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sincerelyrki · 3 months ago

Text

forbidden attraction

getting cheated on was never easy, but you wanna know what is? revenge. and as the infamous song says, if he’s cheating i’m doing him worse (aka fucking his four best friends).

pairing : enha!hyungline x fem!reader

warnings + genre : smut. double pen. oral (m+?f?). cum eating/sharing. unsafe sex. spanking. handjob. profanity. name calling. degration. profanity. a bit of begging. fivesome. no cheating bcuz i don’t fw that. jakehoon kissing once. not shipping the members!! it’s just for the plot. 18+.

wc : 3.8

a/n : a birthday gift to myself and everyone else born on september 2🫡 bonnes fêtes pote <3

tl : @vousty @ilololoveyou @moon0fthenight

Jay was appalled.

There were many things in life that confused him, but this? He’s never been as speechless as he was right now.

Whether that stemmed from his confusion on why one of his best friends would cheat on a girl like you or from your warm mouth wrapped oh so fucking deliciously around his cock- he wasn’t too sure.

But as much as he was appalled, he was thankful. so fucking thankful. it wasn’t every day that his best friend's ex-girlfriend came knocking on his door with nothing more than a poor excuse of a t-shirt and her slutty little miniskirts, not that he was complaining, but it was all too conflicting.

Was he supposed to call Sungchan and tell him that his hot ex was at his door? He couldn’t imagine that going down too well with him, not after the next few words came spilling from your pretty lips- god your lips.

He almost wishes you never came over because he wasn’t sure how he could ever go back to being strangers with you, not after seeing the way you took him so perfectly down your throat.

But as all good things come, they go. And it went with another knock on his door, one that barely sounded out before it was being swung open.

Jay might’ve been the most unlucky lucky man to walk this earth. Lucky because he had you on your knees for him- unlucky because of the three other men who seemingly showed up out of nowhere.

“You started without us? I should’ve known a needy fucking slut wouldn’t have waited.” And by the faux pouting voice of Heeseung, Jay would’ve kept that narrative. It seemed that everyone except for himself had come to hear about this… event? Yep, he was definitely confused.

But as said before, he was so fucking thankful. But if he had known that opening the door to an enigmatic person like yourself, would he have left it closed?

No, no he wouldn’t have. Because if he had then

he’d miss the singular hottest thing he’d ever seen- who knew watching his best friends fuck the girl he’s wanted for what feels like forever, could feel so fucking good?

That’s definitely the one reason why he’s in this position right now, he’d refuse any other answer anyways.

Jay’s head fell back with an abrupt moan, his head snapping back way too fast to be classified as safe. His legs shook from beneath you from the immense pleasure shooting across his entire midsection, his noises only grew louder the deeper he reached.

Your nails were scratching red lines across the man beneath you but through the combination of the hands grabbing against you and the cock you were being lowered on, you barely noticed.

“Almost there, you’re doing so good.” Heeseung’s voice was no louder than a whisper when he breathed heavily in your ear, the actions going on under him getting to his head. His eyes were glued to the way you sucked his friend in perfectly, your walls moulding to the twitching man beneath you.

Heeseung was almost envious of Jay, he’d do anything to feel your tight cunt wrap around him instead. But he knew that his time would come- and that it’d feel almost a hundred times better. And so he continued to shush you from over your shoulder as his lips pressed small pecks against your open neck, his hands wrapped around your waist as he moved you against Jay.

You fell apart in the two men’s embrace, the world fading into a haze as you fell into the feeling of getting used. It’s barely been a minute since you’ve been completely lowered on Jay yet you already felt completely fucked out.

Your sensitivity came in bursts of loud gaps and quiet moans, your legs unable to clench due to the tight holds of Jake and Sunghoon, one on each side.

“Please, i-i need more…” Even in your current situation you couldn’t help but beg for more than you could take, the desire to be completely and utterly claimed by the four men surrounding you overtaking any conscious part of your brain. You wouldn’t be satisfied until you’ve had them all, and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

“You need more or-?” Heeseung paused mid to push his teeth into your neck, his teeth pressing against you for a few seconds before pulling back. He glanced at the red spot once before he began lapping at it, his warm tongue providing comfort to the sore area.

After soothing the spot he moved more confidently, his tongue pressing flat against your collarbone before licking a stripe up to your jawline. One of his hands left your waist to pull at your hair, the loudest gasp yet leaving your lips, “or do you just want it?” He pressed a final kiss against your ear before letting go of your hair.

“Need, I need it.” Sunghoon looked up at Heeseung’s expected gaze before moving his eyes toward your face. His cock twitched in its confinements at your expression, his eyes following your tears streaks all the way down until your open mouth.

He knew what Heeseung was asking of him, but he wanted something else. As much as he’d love to feel your lips wrapped around his dick, he’s been eyeing something much more… tasty.

It came to a shock to both you and Jay once you felt something warm kitten licking at your entrance- well the spot where the two of you were connected in precisely.

Both your eyes snapped down at the sudden sensation, it was safe to say that the sight didn’t disappoint. Sunghoon wasn’t shy in the way he was so evidently open to making the both of you feel as much pleasure as possible, his tongue pressing against the two of you as Jay slid out, Sunghoon’s tongue aiding him in pushing further in.

It was nasty, but it tasted way too good for any of you to give a shit. Neither Sunghoon nor Jay seemed to care about the way Sunghoon’s tongue continuously licked along Jay’s cock.

“I always knew that fucking bitch was fruity.” Jake tried to tease Sunghoon but not even he could stop his eyes from following the movements of Sunghoon’s ministrations.

As much as the other two boys enjoyed watching the three of you, they were growing extremely impatient.

Heeseung, being done with waiting around for his turn decided to force himself into the equation with an offer he knew you wouldn’t be able to refuse, “You wanna know what would feel even better?”

He got his answer through the barely noticeable stutter of your growing noises. A smirk pushing its way onto his lips on its own accord. “Having both me and Jay inside of you, i’d make you feel so good.”

He could feel your torso tense under his hold and so continued talking into your ears, his voice as compelling as a story told siren, “You wanted more, didn’t you? You’d feel so full, i’d be giving you everything you’ve ever longed for.” He made his point by pushing his palm against your lower stomach- right against the spot Jay’s cock was hitting inside of you.

“He’s so big, right?” He cooed at you when you nodded your head, big tears staining your cheeks as his words fell through one ear and down to your needy cunt. “He’d feel so good against me, we’d stretch you out so good, make you feel things you’ve only ever dreamed about.”

Jay, having felt your tortuous clenches, was quick to get drawn to his high, his hips snapping up with a new vigor as he tried to chase his heavy weighted release.

Heeseung noticed before you did, of course he did. He’d been watching the man since he’d first come through the door, it was only natural for his eyes to be watching his every reaction.

“Or maybe we can have Jakey with me instead, hm? He’s not as long as Jay but he’s definitely thicker.” Liquid honey was practically pouring from Heeseung’s lips, the gold flowing across your skin until it reached its searing end along Jay’s thighs.

“M’gonna fill you up, give you everything I have-” Jay was too far gone to realize what he was saying, but he meant every word. His hands replaced Heeseung’s after pushing the older man’s off, his hips pushing off the bed as he snapped into you as hard as possible.

His head was empty but the thoughts still repeated out through his mouth, your seductive voice was the last thing he needed before completely filling you- “do it, fill me up.”

Seeing Jay break beneath you was nothing compared to the feeling of him coming undone inside of you, and at this moment you couldn’t help but thank your ex.

It was like a light switched inside of you, a newfound desire filling your entire body after seeing the way Sunghoon kept licking at the spot connecting you to Jay. His mouth was completely soaked with a combination of everything, the white ring along the bottom of Jays cock disappearing just as fast as it appeared.

You grabbed Sunghoon’s hair, a shocked whimper leaving his mouth as you pulled him away. He was looking up at you so beautifully, the stars in his eyes and the wetness along his chin… he was irritably irresistible. and by the silence filling the room it seemed that everyone agreed.

“You just can’t get enough can you?” You used your own hand to nod his head at your question, his hair tight in your hold as you forced him to move at your will. You cooed at him before giving a small pout in response, your eyes still staring at his coated face. “You couldn’t help yourself, you just had to taste him didn’t you?”

Sunghoon didn’t answer, his mind too cloudy to comprehend anything being said. His eyes were barely open as he stared at you, his entire weight being pushed against Jay’s abdomen.

His hands were pressed against the back of your thighs with his chest resting against jay, he was completely powerless. “How did he taste?” You knew he wouldn’t answer but you still asked with a slight hope that he’d give in, but as expected- he stayed silent.

You repeat yourself louder this time as you tug his hair harsher against his scalp, he still remained silent as he allowed his head to move under your control.

“He’s so dumb, he can’t even speak for himself.” Heeseung laughed against your neck before pushing his lips against your collarbones, yet his eyes remained on Sunghoon.

You hummed in agreement before turning to Jake, your heart softening at the neglected boy across from you. “Poor puppy hasn’t gotten any attention yet here you are, a needy baby who can’t do anything but sit there in silence.”

Jake visablly lightened up at your attention, his teeth slightly poking out from beneath his lips before he pushed closer to you, his head lightly knocking against yours whilst he nuzzled against you.

You were still sitting on top of Jay’s sensitive cock, his cum still lodged in you. “Bad boy’s don’t deserve what I was going to give you.” Sunghoon finally came to his senses as he looked up at you in confusion, your eyes meeting for the second time tonight.

“You were the closest to Sungchan, how could you do this to him?” You knew you weren’t the one to be talking, but you had more of a reason to betray him compared to Sunghoon. You got cheated on, but Sunghoon? You couldn’t think of a singular reason why he would turn his back on his childhood best friend just for a singular fuck.

“Why?” Sunghoon shook his head once before trying to respond but no words left his mouth, “what? Is your mouth suddenly dry?” Sunghoon shook his head in denial before snapping his lips closed and looking away once again, a heavy cloud of guilt replacing the dumb look in his eyes.

“As I said earlier, bad boys don’t deserve it.” No one knew what the “it” that you were referring to was, not until you slowly pulled Jay from out of you, your fingers pushing against yourself as you tried to keep his release in.

Still staring at Sunghoon’s avoidant figure you grabbed Jake’s wrist, your fingers wrapping around his hand as you pulled it down to replace your own. But before he could put his hand in place of yours, you stuck two fingers inside and scooped out as much of Jay’s cum you could while keeping some in.

You used your hold on his hair to turn his head towards your hand, his mouth dropping open at the strings of cum connecting your two fingers. You pushed your fingers together before slowly pulling them apart knowing that all the boys were watching.

“To think that this couldn’t been you…” Knowing that Sunghoon’s gaze was now following your fingers you rose it up to Jake’s mouth, your fingertips rubbing a bit of cum across his bottom lip before you pushed in between them.

All eyes, including your own, watched as Jake took your fingers the way you’d taken Jay’s dick hours ago.

Jake’s tongue swirled around your two digits, his eyes closing in focus as he attempted to clean your fingers the best he could. You could feel the vibrations of his mouth against your fingers, the feeling causing your need to grow more intense.

Before anyone could react, Sunghoon pulled your fingers from his mouth and replaced them with his mouth. His lips pushed against Jake’s with an animalistic desire, his tongue pushing between the other boys lips before Jake could even process the sudden kiss.

Sunghoon ignored the sharp tingles from his scalp as he continued licking into the other boy's mouth, scooping the cum into his own mouth. It was supposed to be his anyways, so there was no reason why he wouldn’t be able to have it. It didn’t matter that he was eating it from another person's lips, maybe it tasted even better that way.

After sharing the cum between themselves Sunghoon pulled back with a devious smile, all guilt erased from his mind. Jake’s mind was still reeling from what had happened, his mind replaying the sight of their shared spit connecting their departing lips.

