, eyes moving to meet matt’s. “how do you get him to calm down like that?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. it’s clear he’s been at this for a while. you shrug as you play with the toddler carefully, pressing a kiss to your fiancés lips. “mmmm you smell like a nice perfume.” he whispers, his mouth lingering near yours. he places another small kiss to your lips , being cut off by the toddlers mindless babbles. “maccy cheese?” he asks, his big blue eyes meeting your own. you chuckle as you nod, walking to the kitchen with the toddler.

“can’t believe your uncle matty hasn’t fed you yet” you joke, setting the toddler on the counter. “it’s not my fault! he refuses to eat my food. i think it must be in your genes. you’re meant to be a mother. the mother to myyyyy kids. i’m just… mr steal your girl. and trust after that milan honeymoon you will be a mother to my kids.” matt hops up onto the counter next to his nephew, ruffling the munchkins hair. you roll your eyes at his words, placing the shaped pasta into the boiling water. “and why’d we pick milan again?” you whisper, resting your hands on either side of matt’s legs. “cause it’s the first trip we took together.” he whispers, hand settling on top of yours. it makes you blush, inching your face close to his as you joke. “oh i’ll take mr romantic over mr steal your girl any day” 

3 years, 1 month in.

“are you actually smoking again?” you mumble, glancing up at matt from your spot on the bed. he shrugs, flicking his lighter on and holding it close to his joint. it had been his second of the day. you’d prefer weed over nicotine, but it was still an unhealthy habit to have. you wanted to slap it away from him, but you weren’t in the mood to fight today. it had already been long enough. the arguments seemed to be becoming more consistent. as the day of the wedding just kept inching closer, you assumed it was nothing but the jitters. 

“you want some?” he asks, holding the joint towards you. you shake your head, glancing over at your birth control on the counter. you hadn’t taken it in a few days, and you worried that if you took it with weed that your body would have some visceral reaction. “can you put it out? it’s making me nauseous.” you whisper, picking at your fingernails. matt shakes his head, instead standing up and walking out of the room. he had never done that before. you sigh as you get comfortable on the bed alone, turning off the lamp besides you. matt returns after an hour or two, arm wrapping around your waist as he whispers in your ear. “i’m sorry… i love you so much i’m sorry. forgive me please. that was the last of it. it’s gone forever now.” 

3 years, 3 months in. 

you swore that you were going to burst into tears the first time you looked yourself in the mirror in full glam. nick was photographing the entire moment in his bridesmaids suit, eyes glistening with nothing but pure happiness. “work it! oh your dress is absolutely stunning. it’s so shiny and so… you” he chuckles, camera clicks constantly coming. your breath hitches in your throat when you realize that it’s finally here. everything you had been planning for in the past 9 months was finally here. you could’ve had a baby right now. you wipe the tears that had formed in your eyes quickly, ensuring that your makeup remained fine. you glance at nick and smile, biting your lip to hold back anymore cries or tears.

“in thirty short minutes you’re gonna be walking the aisle… and in less than an hour you’re gonna be married to the man of your dreams. i mean! do you know how many people really get to do that?” he whispers, pulling you into a tight hug. you giggle at his words, eyes glancing towards the clock. 30 minutes. 

a knock on the door grabs nicks attention, as well as your own, suddenly filling you with fear that something’s gone wrong. the cake or the flowers or the food. you’re not too sure. your worry is lessened when it’s chris who walks in the room, eying nick instantly. “can i talk to you real quick?” he whispers, filling you with fear again. this time your mind goes to the worst case scenario, worrying that something had gone terribly wrong. you take a seat in the ottoman in the room, watching as the boys head out of the room.

nick walks in after a few minutes, but he’s shaking this time. you swallow nervously, eyes batting rapidly. searching for an answer. “what’s going on? is it my dad?” you whisper, standing up instantly. you’re worried. nick hesitates for a moment but then shakes his head, lips pursing into a line. “i almost wish it was… um…” he swallows again, looking back at the door as if someone’s going to come in and save him. he knows it’s no luck. “matt’s leaving.” oh. my. god. you shake your head in disbelief, standing up so quickly that you get lightheaded. “what do you mean he’s leaving? wh-where’s he going?” nick shakes his head, hand running over his mouth. “he’s in the parking lot. go. go now. chris and nate are trying to hold him off.”

despite the struggle that your dress should provide when it comes to running, you manage to do it without falling or even tripping. when you arrive to the small, rocky parking lot of the wedding barn, matt’s right there where nick said he would be. nate’s holding him back while chris is saying unintelligible words to him. “matt!” you yell, tears forming in your eyes once more. “you told her?!?!” he yells, lurching towards chris. chris scoffs in disbelief, moving away from his brother. “you’re walking out on her and i was supposed to keep her in the dark? of course i fucking told her.” you swallow once more, barely fighting back tears at this point. nate takes a few steps away before coming back to take chris along with him. your eyes are desperate for answers. you’re desperate for answers. matt knows that. his hands push into his pockets as he takes a step towards you, avoiding your gaze the entire time.

“i can’t do this… it’s too soon and i’m not… i can’t… im so so sorry. i know that this is the worst thing somebody could ever possibly do but i just… i can’t live a lie. not one this big.” matt explains, though it only causes more questions to arise in your mind. a sob finally leaves your lips as you reach for his hand, which he quickly pulls away. tears form in his eyes too, and he’s quick to let one fall. you want him to so badly hold you and tell you that it’s a sick prank but it’s just not happening. you let out another string of sobs as he begins walking away, the gravel crunching beneath his steps. chris steps besides you, about to pull you in for a hug but you shake your head. you can’t do this right now. so instead you do the only thing you could ever do when you got in previous fights with matt. you yell.

“you’re a coward! you’re a pathetic excuse for a man and you should have never even asked me to marry you to begin with if you knew you wouldn’t be able to pull the fucking trigger! you’re pathetic. i can’t believe that you would ever fucking do this. you’re unfuckingbelieveable.” matt nods at all of your words, climbing into the car regardless. he knows all the words leaving your lips are true. he knows especially that you’re right while he’s driving off. chris and nate both know that they have options on what steps to take next. it takes a simple glance to each other to know what’s going to happen. nate heads inside to tell the guests of your wedding that it’s being called off. and chris is going to hold you while you cry. and you cry. and cry. and cry.

two weeks out

the knock on your apartment door makes you groan. you don’t wanna get out of bed. not today. you were supposed to be flying out for your honeymoon in milan today. it’s crazy how fast things change. regardless, you climb up and pad your way over to the door. chris, julian, and nick stand in front of you, nick instantly pulling you in for a remorseful hug. you begin to cry in his arms again as chris walks inside, looking around the much emptier apartment. it was the first place you and matt had ever owned together. it was crazy that you had even moved back here. “his stuff is um… in the box over in that corner. it’s just the shit he left here when we moved to the house.” you mumble, sitting back on your unmade bed. it hadn’t been made in weeks. you haven’t cleaned anything other than dirty dishes in weeks. if you weren’t so afraid of mold you wouldn’t have cleaned those either. 

it feels like everything is an empty shell of what it all used to be. every corner you look at feels like matt’s right there. you can hardly look at your best friend without seeing him. there’s still a picture of the two of you sitting on one of your old shelves, left behind when you had moved to your house in the first place. it was a picture of you and matt dancing on the terrace, taken by nick. the people on that picture felt like phantoms now. you wonder how the girl in the picture—the past version of you— would feel if she knew what would happen. “take that too. and anything that may be yours…” you whisper, wiping tears away from your face. chris frowns. he hates seeing you this down. you were usually so bright. the best smile in every room. he knows he shouldn’t, but he asks anyway.

“is americas sweetheart going to her dads award ceremony tomorrow? or is she gonna keep sulking in her apartment forever?” it’s supposed to make you feel better. somehow it kinda does. “yeah i’ll be there.” you whisper, pursing your lips. chris nods as he rubs your back gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. you know you have a great support system around you, but you can’t help but feel empty. especially since deep down you know that the only support you seem to have is going to slip from your hands fairly soon. 

two months out

the constant flashing coming from the photographers of the Met Gala has never felt better. the theme of the year was especially fitting for you. beauties of the past vs horrors of the future. you had numerous brands reach out to you and offer to make your outfit, but you declined all of them. you decided to wear the dress you were supposed to get married in. as much as it hurt, it was meant to be the most beautiful of memories. you don’t even feel the need to hold back tears today. 

the last thing you could’ve ever expected was for matt and his brothers to be there. you had naturally lost touch with chris and nick over the months. you make your way up the Met stairs, constantly eying matt and his brothers.

once you moved forward at this event, you couldn’t move back. you’d have to wait until you got inside. 

when you find your seat, you think the event coordinators must have had it out for you. three months ago, matt wasn’t even meant to be here. and now he was seated at your table. right next to you. you’re the first to sit down, ordering a dirty shirley instantly. it doesn’t take long for matt and his brothers to join you. chris greets you normally. nick greets you with a smile. matt greets you with an apology, but not until his brothers leave the table.

“i’m so sorry for what i did. you were right. i was a coward. i guess i was… i don’t know. so scared to mess it up. mess us up. mess you up. i regret hurting you everyday.” he whispers, pressing kisses to your knuckles. you let it happen, biting your lip gently. you can’t help but blush at the actions, letting the warm feeling take over you. the love between you two was still undeniable. despite all of the things that had happened in the past few

months, it was all still there. it felt like you had placed the love in a casket and begun to bury it, but were still hesitating to fully put it to rest. “you look beautiful.” he whispers, this time straight into your ear. it hurts you to go back so easily, but it’s a lot easier to go home with him

tonight rather than never have him again. you wonder if it’s all a means to hurt you. if it’s all part of his scheme to

pull you back and then let you go again. part of you is telling you to make him stop. to apologize and tell him to leave. you can’t bring yourself to do it. you’re waltzing right back into his life. it’s a dance you’re willing to learn for him. 

two months and one day out.

the media had heard the news faster than you could even tell your own close friends and family. somehow, TMZ knew that you had gone home with matt before chris did. your head rested on matts bare chest, eyes staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. it was a completely new house, one he owned with nick. he’d never had you in this room before this. right now, he had you in every sense. your dress laid on the floor near the foot of the bed. your lipstick was smudged all over his face. your underwear was god knows where. it was just like old times. except this time, there was a hole in your heart. you didn’t truly know or understand why. you were so convinced that if you ever got matt back that it’d be okay again. that you’d be you again. the same hole that was made in your heart when he first left you at the altar was still there. when matt speaks, you wonder if it’s the pillow talk or his genuine self. after that day, you can’t quite tell the difference. 

“you’re incredible… could never get sick of being here with you. as stupid as i may have been in the past. i love you so so much.” his words are empty. empty promises that hes trying to convince you are genuine.  you want to say it back so desperately the way you used to. but it’s never going to be the same again. your mind was flipping through everything you’ve ever been through together. you wonder how many lies he had told you throughout the relationship. somehow by the end of your thoughts, the goods outweighed the bad. you’re scared to let him in again. you push it all down to just being paranoia.

three months out. 

the last three months had been an absolute whirlwind of emotions. the week following the Met Gala had been one of the worst of your life. to your surprise, matt had completely ghosted you. it’s like all of his words the day that you were in his bed were nothing more than a script he read from to con girls. he was a conman and he was selling a love scheme. and you had stupidly fallen for it.

for the first time in nearly four years, you had been at a red carpet event with your father again. what used to be a time to photograph americas favorite couple had gone back to being a time to photograph americas favorite single father and his daughter. you knew that matt was one call away if you ever needed him. you would always have a red carpet date if you called. you would always have a friend if you called. you would always have him there in a way. 

the hole in your heart remained there. at this point you didn’t think it would ever fade away. you didn’t think it could ever be filled again. whether you found somebody new or not, it would never be him. it would never be the same youtube boy that you had fallen in love with at your party. it was like a switch within him had been flipped. the matthew sturniolo that you once knew was gone. the boy who was once so loving. the boy who would always reassure you that you were good enough. the boy who would always express his wants for a family. the boy who was so willing to jump first if you had asked. he was gone. you weren’t too sure who this new matt even was. the one who was the new hollywood playboy. the one who would make rude comments to people in public. the one who was now known for one night stands. the media could paint things however they wanted, but this time it was accurate. this time, the matthew sturniolo you knew at one point was gone. you’d see it until the day you died. matthew sturniolo was the loss of your life. 

a/n: apologies for my crimes against society. happy valentines day everybody!

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws and @13hoax

tags: @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @princessesgarden @ikyoudreamofme @allylovescody @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @user1smvtysturniolo @chrislova @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @throatgoat4u @13hoax @camzeecorner @darksturnz @oopsiedaisydeer @jetaimevous @bernardsbendystraws @muwapsturniolo @riasturns @camzeecorner @darksturnz @oopsiedaisydeer @zebonos AND I REALLY HOPE IM NOT MISSING ANYBODY

[mitternacht]

Hi I spend way too much time thinking about Fuuta Kajiyama and really wanted an excuse to throw out a full breakdown of his character and why I think he’s so well written.

The long and short of it is that Fuuta’s character was built to represent social isolation and the effects it has on the psyche. And the direction his character has taken in T3 was always going to be the natural progression of his character, especially based on his T1 verdict and the consequences of that, it did not come out of nowhere and is not a questionable writing decision.

(The rest under the cut for really long winded meta and dissection of Fuuta’s character and how we got here)

To start, I want to talk about Fuuta’s life before Milgram.

He’s a 20 year old university student, with no strong ties to family and no real group of friends or social circle to speak of. Already, he’s very isolated and has shown that he’s quite directionless. He doesn’t have any dreams or aspirations, because he thinks things like that are “childish” and “worthless”. He’s also never felt a real sense of protection or authority from the adult figures in his life, based on the way he talks about his parents. I’m inclined to believe they weren’t really present while he was growing up as well based on what we know of them, which caused further isolation and left him devoid of a sense of purpose. (Getting slightly ahead of myself here, but guess which type of people are most susceptible to falling into cults?)

So, what does he have to cling to? What does he have to keep him going? We all have a deep innate need for human connection and community, so where can he get that?

Online, of course.

So, he turns to the internet. He finds a community of people who enjoy the same things he does that he can connect with, and this serves as a lifeline for him. Now, he’s also been shown to have a strong sense of justice, which is perhaps one of the only other defining characteristics he can claim for himself and one of the only things he believes in. He feels a sense of empowerment and pride when he’s “carrying out justice” in his eyes, and it gives him a sense of purpose and duty that he’s lacking elsewhere in his life. It also brings him validation from his community, who further enable him and fan the flames, so to speak. He’s part of a group, he’s part of something for the first time in his life, and he has no way of stopping at this point. And then, it goes too far.

(I don’t feel like I should need to say this, but for the sake of posterity, yes, what Fuuta did was very, very bad and should never be condoned or excused. But again, it’s a very real problem and is caused by social isolation which is very common in today’s world and is worth having a discussion about. Fuuta’s character is an excellent showcase of how easily this can lead people to do terrible things by turning to online validation and praise for their sole source of connection with others.)

Now Fuuta is a person that doesn’t know how to deal with heavy negative emotions. He’s not very mentally strong, and being so isolated for most of his life with no real sense of purpose has left him with not a lot of ways to properly process or cope. When we first meet him in Milgram, he’s leaning very heavily on denial. He’s convinced himself that he did nothing wrong, and can’t even entertain the thought that his actions had killed someone. He’s also the type of person that can’t stand showing any signs of weakness. He acts big, and angry, and tough, because that’s the easiest way to deflect from any other “weak” emotions he may be feeling.

But, the side effect of this inability to process his negative emotions and acting out like this, is that he can’t make any real connections with the other prisoners in Milgram. (I’m not counting minigram as canon in this breakdown as an fyi, I’m basing this solely on interactions from timelines and voice dramas)

He’s lost the only community he had, completely cut off from it, and is experiencing the social isolation that drove him to this in the first place all over again. He sees the older prisoners as unreliable and not anyone he can lean on in this situation, and at this point doesn’t seem to have any particular feelings about the other prisoners. He mentions looking out for Haruka in particular, but (as much as it pains me to say this since I do love the 0103 dynamic) it’s unlikely that this was a significant enough connection to keep him from feeling socially isolated in Milgram. He states that he’s not looking to make friends with the other prisoners, but that was likely just big talk and hiding the fact that he couldn’t make that connection with anyone.

With all of these negative emotions he can’t process or cope with, the fear and uncertainty of his environment, the loss of community he once had, and without anybody or anything to rely on for guidance or protection, it’s already a recipe for a shattered mental state.

Now let’s throw a guilty verdict, some horrible physical trauma, voices that you can’t escape, heavy sleep deprivation and paranoid hypervigilance into the mix!

(I also want to point out… Fuuta’s second voice drama is titled “Baptism of Fire”. Yes, it’s a turn of phrase involving fire because that’s Fuuta’s motif, but knowing what we do now this was completely intentional foreshadowing)

The attack Fuuta sustained from Kotoko would be traumatic for anyone, and I feel that the effect this attack had on him is frequently dismissed because he wasn’t on the brink of death like Mahiru was. In Shidou’s T2 voice drama, he lists Fuuta’s injuries as: an orbital floor fracture, traumatic retinal detachment, bruising, lacerations, and a partial fracture of the thorax. This is going to cause some very severe chronic pain for him, particularly in his head and chest, especially considering they don’t have access to proper treatment and from what Fuuta has said they likely don’t have access to any sort of painkillers either. Even the act of just breathing is going to exacerbate his pain, and there’s just nothing that can be done for it. Speaking as someone with chronic pain myself, it definitely has a severe impact on your mental state and ability to do quite literally anything.

Regarding the “voices and eyes” of the audience, Fuuta has always been a special case, because out of the characters that have mentioned the voices in particular he has been the most severely and negatively affected by them. He states that he can’t sleep because he feels that he’s being watched, and he’s mentioned several times how badly the voices affect him and how badly he wants them to stop. And this sleep deprivation just aggravates quite literally everything else that he’s currently dealing with, physically and mentally, making everything worse by tenfold.

The fact that he even admits to being scared and shows weakness to Es, considering the fact that he has an innate need to hide any sort of weakness, should be very telling. We are also told so many times during T2 that Fuuta is at his breaking point and is a complete mess.

Although it’s not directly stated in canon, Fuuta very heavily showcases symptoms of psychosis that have seemed to become progressively worse through and after T2. (I made a post about this not too long ago, trying not to repeat too much here but I broke this down a little more in that other post)

And what’s a common symptom of psychosis? Religious delusion.

To start with, Fuuta's character even before entering Milgram is a prime example of someone who is extremely susceptible to falling in with a cult. Someone who is socially isolated, craves human connection and belonging, and who is searching for a sense of purpose/duty. You add onto that his murder and the need for someone to forgive him for it, the desperation for something to cling to, the worsening symptoms of psychosis and need for something to cure his pain? How in the world was he supposed to do anything but turn to religious delusion? If he hadn’t, it’s very likely the only other possible option he saw for himself was to end his life, which he mentions doing in Backdraft (and passively in his T2 voice drama).

There was a glimmer of hope when Fuuta mentions that he was grateful to Kazui and Shidou in the aftermath of Kotoko attacking him and what they did to help him, but it’s likely that he saw himself not able to continue relying on them considering Shidou had been so busy with Mahiru and Kazui may not have continued to be as present as Fuuta would have preferred. Which is heartbreaking, considering Fuuta seems to so desperately need an authority/protective adult figure to look up to. Mind you, 20 is not that old and especially if he never had that growing up, it’s natural to still want that at this age.

I would like to reiterate again that Amane did not “brainwash” nor “indoctrinate” Fuuta, she just ended up being the outlet for the only thing Fuuta has become convinced will save him. And now they’re stuck in a very sad cycle of enabling each other through their trauma.

All in all, looking at the pieces of Fuuta’s character I feel that this was always the plan, even from the beginning of T1. We were conditioned from the start to view Fuuta as guilty: by making his character theme red, by introducing him as foul mouthed, angry, arrogant, and unapologetic, and even from Jackalope’s comments in Es’ voice drama. We were conditioned to dislike him from the start, and since that guilty verdict in T1 was made Fuuta’s fate was sealed and this was always going to be the natural progression of his character. It was a slow build up, but was very well thought out and didn’t come out of nowhere.

This is the fulfillment of what happens when you put a socially isolated person through extreme stress and trauma with nothing to hold on to, and again is an excellent showcase of what it can look like to fall in with a cult even with no religious background. And how it’s even easier with individuals who have pre-existing mental illnesses/disorders.

We’ve come full circle and I’m very interested to see where his character goes from here.

[tonysbed]

Secrets I keep | Part 16

Max Fewtrell x norris!reader

summary: You and Max have been dancing around your feelings for years but jealousy gets the best of us all..

warnings: again, the internet is cruel. Max gets into his head, mental health issues?? self doubt, crying, mention of cheating

not proofread

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“Alright, I’m leaving then! I’ll see you in a few days” You say, coming trough the door into the living room, where max was sitting on the couch. It had been a few good weeks since the whole incident and you were both cooled down from the drama.

Lando hadn’t really come to his senses, but you unblocked him. Your dad had a talk with him, that resulted in nothing.

“Alright. Be careful and text me” He gets up from his place and hugs you, kissing the top of your head “I will, don’t worry” You kiss him and smile “I gotta go now before I miss my flight or something!”

You look at your phone “And they’re here! Okay, gotta go. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone! I love you” “Won’t do, I love you too” Max watches you leave the apartment with a suitcase, and sighs.

He still hadn’t voiced his concerns about Franco. Not to think wrong, franco was a super nice bloke but he was flirty and you two just got along a little to well for his liking.

But how would you know? You only had eyes for max, franco was not interesting for you. But that is something that Max has to get in his head first..

-

You slid into the backseat. Kika turned around to look at you “Ready?” You smile “A tour through the headquarters of tractors? Sure!” Pierre glared at you through the mirror “Do you want to walk?” He grumbled “Pierre!” Kika slapped his arm “What? She said I’m driving a tractor!”

Kika rolled her eyes smiling and pierre dropped it.

-

norris.yn

liked by franciscagomez, pierregasly, maxfewtrell and 36 others

norris.yn she’s everything and he’s… there

pierregasly why am I always catching strays

franciscagomez 🙂‍↕️😘

alexandrasaintmleux 😂😂

charlesleclerc oh pierre 🤦‍♂️

maxfewtrell always tired 😂

pierregasly of your girlfriend? Always

franciscagomez Pierre.

pierregasly What? She’s always stealing you

norris.yn she deserves more than you

pierregasly see??

maxfewtrell I choose peace and ignore it.

-

You three arrived at the Alpine headquarters and as you neared the entrance you saw a figure enthusiastically talk with Paul, who just looked like he was being tortured.

As you got closer, Paul spotted you three and sighed in relief “Thank god. Now he can talk your ear off. I really like you Franco, but it’s to fucking early” Paul says, yawning.

You chuckle as Franco huffed “Mean” He crossed his arms but smiled at you “You’re alive! You weren’t at the paddock, your brother acts as if you aren’t his sister and you don’t post anymore!” He throws his arms up in the air.

“Have you seen what happened?” You chuckled “Yeah I know” “Don’t you follow her on here new account?” Pierre asked “Uh..new account?” Franco looks puzzled at the frenchman and then at you.

“Yeah, I made one just for friends, no strangers, no privacy invasion, just us” You say smiling. Franco nods, pulls out his phone and hands it to you.

You type in his code, which kika raised an eyebrow at and request your account from his. You hand it back to him and accept the request.

“Ah, yes you have been alive!” He laughs. You nod and laugh. Pierre and Kika start to make their way inside, and you two follow them.

-

norris.yn

liked by pierregasly, kellypiquet, francocolapinto and 46 others

norris.yn @/ jackdoohan, pls get better soon, they’re crazy

jackdoohan I will try my best 😂

norris.yn pls hurry up 😭😂

franciscagomez we’re not that bad 🤔

pierregasly …

paulaaron you love us, really

francocolapinto now why would you post this? my my

norris.yn you’ll live

-

max grimaced at his phone. This is exactly what he feared could happen. But before he could continue his thought train, another notification popped up on his phone.

It was a gossip page that had tagged him. That was never good but he clicked on it, and immediately regretted it.

-

f1gossip

f1gossip Franco Colapinto was spotten near the Alpine Headquarters with Yn Norris. Mclarens number one drivers sister. Has she moved on from her boyfriend Max Fewtrell?

user oh my god. She’s disgusting

user what a bitch

user max isn’t even allowed to be mad, he did the same

user are we gonna ignore that Pierre, Paul and Kika were also with them??

user 🤢

user franco noooo

-

-

You sigh as you put the phone down. Kika tilts her head at you “What did he say?” “He’s being weird” Franco raised an eyebrow “About me? I swear, I know you guys are a thing! I don’t want anything from you” Franco raised his hands in surrender.

You chuckle “I know that. Something tells me tho that this is not based on todays events.” You look at Kika with a knowing look. She presses her lips together.

“Do we have to understand this?” Pierre asked confused “Are you a woman?” She asked him with an raised eyebrow “No?” “Then you won’t get it.”

“I’ll guess it’s an early leave for me” You sigh “Nooo, can’t he be weird alone for a few more days?” Paul pouts “I’d rather resolve this as soon as possible. I know how much Max can get into his own head because of the media. I’ve seen it with him, and i’ve seen it with Lando. I know what It does to people”

“Especially something like this” Pierre says, his voice now serious but calm. Kika nods “Of that is what you think is better for the two of you, that’s okay. We can do this another time. Maybe even bring max that time” Kika says, Pierre nodding along “Definitely”

You smile “Thanks guys. I guess I’ll see what flight will get me back the fastest” You pull out your phone again “Is he in monaco again?” Kika chuckled “Yep. He’s at my apartment” She nods “Obviously.”

-

While you were planning your trip home, Max was laying in your bed. His eyes fixed on the side you claimed as yours the first time he had officially slept over as your boyfriend.

He smiled a bit at the memory, which was quickly soured away by the pictures of you and franco flashing in his mind. He knew you would never do such things, he knew that Kika, Pierre and Paul had been there but in moments like these, his mind wasn’t quiet.

It screamed at him. Screamed he’d get hurt again, or more by the one person that could actually hurt him deeply.

He shakes his head. You wouldn’t.