“Sungchan would’ve have let you do this.” Sunghoon didn’t waste a second before kissing you, the taste of the other boys heavy on his tongue as it pushed it against yours. The taste was almost indescribable, hints of bitterness with the perfect amount of sweetness from whatever Sunghoon ate before coming to Jay’s.

Sunghoon pulled off of you for a minute before using his hand to pull yours from his hair, his fingers entwining with yours as he messily stood up. His pants were off within seconds, and his back was against the bed just as fast.

He pulled you down on top of him, his hand letting go of yours to grip as your ass to help you grind down against him. His mouth met yours once again, his nose bumping against yours with each turn of his head, he was all too addicting.

Heeseung tsked from above you, his disapproving gaze heavy on Sunghoon’s messy side profile. “You heard what she said earlier, you don’t deserve it.” Heeseung pulled you off of Sunghoon and back into his arms, your legs moving down to rest on top of Sunghoon’s flat knees.

“Move.” Sunghoon’s pleading look barely worked on you, his expression changing into an annoyed one before he shot both boys beside you a glare. He didn’t say anything and just scooched over.

Jake replaced his spot, but not before shooting Sunghoon a victorious wink. He made a whole show of fluffing his pillow before laying down, his hands moving to pull off his pants with a singular swipe.

His walls came down the second you took over, your hands grabbing his shoulder as you lowered yourself down onto him. He was already hard from watching you earlier which lowered the prep time.

Even though Jake was definitely wider than Jay, you still took him with ease. His cock gave you exactly what you needed yet you still wanted more.

You didn’t have to voice out your desires because Heeseung was already tapping the head of his cock against you, his tip moving around to collect as much of your slick as he could.

His hand moved from base to tip in a repeated motion, his fingers squeezing him in the manner that he was usually used to- but this time was different. He’d never fucked someone with another cock already pressed it, but that wasn’t to say that he hasn’t given it thought before.

He’s definitely thought about fucking you with one of his friends, way too many times that he’d like to admit. When you first came to him with the idea he would like to say that he was hesitant, but he wasn’t. The day you broke up with Sungchan was probably the best day of his life, well second best to today.

He wanted to see if the real thing was as good as it was in his dreams. He already knew your pussy would be the best he’s ever felt but he's always known that- it wasn’t anything new. But this? This was all new.

He knew you were ready after you looked back at him with a nod, your eyes sharing unspoken words before he began to push in. He knew the stretch would be rough and he fully attended to take his time to let you adjust to the new feeling.

He rubs an encouraging hand along your back, his palm gently pushed you flatter against Jake’s chest as his other hand held his base.

Jake, seeing the way your body was reacting, wrapped both of his arms around your waist. The new addition made it easier for Heeseung to contort your body into the way he wanted, his hand moving from your back and up to your hips to pull you up higher.

Even with the two boys comforting you, you still remained as tense as before. Heeseung knew it wouldn’t feel as good to you if you remained in that state so he tried his best to help loosen you up, “Relax, i’ve got you.” And it worked.

And after a few minutes of random thrusts both boys managed to find a shared rhythm, their normal stroke pattern differentiating from each other.

All three of your bodies were shining in sweat, the heat from your bodies rubbing against each other making a force field of humidity- but it didn’t bother any of you too much. At least not enough to stop.

You could feel the bed from beside you moving, Sunghoon growing angsty with his lack of attention. “As much as I love to watch this- I think I'm going to explode if I don't feel your touch in the next three seconds.”

You rolled your eyes at the dramatic boy beside you with your best attempt at a small smile. It was hard to show any reaction to him at all by the way the two men were pushing into you, your body was on fire and you could feel your pleasure everywhere.

Jake ignored Sunghoon and wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, his tongue alternating between swirling around it and rolling it between his teeth. He didn’t want to share you with Sunghoon, not if it had the chance to cost him your perfect little pussy.

Your mouth dropped open in pleasure, moans breaking through your no longer closed lips. It was too much at once but yet it somehow managed to be too little as well, you still needed more. You came here to be ruined, to be destroyed beyond fixable. And with your mouth still working- you weren’t getting that.

“Fuck my mouth.” Sunghoon didn’t waste a second before pushing up beside you, his thigh pressing against your shoulder before he tapped the tip of his cock against your bottom lip.

“Will you be able to take it? I don’t think you’ll be able to focus with the other two taking you like this.” Sunghoon managed to switch the rolls once again, his voice coming out doubtful with an underlying degrading tone. “Maybe we’ll see why Sungchan cheated on you.”

Striker. Sunghoon didn’t wait for your response before he pushed into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat right away. He ignored your gag and held himself there for a few seconds- enjoying the way you gagged and choked around him. “It doesn’t feel good, does it? To have something that was rightfully yours be taken away so easily?”

He didn't care about how you reacted to his words, his need to feel your tongue pressing against him overruling anything. “You can’t even take us all at once, poor Jay sitting back and watching you get dicked down by all his friends.”

Sunghoon pulled one of your hands from its position on Jake’s shoulder before holding your open palm out to Jay, “Make him feel good too.”

Jay was heavy in your hand when you swirled your finger around his slit, his dick still sticky with his release. He wrapped both hands around your wrist as he fucked himself into your fist, his moans matching Sunghoon’s as they worked with your moving body.

Sunghoon felt eyes staring at him and when he looked up he saw Heeseung’s heavy lidded eyes staring back at him, his reflection barely noticeable through his pupils. Sunghoon smirked at him once before nodding his head towards you, “better make her cum fast, Jay and I want our turn.”

Heeseung shook his head with a challenging smile, “nah, I think we’re gonna edge her a few times. I’m in no rush, I’ve got all night.”

Jay chucked from the side before chiming in, “Knowing your track record you’re definitely not going to last.” Jay was lying and they all knew it, yet it still struck a chord in Heeseung.

“You sure? Pretty sure our girl didn’t even cum whilst fucking you, did you?” Heeseung stared Jay in the eye whilst baby taking you, his hand rubbing your lower back in a fake comforting way.

Heeseung’s hand moved lower, his hand now resting against your ass. He watched the way your ass bounced back against him and the way your skin jiggled each time your bodies made contact. He pressed down once more before raising his hand up before smacking it down against you, his eyebrow raising when he felt you clench down around them.

“You liked that?” He did it again just to check and once again, you clenched. “Of course she likes that.” Jake now chimed in from beneath you as soon as his lips left your tits, “she always has.”

All three other boys shared a confused look before asking for Jake to elaborate, “What? You think Sungchan was the first to meet her?”

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c0eu4 · 1 year ago

Note

Part 2 of the tits fic?

LN4 | Tits ♡

Summary: Y/n and Lando goes out for his birthday and they finish in their hotel room more quickly than expected.

Warning: smut, oral (m receiving), swearing, unprotected sex, dom+sub!lando, dom+sub!reader

A/N: yep. This is 1.3K word of smut. Hope y'all will like it <3

part one - part two - part three

MASTERLIST requests are open

She feels a sensation of deja vu when Lando lean against the counter, asking to the bartender for another drink. She lets her fingerstip running throughout his hairs on his arm as he smiles lovely at her.

''Have I ever told you that you're super pretty?'' She chuckles and kiss him tenderly. ''All the time since this afternoon.''

To celebrate Lando's birthday, Carlos threw a party at one of the many clubs in Las Vegas. And Y/n accompanied Lando as his new girlfriend.

Lando's hand slid on her waist, keeping her close to him as he takes his drink. He took a sip of it but almost spit it out, ''Can you sign my tits?'' She asked him, laughing softly at his face. ''I would love to.'' He asked to the bartender for a pen and he gives one to him. Lando doesn't even ask this time and he puts his hand on her left breast, stretching the skin to allow the pen to work better. He signs it, writing 'for Y/n, with love' and he does the same on the other one.

He gives the pen back to the bartender and takes his drink again. ''Hope you still have energy to dance?'' She dragged him to the dancefloor, his hands never leaving her hips. He forgets his drink in a corner, too busy dancing against his beloved.

He can feel her small body moving against him, her ass pressing against his now little bulge. She keeps moving like that, feeling all Lando's body against hers. His forehead fall against her shoulder in a deep moan. They were literally teasing each other in front of everyone.

''Fuck Y/n, don't you want to go back at the hotel?'' She doesn't even answer, already taking his hand and getting out of the club.

They run they way back to the hotel, walking quickly in the cold streets of Las Vegas. Lando carries her like a princess, already imagining all the position he will do with her.

When they entered the elevator, Lando doesn't wait any more and let her get back on her foots before pinning her against the wall, his hips slamming against hers. ''Feel how much you make me feel.'' He rubs himself against her, his tights pant hurting his hard member.

They urge to their hotel room, him already taking off the button on his shirt. This time, it's her who pin him against the wall. She grabs his cock over his pants, kneading him hard. He lets his head fall down in a long and deep moan. He take off his shirt and she gets on her knees.

Lando's eyes were full of lust. He imagined this hundreds of times. And finally, the day comes. She takes off his pants and his boxer simultaneously, already jerking his hard cock. She bites her lower lips, wanting nothing more than take him in her mouth.

''Ah..Please..'' Lando beg her, too needy. She licks his length and kisses his tips, using her thongs to make circles around it. Lando pass his hand in her hair, pulling it into a ponytail. He guided her head to his cock, feeling her tight mouth around him.

Lando has always been very loud in bed. He never holds back his moans and always says whatever comes to mind. She suck him, using her hands to play with his balls and jerking where she can't suck. Lando's breath became quicker as he feels the knot in his lower abdomen untied.

''Wait wait wait.'' He pulls her away, his cock glistering from her mouth. ''Use your breasts.'' She smile naughtily, taking off her dress and underwear. She gets back on her knees and squeezes her breasts. She lets his cock slide between her tits, moving up and down. ''Ahhh!! Fuck!! Y/n!!'' It was even better than all the times he imagined her breasts instead of his hand.

''Oh fuck!! Carlos would be so jealous...'' He moaned loudly, keeping back his orgasm. Seeing her tits move up and down against his cock and what's more, seeing his own signature on them makes him want to cum even more. She quicker her movement and spit on his tips. And it was enough to make Lando cum between her breasts, spilling all of his hot seed onto her collarbone and breasts. She uses her fingers to collect his cum and eats it sensually.

''On all fours, now.'' He said strict yet sweet. She obeyed him, feeling him behind her. He let his fingers passing throughout her wet folds, feeling her wetness. ''So wet and only for me, mh?'' He squeezed her ass cheek, rubbing his dick head against her tight entrance. ''Please..'' She whines, her liquid already falling down her pussy. ''You're going to have to beg a little more.'' He entered his pink mushrooms inside her but take it off immediately. ''Lando! Please! I need you so much! Please, please, please, please, plea-'' She moaned loudly when he brutally push his length into her, her wall squeezing him so much.

He grips on her shoulder and hips, starting with a slow pace. ''You like it, mh? Being my dirty little whore?'' He increase the pace, taking it almost out and back in, roughly. He keeps a slow but hard pace, making her eyes watered, her moans muffled by the pillow.

''Lando!'' He gets quicker, feeling her wall clenching around him. His hips slaps hardly against her ass in a dirty we song. He suddenly take it out, a moan of frustration escaping her lips. He made her turn onto her back, grabs her hands and put it above her head. He push back into her, pounding in her merciless. The headboard hit the wall hardly, in rhythm with his hips thrusts.

She cums loudly around his cock, drowning him with her sweet nectar. But it doesn't stop Lando. He takes out again, carry her as she find the strength to wrap her legs around him. He pins her against the wall, already pouding into her again.

He slams his hips against hers, his balls slamming roughly against her. He can't stop moaning, mixed with her moan, it made a symphony. He only want one thing. Everyone to ear that he own her.

''Who makes you feels that good?'' He slowly gets tired but want her to cum one last time. ''Y-you Lando!'' He keeps pouding into her, her climax already here. She drowning him a second time and he allow himself to empty his arching balls in her.

He drops her again on the mattress, laying next to her. He takes her in his arms, passing his hands in her sweaty hair.

''You wanna take a bath?'' He kisses her cheek, really tenderly. She yawns and cuddle her nuzzle against his neck. ''Just want to stay in your arms.'' She said with a sleepy voice. ''Sweetie, you need to go to pee. I don't want you to have an infection because of me.'' She groans and sit down on the bed.

As she tries to walk but failed, Lando gets up and helped her to go to the bathroom. He filled the bathtub with hot water as she quickly pee, removing a bit of Lando's cum from inside her.

He makes her sit in the bathtub, himself sitting behind her. She leans against his chest, her eyes heavy from all the orgasm she just had. He stroke her waist, looking at all the bruises and red marks he makes on her body.

When the water start to be lukewarm then cold, they get out and change into something more comfortable. While Y/n brush her teeth and try to arrange her hair, Lando change the sheet of the bed, really not wanting to sleep on something full of cum.

He goes back to see her and carry her like a princess. He pulls the blanket over their chin, wrapping his arms around her waist.

''Have a good night, my love.'' She only answer with a sleepy 'mh', pulling all the blanket to her. Lando understand that she wish him a good night too. And he let her takes all the blanket. If it makes her more comfortable.

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troublesomesnitch · 9 months ago

Text

Make Your Hands Unclean

Aemond x Wife!Reader - Period sex drabble

Premise and bits of dialogue shamelessly stolen from The Borgias.

Contents: drabble, pure filth. Menstrual sex, p in v, anal touching, graphic imagery. Internalised misogyny and harmful attitudes towards menstruation. Aemond is an asshole. Porn with weird plottish vibes.

Words: 2300

idk what this even is, this thing kind of wrote itself and I just went with it. It is kind of a mess tbh.

You were supposed to marry a lord.

That is what you were raised for, and those are the skills you were taught. To sing, to dance, to play the harp; to make yourself look pleasant. Your septa taught you to sew, and a woman from Essos taught you to weave, and in the afternoons the maester taught you history and linguistics, astronomy and arithmetic, and other things that ladies rarely speak about, but nevertheless must learn.

For it is the lady, not the lord, who runs the castle. Who manages the household, and oversees the people it employs. Such a lady must ideally be both kind and commanding, generous and frugal. She must know how to handle serfs and noblemen alike, and she must be proficient in numeracy; able to record expenses and perform difficult calculations.

To be a prince’s wife requires no such skills.

This castle already has two queens, and besides it is not for royal women to concern themselves with practical matters. There are ladies-in-waiting for that, and stewards, chamberlains, maids and matrons; an army of servants hundreds strong to ensure that you may always be spoiled and idle. More than a lady, but less than a queen, left to twiddle your thumbs and wonder when, if ever, the oppressive walls of Maegor’s Holdfast will begin to feel like home.

You do not like it here.

The days are long in King’s Landing, and the air is foul, polluted by the smoke of ten thousand hearths, by the stench of filth and unwashed bodies. It seeps through every crack and crevice, and you like the early mornings the most, when a cleansing mist blows in from the sea, and the ship’s bells ring over Blackwater Bay.

Your husband rises early too, though it is for different reasons. Prince Aemond adheres to strict routines, to noble pursuits and rigorous discipline. He is exactly as people say: a stoic, severe in both temper and countenance, condemning indulgence and deriding depravity.

Yet for all of his moral posturing, he does seem to have developed a taste for it rather quickly.

You couldn’t say the exact number of times the prince has had you, but it has been many, and often, and in every position imaginable, and you dutifully report it all back to your family. As they have instructed you to do.

Before you were sent off to the capital, you were relentlessly reminded that there will never again be an opportunity such as this. That a marriage to a royal prince is a rare honour for your family, and one that was only made possible because the crown finds itself at war. Your house is not a great one, and your father is not the noblest lord, but he is very wealthy. And on the field of battle, wealth does tend to triumph.

You do not know what other promises were made, what lands or titles were negotiated. Only that so much now depends on you; on your ability to please your husband and give him healthy children. Preferably male, but even a daughter would markedly strengthen your position. So you play your part as best as you can , and you pen your secret letters, divulging all the details of your intimate affairs. That the prince sleeps with you frequently, and seems to find great pleasure in it. That he performs his movements to completion, and expends his semen inside your body.

It is a grave responsibility to have on your shoulders, and you were utterly crushed when you woke to find your insides churning, and your sheets stained with blood.

They will be most displeased, your mother and father. Your brothers and uncles, and your cousins too. Prince Aemond's seed has not yet taken.

In the evening he knocks on your door. Two determined raps, and you are thoroughly surprised. Your maid will have told his mother of your ailment, and she will have told him, and he too must be disappointed. But you know it is the prince, for there is no one else who would visit you at this hour.

You know very well what he has come for, too.

“We can’t tonight,” you sigh.

“And why is that?” he says, amused, as if the idea that you would refuse him is ridiculous.

“My blood - I am bleeding.”

Prince Aemond hums, but he walks to your couch and begins to undress himself, unbuckling his doublet and unlacing his breeches, tugging off his boots while you wring your hands.

He can’t be serious. He can’t mean to take you like this.

“It’s not - it isn’t proper,” you protest. “Our maester said it is ill-advised - most men find it unclean - “

“I am not most men,” he scoffs.

There is no arguing against that, and he says it with all the confidence of someone who knows it to be true. Aemond is a royal prince. A dragonlord, a scion of a greater people. Second to no one but his king and brother, and if he wants to get himself all bloodied, then you suppose that is his right.

He rids himself of his undershirt, and you reluctantly move to the side to let him join you in bed. It isn’t proper, but your insides flutter when he pulls you against his naked body, letting you feel the warmth of his skin, his manhood against the back of your thigh. It is hard, and twitching when he runs his hands over your figure, your breasts and your stomach, your waist, your hips, the tops of your thighs -

“No, you mustn’t - ” you squeak, but he rucks your gown up anyway and slips his hand in between your legs.

You are wet there, with blood as well as with desire, and you can feel the stickiness when he spreads your lips, curving his fingers and sliding them back and forth along your slit. His breathing is hoarse just from caressing you, from feeling your wet, your warmth, your little swollen nub begging to be touched. You whimper when he circles it with the gentlest of strokes, light and teasing, until you arch your hips up in frustration and breathe oh please.

Prince Aemond likes it when you beg. Only then does he press down, but not enough to bring you to a peak. Just enough to make your insides tighten, and more blood gush from your womb.

You always did find it strangely beautiful, the blood of your cycle. Deep maroon, and scarlet red - but you are ashamed to see it coating the prince’s fingers when he withdraws them. It is thick, and clotted, and he takes a moment to study it before he wipes his hand clean on your shift.

“Are you not displeased with me?” you whisper. He should be, given that you have failed to conceive. That there is no way of knowing if you can bear children at all.

“One mere month is not cause for concern,” the prince says.

You breathe a faint sigh of relief. It is a comfort to know that at least your husband doesn’t hold your failure against you - yet.

He tugs on your shift, eager to expose your body, but you cross your hands over your chest.

“Let me keep it for tonight,” you plead.

You can’t rid yourself of the thought that you are unclean, and you would feel so much more at ease if he didn’t see your heavy, aching body. But you don’t want to entirely deny him access to it, either. Seeing as you are bleeding, the chances of begetting a child are small, which means that his wish to sleep with you must come from genuine desire rather than obligation. And that makes you very happy, as you imagine it would any wife.

You will make sure to include it in the next letter you send back home. Hopefully it will lessen their disappointment.

The prince looks somewhat displeased, but he lets you keep your dress, resorting instead to bunching it up around your waist. He is stern, but never cruel to you, even if he does pull at the neck to bare more of your breasts. He pinches your nipple, and then his hand moves downward again, and you throw your leg over his hip to give him more room to touch you.

This time he does it properly. His fingers find your pleasure right away, and he swiftly brings you to your rapture, impatient as he is to have you. It leaves his hand stained and tainted, and once again he wipes it off on your shift, but this time you don’t care.

With the position you’re in, it is easy for him to crawl over your leg and take his place between them, and he kisses you as he presses against you, deeply and hungrily, rocking his hips, his manhood throbbing and leaking between your legs.

Your parts are soaked, but he is careful when he pushes inside. Despite the prince’s relentless pursuit of knowledge, he must not know all that much about a woman’s blood, at least not in practical terms. Where it hurts, and how much, and whether this intrusion will make it worse. You can’t hold it against him - you don’t believe there are many scholars who would want to write about the topic, and how then was he supposed to learn?

“Harder,” you pant, and he obliges, moving faster and pushing deep inside.

You let him find a steady rhythm, hooking your legs over his hips, and letting your hands wander over his body while he has his way with you. You stroke his balls, imagining that what he keeps inside will take root in you. You pinch his nipples, all hard with pleasure, and you slide your hands down to his lower back, to the base of his spine, where the skin is dusted with downy hairs. Where you can feel each of his thrusts; the rolling movements of his hips, the rhythmic clenching of his buttocks.

Your dainty touch makes him shudder, and you move your hands to his arse, and then further still, slipping your fingers in between his buttocks. To where he is warm and tender, and where his skin starts to pucker.

It is filthy, the way he twitches there. The way he throbs. A dirty place to touch, and a sinful thing to do, but you have found that the prince likes it. No added pressure or attempts at entry, just gentle strokes with the tips of your fingers. Soft caresses over his opening.

He buries his face in your neck and groans, and you can feel that he is nearing his peak. His movements are fast and shallow, his chest heaving and slick with sweat.

“Yes, my prince,” you whisper. “Fill me with your seed, put a son inside me - “

He likes that. He hisses loudly, gripping the headboard for purchase, and you look up at him when his hips stutter. Prince Aemond’s face is always handsome, but never more than when he is on top of you, in the throes of ecstasy. His brow is furrowed and his eye squeezed shut, and the tension in his body makes the damaged side of his face convulse, his lip twitching up towards the scar.

He wouldn’t like for you to see that, but in this state he does not feel it happening.

You lie still as he peaks, allowing him to rut into you wildly, groaning and grunting as he spills his seed. Hot, and wet, and adding to the mess inside you. He lies limp on top of you to catch his breath, and when he finally withdraws, the blood is everywhere. On his softening organ, on his sack, and crusted to the soft hairs on his thighs.

“I’ve made you dirty,” you state.

“Yes, you have,” he says. “In more ways than one.”

You look the other way to give him some privacy when he rises to tidy and dress himself. On your wedding night he stayed with you until the morning, and he has done it a few times since, but it is not a common occurrence. Prince Aemond prefers to sleep alone, and your mother chastises you for that too. She says that to rouse a man’s desire is less than half the battle, and that you must make your husband love you.

Of course if it were really that simple, then there would be no unhappy marriages and no children born as bastards, and if you knew how to make a man fall in love, you would be the richest woman in all the world.

But you must at least try.

“Won’t you stay with me?” You ask. “It is - important, for a woman to be embraced - to be treated gently, afterwards…”

“Next time, I will,” he says. And that is the end of that, for you will not stoop so low as to beg for his company.

He smoothes out his shirt and pulls on his breeches, and you sit up and comb your fingers through your tangled hair. When you look down there are stains on your sheets, and a thick rosy fluid trickling out between your legs.

“You may want to abstain from riding,” the prince says over his shoulder. “It is known to upset the balance of the womb.”

You nod, bound to obey what is clearly a command posing as a suggestion.

“Did you know,” you muse, “that the blood of the womb is the only blood that is not born from violence?”

Prince Aemond looks at you with a thoughtful expression, one that suggests he had in fact not considered that before.

“Quite the philosopher you are,” he remarks, with a little raise of his brow. Coming from him, that is the highest praise.

It does not change his mind about staying, but he does press a noble kiss to your temple before he leaves you. Sore and bloodied, but content.

You did well tonight.

Notes

“Most men find it unclean/I am not most men” is from S1E7 of the Borgias.