Are you sure? You’re not even a racing driver.

She loves me for me.

does she now? why would you be enough

Max sat up and got up to go into the bathroom. He looked into the reflection of the big mirror. His eyes were red from crying, but not too bad that he couldn’t pass it off as sleepiness.

He splashed water in his face and sighed. His mind was playing tricks on him that only you could outplay. You were outplaying tricks you didn’t even know about.

He let his head hang and sighed again.

He turned off the light and made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. In moments like these, he would’ve called lando. Something he had also cost her.

She would’ve never argued about Daniel with Lando if it wasn’t for him. It was all his fault.

-

It was later in the day when you had finally arrived back in monaco. You sighed as you pulled out your keys but before you could put the keys in, the door swung open.

Max looked backwards into the apartment, his suitcase in hand. He closed the door and finally turned around to look at you.

you both stare at each other for a moment. You look between his suitcase and him “Uhm..where you leaving?” You ask confused.

“I..uh” Max didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected you back so soon. What in christs name-

“Why are you back already?” “That doesn’t matter right now. Did something happen?” Max’s jaw clenched and he looked away.

A knot forms in your stomach “Please don’t tell me this is about the Franco thing” You say quietly. Max still doesn’t meet your eyes. You abandon your suitcase for a moment and unlock the door.

You point for him to go back inside. Before he could protest, you shake your head “We’re talking about this. Inside. With your suitcase.”

-

You sat down on the couch, turned to Max, while he was faced forward, hands fidgeting.

“Max, please talk to me about this. I already told you, I would never..Franco isn’t..He doesn’t even fit into my life” You say, still looking at him.

“I know” He says quietly “Well apparently you don’t. You wanted to leave why exactly? To tell me what? You didn’t call, you didn’t text” His head turns to the kitchen.

You can see the island from the couch. There is a vase of your favourite flowers and a letter perched up against.

“I knew you would try to stop me” He says quietly. Now he had made you speechless. You look at him in shock.

“You..so” You take a deep breath “So this is it?” You ask, not entirely sure what you’re even saying. Max finally looks at you. He doesn’t say anything but his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

You clenched your jaw “why?” You whisper, biting back tears. Max weighs his options. You would try to convince him to stay, when he would tell you the truth. But he would only hurt you further.

His mind kept screaming to go, his heart was aching, and crying out your name, longing for your love. He knew you’d be better off without him. He had to go.

“You wouldn’t understand” “Then make me understand. Let me try to fix this! Us!”

“There is no us. Not anymore. There should’ve never been an us”

The words lie heavy in the room. You stare at him. You can only watch as he gets up, takes his suitcase and takes one last look at you.

This is it, she’ll be free of you.

-

Alexandra could barely understand what you were saying over the phone as she rushed out the door, Charles closely behind, having to drive her over to you.

She tried to calm you down, with no success. The only thing she understood was “Franco, Max, broke up” And the last one was what made her stomach turn.

-

She opened your door with her spare key, rushing inside, finding you curled up on the couch.

“Hey, hey.” She took you into her arms. Her arms tighten around you as your sobs got heavier and more pained. Charles looks worried, wording the name ‘Kelly’. Alex nods, hoping Kelly would get more out of you, knowing you two knew each other longer.

Kelly arrived sooner than Alex expected, and Charles left, telling Alex to call if she needed anything.

-

alexandrasaintmleux added to their story

[cap: @/kellypiquet our new master chef 👩‍🍳 🍝❤️

reply’s:

charlesleclerc how is she holding up?

she’s okay for now. Calmed her down but his story doesn’t make sense. It’s quite confusing and just really out of the blue.

charlesleclerc hm..you want me to play detective?

pls do

charlesleclerc no problem mom amor❤️

❤️

user isn’t that yn’s kitchen??

-

so uhm.. yeah. Here’s a good handful of angst and Max’s head full of chaos 😬 Ups

Happy Valentine or whatever

[thedarklightwithinus]

Love is a Stillness

A/N; Sam Smiths new song came out three hours ago and I’m in awe. Listened to it was to much to the point the words became something.

Summary; Love was messy and chaotic until it wasn’t.

Characters; Daryl Dixon, You.

In the quiet moments between day and night, there existed a love that was unlike any other. One that was soft, steady, and unshakable. She never knew what it meant to feel truly still until she met Daryl. 

She had always been a whirlwind, a restless soul. She rushed through life, chasing dreams with the kind of fervour that only someone who’d been waiting for an anchor could muster. Love, for her, had always been loud. It was dramatic, like a storm that could either lift her or destroy everything in its path. She was used to those wild, intense moments, where everything felt either incredibly right or desperately wrong.

But with him, love was a stillness, like the calm between waves on a quiet shore.

At first, it had unsettled her. She didn’t know how to exist in that kind of quiet. She was used to the noise, the adrenaline of passion, of confusion, of urgency. But with Daryl, she felt like the world around her could slow down. He was the calm in her storm, the steady rhythm to her scattered thoughts.

Daryl wasn’t the kind of man who filled the room with energy. He was the opposite, actually. When she was with him, there was an undeniable peace that settled over her, like the world paused for just a heartbeat. She’d often tell him, love is a stillness I never knew, and he would smile, never needing to say much in response. His presence was enough. He was the ground when she wasn’t strong, her steady foundation in a world that often felt like it was shifting beneath her.

There had been times, so many times, when she’d felt like she was about to fall apart. Times when the weight of the world seemed too much to bear. But Daryl had never faltered. He was always there, a constant, like the earth beneath her feet, steady and unwavering.

Even the silence between them held a kind of meaning. It was a silence that remembered. It knew what words weren’t spoken, the comfort of just being. And though she wasn’t the kind of person who typically found comfort in silence, with Daryl, it was different. It felt like they were together, even in the quietest of moments.

He was like a rock to her, grounding her when she felt lost, but also like a rolling song that she could never quite get out of her head. The kind of melody that would come back to her when she least expected it, reminding her of all the beauty in the world. She couldn’t explain how, but in his arms, she was home.

No matter how many mistakes she made, no matter how many times she faltered or stumbled; Daryl was there to shoulder the weight. He never once looked at her with disappointment. Instead, he helped lift her up, offering a steady hand and a kind word. She had a way of beating herself up over her flaws, but he made her feel like they weren’t flaws at all. They were just part of the song they were making together.

And every morning, when the first light of day broke through the curtains, it was like spring had arrived. The warmth and promise of new beginnings filled the air. In the crisp, fresh air, they would step into a new day, his hand in hers and she would remember again, love is a stillness I never knew.

As the seasons changed and life moved forward, she would often find herself lost in thought, repeating those words in her mind. Love is a stillness I never knew. She’d never known love could be so gentle, so unwavering. It wasn’t the loud, dramatic kind of love she had imagined. It was the kind that grew quietly, the kind that rooted itself deep into the soul without ever making a sound. It was the love that didn’t need to roar to be heard.

And for the first time in her life, she understood that the most profound kind of love was the one that didn’t need to prove anything. 

It simply was.

[storiesfromafan]

Track 01. Juno

A/N: its been a while. So sorry for my lack of posts. I've been struggling with inspiration. So please bare with me while I try to work on my other works.

Its Valentines Day here in Australia, with it we got Sabrina Carpenter's Short n Sweet Deluxe today! I've been listening to it for most of the day, and today was the day I finally wrote something inspired by Juno 😅

Forgive me if it's not great, but I am happy with it. Also, with enough encouragement, I might do a 'Deluxe' version with added smut at 18+ lol.

And this is part of a new series, it will get its own master post and linked to my master list. Basically one-shots inspired by music or song fics.

Warning/s: mention of breasts and feeling up, possible spelling/grammar mistakes

It was wrong, so very wrong. Sneaking around with a Vandal for months. But it was not only thrilling, but Benny was the right amount of bad boy with a touch of sweet.

Yet every time you’re with Peter – your boyfriend – did you feel guilty for what you’ve done, and the thoughts that were running through your head. How it would feel to have Benny’s arm around you, hand lazily running up and down your arm. Him whispering sweet nothing’s in your ear. Or how he’d manhandle you the right way behind closed doors.

Peter was nice – maybe a little too nice – but he was who society expected you to be with. Not a Vandal. Even if Benny was extremely better than your boyfriend.

Laying on your bed, wearing one the cute, frilly nighties Benny got you – as he just loved you looking all the bit sweet for him. The clock read eleven-thirty at night. The neighbourhood was rather quiet, while you filled your space with the low volume of a record. The only light in the room was your beside lamp.

You want to say you weren’t waiting up for Benny, but you were. The man had been gone for over a week on a ride with the club. With no indication of when he’d be back.

“I’ll be back sometime soon baby. Wait up for me?”

And like the love sick kitty you are, here you were; longing and waiting. The next song began to play, you sighed rolling onto your back and pouting. You swear he had to be doing this on purpose. He did like to tease you, though this was more torture.

God, you missed his touch, both hands and lips. The way his rough finger tips would glide over your skin, him commenting on how soft you felt. Or how he’d hold onto you, clear display of strength and power.

His lips, a full cupids bow that would softly lift in a smile. A pleased feel to it before he would place it to your neck and lay kisses. First soft and gentle, before becoming sloppy and a little teethy. You’d remind him not to leave any marks, no evidence was key to your little rendezvous. Though Benny wanted more, he wanted you completely.

And you had thought about it, ditching Peter and being Benny’s girl full-time. In theory it was perfect – beautiful even. But in reality, it terrified you. You’d seen how some of the Vandal women were treated by other women in town. Vandal women might as well have a bright red A embroidered on their clothing for the way they are treated.

So going from a sweet and adored community girl to a Vandal's old lady, it would get you treated like a leper. Not to mention your parents. They would go nuts to find out you were with Benny. That’s why secret meetings were best. Your little house the ideal love bubble.

Then you heard it, soft rumbling down the side street, your house being on the corner. Your heart skipped a beat. It had to be him, you just knew it. Sitting up on your bed you strained your hearing. Only to hear the rumbling stop. Again your heart skipped a beat. Yes, it was Benny.

Quickly you moved into a better positing. Sitting so your legs were off to the side, weight resting on your left hand, arm holding you up. You shook your hair, and fixed it with your free hand. Before setting it on your upper thigh. You moistened your lips when you heard movement in the backyard.

You’d pleaded Benny to leave his bike around the side. And jump the back fence, so not to be seen. You made sure to keep the back-door unlocked for him. Only locking it when he doesn’t show up, which was rare. The door handle rattled, and then the door as it was opened. Swiftly it closed and you could hear Benny moving around downstairs, probably removing his boots and jacket.

Excitement filled you and almost exploded when you heard him at the bottom of the staircase.

“Ya up there, baby?” He called out.

You rolled your eyes, but only smiled brighter. “Sure am".

No reply, other than Benny's feet clomping up each step. Every step closer, your heart beat with every step. The anticipation was close to snapping, you were close to just going to Benny and launching yourself at him. But you remained where you were, poised and like a baby doll. Just how he liked it.

Your door slowly swung open, revealing Benny, who moved to lean against your door frame. His stormy blues roamed over you, starting from your feet and moving long your body before reaching your face. A content smile pulled at his full lips, that slightly hid by the scruff on his chin.

He looked just as good as the last time you saw him, yet maybe better. The distance really doing a number on you, on Benny. You could read it on his face, he’d missed you so damn much.

Benny then moved, crossing your room to take a seat beside you. His left arm moving over your hips, hand placed on the bed. He was caging you in. His gaze focused on your face, taking it all in.

“Damn baby, you look better then I remembered" Benny said lowly, voice extra gravelly.

He then looked down your body once more and then back to your face. Solidifying his words. His right hand coming up to pushed back your hair, finger tips grazing your neck and the strap of your nightie, before pushing it over and down.

You shuddered, the way he looked at you and his movements, just driving you wild.

“You don’t look so bad yourself" you replied with a seductive tone. Proud to have managed to get those words out, as your brain was going to mush.

Benny smirked. But remained silent. Opting to leaning in and planting a tender kiss to your rosy lips. You almost fell to the bed in a puddle of goo. And just from a small kiss. Usually it was the long, exploring French kisses Benny served you that had this effect.

His hand came back to your neck, finding its home there, as Benny moved his head while still kissing you. A swipe of his tongue along your bottom lip told you, you were about to get that all nerve ending frazzling kiss.

Without hesitation you opened your mouth, Benny’s tongue darting in and to your own. His hand holding you in place as he greedily kissed you, tongue caressing and possessing yours. Soft noises being ripped from your throat spurring him on more. As well as how much he’d missed you.

Oh God, this man knew how to kiss you, and what it does to you. He could do or ask anything of you right now, and you’d gladly accept or go along with it. Pulling back, you were left kiss drunk, and he had only just begun.

“You look so pretty after I’ve kissed ya...” He muttered, taking you all in.

Benny then moved in again, this time not asking for permission, still working on the permission he’d already received. And you weren’t protesting. With some movement, you laid back on the bed as Benny moved over you, resting between your legs. Those rough hands of his grasping your upper thighs, only to slide upwards, exploring what lay beneath one of his favourite items of clothing to buy you.

He noted the fabric of your panties as his hands moved over your hips. Up the sides of your waist, and over your ribs. Finally finding your breasts, which were free of any covering such as a bra. The supple flesh warm to his palms, as he enjoyed the feel. You sighed into his mouth at the contact he had with them. Telling Benny you had missed his hands there.