“Menstruation is the only blood that is not born from violence and yet it’s the one that disgusts you the most” is a quote by artist Maia Schwartz. I couldn’t find any more information about her unfortunately.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic

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clrasecretdiary · 2 months ago

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Am I allowed to cry? pt. 1 | Spencer Reid x Reader

In which you're in love with Spence, but never told him.

angst! (but don't worry, part two will be fluff)

warnings: Some light swearing and that's it i think (??)

content: Mutual pining (although spencer's side isn't really shown in this part)

a/n: I've been writing this one for 2 weeks and even deleted it once, but finally got to it and finished this!! Hope you guys like it <3

You had joined the BAU only 2 years after Spencer, and you two quickly became friends and only grew closer with time. Now, 5 years after meeting, you two we’re best friends, joined at the hip. Spencer was the greatest friend you could have, understanding and loving. Maybe that’s why your stupid brain decided to complicate things, at some point you started to see Spencer in a different light.

One day, when you were having the worst cramps ever during a case, Spencer went out of the precinct the team was at, when he came back he had bought you chocolates and heating pads to help with the pain. You felt like you could cry, and after he gave you one of his beautiful smiles, you realized.

Oh fuck… I'm in love with Spencer Reid.

That day, you also swore you would never tell him, there’s no way he felt the same, and you would not ruin the perfect friendship you both had.

What you seemed to forget about was that, at some point, Spencer was going to get a date, a girlfriend or whatever, and you didn’t even stop to think how you would feel when that day arrived.

Well... You don’t need to imagine it anymore, because it finally happened. The day before, Spencer had told you how he finally gathered the courage to ask a girl that he’d been on a few dates to be his girlfriend. Your heart sank when he delivered the news to you, though you did your best to seem enthusiastic for him.

“Really, spence, that’s great. I'm super happy for you!” You told him, before quickly excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You felt so dumb, you knew Spencer was not in love with you, you thought you had accepted that, so why the fuck are you feeling like the floor has been taken off your feet every time you think about him loving someone that isn’t you? God, you might be going crazy.

You knew you wouldn't be able to keep your "omg I'm so happy for you!" facade for long. Your genius solution was to avoid him, only for some time, while you dealt with your feelings.

You decided to talk with the only person that knew about your feelings besides you, Penelope.

You open the door to her office, “Pen, help me. I’m so stupid, my brain is broken or something”

Penelope turns around on her chair, pulling another one for you to sit

“Oh no honey, whatever it is you're not stupid, now, what’s happening?”

“Spence has a date… God, I’m 27 years old, why the fuck do I care about this”

“Ohh you’re in love, baby. Of course, you’re going to feel bad, that’s normal. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“Maybe… It doesn't matter anyway. I'm going to avoid him for this week, process all this shit and then everything will be back to normal” You force a smile, that was meant to pass a positivity you didn't even really feel, but it just made Penelope feel bad for you.

“Maybe don’t do that. You know Spencer is going to notice, it’s best if you talk to him.” She says, repeating an advice she has lost count how many times she’s given you. Penelope has always been sure Spencer was into you, and always encouraged you to confess. Needless to say, you never heard her advice.

“No, I can't. I would ruin our friendship, he would hate me. And, it would be so unfair of me, I mean… I only confess now that he has a chance with someone?” You take a deep breath, and get up from the chair “Thanks for the chat pen, love you” You say, placing a kiss on her cheek and leaving her office.

You really did appreciate her advice, but there’s no way you would confess to Spencer, not only would it seem petty, but you were deadly afraid to ruin your friendship… not that avoiding him was doing any good, but fuck that you’re not in the mood to be rational right now.

You head to your desk, avoiding eye contact with Spencer and just focusing on your work when Hotch calls the team. You guys have a new case.

“Great” You mumble under your breath, even if being in the office would be hard to avoid Reid, having to be out on a case with him will make it impossible. That doesn't mean you're not going to try. "Im an adult and a professional, this shit should not get in the way of my work." You think to yourself as if it's a mantra to keep you focused.

You enter the room, taking a seat between Emily and Rossi, as Hotch and Penelope brief the team you can see in your peripheral vision how Spencer's gaze shift to you, making avoiding it somehow more difficult. You're used to giving him small smiles, being beside him and always being in contact with each other somehow, he even would be fine with letting you hug him beside his germophobia, so you're sure he already noticed how distant you were being.

"Alright, wheels up in 30, We'll get more details on the jet"

—

On the jet, hotch distributes the tasks, as always, he paired you up with Reid to do the geoprofiling.

After a couple of hours, you and the team arrive at the precinct. As the rest of the team goes out to the field, you and Reid stay back doing the reading, and geoprofiling. You only speak to him when it's something regarding the case. Luckily, after a day, you guys finally makes the arrest, and soon you are back on the jet.

As soon as you arrive back to the BAU office, you just pass by Garcia's office to give her a quick goodbye and head to the elevator, ready to go home, and finally process your feelings - or better yet, force yourself to get over Spencer.

If this was under normal circumstances, you and Reid would be standing together in front of the elevator discussing which food you two would order as you watched some weird indie movie. The memory of those times brings a sharp pain to your chest, how could you be so naive? Yes, you told yourself he was not interested, but deep down between all those moments you two shared you hoped one day he would see you as something more than just a friend.

"Hey, is everything alright? You seemed off today" Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice when Spencer stood beside you, his voice pulling you off your thoughts.

"I'm great spence, just have a headache"

"Are you sure? You know, lying to a profiler has a very small percentage of working"

"I'm sure, don't worry… So, is it today?" You ask, as you two step in the elevator and press the button to the garage level

"Yeah, I'm really nervous."

"That's normal, but it'll be fine, don't worry" The elevator gets to the floor your car is at, you hold the door open and turn to him "hey, be yourself ok? She'll be lucky to have you." You say, before shooting him a small smile and getting out the elevator.

As you walk towards your car, a few tears start streaming down your face, you've known you love him for a long time, and you now realize that you might never know what could have been between you two. Maybe Garcia was right, but now it's too late to say anything.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x bestfriend!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff

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saetoru · 2 years ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。AKADEMIYA GOSSIP — ALHAITHAM.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 alhaitham’s attire elicits a response you’re not all too happy with through the akademiya

☽ contents ⋮ gn! reader, jealous! reader, mentions of girls taking an interest in alhaitham but reader is unspecified, you sit on his lap, sfw + fluff

☽ notes ⋮ you had jealous haitham. now have jealous you

personally, you think alhaitham needs to get rid of that awful skin tight top of his. it’s an outrage—it’s unfair, really, always serving as a distraction for you with his sculpted abs and defined pecs taunting you at the most improper of times.

but that’s not even the worst part—recently, there’s something much more concerning than the distraction of his (very well-maintained) physique.

“you know, i think they should consider giving you a work uniform for this position,” you mumble, and there’s a slight pout on your lips that makes alhaitham pause as you gesture at his attire, “this isn’t very appropriate for a high position such as grand sage.”

he raises a brow, putting his pen down.

“acting grand sage,” he corrects, “and are my fashion choices not up to your standards?”

“that’s not the problem,” you mumble, “your terrible eye for clothing is your problem, not mine.”

“well, that’s wonderful to hear. i wouldn’t want to inconvenience you with my lacking aesthetic,” he says sarcastically—because everything is always a quick witted reply with him, and you send a glare his way through a huff.

“the problem here is the way your clothes fit.”

this time, there’s a very visible and very deep pout on your face—if alhaitham wasn’t as good with self control as he is, he might even have marched across the room and kissed it off by now. instead, he only gives you a quizzical look before he turns back to his…endless pile of papers.

“and what do you mean by that?”

the question alone is all the encouragement you need to dramatically fall back on the couch you’re seated at, arm falling to cover your face as you sigh with a little more emphasis than you really need. it’s so like you—so typical to bring out the theatrics, and it’s so like him to roll his eyes and mumble about how you’re over exaggerating.

and yet, somehow, it works. everything about you and alhaitham works—even as you glare his way while he rolls his eyes, even as you whine about everything while he always has that same dry tone, even as you jump to conclusions while he thinks through everything meticulously. somehow, it always works—which is why you refuse to let those filthy, home wrecking girls from the akademiya come anywhere near your (slightly irritating, but very attractive) boyfriend.

“today i overheard two girls talking about your abs. two! only archons know how many other people have been talking about them—”

he clears his throat, cutting you off and silently hoping you don’t notice the slight blush on his cheeks as he mumbles, “well, there’s not much you and i can do if other people—”

“and just imagine if they’ve stared at your tits! this is horrible—”

“i don’t have tits,” he hisses, “why must you always insist on calling them that—”

“oh no,” you croak woefully, cutting him off as you ignore him, “they can’t have your tits. you have to stop wearing that tight shirt, our relationship depends on it,” you insist.

“you can’t be serious—”

“in fact, i think you should just wear the akademiya robes. they won’t be able to stare at much of anything if you wear those.”

“and if they stare at my face?” he raises a brow, lips quirked slightly in amusement even has the lingering flush of pink still grazes his skin.

and he looks beautiful like that—soft rays of sun kissing the silver strands of hair so they look golden, flowing over his skin and letting shadows nestle into the sharp slopes of his cheekbones. you can’t see from where you are, but you know there are flakes of gold lit up in those teal eyes of his—the same eyes you glare into when you’re mad, the ones you meet first thing in the morning, the ones you can’t look away from as you whisper i love you like a secret you’ve held onto in this life and the last.

you crinkle your nose, clearly distressed at the idea of people fawning over his features, and he can’t help but smile gently at the sentiment.

“you’re right,” you nod, “you face is also very attractive. maybe you could—”

“i think you’re looking too deeply into this,” he says, making your face twist into a scowl.

“this is serious,” you hiss, and the way he blinks at you like you’re crazy earns him a harsh glare, “have you not listened to people speaking of you? grand sage alhaitham looks soooo handsome today,” you mock in a high pitched voice, “i think his muscles look larger than yesterday.”

“i don’t concern myself with akademiya gossip,” he shrugs, “as long as it causes no trouble for me—”

“well this time it will cause trouble for you,” you narrow your eyes, “acting grand sage or not, you aren’t immune to sleeping on our lovely living room couch.”

and you’re stubborn like this sometimes, irrational and just a little flawed in your logic, but alhaitham finds his chest constricts anyway, finds that even when he can’t make sense of you, that faint thrum of his heart tells him he doesn’t need to. so he rolls his eyes, holds out an arm for you that makes you scoff even as you instantly make your way over.

and when you seat yourself on his lap, arms twisting around his neck as his settle for your hips, you faintly think that the akademiya girls would lose their minds if they saw you like this—like you’re the earth’s core pressed to his hands, like you’re the center of his entire universe.

“it’s a bit unfair to punish me for what other people say,” he hums, making you huff.

“and it’s unfair walking around like this when you’re heavily committed in a relationship,” you accuse, poking at his chest as he chuckles.

he presses a gentle kiss to your nose, lets his eyes close and his breath exhale softly as you cup his cheeks. and even with the endless pile of paperwork on his desk and that meeting he’s forced to join after this, alhaitham enjoys being the akademiya’s grand sage just a little bit if it gets you worked up like this—if it gets you to pay a little extra attention to kissing him and tugging him closer.

and when your fingers slip into his hair, and his thumb rubs circles into your hips, there’s an unspoken truth between you that makes you smile to yourself.

i love you, you think.

i love you, he knows you know.

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

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bunny-lily · 6 months ago

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Tether Me - Chapter 5: Part 2

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: Finding them wasn’t hard, not when they towered above everyone else with ease, and not when the people parted between you and them like the Red Sea. In spite of how many were gathered for the event, and the fact that the day wasn’t even about them, they monopolized all the attention without effort.

Of course, they would.

They were picture perfect – handsome, strong, alluring. They were the cream of the crop, even when they weren’t trying, and would be in any place they went to, not just within this small place you’d chosen to settle down in.

Something cold settled at the base of your esophagus as you processed what you saw.

Fairy lights wrapped around the pergola, dipping between the wooden beams to create a droopy weave, illuminating the short dais used to officiate the wedding. A swarm of tables surrounded the front of it, dozens of candles lit all about. Plates were set atop each table, and the slips of paper to indicate whose seat belonged to who had been set aside when everyone took their place earlier to feast.

Meals were exchanged for dancing and partying, filling the landscape with loud festivities.

It resembled a dream, this hazy setting and ambient glow at the center of the park.

Dozens upon dozens of people had gathered to celebrate the day – you wouldn’t be surprised if the entire village had shown up. Given how tight-knit the community was here, it was logical that everyone and their dog would come to rejoice in the special occasion. It was lively with the sheer amount of people around, each chattering excitedly, high off the triumph of two coming together as one.

Following suit of the many before you, you had slipped off your sandals, using Satoru’s hand as support while you tucked them away somewhere out of the way, but easy to find.

The grass was pleasant under your bare feet, fluffy and cool, but not so cold as to be biting.

Frequently, you would skirt your hands along the texture of your dress, preening from the delight of feeling pretty. The last time you’d dolled yourself up like this was far enough in the past for you to not remember, so you were a tad obsessed.

You manifested being sexier as you were falling asleep in bed, and here you were! Sexy was the understatement of the century – you looked hot.

Too bad you were a hint shy of showing off during a wedding in a village you’d barely begun sprouting roots in.

Satoru and Suguru had no similar qualms.

They were wholly eager to pose and strut you around on their arms like a queen. It was humiliating and exhilarating in equal measure. Acrimonious discontentment from other guests vying for your position rolled off your hydro-proof form, boosting your ego and leaving you untouchable.

It was humorous, really, to watch them fall over themselves to get the attention of one or both boys, blocked by the armor your existence alone made of them.

Good Lord, though, there were a lot of them.

You mentally tried to calculate how many of the people attending knew about Aoi’s and her fiancé’s – now husband’s – escapades through the evening. Maybe it was the whole village. You imagined it would be hard to not know; they sounded like foxes, or mountain lions, if she was in the mood to sound particularly murder-victim-esque.

You were grateful you didn't have to interact with the groom and bride much. Anytime you saw them, you remembered his bare ass on the one night you forgot about Shoko’s warning about Thursdays and learned the consequences the hard way. His half-ass (literally) had been seared into your mind.

Seeing familiar faces here brought you a comfort you didn’t know you needed, coaxing you to release your wound muscles. Granny was across the field, talking to Shoko and Iori. Scolding, more like. The old lady was tugging on the edge of Shoko’s mini dress, no doubt reprimanding her for the length of it.

Shoko could not have possibly been less bothered.

She had a drink in one hand, lit cigarette pinched between two fingers and pressed against the glass, and a shiteating smirk on her lips. You’d only ever seen her in baggy or thick clothes, but, wow, she pulled off that outfit like a model.

Utahime was hanging off her arm, three beers in and working on a fourth, using Granny’s distraction to chug away shamelessly. In contrast to Shoko, her clothing was modest, consisting of a floral-patterned maxi dress, her hair tied back into one ponytail as opposed to her typical pigtails.

You’d seen Kazuhiko, too, surprisingly. You two talked briefly, your short conversation consisting of you updating him on the state of your house and promising to show him at the next opportunity as his wife was dragging him off to socialize. His wife was hyper, enthusiastic about meeting everyone and sharing her congratulations to the couple. You envied her innocence, wishing for her to never have to experience what you did.

The sound of someone calling – screaming, to be more accurate – your name captured your attention. You spun, and found Suguru’s mother frantically waving her hands high above herself, as if she didn’t stand a head and a half above everyone else.

You grinned and waved back, then tugged on the sleeve of Satoru’s suit. “I’m gonna go talk with Suguru’s mom. I’ll be back soon.”

He and Suguru were placing bets on who would get shitfaced first between Utahime and Shoko, and barely spared you a nod. “Don’t take too long, princess!” He implored.

You vaguely confirmed you wouldn’t as you made your way to the woman, who came to meet you halfway, too impatient to wait for you to approach.

“Hi, Geto-mama,” you said, and swiftly got squished to her chest in a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, my sweetie!” She squealed. “Aren’t you just the prettiest thing? Goodness, that dress looks amazing on you! Did you pick it out? It fits you so well!”

She spoke like a full-auto gun, babbling out words faster than sound.

“Thank you,” you rasped out, patting her back. “It was Suguru and Satoru, they got it for me.”

She grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you back to get a good look at you. She inspected your outfit from head to toe, scrutinizing. Eventually, you gained an extra dash of approval from her, making you feel honored.

“They did a fantastic job, those two. You look gorgeous, baby girl. Even better than the bride,” she acclaimed.

You blushed. “Don’t say that! This is her wedding!”

She bent down and cupped a hand around your ear. “Forgive me for favoring my beloved girl over the bride. Those two go at it like dogs, it’s hard to look her in the damn eye after seeing her husband’s bare ass.”

You gasped. “You, too!?”

Sympathy shined in her caramel eyes. “Oh, my darling child, the world is evil to have subjected you to the sight of that man’s poor excuse of a behind.”

You burst out into laughter, Yoriko doing the same shortly after. It was relieving to know you weren’t the only one traumatized by the sight of a pasty pair of cheeks, even more so that it was Geto-mama who understood your pain.

“Think they’ll go at it again tonight?” You asked, fanning your face to keep tears from ruining your makeup. “Y’know, consummation and all that.”

“Heavens, I hope not,” she feigned a gag. “I’ll down all the alcohol here in one go if they do that in the park of all places. God forbid they do it while the party is still going. At the very least, they could have some decency to go into the mountains, far from here.”

“How many people do you think know about their, uh…activities?” You questioned, pointedly glancing around.

She stood akimbo. “Oh, it has to be everyone. I can hear them from my house, and that’s on the other side of the river. Thursday nights, we put on a movie and turn up the volume louder in hopes of drowning out the sounds. I mean, honestly, he can’t be that good at it.”

You hummed. “I thought someone was hurt when I first heard them go at it. She sounds so…”

“Scary,” Geto-mama finished for you.

“Right!?” A full-body shudder went through you. “I didn’t know people could sound like that.”

She sighed and shook her head, choosing to move the topic over a few notches in a safer direction. “Well, aside from all that, how are you enjoying the wedding, sweet girl?”

“Unexpectedly fun,” you said. “I’ve only been to two other weddings in the past, and they were boring to the point of pain. Nothing to do, y’know? I wasn’t anticipating this one would be a borderline festival.”

“Everyone works together to make weddings memorable around here. We’re all one big family, in a sense. Their joy is our joy,” her lips pulled up into a motherly sort of fondness, directed at you. “You’ll see when it’s your turn, baby girl. I’m glad you came, I was worried you’d be overwhelmed. You’re always welcome, you know?”

You didn’t want to disappoint Yoriko by telling her you wouldn’t be getting your own turn. Instead, you looped your arms around her waist and squeezed. “Thank you, Geto-mama. I’m happy I got to see you today!”

She patted your head. “Likewise, sweetheart. Now, off you go! I’m sure the boys are missing you, I’ve kept you long enough.”

Releasing her, you stepped back, beaming at her. “It was good to see you! We’ll talk more soon?”

“Absolutely!” She agreed and made shooing motions with her hands. “Go, go. Don’t keep them waiting!”

Taking her advice, you faced the party and sought them out. They weren’t where you last left them, likely having moved around to mingle and share in the merriment. You stood up on your toes, searching for either ivory or obsidian tresses.

It didn’t take you long.

Finding them wasn’t hard, not when they towered above everyone else with ease, and not when the people parted between you and them like the Red Sea. In spite of how many were gathered for the event, and the fact that the day wasn’t even about them, they monopolized all the attention without effort.

Of course, they would.

Something cold settled at the base of your esophagus as you processed what you saw.

You wished you hadn’t seen them.

You wished they were hidden so that you’d have to push through a crowd to find them. Maybe then, you would have been too close to realize. If that were the case, you would have had a chance to stop what was unraveling in slow motion before you.

They were surrounded by a group of girls – beautiful girls – each one fluttering their thick lashes and puckering their merlot-painted lips. You could hear their obnoxious, high-pitched giggles from clear across the field, over the music and yammering and the droning spring air. One grabbed onto Suguru’s arm, hugging it so tightly between her bust, you thought she might cut off the circulation in his fingers between her tits.

Instead of pulling away, he tipped his head down and said something you couldn’t decipher from attempting to read his lips alone at this distance, to which she laughed.

Something uncomfortably tight formed in your chest, a twist centered beneath your breastbone. It pinched, stung; a poisoned needle shooting straight into your stomach.

Paper lanterns.

A knife had wedged itself between your innards too snuggly, the exact same temperature as the rest of your body, the only proof of its existence being the displacing sensation of your intestines and the spreading chill that zapped under your skin like instant ice. The pit in your belly dropped to your heels, heavy as a sack of sand.

Your fingertips trembled, frozen over and stiff and numb, regardless of the warmth that they contained mere moments ago.

You felt sick, and you didn’t understand why.

It came on so suddenly that you never would have been able to avoid it, even if you knew it was coming. The rotting sensation burrowed itself deep into your gut, impossibly dense and suffocating. Its hands crawled up your insides, wiggling between your ribs and lungs to wrap spindly fingers around your throat.

Satoru winked at the lady in front of him.

Those fingers squeezed.

You got the inkling that they didn’t want you to be their date for the sake of, well, being their date. For the sake of laughing, dancing, eating, and drinking together. For being with each other, with your friends, cherishing the evening by toasting and clinking glasses and sharing stories. For meaning something to one another.

It was for the sake of keeping annoyances off their backs.

The women only flocked to them as soon as you left for a few minutes. Together, the three of you were unapproachable, and you were unbothered by the vile, envious glares pinned on you. Hell, you found it funny.

Now that you were gone, their shield had been removed.

This wasn’t about you and them, it never was. It was only about them.

In a trio, there’s always a duo.

It was your fault for getting greedy, for deluding yourself into believing you were more to them than a barrier. You had nobody to blame but yourself for the clawing sensation creeping up the column of your gullet that forced saliva to flood your mouth, lest its acid slip out.

Respiring felt so difficult, like trying to inhale through a straw, each gasp shallow and dizzying.

You siphoned a thick breath in, a quivering thing, and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea coated your insides, choking you, sitting on your epiglottis.

Disgust curled in your gut as the girl attached to Suguru’s arm leapt up from her tip-toes and planted a kiss on his cheek – one that left a stain in bright red in the shape of her lips, vaguely love-shaped.

She marked him.

She marked Suguru, who hated the feeling of anything sticking to his skin. Suguru, who hated having his personal space invaded. Suguru, who hated excessive affection.

Suguru, whose lips curled upwards.

Suguru, who gave the peppy girl that smile, the one you adored so much, the one that always lifted your spirits and made you feel safe and seen.

The one you thought he only gave you.

Suguru, who shattered your heart.

Tether.

Something in you fissured, then simply broke. The stilts holding you up hewed, sending you careening towards the ground with no way to catch yourself.

The winds died, the gales gave your fragile wooden frame one last, harsh clap, and you were falling.

Kite.

You couldn’t stand the suffocation anymore, couldn’t stand to see them be so inviting and enticing to everyone. You feared you’d throw up if you stayed any longer. What you had already seen was soldered to your consciousness, engraved behind your eyes so that every time you closed them, you saw Satoru and Suguru, basking in affection.

Forgetting you.

Nobody noticed you walking towards the edge of the plain, where you had left your sandals in favor of enjoying the soft grass under your soles while you pranced. Your sandals were in the same spot you left them, amidst the ocean of others.

For some reason, they were abnormally strenuous to put on. Your fingers vibrated viciously, frustrating you as you shoved your feet into them and tried to slip the ends of the straps through the buckles.

You cursed under your breath, struggling, fighting. Once you finally managed, you pulled them hard, clearly over tightening them. You didn’t care. You just wanted to leave. To go far, far, far away.