Pulling back, Benny moved his lips down the side of your neck. You resorted to tilting your head back from the sensations this man was giving you. His touch gravely missed, his kiss just as much the same.

“Ya feel so good" Benny mumbled against your neck. “Ya always feel so damn good".

More kisses were pressed to your neck, altering between soft and hard. Occasionally grazing his teeth against your flesh. Every time his teeth were used you would make a noise, a mix of a whine and a moan.

“Fuck baby" he groaned. “Keep makin’ those noises and I’m gonna loose it".

Benny tightened his hold on your breasts, telling you he might lose it soon. But it only brought forth a moan from you. Which in turn made him groan.

“I wanna keep goin' baby" Benny started, pulling back from your neck and looking to your face. “But I gotta talk to ya first...”

That was like a bucket of ice water being thrown over you. Putting out the fire that had been growing inside. You wiggled around, to which Benny moved back more, giving you room.

“H-have I done s-something wrong...?” You asked softly, scared to talk at a normal volume.

Benny blinked before shaking his head. “No baby, no!” He paused, watching you relax slightly. “It’s just, I’ve been thinkin’ while on the road...”

You remained quiet, waiting with baited breath for him to continue.

With a sigh Benny got up and took a spot next to you on the bed. Back resting against the headboard of your bed. He wasn’t one for confrontation. But he needed you to hear him out, listen to his concerns and needs.

“I can’t keep doin' this – sneakin’ in and hidin' in this house" he paused, sparing you a look. “I want more baby, I want you, I need you. I want to be your man...”

“You are...” you said softly.

He shook his head. “No I’m not, ya boyfriend is. You go out there with him. Let him show ya off, and it is killin' me. I want to show you off, have you ridin’ on the back of my bike. My woman”.

Benny’s voice gained confidence and desperation. And you heard it – heard him. It pulled at your heartstrings.

“I might not be able to give ya what he might...but I can promise ya I will be here when you need me, always take care of you as best I can. I’ll give ya the whole world if ya ask...I love you so damn much baby...”

That was it, those three little words; I love you. The man next to you saying them after a short time, compared to your boyfriend who still hadn’t said them. Benny laid out all his cards, nowhere to hide.

Without a thought you moved to straddle Benny’s hips, resting your behind on his lap. Hands taking a hold of the gorgeous Vandals face. Your (colour) eyes looking deeply into his, searching to make sure he meant those three little words. And he did.

“Are you sure?” You asked with baited breath. “You love me?”

He nodded. “Yes, baby. I love ya".

You crashed your lips to his, putting everything into it, every emotion you were feeling. Benny grabbed your hips, holding you close to him as he let you kiss him. You took charge. Your tongue pushed into his mouth, exploring and savouring him. After a few moments you pulled back, not without giving him a few more pecks to his lips.

“I-I love you too" you breathlessly said, heart racing.

The smile that cross Benny’s face lit up his face. The words he was relieved to hear, but weren’t expecting. Pulling you in again for a hard, feverish kiss, Benny moved you both around so you were under him again. This was it, the start of something new. You both knew it and were going to do it.

You were going to breakup with Peter, and become Benny’s girl, your parents and the town be damned. And Benny was going to be the man you needed. And right now he would be attentive. After all you’d been patiently waiting for his return. He owed you for staying up waiting for him.

Tomorrow was approaching but right now, all that mattered was you both. Needing, exploring and satisfying the other in every way possible.

[moonmaiden1996]

Love at First Sight (According to Nagumo, Anyway) Part Four

The day started like any other.

You clocked in, greeted your colleagues, and settled into the rhythmic hum of the office. The air buzzed with the usual symphony of monotony—keyboards clacking in uneven rhythms, the soft rustle of paper as reports shuffled from desk to desk, the occasional ring of a phone slicing through the background noise. The fluorescent lights flickered with a faint buzz, casting a sterile glow over the workspace, draining everything of warmth. There was a steady hum to it all, a constant reminder of the predictable grind that you’d grown so used to. You could almost hear the collective sigh of resignation in the air.

But something felt... off.

For once, it didn’t feel suffocating. There were no passive-aggressive emails lurking in your inbox, no last-minute assignments dumped on your desk like an avalanche, no looming sense of dread clinging to your shoulders like a phantom. If anything, the office felt... calm. Too calm.

People worked efficiently, their movements smooth, their interactions void of the usual tension. No whispered complaints in the break room. No lingering glares exchanged across cubicles. The unspoken power struggles that usually brewed beneath the surface had vanished overnight. It was unnerving. There was no edge, no undercurrent of stress. Just... quiet.

It was unnatural.

But you weren’t about to question it. For the first time in ages, you weren’t drowning under an unbearable workload. The constant, crushing weight had lifted, leaving you with an alien sense of ease. You even found yourself enjoying the silence, savoring the rare sensation of peace that filled the office. The work felt manageable, the day stretched out before you, almost idyllic. And for once, you didn’t feel like an imposter just trying to survive.

Then, without warning, your boss called an emergency meeting.

The office gathered hesitantly, confusion thick in the air. Your boss stood at the front, gripping the edge of the desk as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. His normally composed demeanor had cracked. His face was pale, his jaw clenched, and his eyes darted to unseen corners of the room, as though something lurked just out of sight, waiting for the right moment to strike. A chill settled in your gut. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“I—” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard and tried again.

“I’m resigning. Effective immediately.”

The words landed like a thunderclap. The room went deathly quiet. The fluorescent lights above flickered, the buzz now almost oppressive as your colleagues exchanged confused glances. You barely had time to process what was happening before your boss’s shaky hands wiped across his brow, his eyes wide, as though he’d seen something none of you could. “I—I can’t do this anymore,” he stammered. “The stress, the atmosphere... it’s too much. I need to put my health first.”

A murmur rippled through the room, unease creeping into everyone’s expressions. People whispered, but no one dared challenge him. The atmosphere?

Sure, work had its fair share of stress, but lately, things had been running almost too smoothly. No disasters. No major conflicts. Nothing that should have driven a man to the brink. Yet here he was, pale, trembling, abandoning his position as if something had hunted him out of it.

Your stomach twisted. A prickle of unease slithered down your spine, slow and insidious, worming its way into your thoughts. There was something you were missing.

Before you could fully process what had happened, your colleagues turned to you.

“Congratulations,” they said. “You’re in charge now.”

The words barely registered. Your mind reeled from the surrealness of the situation, processing the events in fragmented moments. You didn’t know what to feel. Was this some kind of joke? You blinked, trying to reconcile the surrealness of the situation with the new reality settling over you.

But as the reality settled in, something unexpected flickered through the unease.

Pride.

You had worked hard. You deserved this. You were officially in charge now. The promotion was yours, whether or not it made sense. Whatever had happened to your boss—whatever unseen force had rattled him to his core—wasn’t your problem anymore. It was your moment.

The rest of the day passed in a strange blur. People were still cooperative, still unnervingly respectful, but there was something else now. Something just beneath the surface. A silent shift in the air, like an unspoken rule had settled over the office. No one questioned your authority. No one challenged you.

It should have felt like a victory.

And in some ways, it did.

By the time your shift ended, you felt something dangerously close to happiness. A rare thing. A feeling you hadn’t had in a long time. The weight of the day, the stress, the worry—it had all melted away, leaving you with a sense of lightness you couldn’t remember ever feeling. You decided to stop by Sakamoto’s convenience store on the way home—a small indulgence to celebrate. Wine, something sweet, maybe your usual coffee. You didn’t even care about the weird vibe from that odd guy you’d seen there before. Nothing would ruin this perfect day.

The store’s bell chimed softly as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of warm bread and instant ramen greeting you. For the first time in a long while, you felt light. The rhythmic hum of the store was like a balm, washing away the tension still clinging to you from the office.

And then—

“Ah, my love, you’re back again.”

The voice was smooth, teasing—dripping with amusement. It hit your ears like a faint, unwelcomed melody.

You turned towards the counter.

And there he was.

Nagumo.

Leaning against the counter like he owned the place, his sharp eyes locking onto you the moment you stepped in. His smirk widened, like he had been expecting this moment, like he knew you’d walk in at just the right time. The same sense of confidence that both irked and intrigued you.

And—

For the first time—

You smiled at him.

Just a small thing. Barely there. But real. A flicker of amusement in your expression. Maybe it was the pleasant mood of the day, or maybe you were just too tired to argue with him. Either way, there it was—a smile that you hadn’t realized you were even capable of.

Nagumo’s eyes gleamed. His smirk twitched, curling into something smug and undeniably pleased.

“Well, now,” he mused, pushing off the counter with an easy, lazy confidence. “Look at you. Practically glowing.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “It’s been a good day.”

He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. “A promotion, was it?”

You blinked at him, startled. “How did you—”

He grinned. “I pay attention to my darling’s life, of course.”

Something stirred at the back of your mind. A shadow of a thought, a fleeting recognition of something you should have been piecing together. But before you could grasp it, Nagumo leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a light, playful lilt.

“Well, my dear,” he purred, “since you’re in such high spirits, why not let me take you out on a proper date?”

The teasing lilt was expected. The casual arrogance. The confidence.

What wasn’t expected was your reaction.

Because you—

Didn’t immediately refuse.

You hesitated. Just for a second. A moment too long.

Nagumo noticed. Of course, he did. His eyes gleamed, the satisfaction in them unmistakable. He had won. You were a step closer to whatever game he was playing.

And then—

“…Sure,” you said, smiling no less.

Nagumo actually blinked. Like he hadn’t expected you to say yes. But the shock was fleeting, vanishing almost as soon as it came. His grin stretched wider, delight dancing across his expression.

“My, my,” he practically purred. “Finally coming to your senses, are we?”

You scoffed, shaking your head, but you still didn’t take it back. Maybe it was just the good mood. Maybe you were too tired to argue. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t entirely hate the idea.

Then—

“OH, HELL NO.”

The moment shattered.

You turned just in time to see Shin Asakura pointing an accusatory finger directly at Nagumo.

“You—you did WHAT?!” Shin shouted. “I thought Aoi said not to start threatening peopleeee!” Shin was practically vibrating with disbelief. “You scared off her boss, I am pretty sure that was on the list of things not to do!”

The store fell into a stunned silence.

Your breath hitched. The words didn’t make sense at first.

Scared off…?

Your boss. His pale face. His shaking hands. His darting eyes, like something was hunting him.

The eerily cooperative colleagues. The unspoken wariness. The unnatural smoothness of your day.

Realization crashed over you, ice-cold and suffocating.

Before you could respond, Sakamoto sighed heavily, grabbing Shin by the collar and dragging him toward the back.

Shin flailed. “WAIT—I’M RIGHT! I’M RIGHT, DAMN IT!” His voice echoed in the shop, but Sakamoto was already pulling him further into the back.

Sakamoto ignored him, muttering under his breath. “Great. Now I’ll never get rid of him.”

And just like that, they disappeared into the back room, leaving you with him.

You snapped your gaze towards Nagumo, searching his face for some kind of denial.

But Nagumo—

Didn’t even bother lying.

He just smirked, utterly unbothered, slipping his hands into his pockets. Nagumo chuckled softly. “Whatever you say, my love. Shall we go? I know a good noodle place with amazing coffee. You will love it.”

SOOOOOOO? What you think?

[heliosunny]

how do i convince you to write more yandere!sampo because that lucky egg fic made me feel things, it was simply too good

Leaving Sampo Koski had been the hardest mission you’d ever undertaken—not because of emotions, but because of how deeply entangled he had made himself in your life. You weren’t sure when it had started, but at some point, he had stopped being just an informant, a contact, a convenient source of intel. He had made himself a necessity.

His silver tongue spun stories that blurred the lines between truth and deception, his ‘coincidental’ appearances on missions became so frequent that you began to rely on him without realizing it. He always had an escape plan when things went south, always knew who was watching you, always seemed to be two steps ahead.

You thought you were the one playing him. You were wrong.

So you did what you were best at—you vanished. You cut ties, abandoned old haunts, and left no trace behind. You were a Stellaron Hunter, disappearing should have been easy. But the moment you set foot on Jarilo-VI for a new mission, you knew something was off.

It wasn’t just the way the citizens stared a second too long when you passed. It wasn’t just the uneasy feeling of being watched. It was the sense that this was all too perfect. Like someone had been expecting you.

"Well, well, well. If it ain't my favorite runaway sweetheart."

That voice- You turned sharply, hand instinctively reaching for your weapon, but there he was, standing just a few feet away, leaning casually against a wall with that infuriatingly familiar smirk. His hair caught the dim streetlights. He looked exactly the same—but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

"You’re back." Sampo continued, pushing off the wall with a lazy grace. "Though, gotta say, I’m a little hurt. No messages, no calls? After everything we had?"

Your fingers twitched around your weapon. "Get out of my way, Sampo."

His grin widened, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, whoa, easy there, hotshot. No need for all that hostility. I’m just a guy welcoming an old flame home, y’know?"

You scoffed. "This isn’t my home."

"Sure it is." His voice lowered, taking on a silky, dangerous edge. "At least, it was. ‘Sides, I had a feeling you’d come back sooner or later. Call it... intuition."