The second you were certain they wouldn’t fall off, you stepped onto the road and turned towards the direction of home.

Your home, where you’d be alone.

You ignored the sharp pain of the cords digging and cutting into your Achilles tendons, too caught up in the hurricane of your emotions to pay attention to much else.

A tornado whirled through your skull, jumbling everything until you were left with a sensation of panic thrumming beneath your skin, scratching from the inside out. Words were thrown, lost, confused, but one thought shined clear as day.

Run.

The streets seemed so much darker. It had to have been your imagination, seeing as you were leaving the massive gathering, where life and light was. It only exacerbated your anxiety, urging you to run faster, break out into a sprint, leave everything behind.

The voice was back, the one that crowed and trilled and spewed acrid threats into your ear. The one that whispered how worthless you were, how you weren’t wanted, how you had to turn tail and vanish ayond eyesight. You’d overstayed your welcome.

You didn’t understand what you were feeling. Anger? Betrayal? Hurt? Fear? Plain old sadness?

You didn't know what, and you didn't know why. All you knew was that you hated it.

You had no reason to feel this way, and would not be vindicated for doing so. Why had it mattered to you to see them flirting with others? Who were they to you?

Your friends, obviously. That’s all they could be.

If that was the case, who were you to them?

…Were you their friend?

You didn't want to think about it. It made the strained clamps around your lungs constrict further, you couldn’t afford it.

The shift between asphalt and packed dirt went unregistered by you, all sensation to the physical world lost. Goosebumps raised along your arms, prickling, yet you didn’t sense it. Not the way you clawed at your forearm for a sense of stability, searching for anything to ground you.

A year.

You lasted a year.

A new record to be proud of, throwing the last one out of the water by a landslide. You hadn’t stayed in one location for nearly as long as this since you were a child.

You should have been bragging to yourself, parading with the knowledge that you might have been getting better after all this time.

All you wanted to do was die.

You hugged yourself, staving off the cold by reflex more than conscious action. The houses had become further spaced out, the sidelines blurred. Your body was moving on autopilot, unseeing as muscle memory took you the rest of the way home.

What were you doing? Thinking? You should have known this would happen. You did know, but chose to ignore it, and for what? You played yourself by getting attached when you were aware from the beginning that it would all come to an end sooner or later. You got greedy, took more than you were allowed, selfishly ripped a mile from your mind when you were offered less than an inch.

This was your fault. You were the cause of this. You became complacent. You stopped walking when you should have just kept going.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot, you goddamn, stupid bitch!” You whisper-shouted at yourself as you dug the spare key out from under the doormat and jammed it into the lock of your door, unaware of the exact timing of your arrival. The door fought against you, further enraging you.

Your feet ached, skin sore and wounded, yet it felt like nothing in comparison to the gnawing in your stomach. Your body was on fire, begging for reprieve, anything to lift the pain and mend the hurt.

You shoved open the door and angrily stomped inside, slamming a palm against the wall on your left.

Barely two steps into your home and you had all but ripped off your sandals with enough force to damage the straps. The relief of pressure off your ankles only served to aggravate the reddened and tender flesh affected by your apathy towards yourself. Exposed to air, your heels throbbed. You tried to let it anchor you, but it didn’t work.

Wrathfully moving forward, you grabbed the bottom hem of your dress and tugged it over your head and off yourself harshly. Your arm wound up to throw it, but your body seized, a shock zapping through your nervous system.

Even in distress, with your mind anywhere but a state of clarity, you still couldn’t bring yourself to disrespect something given to you.

Something they gave you.

Your hands trembled as you laid it across the back of the couch, plucked the corsages from your wrists to place on the coffee table, and you used your pent up energy on your poor bra instead. You unclasped the sucker and catapulted it somewhere with all the force you could muster, and chased it down with a long-suffering scream that tore up your throat.

How fortunate you were to live where nobody could hear you retch and sob.

Every nerve in your body felt like a spring, pressed down, ready to burst. All under your skin, live wire writhed, raring to shred through measly flesh and bone. At this point, you just wanted it to be over with. You’d let them leer and scorn as they seared through your senses agonizingly, then shut off your feelings altogether, so long as it put you out of your misery.

The tightness in your muscles made you shake and wheeze, pain jolting from the center of your chest, down your limbs, stinging in the tips of your fingers. Doing anything was a struggle in this state.

You hated what adrenaline did to you.

You hated yourself.

Gritting your teeth and resisting the urge to claw your way into your own stomach, you channeled that energy into rushing down the hall to your bedroom.

That poor door didn’t deserve to have your anger taken out on it, but you couldn’t find a shit or two to give. Not now, not when everything around you was collapsing. Skyscraper zeniths were crumbling, towering concrete monstrosities aiming to crush you.

And, hell, you’d let them.

Your dresser earned itself a beastly growl from you when you opened it too harshly, causing it to close back up. You wanted to tear everything apart, to rake your nails through wood and stone and bone and dig until your nails were broken and dirt was caked deep into your dermis. Surely, then, the pain would go away.

Clothing rustled violently, short of enough friction to start a fire by a millimeter. You scavenged, unsure of what you were searching for until your fingers closed around the texture your brain subconsciously required to calm itself.

You pulled out the t-shirt, and stalled.

It was the one Suguru gave you. Rather, the one you ‘stole’ with his blessing, but his regardless.

The black material was soft in your grasp, worn and well-loved, a few sizes too big for you. There was a faded band logo on the front of it, colors now grayscale after years of appreciation.

Your hands visibly trembled as you loosened the unfair death grip you had on the top. It didn’t deserve your indignation, your pain. It didn’t deserve to have its fibers pulled too far, to have its devotion to being a quality material shorn from it. It was a shirt, after all, not the source of your suffering.

Its previous owner was; that didn’t shift the blame to the cloth.

But, it reminded you of him.

It reminded you of what you saw at the park, the helplessness that came with having your world crumble before you even knew you were living in it, the hopelessness that came with knowing you’d never be able to rebuild it.

It reminded you of the chai he made, of the way he’d coat your clean hair with leave-in conditioner to smooth down the frizz and encourage silkiness.

The way he’d hold your hands in winter to keep out the burn of frost, the way he’d let you lean against him as he read, the way his long fingers would diligently trace the sketched pattern of your wall, painting life into it.

It reminded you of what it meant to be happy.

Your teeth clicked together, jaw jittery. You clenched it, muscles jumping in your neck.

It didn't help.

The shirt moved around in your palms, peeled open to allow it to slip onto your bare self, covering the short hairs that sprung up from the chill of being naked.

A shaky breath filled your lungs, and you pressed the heel of your hand against your sternum. Your heart thudded and wept so loudly, so angrily, so painfully. You could feel it all the way through to your elbow, hear it beat against your eardrums, taste its toxic copper on the back of your tongue.

Most of your mind had shut down to a lowered percentage of function that made everything fuzzy. You were missing time. How long you stood in your room, doing nothing, you didn’t know. You weren’t aware you had gone to the bathroom until you were partially through cleaning off all the hard work you’d put into prettying yourself up.

You stopped, staring at yourself in the reflection of your mirror.

You looked…tired. Felt it, too.

You looked like you were hanging on by your fingers, losing trust in your strength.

It was so tempting to let go.

Choosing not to waste more energy than necessary on it, you finished what you started, washing away the color and vitality from your face. Bit by bit, you lost more of who you were, and gained more of who you used to be.

Ordinary. Unmemorable. Broken.

Beneath the façade existed the truth you’d tried to cover, to pretend didn’t exist. For months, you’d succeeded in this endeavor, in playing the part of normal. It was catching up to you, and you were out of breath, exhausted, and empty.

You couldn’t avoid it any longer.

Prying your lids apart, you peered at the bottom of the mirror, meeting the unwavering, morbidly curious stare of a young girl.

You looked like her, a little. Same eyes, same curve to your upper lip, same hair color. You were older, familiar and not at the same time. Your eyes were sunken, cheeks hollow. Physically present, but not entirely there. Eyes glazed with a thousand-yard vacancy.

She peered back at you, doe-eyed with innocence and yet-to-be-abandoned faith. Her head fell to the side, little hands holding the edge of the sink to see better. Silently, she tried to pick you apart, to figure out who you were, why you shared a face, but looked so dead in comparison.

What did she see, you contemplated. Did she see hope for the future, the reassurance that she’d grow up, have her own home, be safe from the clutches of a man unloving? That it’d all be okay one day?

Or, did you break her dreams down with the reality that it never would, all without saying a word to one another?

If you could speak to her, what would you say? Would you sit her down, hold her hands, and tell her to give up while she was still ahead? Would you be brutal in your honesty, crush her with the fact that entropy was hovering by the corner, waiting to pounce on her the moment she let down her guard? Would you sit and watch as her confusion morphed into fear, then sadness, then acceptance, all without ever once showing sympathy?

Or, would you lie to her, as your mother had? Would you run your fingers through her hair listlessly, promising her a world that would never be hers? Would you promise her the Sun and Moon, knowing they’d never belong to her?

All those options, yet you stayed mute. You didn’t have anything nice to say to her, so you said nothing.

She opened her mouth, but closed it again, choosing better of it. Hopping off the stool she stood on, she moved away from the mirror and exited the bathroom, and you were seeing yourself again, as you were at present.

There wasn’t much worth examining. Exhaustion and weariness, that’s all there was.

You padded out of the room and to the kitchen, opening a cupboard and standing on your toes. Mugs lined the bottom shelf, but they all went ignored in favor of a specific one.

Your fingers closed around the handle of the ceramic you wanted, taking it from its storage. The surface was smooth to the touch, fired to a glossy sheen that protected its shape and paint.

There was a reason you wanted this one in particular – Satoru had given it to you.

He’d made it himself. He didn’t tell you how, or when he’d done that. You brought into question whether he did make it, or if he was only claiming that to impress you, as it was too well-made to have been created by a novice. Your doubts were dispelled when he had you flip it over and graze your thumb over his signature. It was stamped into the material, indented into clay before being placed in a kiln.

On closer inspection, there were imperfections in it. Bumps, ridges, the hallmarks of something created with his own two hands. Of course, you treasured it. Nobody had given you a gift like it before, and the fact that it came from Satoru only served to further your adoration of it.

You dropped a tea bag and two sugar cubes into it, waiting for the water in your kettle to boil.

The house was dark, all lights extinguished save for the stove overhead and a lamp in the living room. More would only cause you further undue pain. You weren’t sure if you could handle any more, it risked crumbling you completely.

Alertness was returning to you in pieces. You were more aware of your environment and what you were doing, the trade off being completely zoning out in bursts.

The kettle whistled, and you turned it off, pouring the liquid into your mug. Amber leaked out of the tea bag, seeping into the surrounding clearness. Steam rose up, smelling of chamomile and lavender. A suggestion from Suguru.

He was everywhere. Satoru was everywhere. Even in your own home, you couldn’t escape them.

Realization hit you like a train rolling down a hill at full speed, crashing directly into your fragile self with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs.

A teardrop, leaden and blisteringly hot, rolled over your cheek. It carved a new track for itself over your dry skin, beading downwards, following the curve of your jaw, eventually dripping off your chin after accumulating enough weight. A small ripple formed in your ignored tea, inconsequential and so, so powerful. It stirred the seas, warning of rainfall.

“You’re in love, idiot,” you whispered to yourself.

The physical realm dissipated from your perception, replaced by visions of them. The two dorks that somehow found a way into your heart, who convinced you to stay without saying a word. The days you spent together under the sun, dipping into the river, watching movies and eating popcorn. The endless amount of time they spent helping you build yourself a home, picking out paint colors and floor styles and furniture, aiding you in constructing something that was yours.

Everything around you was because of them. The Sun and Moon you were promised, dominating the skies everywhere across the world. They swallowed the world, they were everywhere you looked, at least one of them visible at all times.