Sampo Koski hadn’t found you by luck. And if there was one thing you knew about him, it was that he never let something he wanted slip away twice.

----

Jarilo-VI was a cold, desolate place, but right now, that wasn’t what sent chills down your spine. It was the feeling of being watched.

This mission should have been simple: find information on your target, retrieve the asset, and disappear without a trace. But there was a problem.

Your usual informants were silent. No messages. No signals. No backup. Someone had gotten to them first. And there was only one person who could manipulate an entire city’s underground like this.

You’d spent months avoiding him, cutting ties, ensuring he had no leverage over you anymore. You thought you had finally freed yourself from his cloying, suffocating grasp. But deep down, a small, sinking part of you had known—if you ever set foot on this planet again, he’d know.

Still, you had no choice. He was the only one left who could give you the information you needed. Even if you knew he’d spin half-truths and lies, even if you knew he’d twist this into something that benefited him, you were desperate enough to take the risk.

So you reached out.

Meet me at the usual spot, sweetheart. We’ve got some catching up to do.

You could practically hear the smug grin in his voice through the encrypted message. You should have found another way. But now here you were, standing in the dimly lit backstreets, the cold seeping through your coat. You shifted your weight, scanning the shadows.

"You’re looking good, hotshot."

The voice came from behind.

You turned, already expecting the sight before you.

Sampo Koski, arms crossed, a grin playing on his lips.

"Cut the small talk, Sampo. I need information."

He whistled. "Oof, straight to business? No ‘hey Sampo, how ya been?’ No ‘wow, you’re looking handsome as ever’?" His grin widened when you didn’t respond. "Cold as ever, I see. But I like a challenge."

You clenched your jaw. "I don’t have time for your games. Do you have the intel or not?"

Sampo sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Always so impatient. But yeah, yeah, I got what you need. Turns out, your little target’s been making quite the mess down here. You wouldn’t believe the trouble they’ve been stirring up. Lucky for you, I happen to know exactly where they’ll be tonight."

You narrowed your eyes. "And you’re just giving this to me? No price?"

His grin turned sharper. "Oh, there’s always a price, sweetheart. But let’s call this a… favor. Just for you."

You didn’t like the way he said that. But you didn’t have time to argue.

"Where?"

Sampo tilted his head, as if considering something, before finally saying, "Old supply depot. The one past Rivet Town. Midnight. Come alone."

You committed the information to memory, but something in your gut twisted.

Sampo never gave things away for free. And he never told the whole truth.

So, with one last glance at the man who had once held you too close, whispered too many sweet lies, and refused to let you go, you turned on your heel and walked away.

As you made your way toward the old supply depot, the uneasy feeling in your gut only grew stronger. You didn’t like it.

You checked your weapon as you approached the rusted entrance, exhaling slowly.

In and out. Get the information. Get gone.

Yet, the moment you stepped inside, you knew.

You’d been played.

The depot was empty.

The doors behind you slammed shut.

Sampo Koski stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, a pleased grin stretching across his face.

"Ahh, you really do trust me, huh?" he drawled, tilting his head. "Warms my heart, sweetheart."

Your pulse quickened, but you forced yourself to stay still. He had the upper hand here. You had no idea if anyone else was lurking in the shadows, if there were more traps waiting for you.

"You lied"

Sampo placed a hand over his chest, mock offense dripping from his tone. "Lied? C'mon now, don't make it sound so ugly. I just… redirected the truth a little."

"Why?"

He took a step forward. You didn't move.

"Because," he said, "it’s been a while since we had some quality time. And I figured, well… you wouldn't come willingly."

Your grip tightened around your weapon. "And what exactly do you think is going to happen now, Koski?"

Sampo exhaled, shaking his head with an amused chuckle. "See, that’s what I love about you. Always thinking so far ahead. But let’s keep it simple, yeah? No tricks. No running. Just you and me… having a little chat."

"And if I say no?"

"Then, sweetheart," he murmured, "I’m afraid you’re gonna have a real hard time leaving."

This wasn’t just some mind game.

Sampo hadn’t just set a trap.

He had made sure that, this time… you wouldn’t slip away.

The second his words left his lips, you moved.

A quick flick of your wrist sent a concealed blade flying toward his shoulder—a distraction. You were already rushing forward, closing the distance in a flash, your weapon drawn.

Sampo barely dodged, twisting to the side at the last moment. The blade grazed his coat, a piece of fabric fluttering to the ground.

"Whoa there!" he laughed, flipping backward, landing light on his feet. "You sure know how to make a reunion exciting!"

You ignored the taunt, lunging again. This time, you aimed for his weak spots—his ribs, his legs, places that would slow him down. You had to end this quickly.

He was fast. But so were you.

For the first time, Sampo looked surprised. He wasn’t used to you fighting him with full force. In the past, you’d always held back—a mistake you wouldn’t repeat.

"Aw, c'mon, sweetheart," he panted, narrowly dodging another strike. "We don’t gotta do this. You and me? We had something special—"

You slammed your knee into his gut, cutting off his words.

Sampo stumbled back, coughing, but he recovered quick.

"Alright," he exhaled, wiping his mouth. "Guess we’re doing this the hard way."

Suddenly, the air filled with thick, blinding fog, Sampo’s signature escape trick. You pivoted, expecting him to run—

But he didn’t.

Instead, you felt something coil around your wrist.

A wire.

You tried to wrench away, but Sampo yanked hard, sending you off balance. A second wire looped around your other arm, pinning you, forcing you forward—right into his trap.

Before you could react, he twisted your body, knocking your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground hard. A weight pressed against your back before you could roll away. Sampo was on top of you, pinning you down, his knee digging into your spine.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tsked, tightening the wires around your wrists. "I gotta admit—almost had me there. But you should know by now, sweetheart…"

He leaned in, voice dropping to a purr.

"I never lose."

You thrashed, but the wires only tightened.

Sampo sighed dramatically. "Don’t give me that look. If you’d just behaved, we wouldn’t have to do things this way."

"Let me go."

"Can’t do that," he said smoothly, brushing some stray hair from your face. "Y’see, you keep running. And I keep chasing. It’s exhausting, really."

"But lucky for you, sweetheart," he murmured, "this time, I made sure there’s nowhere left for you to go."

You struggled harder.

But Sampo only sighed again, amused.

"Still fighting? That’s cute. But don’t worry…"

His lips curled into that signature, infuriating grin.

"I’ve got all the time in the world to make you love me again."

The last thing you heard was the sound of metal shackles locking into place.

[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 19

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

The first time you and Tom spent time together after you told him you wanted to just be friends for a while, it was a bit awkward. It wasn’t like you didn't know what to do with each other when sex wasn’t an option. That part was easy. You did everything you’d always done together, you just didn’t have your hands all over each other while you did it. That was the hard part. You were so used to touching each other all the time, and now you were both trying so hard not to that you hardly knew what to do with your own hands. Your bodies were like magnets to each other, and at first it seemed almost impossible to resist that pull toward one another. But over time, it got a little easier. Relatively anyway.

Meanwhile, Tom was finding that his feelings for you weren’t subsiding in the slightest. In fact, not being able to kiss you or touch you beyond a quick hug only made him realize that he’d taken that freedom for granted, and it made him ache for you even more.

On top of that, you weren’t quite yourself. You were more reserved and guarded. He relished the times he could pull a genuine laugh out of you, because it was an occurrence which was happening fewer and farther between. And yet, you wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. He never pressed you, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt. He thought the two of you could tell each other anything, but evidently that was not the case. Granted, he was keeping a rather big secret from you, but that was different. He knew that you were both better off if he didn’t tell you how he felt about you. He just had to get over it. But how the hell was he supposed to do that?

…

It had been a few weeks of focusing on just being friends with Tom, and it wasn’t helping like you thought it would. Every time the two of you hung out, you’d look at his lips and wish they were kissing you, you’d look at his hands and wish they were touching you, you’d look at his arms and wish they were holding you. And the jealousy was getting worse. Every day that you didn’t see him, you wondered who he was with instead. And there were times when you were with him and he’d be texting someone back and forth. Yes, it could be about work or from one of his other friends, but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was someone he was sleeping with, especially when you saw a woman’s name pop up on his phone that you didn’t recognize. To make it worse, every time you had these thoughts, you hated yourself a little more. You never thought you’d be that girl. You used to be this career driven badass who wouldn’t be tied down by anyone, and now you were this pathetic little girl with an unrequited crush and crippling jealousy issues. That’s what you had decided, by the way. It was just a silly crush– an all-consuming, blinding, deafening, mind-numbing, heart-wrenching crush– and the thing about crushes is that they eventually fade. So all you had to do was wait it out. What you were quickly learning, however, is that it was a lot easier said than done.

Now you found yourself getting ready for Kaitlyn’s birthday party, and you were unnecessarily nervous. You knew Kaitlyn would have definitely invited Tom, but you didn’t know if he was going. You hadn’t seen him since she had invited you a week ago. Would he show up with a date? If not, would he go home with one? You don’t know if you’d be able to handle seeing him flirt with someone else, but you couldn’t hold it against him if he did. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t be there and then you wouldn’t have to worry about any of this.

Unfortunately, life was not that kind. When you walked into the pub, you were immediately met with Tom’s annoyingly cute smile from across the room. He waved at you before turning back to… of course… a pretty young thing in a tiny black dress. You were suddenly kicking yourself for wearing one of your more modest sundresses as you walked straight to the bar. Once you had a drink in your hand, you went to find Kaitlyn, using all the effort you could muster not to glance back over at Tom.

“You made it!” came Kaitlyn’s voice from behind you.

You turned around and hugged her. “Hi! Happy birthday, darling!” You held her out at arms length to get a good look at her. “It is so good to see you!” It was true. You realized how isolated you’d become and it was nice to see a friend whose presence didn’t make your heart ache. She also reminded you of simpler, happier times.

“It’s great to see you too! How are you?”

Little did she know how complicated of a question that was right now. “I’m doing alright. Focusing on work as usual. How are you?”

“I’m wonderful! Miss working with you though. Did you see that Tom is here? I’m actually a little surprised you guys didn’t come together!” She chuckled.

“Oh he is?” you said in an attempt to be nonchalant. “I wasn’t sure if he was coming, or not.”

Kaitlyn looked confused. “Really? I thought you guys would be living happily ever after by now, after that kiss from the last time I saw you!”

You chuckled as you shook your head. “If you recall, that was a dare. We’re still just friends, Kait.”

She rolled her eyes and groaned dramatically. “Jesus, you two are frustrating.”

You put your hand on her shoulder. “Nevermind that. It’s your birthday, and I’m buying you a birthday shot! What do you want?”

“You really don’t have too–”

“Ah ah! It’s not an option! Let me do this! I’ll be right back.” You left her to mingle while you headed back to the bar.

“Can I get a ‘blowjob,’ please?” you asked the bartender.

“I didn’t realize it was that kind of party,” came a voice from behind you. The voice that made you weak in the knees. Well, you couldn’t avoid him all night.

“You know what, make that two,” you added.

“Better make it three,” Tom interjected. He leaned on the bar next to you and placed a hand on the small of your back. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi,” you replied casually, trying to ignore the goosebumps that spread over your whole body from one little touch. “Sorry, I thought I should find Kait and get her a shot before I came and found you.”

“No worries, darling. I’m just glad you’re here.” He smiled warmly at you.

You briefly smiled back before shifting your gaze back to the busy bartender. Don’t ask who he was talking to. Do not ask. “Who was it you were talking to before? Someone you know?” Dammit.

“Just a friend of Kaitlyn’s. A fan, apparently. Nice girl.” He sounded uninterested, which pleased you probably more than it should have. There was a beat of silence between you before he spoke again. “How’ve you been?”

You looked down at your hands. “Erm, busy. You know, with work and stuff.”

“That’s not really what I was asking, Swe–”

“Three blowjobs,” the bartender announced as he placed the shots in front of you.

“Let’s go find the birthday girl!” you said overenthusiastically, handing him a shot before taking the other two and heading into the crowd.

When you found Kaitlyn, she was sitting at a table with a couple of people who were just leaving. She threw her hands in the air when she saw you and Tom and squealed. “Aaaahhh! Name a more iconic duo!”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, okay, okay. It’s time for shots.” You placed the glass with the most whipped cream in front of Kaitlyn.

“Ooh! What is it?” she asked excitedly.

“Just drink it, and then I’ll tell you,” you replied with a smirk. She eyed you suspiciously and then shrugged, as if deciding she didn’t care.

The three of you raised your glasses. “Happy birthday, Kaitlyn!” you and Tom cheered before all three of you downed the concoction. Yours was gone before Kaitlyn finished hers, so you thought now was the opportune time to tell her what she was drinking.

“Congrats on your first blowjob, Kait!” you said.

Kaitlyn went wide-eyed and suddenly started coughing, which soon mixed with laughter. “You’re disgusting!”

You and Tom both laughed. “It’s delicious though, right?” you asked. She nodded as she continued to cough and laugh.

“I think you’ve gone and killed the poor girl,” Tom said. You smiled at him, amused with yourself and he suddenly pressed his lips together, holding back another laugh.

“What?” you asked.

He let out a reserved chuckle. “You’ve got some…” He pointed to his top lip.

“Oh!” you quickly wiped the whipped cream off your upper lip, and then you noticed he actually had some on the corner of his mouth and you giggled. “You’re one to talk.”

He wiped his upper lip too, not realizing where the cream was.

You smiled and shook your head. “Here, let me.” Placing a hand on his cheek, you carefully swiped your thumb over the corner of his mouth, locking eyes with him in the process. For a fraction of a second, the sounds and sights of the pub seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you.

The sound of a group of people roaring with laughter somewhere else in the pub snapped you out of your trance. You cleared your throat and looked down at your lap before briefly looking back up at Tom, absentmindedly sucking the cream off of the tip of your thumb. “There. Right as rain.”

“Thanks,” Tom choked out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Thanks.” He gave a nervous chuckle and the two of you turned your attention back to Kaitlyn, who had not only stopped coughing, but was actively staring at the two of you with her mouth agape.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, annoyed.

“What?” you and Tom asked in unison. She merely rolled her eyes and let her forehead fall forward into her palm.

After that, you managed to loosen up a bit and just enjoy yourself. You caught up with Kaitlyn and Warren and a few others from the film you’d done together and just generally enjoyed yourself. All the while, you were still hyper aware of Tom’s presence, finding the slightest excuse to touch him in the most innocent ways, and you could have sworn he was doing the same. One of you would briefly put their hand on the other’s arm or back, when you’d sit, it would be close enough that your legs would just barely touch, or sometimes you’d even just barely graze your hand against his when walking by. At first you told yourself it was completely innocuous, ignoring the high it gave you each time. But as the night went on, the more it happened, and the more you had to pretend like you weren’t playing with fire. All you wanted to do was let go and have fun, something you hadn’t done in weeks. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.

About half way through the night, during a rather rousing quarters tournament, a petite young red headed woman called Lily arrived at the party. Apparently, she and Kaitlyn went to uni together, but what surprised you was that Tom knew her as well.

“Tommy!” she greeted him excitedly, wrapping her arms around his neck as they hugged.

Tom gave her a few strokes on the back before pulling away, looking at her with a large grin on his face. “How are you? I didn’t know you knew Kaitlyn!”

“It’s a small world isn’t it? I’m doing well! What have you been up to?” She hooked her arm under his and dragged him away while they talked. He didn’t even introduce you to her. Your jaw clenched as you did your best to turn your attention back to the game, but you couldn’t help glancing over at them. She was more touchy with him in their one conversation than you’d been with him all night. You were beginning to get an idea of just how well they knew each other. Occasionally you caught him glancing back at you, a look of concern on his face. You assumed it was guilt, or pity, or both. But when Lily also looked at you with the same face, you could no longer pretend that you were okay. You needed some air.

“I’ll be right back, Kait,” you told Kaitlyn, before making a beeline for the alley door.

As the door shut behind you, you leaned back against the brick, looking up at the sky and blinking back tears. You had no time to gather yourself, however, before Tom came to find you.

“Y/n–” As soon as he saw you, his features dropped with concern. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said, wiping your eyes, but there was no hiding the tears that had already escaped down your cheeks.

“No, you’re not.” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice, knowing you were blatantly lying to him. “What’s wrong?” He stepped in front of you and cupped your face in his hands.

“Don’t worry about it, Tom,” you looked down at your feet, but he gently lifted your face to look at him.

“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t make me worry any less.” His piercing blue eyes desperately searched yours for the answers you refused to give him, while your own gaze pleaded with him to let it go. When he couldn't find what he was looking for, he sighed and pressed his forehead to yours, both of you closing your eyes for a moment. You brought one hand up to cradle the back of his head while the other rested on his chest. Tilting your head up, you lightly grazed the tip of your nose along the side of his, and he responded in kind. Your breathing became shallow and you could feel his heart racing under your palm. You looked at his lips and he at yours, electricity flowing across the millimeter gap between them until finally, they touched. The kiss made your breath hitch and your heart flutter. For a moment, you felt like you were floating, like you were safe, like you were home, until you realized what was happening. Shit.

You broke the kiss abruptly and stepped away from him. “I can’t do this.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before looking earnestly at you. “Why?”

“Because I can’t, Tom,” you replied, the pain in your voice clear as ever.

“That’s not a reason.” He sounded frustrated.

Your eyes welled up even more as you shook your head. “You’re not being fair.”

“I’m not being fair? Y/n, I can feel you pulling away from me and you won’t tell me why.”

Beginning to feel defensive, you rolled your teary eyes at him. “You’re just sore because you can’t fuck me anymore.”

Tom froze for a moment, raising his eyebrows at you. “Wow,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “I am sick of you always making assumptions about me based on your own insecurities.”

Your pain and anger continued to rise. “You’re just not used to someone seeing past the whole Prince Charming façade and calling you out on your bullshit. I hate to break it to you, but not every woman you put your dick into falls for your little act.”

“Fuck you, Y/n,” he snapped back. “You’re so damaged that no one even has a chance at getting close to you.”

Feeling a sharp stab in your chest, your eyes shot back to him in disbelief, then narrowed with rage. “You know what? If that’s the way you feel, then get the fuck out of my life.”

“Gladly,” he hissed as he yanked the alley door open and disappeared into the pub, leaving you standing there alone, your body shaking and tears streaming down your face.

Taglist: @chronicallybubbly , @the-princess-of-loki , @princess-ofthe-pages , @darcylikesloki , @kikster606 , @foxherder , @simone818283 , @newtomofgods @christinebloodwrittings @tom-hlover , @lulubelle814 , @kingliam2019, @leniram1890

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 12

Chapter 12: reverance Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. big smut scene for v day, oral, vaginal, the works. reader sits on arthurs face lol it what she deserves WC: 7383 Hello snow angels : ) chool has been killing me, work has been killing me, life has been killing me, THIS CHAPTER has been killing me... BUT WERE BACK!!! finally, I have this ch in a place i sort of like it, im sorry this took so long. I hope yall like it and happy valentines day from snow angel arthur 🫢🥰💖😊🥹💓😈 Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being a complete sweetie hes so happy awww - The life you live with Arthur is almost picture perfect.

You wake with a warm hand rubbing your thigh. Slow stroking motions, rough fingertips glancing over your skin. They dip inward towards the center a little. Eyelashes that rim your lids part and you moan softly, it’s warm and dark and you’d love to sleep more. 

Arthur’s awake already, petting his hands down your thigh, on your side, the blanket has bunched towards the other side of you. You whine and wiggle away. 

He wears down your thin resistance like a whetstone. Drags you, wets you, taking you across the fine surface until you reach a place that he likes. Each of his sweet actions take you there. Like these mornings, something out of a story book. Something that feels too good to be proper. Most of the things that he does here in this bed have that quality. 

He pulls you back, pinning your hips to his. It’s become somewhat of a routine with Arthur, he wakes in the morning and observes you awhile. As if it was the first night you had come and that morning, he could hardly believe you weren’t a dream. You suppose loneliness had that effect on him. 

Although now, he proves it to himself. Touches your hair or your back, squeezing your hips and if he’s feeling particularly pushy, he’ll wake you by softly squeezing at your breast. 

You would like to deny you have a favorite but it most certainly is when he kisses your hair until you wake. Puts soft kisses that pull you right out of your dreams just behind your ear. Today though, his fingers press against the curve of your hip. 

“You awake yet?” his own voice rasps with sleep. 

“No…” you huff and he chuckles at you. You rub your cheek into the feathered pillow, trying not to ruin your sleeping state by opening your eyes too much. You flinch and try to get farther away but his arm is tight around you, dragging fingers over your belly

“Aw, I’m sorry, princess. Did I wake you?” He huffs between a laugh. He isn’t sorry one bit and you know it. 

“Arthur, you’re incorrigible,” you mutter into the pillow. His chest hair and the trailing fuzz down his middle brushes against your back, his strong arm pulls you closer by your hip. You’re swallowed by his heavy presence, the smell of him (all musk and salt, fire and pine sap) , his breath over your ear. You lean into his softness as well, his belly against you feels so warm. Bristles of his beard scratch over your shoulder. 

“Can never keep your hands to yourself, can you?” You put your palm over the top of his hand, little hairs tickle your fingers; rigid knuckles and working man’s hands with their veins and knicks, rough spots. Prying them away would not work so you do not bother. Strength isn’t something you have in common with Arthur. Especially not when you sense the power of him, lying in wait.

“My pretty wife in bed, n’ you want me to keep my hands to myself. Shows how much you know about me,” you smile a little, your eyes flutter open slowly, the world is this room for now. Arthur’s bedroom. The smell of cedar, faint smoke, and wintertime sweat that clings to the blankets. There’s thick quilts, plain blue and red, with a hint of decorative elements in the careful stitching. And a thick wool blanket, rumpled and slept in. 

His voice is perfect like this in the mornings, rumbled into the delicate pieces of your ear while he holds you in the messy nest of blankets you have, gathered here. Entirely limp for him to touch, like clay to mold. With Arthur, it can be easy to feel that way, his hand clasps over you. 

Within the dusty pages of your etiquette books, dull printed letters outlined how a lady should manicure herself each morning so as to please her husband when he woke. How she should fix her coiffure, make sure her appearance measures up to the impeccability required of her. But Arthur doesn’t seem to care about any of that. He kisses you though you haven't cleaned yet, breathes deeply into your scalp. No part of him minds if you wake with tangled hair, or if you wake looking less like a portrait, rubbing sleep out of your eye. 

Instead, he lays on his back, sitting up in bed a little, your head on his chest. That’s all before he pats his lap and you clamber over him. He looks at you too softly, marvels; with his eyes, they make blue seem so much warmer. Arthur is easy to indulge, he likes when you touch him anywhere, over the planes of his chest, thick with muscle, over his collar bones. His breath quickens, he’ll grumble these low noises when you scratch a little at all of his fuzz. 

Just the fact that you're here brings him a satisfaction you had never seen in a man. As if there isn’t any other want in him that needs to be sated. Nothing you can’t fix. That’s what he tells you anyway. “Don’t need a damn thing but you, angel,”. Like he could do without air, he’d just breathe what you have in your lungs with kisses, could drink the slick you leak between your thighs for water. Could lick the salt from your skin for food. You don’t think you’ve been able to be without Arthur for more than a minute or two before he comes around looking. Perhaps he fears that if he should stop looking at you, you’d disappear. Out of sight, out of mind.  

You’ve become accustomed to it. Inclined to it, even. You start to get nervous without him too. Though you talk yourself into being more composed, it doesn’t put sense into you like you want it to. 

In the kitchen, you start to cook, while Arthur tends to the fire, then he’ll get more wood if he has to later. You have ice cold butter and flour so you make biscuits, fluffy and tempting, in a cast iron skillet. You fry some thick cut pieces of venison and with its drippings, you stir together a gravy. Arthur likes to watch, wrapping arms around you, dipping lower to observe. He hums deeply in satisfaction. Surrounded by him, you relax slightly. 

“Looks good, smells even better,” you turn over your shoulder, accepting a surprise kiss he gives you. He tries to make it last longer. Swishing his tongue past your teeth. You make an errant noise. It turns into a squeak when his hand descends onto your ass. You part with huff.

“If I burn this food…” 

“Alright, alright… what needs doin’ ‘round here, you like to leave a mess,” He pokes at you, you roll your eyes. But you do appreciate how he doesn’t sit around like your father does. You told him how you liked it when he helped you, you washed  the dishes together. Your hands pruned and so did his. He rubbed your arm and you felt the little ridges. It made you smile. He made a point to try and join you in the things that you do around his home. Your home, the home you maintain together now. 

You watch as he eats and hardly leaves a crumb on the plate. Powdery white light shines through the window in the small kitchen, it’s not the sunlight but it’s still nice to have something to float through the glass. Perhaps you’d take some fresh air, Arthur takes the horses out sometimes and you know Lucky can use a bit of a walk around, even if in the cold. 

“Could eat your cookin’ for the rest of my life,” 

“I’m afraid that’s what you’ve brought upon yourself,” you sigh, “it’s all average fair, I assure you,” 

“I ate slop for years. Average fair’s like heaven’s banquet,” you scoff a small laugh.

“Your gunslinging days didn’t feed you well?” You don’t plan on eating anymore so you stand to clear some of the dishes. Arthur starts to do so as well, pouring cold coffee out into the basin.

“Nah, if I had time to eat, it was fresh game or Pearson’s stew,”

“Stew? Stewed what?” 

“Half the time…I had no idea,” he’s leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. You find Arthur’s piercing gaze after you settle into an easy laugh. You tilt your head, placing more of your dirty dishes onto the stack. Observing you is a strange passion of Arthur’s. He pretends as if he’s not watching every move you make, his face isn’t tense, he’s rather relaxed.

But he’s sharp. The only thing that consoles you about it is the satisfied and pleased air that he has. You’ve grown used to how much he likes to be at your side. Like he aches for it. And in some ways, you do too. You want him there. 

Roving his eyes over you, he has his big rough hands on your hips and waist. Sinking his fingers into you, like he’s always done that, always held you. Too natural then, is your willingness to give him what he wants. He captures you there in his gaze, the same blue as a springtime sky. Gently, you touch him too over the soft cotton of his shirt, the weave of his suspenders. You brace your hands on him. 