Of course you loved them, who wouldn’t? They were perfect.

They breathed, and the planet breathed with them. Flowers bloomed for their sakes, the oceans’ tides bent to their wills, the stars reveled on the tracks they created as the solar system they ruled hurtled through space. It was only inevitable you’d fall for them the same way everyone else had.

You tried to laugh, but the noise that came out was more akin to a wounded animal than a girl having a grand revelation about herself.

Where had you gone wrong?

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Suguru grimaced at the uncomfortable sensation of lipstick residue on his cheek, immediately grabbing a nearby napkin to wipe it off as soon as the girl who left it there pivoted to smack the arm of the girl beside her. The smile he gave her was so tight-lipped and strained, he was worried he'd pop a blood vessel.

He couldn't stand the feeling of any sort of lingering texture on his skin. It made him hyper aware of the spot and caused his flesh to crawl uncomfortably. What happened to personal space? Decorum?

Basic respect for one’s autonomy? Not invading someone’s territory to toe the line of assault?

He got groped more times than he cared to count, and though he smirked and pretended to indulge the hive of bees trying to roast them alive, he was disgusted. He felt nauseous and filthy, the air stifling and sour. How much more of this would he have to endure?

“I miss our mochi,” Satoru lamented to him, not doing all that better. “What’s taking her so long?”

He scanned the field for any sign of you. You weren’t hard to spot, and you said you’d be back soon, yet it had now been…

Suguru glanced down at his watch, a frown marring his expression. Twenty minutes had passed since they last saw you. That was much longer than what he would have liked. Five minutes would have already been pushing it, but twenty? Just how distracting were these girls that the pair lost sight of you for twenty torturous minutes?

“Do you think she’s okay?” He asked the man beside him. “She’s been gone a while.”

Blue eyes narrowed as he, too, began searching the sea of heads to try and spot your hair, or the sparkle of the dress they had given you. Nothing, nada, zip. His jaw clenched, anxiety beginning to spawn beneath his lungs.

He faked a smile to address the annoying group still hounding them, pushing his way out. Though he usually loved the attention, it was insufferable to him now. “Sorry, ladies, I need to do something real quick.”

“Aww, Satoru-san, come back!” One whined, giving him an exaggerated pout.

“I’ll be just a minute,” he responded automatically, already having pointed his attention elsewhere. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed your number as he walked further away to distance himself from the excessive volume of the party.

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

His head twisted in the direction of a familiar ringtone.

Three times.

By the chair you had been sitting at earlier that evening, eating with everyone at your table, your purse sat unattended.

Four times.

He stalked towards it and crouched down, mentally apologizing to you for digging through your stuff.

Five times.

He pulled out your phone, seeing his own contact displayed on the screen. You never changed it, still the same as the day he created it. ✨❤️Satoru❤️✨ flashed on the LCD, mocking him.

‘Hey, sorry I missed your call. Feel free to try again later if I don’t call you back first. Thanks.’

Voicemail.

He pulled his own phone away from his ear and stood slowly, glancing over towards the line of shoes not far from him. Yours were missing.

“Shit.”

He stuffed your phone back into your purse and looped it onto his wrist as he hurriedly made his way back to Suguru, who initially looked relieved upon seeing Satoru’s return, only for that rigid façade of his to disappear instantly.

“What is it–”

“She left,” Gojo interrupted.

Geto’s expression darkened. “She left? Are you sure?”

“Her sandals are gone. Her purse and phone are still here, I can’t reach her.”

“Fuck,” Suguru muttered, pushing his way out from the burning honeybee group, breaking from their restraints. The cries and plaints of the swooning girls had filtered into the background to the two boys. “Where do you think she went?”

The pale-haired man led the other out towards the edge of the clearing. “Dunno. Fuck, we should have been with her. What if something happened to her?”

“Let’s not jump to the worst case, Satoru. Where’d you last see her?”

He scraped through his memory, trying to recall. It was too noisy, whirring filling his mind. The last time he could remember seeing you was when…

His body spun, and he marched over to the two other people he could think to ask.

“Utahime, Shoko.”

Utahime glanced around, her expression souring upon seeing Satoru. “Ugh, it's you. What do you want?”

“Have you seen her?”

She raised a brow. “Seen who? Need a name or something.”

He said your name, and the sass in her withered away. Her distaste twisted into worry as she realized he was being dead serious. “Wait, she's not with you guys?”

“You lost her?” Shoko asked incredulously, aware of the endearment the boys felt towards you.

“That's why we're here,” Suguru said.

Her fingers pinched her chin in consideration, concern etched in her browline. “Isn’t she with Yoriko-san? That’s where I last saw her.”

The nox-haired man searched about, spotting his mother as she gossiped with her other mom-friends. “Mom!”

Unperturbed the sound level, the woman’s head snapped up, always aware of when her child called for her. She speed walked towards them, brows knitting in worry as she grabbed his hands. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Have you seen angel?” His doting name for you slipped through in his stress.

If she noticed, she was kind enough to not point it out, recognizing the severity in his tone. She frowned. “She told me she’d go look for you boys after we chatted. She could have gotten lost? There’s many people here, after all.”

Satoru shook his head and lifted your items for emphasis. “Her sandals are gone, but her purse and phone are still here.”

Yoriko took a good, long, hard look at both boys. She saw something in their faces they didn’t know, and her shoulders slumped a few inches. Her grim expression changed into a different mien – remorse? Shame?

“I bet you’ll find her at her house,” she stated, releasing Suguru’s hands.

Suguru and Satoru matched one another, disappointment and distress burrowing in their guts. You really had left? Why?

“Her house?” Satoru mumbled. “Why?”

The older woman crossed her arms over her chest. “Normally, I’d discourage men from seeking out women when they want to be alone, but I’m making an exception for this case.”

“Alone? Do you know what happened?” Shoko probed.

Yoriko hummed noncommittally. “She probably saw something she didn’t want to see.”

“Saw something? What? What’d she see?” Satoru was becoming frenetic.

She shook her head. “That’s not for me to say. Go talk to her, boys.”

That was all the encouragement – or, rather, ordering – the two needed. They hardly spared a word to the others as they darted off, marking your house as their destination.

Questions swirled in their minds, individual and linked all at once. Why had you left? What had you seen? What the hell was Yoriko talking about, and why in the world was she so damn vague about it? She clearly knew more than they did, the least she could have done was clue them in on it.

They didn’t speak to each other, both busy in their own heads as they raced to your place, hoping and praying they’d find you there.

The streets were too dark for Satoru’s liking this removed from town, the road illuminated by the sorrowful moon hanging above. The idea of you walking alone unnerved him, set him on edge. You could have gotten hurt, or worse, or – oh, god, what if something bad happened to you? You’d been alone this whole time, and they didn’t know. Where did you go? What were you thinking?

Geto was known to be the calmer of the two. Steady, logical, rational.

He was beyond ration right now. He alternated between wanting – needing – to take you into his arms and never let go, to assure himself that you were okay, alive, there, and wanting to reprimand you for your behavior. You should have let them know, told them you were done and wanted to go home. They would have walked you, protected you, taken care of you.

He milled his teeth to control himself. He couldn’t assume, he didn’t know what caused you to leave. Hell, maybe you hadn’t gone at all, and you all merely missed each other at the party?

Suguru was the first one to make it to your door, knuckles rapping against the wood.

Satoru was panting behind him, alternating his weight between his feet, ready to book it back to the park if he had to.

There was silence on the other end, then, very faintly, they heard rustling.

Movement from inside, confirming you were here. Now, to answer the remaining questions.

They were prepared to interrogate you, but all those words died on the backs of their tongues, tasting of ash and soot, when the door peeled open.

Oh.

Red rimmed your eyes, your cheeks still damp after you tried to hastily wipe them dry, your brows wound tightly together. Confusion flickered across your features first, tailed by embarrassment.

Something did happen to you.

You had been crying.

“Angel?” Suguru stepped forth and cupped your jaw gently, thumbing away at your tearstained skin. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Instead of leaning into his touch like you so yearned to, you forced yourself to pull back, giving a painfully fake laugh. Your voice was fraught, a little raspy, wet. “Nothing happened. Everything is fine, why do you think something happened?”

“You’re bad at lying, mochi,” Satoru refused to let you dodge the topic. “What happened? Who do we need to beat up for making you cry?”

“Gu-uys,” you hiccuped and tried to turn away further, to recede deeper into your house. “Seriously, I’m fine–”

“You’re not fine,” Suguru grasped your upper arm and pulled you towards him. “What happened?”

Your eyes flickered between his, then Satoru’s, words stuck to your palate. How easy it would be to say I wish you’d look at me and not those girls.

I want you.

I need you.

How easy it would be to just spill your heart and soul out onto the floor, say the things you wanted to tell them, but knew you couldn’t.

I love you. Both of you.

If you told them, you'd ruin everything. And then you'd have to run.

Again.

All you knew was how to run.

You didn't know how far you would make it if you lost everything you had created, grown, and made here, with them.

You squeezed your hands into fists, digging your nails into your palms to brace yourself. Focus on the pain. “I just don’t…really know anyone from the party. Not personally, anyway, so…I didn’t wanna be the odd duck out, you know?” Lie. A terrible lie, and everyone present knew it. You pushed on regardless. “Haha…would be kinda weird for the new girl to hang out at this wedding when nobody knows her. I-I was feeling a bit tired, too.”

You were aware that you were rambling, but you couldn’t stop it naturally. You opened your mouth, and it was hard to close it again.

You'd been living here for a year. It was a poor cover up at best. While it was true you didn’t know a good amount of folks on a level further than acquaintances, it's not like you were a complete stranger to these backwoods. And there were people you knew well enough to consider friends besides Gojo and Geto.

Satoru’s frown grew, but he decided against pointing out your fallacy. “But, we know you, mochi. Why didn’t you come back to us? We were waiting for you.”

“Oh,” you broke eye contact, peering elsewhere, anywhere but them. Your fingers trembled as you tucked your hair behind your ear, trying to shove out the discomfort in your chest at the reminder. The scene played in your mind all over again, of the boys talking to those girls, smiling at them, laughing with them.

You had to make yourself believe it was something else causing your ribs to cave in on your lungs.

It wasn’t jealousy. Really, it wasn’t.

But…if it wasn’t jealousy, then why did you feel sick to your stomach when you witnessed one of the girls, who was prettier than you, grasp Satoru’s collar and pull him down to whisper things in his ear? Why did he smile like that afterwards? Like he liked what he heard? Like he liked her? What did she say? Why–

You swallowed thickly, the sensation dry as it scratched down your gullet like nails on sandpaper. Your throat was too crammed, too tense, too itchy. It took all your strength to speak normally, and even then, you weren’t sure you succeeded.

“You guys were busy,” you finally replied.

“Busy?” Suguru repeated, his inflection powder soft, his eyes softer.

Don’t, you pleaded silently. Don’t talk to me like that. Don’t stare at me like that.

If you knew what that does to me.

If you knew what you both do to me.

You nodded and plastered on a faux simper, one that twitched at the corners of your lips and didn’t reach your eyes. “You had a whole flock of girls around you. Who am I t-to take the attention of the two most eligible bachelors away from them?”

Damn you for stuttering, and damn your voice for growing uneven, and damn you for being a mess. Weak, pitiful. Since when were you so mellow, such a pussy?

The boys had the audacity to let their faces morph to show their confusion, as if trying to recollect what you were talking about.

Suguru was the first to piece together what happened, if the way his eyes widened minutely was anything to go by, but Satoru spoke before he could. And more bluntly, too, of course. “Oh, sweetie,” he hushed, tension dropping from him as a grin drew up his mouth. “You’re jealous.”

You startled and lifted your hands to deny his accusation. “N-No! What? Haha, th-that’s– no, it’s not like th-at at all!”

He put on a smug mien as he crossed his arms over his chest, acting like he just figured you out.

He did, technically, but you didn’t want to give him that victory. Especially not over such a benign and childish matter as this.