“Can we take the horses out?” You give him your best pleading pout, digging at his weakness for you. Very rarely does he concede to you. He has firm rules and expectations but you use the way he cares for you to your advantage at times. He gives you his opposition, hopefully only at first. His brows tighten together, and his hands hold your bare shoulders. His fingers play with the delicate strap of the soft simple shift you wear. He stares down at you while you try not to back down. 

“We?”

“Arthur, we’ve been out riding before, haven’t we?” You know the answer and so does he. He looks away, out to the window. He removes one of his warm hands to start rubbing over his shoulder. His deliberation creases more of the lines over his face.

“Then why can’t we go? I’ll even help you brush them, muck the stalls—,”

“You don’t need to do all that, won’t have you out there shovelin’ horse shit… jus’,” he nods to himself. Then he locks his eyes on yours, takes a breath to look at you. You blink up at him, anticipating some negative answer. “You can come along once I’m done but only because you’re real cute when you’re beggin’,” your smile makes him do the same, you press close to him where he accepts you in his arms.

You feel flushed, but you still nod eagerly. Arthur lets you dress to go out. You rush to the bedroom to put on some riding pants. All of these clothes, you have Arthur to thank for. You don’t want your mind to linger on why for too long.

You step out into the living room where Arthur gives you a teasing smile. “Ain’t you all excited. Did I agree to take you to the circus or somethin’?” You frown slightly, looking up at him while he shrugs his bear skin coat over his shoulders. He sweeps some of his golden hair away from his eyes, before adjusting his hat over his head. You adjust your boots, the new ones that he bought for you in town. They’re shiny and brown, with pretty tooling at the top, swirling filigree. The nicest boots you’ve ever been given. 

“Arthur…” 

“I don’t want you wanderin’ off,” his voice drops down from his teasing. 

He sits down beside you, adjusting you so he can help tighten the laces that he ties at just under your knee. He pats his knee for you to put your other leg up. His fingers are more efficient and he pulls your laces tighter than you would. When he’s done, there is a gentle tap on your ankle. He stands and one of his hands is extended to you, to help you to your feet. You sigh, preparing yourself to leave the fire that swells in the hearth, just in front of the sofa in the main room. 

“I mean it,” somehow his voice drops even lower. “Don’t make me go chasin’ after you,”

“I won’t,” A smirk curls over his face and he looks down, one of his hands coming up to tilt your chin a smidge upwards. Always so gentle when you say what he wants to hear. 

“Good girl.”

You step out onto the porch together, some of the snow has been swept into neat lines by the wind, beautifully glazed over. The sky is a solid tone of gray, undisturbed by any blue upsets. It leaves the entirety of the landscape looking a little dreary in startling shades of white, burnt shades of green. Arthur pauses strangely. Stares out at the treeline a moment. He relaxes after a second but he had been wound so tightly, you can tell just how much tension he let go. You look out but can’t see anything.

“Arthur?” he doesn’t respond the first time. It’s a little worrying. The breeze zips past, brushing against your cheeks and nose. You delicately touch his shoulder. He looks down at your mittened hand on the hide of his coat. Saying his name again does snap some awareness in him and he releases an uneven sigh, puffing air from his nose, it turns into vapor. His brow is quick to pull into its well used expression of ‘not quite happy’ and his jaw shifts under all of that brambly hair. 

“C’mon,” he says, as if you were the one who paused for a moment on his porch to stare at nothing. Trudging through the snow is much easier when it’s not 2 feet high.  In the stable, Lucky is very excited to see you. And you are happy to see him too. He shakes a little, doing a little trot in his stall. Swiping gently over his long snout, patting over his strong neck. You cling to this constant in your life, Lucky. 

Arthur lets you help brush their coats. Every once in a while, you look up from your task to catch him looking. And then he makes some crude joke about your horse “shitting twice as much as his does”. 

“How I hate to inconvenience you so, Mr. Morgan,” he stands and rests his hands on the handle of the spade he’s using. 

“Gettin’ snippy on me, girl?” Your fingers continue their work as you observe him, his lopsided smile and the film of sweat from his hard work. 

“I could never,” he shakes his head and goes back to what he was doing. You smile quietly to yourself. 

Trotting out in the snow does bring a smile to your face. You watch the wind trail over the surface of the landscape, brushing over the evergreen needles and bare branches like teeth of a comb. 

“Who is Pearson?” you ask, gently leading Lucky. For being such a heavy horse to handle, he listens well. The world exists in this strip of wintery landscape. Soft and hard aspects of nature all at once. Bird song and elk calls. “You said a name, someone who made your infamous slop, I think,” You turn to Arthur who has a little nod and something of a tilt to the left side of his mouth. He handles his horse easily too. 

“Navy man, turned camp cook. And you could tell he was the cook; portly bastard. He might not have made a particularly appetizing stew but it did the job, feedin’ some twenty people,” He doesn’t talk too much about his old life. You know it brews under the surface. These stories of a life he lived long ago. But those memories are tender still, when you touch some of them, he flinches away like you’ve pressed into a wound, a deep purple bruise. Physical pain is something he hardly minds at all. You remember you had seen him knick himself while shaving, while you had fussed he had watched on, endeared. 

You nod. Prying isn't your intention. But you grow curious. “That's quite a few people. I can’t imagine too many of them were women; do outlaws marry?” He takes a moment to think. You give him time to form his answer. 

“We wasn’t always in the habit of marryin’. Hosea, he had a wife. Bessie. Dutch had Miss O’Shea, but they wasn’t married. Dutch weren’t exactly the marryin’ kind. He likes… affairs. John wouldn’t know a good woman if she slapped him in the face,” he says so many names, as if you know them but they’re like faded photographs. Maybe they were in a way, those blurred images in his bedroom. The courage to pick them up keeps escaping you. These people must have been close to him. 

“Affairs?” 

“Dutch kept that girl strung along but when it got bad, he…let her go so to speak. When Bessie died, Hosea never so much as looked at another woman, at least in the same way. Don’t even think he was the same after she passed on,” 

“I’m sorry to hear that happened to him,” you don’t want to push. But you do preserve these brief moments where he divulges pieces of his past. You do your best to remember the names so that if he decided to tell you more, you’d recognize these pieces to put together. 

“Yeah…” He dips his head low, the brim of his hat covers his eyes. He sighs, low and quiet. The wind whistles by. Some of your hair blows past, your fingers come to adjust it. Currant shakes, the jingles of his reins fill the simple gap between his words. He bows to pay his horse a little bit of attention, telling him how good he’s been. The sight puts a small smile on your features. 

He focuses forward, at the horizon out in front of you. The gentle scene of winter’s serenity calms you, riding along with Arthur.  He continues and you turn to listen. “Couple other women, too. Livin’ rough is hard for a man, worse for the girls. Miss Grimshaw ran them girls with an iron fist,” he laughs almost, something close to it.

“What did they do?” 

“Everybody did their part. Mostly it was washin’ for the girls. Only that O’Driscoll boy could make tendin’ to horses look like a ladies past time.” 

“O’Driscoll? I thought you didn’t like them,” you question.

“Only thing O’Driscolls was good for was dyin’. But really, it was Dutch who hated them. They killed his woman. I think he was more mad that they was the ones who killed her; more than that she was gone,” You nod. Lucky continues on, ambling on in the snow, snorting loudly. The snow crunches under his hooves, crossing over a small creek has Arthur telling you to be careful. 

“Other than that, we wasn’t too different in the end. Dutch could play at it; wantin’ freedom or some other load of bullshit. But we was alike more than anythin’,” His voice becomes embittered. The grit of his vocal cords denotes it. And so does his hand, which shakes out at his side, before he places it easily at his thigh. 

“Do you miss it? Being an outlaw?” He looks at you, slouched over his saddle but he straightens, staring ahead. His face twists. His gloves hand rubs at his jaw before he brings both of his hands together, rubbing them. 

“We should head back,” there’s hardly any room for argument in his tone but you try anyway.

“Arthur, it hasn’t been that long,” 

“Nah, it’s too goddamn cold anyhow, hate this damn snow,” you do drag your feet, or Lucky’s hooves a little but even that upsets Arthur. He mutters more about the temperature. You pat at Lucky’s neck, giving him your sweet words. 

“Aw, you aren’t too cold, are you? No, you’re very brave! Yes, you are,” Arthur gives you an irritated look. You smile up at him. Lucky almost seems to nod at your praise, turning over his shoulder a bit. You’d give him a treat when you got back to the little stable he called home now. 

You sigh as you get inside, having tried to knock the snow off your boots outside but some still clings to you. Dressing down takes a lot longer than expected but you’re flattered that Arthur takes his time to help you get out of your boots. You try to tell him you can handle it but he insists that you need it. You quiet down, letting him do as he pleases. Then he kisses you on the crown of your head and sends you off to the bedroom to get out of your clothes. You nod and start to change into the slip you usually wear around the house. You do it more than quick enough to remain unattended by your overly attentive keeper. Or husband. 

You check behind you at the open door but you can hear him doing things in the living room. Carefully, you approach the bedside table. There are framed photographs which, although you sleep beside them, have not taken the time to look at with any thought. 

Examining the faces, you pick it up, as quiet as a mouse. There are three men and one stands proudly in the center, like a religious picture. The yellowed tinge makes the pigment look almost green, it must be quite old. The figure on the right is slouched over, holding a cigarette and the other two look to be not quite as young as him. You wonder if one of them is this Dutch figure. You aren’t sure, perhaps one of them is John or Pearson? You don’t want to take the photograph from its frame. That would be far too conspicuous. You’re about to set it down but you almost drop it instead. 

“Nosy girl, ain’t ya?” You whip to face Arthur, your neck almost aches with the motion. He leans casually against the door frame, hands on his belt. Your heart jumps and your belly aches with panic.

“I was only-” You rush to explain. He pushes off and comes close with a soft sigh, rubbing his hand over the lower half of his face. He holds out that same hand. 

“Give it here, honey,” you hand it to him, expecting him to scold you and put it back. Instead he sits on the bed, patting his knee. You sit on him, trying not to put too much of your weight on him in an attempt to seem daintier than you are. Arthur obstinately drags you fully onto him with a soft grunt. 

“All those stories made you curious? You wanna know more ‘bout all this… shit?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” His eyes flick to yours. As if in disbelief, like he thought you’d turn him away. Arthur acts as if you should. But you want to know him. 

“We were thieves. Deluded thieves at that. Nothin’ worse than a man who has no idea what he is,” You move some of your hair out of your face, so close to Arthur, you watch as he stares at the photograph. It’s like he’s trying to scare you out of wanting to know more. He had told you he was an outlaw. That night that he and he alone ordained you. Two souls joined for eternity. You frown. Perhaps you’re meant to be scared, meant to be horrified by all of the sordid details. “You don’t…”

“I do. Because-because I feel like…I’m a stranger,” you have touched something of his again, some spot that you dig your thumb into. A brown spot over an apples skin which gives way, pushing mush out over the sides. He’s quiet for a while. Chewing on your words like gristle, thinking them over. You’ve given him pause. You see him at war with himself and you can always tell. His brows pinch, his posture closes in a little. You do mean what you say. Everything is always out of order, unconventional with him. The very nature of your relationship is odd, you had never heard of such a thing, except perhaps in your grandmother's book of legends in the Grecian variety. The lord of the underworld had taken the goddess of spring from her mother. Stored her away. 

“That there is Hosea,” he sighs eventually. He doesn’t address your words, only aims to correct his actions. “He’s gone now. Died when we was set up in that goddamned cesspit, Lenny died that day too. The rest of us was lucky to get away on a boat, ended up washed up on an island. Wasn’t even there to help bury the ol’ bastard. But you’d never seen a tongue more silver.” you lay on his shoulder, at ease in his warmth, in his presence. You point to the young man on the right.

“And who’s that?” 

“Darlin’, do I really look all that different?” You almost don’t believe him, looking between him and the photograph. 

“That’s you?” You look again at the smooth face in the photograph. His hair looks a lot darker too. He spreads his legs in the chair; you do see Arthur do that a lot. He has the same sharp eyes. But he hasn’t gotten the bulkiness that is Arthur now. Broad chest and shoulders, strong and sturdy. 

“Jesus, girl, you know how to make a man feel young,” you giggle, tilting your head and taking the photograph.  

“Arthur Morgan, you’re too foolish. It’s just…maybe the beard?” 

“Jus’ the beard, sure,” you absentmindedly rub your ankle down his leg, relaxing further into his lap. Losing yourself in such a close moment, you continue. 

“Well, I don’t mind your scruff. I quite like it on you,” a shy smile pushes at your cheeks. 

“Mm, do you, now?” His smile is all too smug. You nod, turning away at your own honesty. He rubs his cheek against yours on one long motion, his arm is steady at your back, keeping you steady on his thigh. You huff and wiggle. 

“Not so much when you’re trying to give me a burn with it,” You press your fingers into his cheek. He doesn’t pay you any mind, rubbing his beard when he puts kisses all over your neck. It tickles, and you try to bring your cheek to your shoulder. To no avail, though, he quits all on his own. He’s got that look in his eye, he wants something. 

“Yeah, the only place you want all scratched up is here, ain’t it?” His right arm holds you close while his left hand inches up your thigh, dragging the hem of your slip up with him. His fingers brush against your inner thigh, petting along the sensitive skin. He takes advantage of how your body is inclined to his touch. Not so quick to let go of your protective instinct, you try to shake your head at his obscenities. 

“That’s-that’s not true…” 

“Then where else d’you want it?” Your face is surely showing how much he pushes at your modesty again. Dripping down from somewhere is a puddle of heat, gathering in what feels like just behind your belly button, some awful temptation for him to fulfill. You can feel some small whiny thing in you pleading for him to do what he pleases but you have to cling to what little denial you have before he comes to destroy it anyway.

“Must you make me say things all the time?” You’re desperately trying to defend yourself but like he said. There isn’t much use to defying nor denying him. 

“I don’t make you say a goddamn thing. Go ahead, darlin’, keep pushin’ me,” His tone borders on irritation. You sigh and look down to where his hands continue to squeeze at your thigh. 

“When you put scratches all over… I-I like that too,” 

“There’s my girl,” You don’t say anything, letting him lay you down, relaxing for him. His praise sways you so, you bend and break for it. Your body still shivers at the suggestive position he lays you down in, dragging the hem of your slip up to stare at your form. You’ve never exactly seen what he sees. Your nudity in the mirror has never been anything special to you. But Arthur takes in the sight, feeling what he wants to feel. 

“Look at you, you’re jus’ perfect, jus’ fine…” his thumbs press into hips. He spreads your legs, fighting the brief closure you have. Arthur’s flattery does help you sink into the mattress, parting your legs. It isn’t unsettling as it was, being immersed in his praise is comforting as it is confusing. 

He helps your arms out of the little straps that keep your shift on your shoulders. Laying nude with only your stockings, you can feel the chill in the air. But Arthur does as he said he would. The prickly hairs he shaves into stubs get dragged not too harshly against the sensitive flesh of your underbelly, while you squirm. He lays kiss after kiss against your skin, razing over you, the sweetest burn of his scruff on you. Your fingers rather pointlessly tangle in his hair for some sort of leverage to ground you. 

Before you know why, he’s stopped. You expected him to continue into some lewd act of his. Dipping his tongue inside of the little slit between your legs until it gets slick enough for his pleasure. The waves of ecstasy would push you to the edge and he would give you sugary praises, words of your belonging. 

Instead, he looks up at you. You’re… disappointed. More than you have any right to be. Any desire to be but it simmers low in you. You had wanted that, had wanted him to do that, swiping his hot tongue over the button at the very top of your slit. Quietly, he denies you. You must be pouting because he chuckles at you. 

“I ain’t sure I’m convinced you know what you want outta me. C’mere and show me,”

“Show you? I don’t understand,” you shy away, wishing you knew more about what he meant.

“You’re always so polite; ‘please’ this, ‘thank you’ that. Ask me real pretty, I might just have to say yes,” Arthur props himself up over you, his weight on your hips pins you down. He’s playing with you. 

Soot kicked up the broom, your own contentious emotions fill your chest. He wants you to ask him. To beg him to give you pleasure.

“Do wives often beg for their husbands attention?” 

“My wife does; least when she wants somethin’ special. Maybe I just like seein’ you all flustered. Tell me what you need, sweetheart, can’t give it to ya if I ain’t got a clue what it is,” You bite your lip. You’re already held under Arthur. You can play your own games.

“Arthur… I need my husband,” you can tell that you’ve hit something special, like a dog who kicks his leg. His eyes sharpen but his smug expression goes slack a little. “You are my husband, aren’t you? That’s what you say,” There’s that look, you’re continuing to push on him, to get his reaction. Even as he bears his weight down on you, as he grips tighter at your thigh.

Arthur is hardly as playful and cocky as he was a moment ago. As if you’ve sobered him with your words from the joy he was getting from your slight humiliation. Now, he falls for your teasing. You say teasing. But you find your own words to be too genuine.

He breathes deeply in the dip of your neck, you don’t flinch at the burn of his cheek against the sensitive skin. Though it tickles you, your raw emotions leave your thoughts popping like soap suds. His huff fans the warmth of him on your throat. His broadness encompasses you, you feel entirely too small but you do so love the feeling of him taking your body as comfort. Cradled naturally by the softness of your body. As if carved for each other.

“I want you to come set yourself on me,” you feel warm with your own excitement, “set this pretty pussy on me, wanna lick it clean,”

He’s helping you up, adjusting you so you can prop your thighs either side of his head, avoiding the weight he insists on putting on himself. What an odd idea, more concepts you wouldn’t dare imagine, lest you tempt the devil in ways you had always been told would end in death. His hands are only determined, all too strong, he handles you with efficiency.

“Are men and women…meant to do this?” You whisper, unsure still but he quiets you with a gentle nip to your inner thigh. 

“No, darlin’, jus’ husbands and wives,” It’s a soft murmur. Whatever plan you had to poke at his devotion backfires on you. A strange feeling descends on you instead. A curl of sincerity over his words and you’re faltering. You end up here often, losing your footing and falling in line with him. In his rough hands, playing right into them.

He has his arms dragging you flush against him, your slit pressing plushly against his mouth. You squeak at his wet tongue, slipping over you, your hands holding on to the wood of the headboard and your back arching. Over and over, he licks the same path, the slick sounds are all you can hear. A filthy and relieved sigh passes by your lips, your mouth parted as you tilt your head back. You rock gently without even particularly noticing, diving into your natural instinct. Finding pleasure on the tip of his tongue like you’ve always done so. 

And his beard does scratch. It scratches until your inner thighs are raw; you can’t bring yourself to stop. More moaning is pried from you, your body feeling the tightness of arousal and the jerkiness of your rhythmic movements over his tongue. Your own wetness is a sloppy mess, soaking your thigh. Arthur’s fingers dig deeply into them, he presses you roughly against him, dipping his tongue inside of you, licking you like you taste of sugar. 

Then his tongue plays with that button, when he touches it, it’s as if it had ached for it all along, you can’t remember a time when it hadn’t been nearly hurting with the need to be rubbed around by his tongue. You let his name slip from your mouth. That action puts you in a trance where all you want is him. Perhaps you had been a clueless little fool playing with matches but you didn’t mind if the result was Arthur fervently proving himself between your legs. But he stops again, depriving you. 

He’s pinning you down against the fabric of the sheets, smiling at you while you whine and cry, wiggling against him. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he pants, clearly having been too busy doing other things to keep his breathing steady. He takes advantage of how intense you feel, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles around the soft flesh of your entrance. It’s far too gentle to feel as good as his tongue but you move your hips towards it anyway. 

“Still too proud to beg, pretty girl?” 

You whine, of course Arthur has to get his way. Just as he makes you feel as if you got yours. You whimper when he sinks one of his fingers inside. 

“Arthur, please, please…I want— want you, please,” 

He’s clumsily shoving his pants and suspenders down, tugging buttons out of their closure. Forceful kisses press into your lips, you wonder briefly what it's like to do what he’s done but it must taste like this, you taste him, bitter like coffee but sweet with liquor and the strange note of your own arousal. You’ve never had anything like it before. 

Arthur heaves a sigh in your mouth, propping your legs up, your hands tangled in his hair, scratching at his scalp. He hardly wastes any time trying to push inside. 

The rush only makes it ache, your hips try to wiggle away, your thighs tensing up. He hisses a sharp cuss, a startling sound. Satisfaction settles within you. He doesn’t let your wriggling stop him from pushing until he has his balls against you.

“Keep at it, jus’ — shit, jus’ say that again,” he gasps and you indulge. Telling him you want him, need him, isn’t so hard anyway. It isn’t a lie, as much as you want it to be, for your own sake. To say it is to mean it now. 

“Need you, Arthur, please,”

“Good girl, my good girl, all f’r me,” he’s dazed, eyes hardly open, put there by your admittances. 

It’s almost shameful how much you like the way he stretches you on him. How good it feels for him to take you, but you’re his wife. It’s what he tells you, over and over. He's said it to you all week. Every night when he had pried these intense peaks of pleasure from you, mussing the sheets, staining them with your slick and his spend. 

Your mind is plied, limp and hazy, you spread your thighs easily, let him take as he is supposed to. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, practically bouncing you on him, all too hurried. 

“I feel like your man yet?” a panted chuckle in your ear, is all you can understand, the wet slap of him at your thighs and the playful pinch of your nipple pulls a yelp from you. 

He’s propping your hips up, prodding at something so deep, your knees tighten on him, reflexes overpower you. The tip of him scrapes, scratches at something that loosens your jaw, slack for all of your noises to get past, dripping off your tongue. You’ve no mind for thinking your noises daring or awful, nodding along at his words. 

“Yeah, s’what I thought. Goddamn…” he snarls his words. His self assured gaze meets yours, his hands rubbing idly against your skin, no piece of you remains untouched by him.

Though you may not be a string puppet, you do feel a ragdoll, left at his mercy, warm with him pinning you down, damp with his sweat. 

“Jesus, darlin’. Drivin’ me mad, so damn pretty’,” he slows, grunting in your ear. A shiver rushes down your whole frame, hips grinding listlessly, searching for more of him. And you find it, utter perfection when you hear him groan, a tight warning begins in your belly. 

His shoulders flex, even as he winces past some pain, his fingers are far too rough when they grab at you but all you do is continue, wanting to chase the heat that pushes your thoughts out of your head, you can’t think of anything else but him.

Bright red and flushed with exertion, his hair dark with sweat, all of him is bathed in warmth. “Long as you keep forgettin’...” He bathes you in it too, especially when he pulls you so close. “I’ll be here to remind ya. You’re my woman, always will be. Nothin’ you do is gonna change that,”

His words are close to what you need, just next to it. Good enough to make you nod feverishly, buck against him. Always. That word sticks to you like glue. 

He nudges so deep, instinct guides you to press some soft part of yourself against the tip of him over and over. Leaning in, he presses your bodies together, nearly crushing you with his weight. He still pulls your hips into him, but slower.  A jolted sigh is all that escapes you now, you shut your eyes. 

“Look at me,” You push yourself to meet his gaze, even as he floods all of your senses with pleasure. The smell of you together, the feeling of his damp skin on yours. His smallest hairs on his chest and belly brushing against your skin. The sight of him, his squared features, his ruddy cheeks.  Fluttering inside is your sentiment for him. You don’t dare label it. 

Then he pulls back, only to rub at your button, lulling strokes that speed up, far more jarring than the paced rutting of him inside of you.

“Arthur- Arthur, I—,” you gasp, fingers squeezing tight at his shoulders, digging your nails. You’re enraptured in his gentle coaxing. 

“M’right here, sweetheart,” he has the softest tone, his eyes are focused only on you, watching carefully. You let yourself melt in his hands.

 His fingers are rough, sending fire coursing through you. You feel yourself gush on him and you spread more, eyes rolling back before you arch your back and barely stop a scream from ripping through you. 

“There ya go; good girl…don’t you look sweet,” he coos. Pathetic keening is all you give, hips jerking a bit, though pinned underneath him. 

He holds you down underneath him, “that’s real good, honey,” muttered over you. Sounding very proud of himself. He looks down at you. His eyes trace over your features. The hardened pads of his fingers draw lines over your skin. You have to catch your breath, swallow to wet your throat, dry from the way you let it leak all of the noises he loves to hear. 

Eventually, you relax your legs from where they had squeezed tight on him. He starts to work you back up to taking him, sensitive and tender. You feel the soft gathering of all that he is against you. The heaviness of him inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

Your lower belly twists at the pleasured sounds he makes, pressing his sweat damp forehead into your ear, lazy kisses at your neck, you turn to allow him to continue. With a shaky groan and a hiss, he pulls away. You hold back your whine when he spills everything he has on your thigh. A small prick of disappointment almost takes away from the satisfied groan you revel in. 

“Took it all out of me, pretty girl…”

He lets himself be tugged down to lay on you, smothering you. But you like the way his big frame feels piled onto yours. You can feel his heart nearly. Beating close to yours, like he wants them to be close. You play with his hair and you wait. Wait for him to tell you something you’ve been quietly biding your time for. It hasn’t come all week, yet you wait like a passenger does for a train off schedule. At the boarding station with luggage in hand, eyes on the horizon, the long line of tracks.

He murmurs it into your skin. You can feel his beard rub against you, his sweaty chest dampening your skin. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world that I need ‘cept for you,” 

It isn’t what you’re looking for. You’re starting to feel like that train won’t come but you make excuses for him again. At least he doesn’t fill your head with empty hopes. Arthur is a man of his word and he only says things he means. You know he means it. You know it.

Arthur holds you now, you lay tiredly on his chest. He kisses your hair. It would be so easy to pretend that he was just that while you lay and touch the scars he has. Reveries like that though are always quickly shattered. Ruined utterly by Arthur and his possessive words, curling up and over. Clouding your imaginings with his own version of devotion. These words are not sweet, nor are they bitter. They’re like cough syrup, numbing and sticky, putting you in a stupor until you forget all about the tight scratchiness in your throat. 

“You belong to me,” you can feel his chest vibrate with such comfort in his voice, you have no choice but to fall asleep on him while he strokes your hair. 

sighhhh dont even ask me how long i spent on this, or how much i like it (i dont really but will i ever???) thanks for reading!!! I reallly liked how untruthful arthur is about some of the details and how much he hides from poor reader : ( and of course, him being a sap at the end was sooo cute, couldnt resist!! happy valentines day snow angels 💓💓💓💓💓🥹🥹❄️❄️😇😇😇