“Angel,” the noiret allayed himself, delicately cupping your cheek to nudge your head in his direction. “Is that what’s going on? Were you jealous of those girls?”

Your jaw flexed. God, it sounded pathetic. Jealous over a group of gorgeous women who had more to offer than you? It’s not like either boy was interested in you romantically anyway, and you weren’t dating one or the other. You had no reason to be jealous, you weren’t owed anything.

It wasn’t fair for you to expose such petty problems to them, let alone blame them for it. They may have had your heart, but you didn’t have theirs.

Yet, your lip wobbled, your lungs refused to work properly, and your eyes welled up, anyway. Biting the inside of your cheek raw wasn’t fending off your emotions, not anymore, and you couldn’t dislodge the frog from your throat long enough to talk.

The worry in Suguru’s expression melted away, replaced with understanding and something else you couldn’t decipher. His fingers shifted from holding your cheek to curling over the back of your neck while his other hand coiled around your waist, bringing you close to him. His forehead pressed against yours and his breath fanned across your cheeks, slow and measured.

“You have nothing to be jealous about,” he reassured you with a sympathetic murmur.

The tears fell before you had a chance to stop them. It could have been the wine you drank earlier, or the overstimulation from the party.

Or, it was the way they held the glass fledgling budding in the nest of your soul carefully in their hands. They had cracked the shell casing it had, the one that protected you from making attachments. They pushed the gates wide for everyone, all the close friends you made in this village sneaking into your life without you noticing, and the boys were at the front, leading the pack.

“I’m s-so-sorry,” you stammered out, sucking uneven gasps of air past your bottom lip. Your arms wound tightly around his neck and you buried your face against his shoulder, muffling your sniffling. “It’s– it’s stupid, so stupid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, angel. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he comforted you, rubbing your back in easy circles.

Satoru came to your side, sweeping your hair away from your neck. “You really don’t need to be jealous. We’re not interested in any of them.”

“We don’t want any of those girls,” Suguru’s deep voice rumbled against your chest. “We want you.”

Your heart stopped, broke, started, and sprouted new petals at his confession. It bounced in your head, struggling to stick, to process, to be true.

“B-But they’re–” sob, “s-so…much more. They’d do– do any-thing f-for you – hic! – you.”

“And you?” Suguru checked, his voice barely a whisper as it brushed against your neck. “Would you do anything for us?”

His question stunned you. You froze, your thoughts hovering, struggling to focus when they both were close and warm. Your head lifted slowly, eyesight blurry as your gaze flickered between them.

The Sun and Moon incarnate.

What a stupid question.

You worshiped them and the ground they walked on, a devout and zealous follower. You’d listen to everything they told you with reverence; you'd pray for them day and night, you’d water the soil with your own blood if they asked.

“...Yes,” you breathed out, finding balance while adrift at sea, a moment of peace in the cyclone of your emotions. “Anything.”

Satoru huffed near your ear and you could feel the curve of his smile where he pressed it into your jaw. “The difference between you and those girls, mochi…”

“Is that, for you, we'd scorch the earth and rend the sky without hesitation, should you ever wish it,” raven hair tickled your shoulder, plush lips hovering on the slope of your neck, brushing over your vulnerable, sensitive pulse.

“For those girls, we would do nothing. Even if they begged on their knees, we'll only ever accept your commands,” ocean-kissed eyes filled your vision, shimmering with raw, unfiltered emotion; something warm, and blazing, calling you like a moth to blue flame.

You shuddered at the vibration from Suguru’s murmurs traveling through your body. “All you have to do is say yes.”

Laying somewhere within the turmoil in your chest, your soul fluttered, yearning, hoping. “You want me?”

“We do,” they replied simultaneously.

“Both of you?”

“Both of us.”

Their resolute answer felt so unreal, so deafening in the fog of your scattered thoughts. Your fingers reached, but hesitated just before they made contact with what you so desired – as if waiting for it to be ripped away. “...Really?”

“Really,” the man holding you in his grasp confirmed, admiring you with such fondness and devotion, you’d think he was seeing a goddess, rather than the simple girl you were. He was pleading more than demanding. “Say yes.”

“Please, princess,” Satoru acted equally as desperate, and it struck you that you’d never heard him say please before, not like this.

You didn’t have to think before you answered.

“Yes.”

Suguru’s lips were on yours as the syllables were leaving you, drawing a surprised squeak from you, followed by a reedy whimper.

There was a distinct snap in your chest, the click of an unbreakable bond emerging. It made your breath hitch and your body tense up, then you melted into him, and everything felt right.

His lips were cushiony and generous, everything you’d ever dreamed of and more. They fit so perfectly against yours, the sides of two puzzle pieces slotting into place. His kiss was gentle, slow, and intimate.

You barely had a chance to delve into it by the time the other boy was tugging you away for his turn.

He was more demanding, rougher, yet entirely wonderful all the same, just like Geto. He connected to you seamlessly, aggressively, contrary to Suguru's tenderness, in a way that had your toes curling and heat pooling in the depths of your gut.

This.

This is what you had been missing all your life.

The safety and sanctity that came with surrendering to a love pure and true.

Hands were on you, everywhere, at all once. You didn’t know which belonged to who; it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered save for the way they caressed you and explored everything, leaving no inch untouched.

Calloused palms slid under the hem of your – Suguru’s – shirt, palming at naked flesh, taking what was no longer yours, but theirs.

Satoru bit at your bottom lip, hard enough to sting, but not enough to break skin, in spite of how you wanted him to. His hunger was obvious, his inability to sate himself with the taste of your mouth alone showing in the way he suckled on your tongue and ventured behind your teeth. The sentiment was mutual. You drank him in with the same fervor, needing more to settle the hollow in your stomach.

A hint of the cake shared at the wedding lingered on him, sweet and rich and exactly like the boy you’d come to love.

Love.

You loved him. You loved Suguru.

And they…they loved you, too, didn’t they?

The way Geto dug his canines into your collarbone and soothed the pricks with chaste kisses, the way Gojo moaned into your kiss like you were his oasis after years of thirst; the way the second gripped his hips with his nails, and the way the first traced the undersides of your breasts with his thumbs, all these actions led you to believe that, yes, they loved you. Beyond words, beyond what could be said and shown.

You were growing dizzy, heady with lust and the lack of air. Satoru must have noticed, as he pulled away a few centimeters, breathing each other’s air.

“What do you want, pretty girl?” He asked.

“Touch me,” you pleaded with them breathlessly.

“Shit,” Suguru groaned into the delicate flesh of your shoulder. “You can't just say something like that while wearing my shirt.”

Any quip you might have had was swiftly replaced with a squeal of surprise when Satoru hoisted you up over his shoulder casually, not breaking so much as a sweat from the effort.

“Satoru!” You squeaked, smacking his back. “I can walk, you know!”

“I can’t wait any longer,” he justified as he kicked off his shoes haphazardly and carried you off to your room.

You were tossed unceremoniously onto your bed, bouncing a couple times as you propped yourself on your elbows. From your spot on your sheets, you had the perfect view of Satoru tugging at the bow on his collar to untie it. He let the ends hang loose in favor of ardently shedding his jacket.

Suguru wasn’t far behind, and in the darkness of your room, their eyes seemed to glow dangerously.

Laser focused on you, you were trapped in their spell, and you’d never wish to break free.

Geto stalked up to you, steps deliberate and resolute, a leopard locked in on its prey. He came to a stop at the edge of your bed, planting his hands on either side of your hips. Starvation ate at the amber of his hues, black holes leaving a ring of gold between the photon spheres and event horizons.

You batted your lashes flirtatiously. “You’ll be gentle with me, won’t you?”

You sounded less coquettish than you would have liked, dyspneic and blistering hot with appetency and anticipation.

He chuckled, gruff and strained. “After all this time, I finally get to have you, and you think I’m going to be gentle with you?”

“Oh, you’re in for it now, princess,” Gojo breathed against your ear, startling you. You hadn’t noticed when he’d gotten behind you, his body heat radiating onto you. “Kept us waiting, made us chase you, there’s no way in hell we’ll be gentle with you.”

“Kept you waiting?” Confusion flashed across your face.

He huffed. “And here I thought I was dense as hell.”

You scowled at him. “Hey! What is that supposed to mean?”

Suguru grasped your chin between his thumb and the curve of his index, fixing your sights on him. “We thought you were being coy at first. Then, after you didn’t pick up on our hints, we thought we were being too subtle,” he angled your head upwards, lips ghosting over your own. “Turns out, our sweet angel is a little oblivious, isn’t she?”

He didn’t give you the opportunity to defend yourself as he was kissing you deep and hard again, stealing your breath away all over again.

It’s not like he was wrong, but you had to counter his argument.

Except, oh, he tasted so good, and the way his palms skirted your sides erased your thoughts one by one.

An unintentional whimper slipped past from your mouth and into Suguru’s as his hand slipped under your shirt – his shirt – and trailed up your side slowly. His skin scorched yours, burning so deliciously that it sent a shiver from the base of your spine up to your scalp, raising goosebumps across your arms and back.

You could feel him smirking as he kissed you, fervent fingers studying the dips and curves of your figure as they traveled up slowly, too slowly, towards where you wanted him to be. He seemed all too entertained by your reactions, the little noises you let out when he skimmed the underside of your breast, purposefully taking his time.

The moment he broke the kiss to catch a breath, barely parting, his lips still grazing yours, you keened and pleaded, not wholly sure what you were asking for. “Please, please…”

“Please, what? Use your words, mochi,” Satoru snickered, his mouth leaving a new patch of wet, saliva-slicked skin on your shoulder that rapidly cooled over the sensitive bruises blooming everywhere he planted them. ”What do you want, pretty girl?”

A whine was trapped behind your tongue as Suguru nipped at your lower lip, tugging gently, encouraging you to speak. “Fuck– fuck me, gods, please.”

“Good girl,” the ravenet grinned and immediately rewarded you by cupping your breast, pinching your nipple between his ring and middle fingers. He tweaked and plucked at it, drawing a gasp from you. “All you had to do was ask.”

Everything became a blur of flesh and clothes from there. Pants were shucked, buttons popped and scattered elsewhere from shirts ripped apart, fabric stripped from your figure until all three of you were naked in the presence of one another.

Moonlight poured into your room through your parted, sheer curtains, providing the perfect amount of illumination to see their Olypmian builds. Lean muscle molded them, impossibly strong and handsome. You understood how Satoru was able to lift you without an issue, now.

Suguru was marginally wider – shoulders broader, thighs thicker, but Satoru was the epitome of a god amongst men. Slender, athletic, ripped, mouthwatering.

You trailed down the path his Apollo’s belt created, appreciating the planes and hard ridges of his chest and stomach, the muscles of his hips, leading to…

Saliva flooded your mouth from the underside of your tongue, stinging as you took in the sight of his cock.

You debated if you were blessed or cursed, because there was no way in hell that thing was going to fit in you.

It stood tall and proud, just like its master. Swelled, curving upwards, the prettiest shade of rose that looked pale pink in the light the moon provided. A thick vein tracked from the base to the left side, and you had to forcefully swallow the spit in your mouth before you started legitimately drooling.

It was long, you were certain it’d knock the air from your lungs if he managed to get it in.

He was on you in seconds, crawling over you and biting into your shoulder to leave his crest. He sucked hard, making sure his claim would bloom into a noticeable flower for you to wear and show off. “You’re beautiful.”

His praise went straight to your drenched pussy, your walls tightening around nothing.

The baritone of Suguru’s words filled the room, an instruction raised. “On the bed, Satoru.”

If you hadn’t seen it firsthand, you would have refused to believe there was ever a time Satoru would willingly follow someone else’s directions, let alone Suguru’s. In front of your eyes, he behaved, rolling off your body to splay himself out on his back, aquamarine orbs never once leaving your figure.

The next directive was given to you. “Sit on his face, baby,” Suguru said, his inflection warning you to listen, daring you to defy him.

You, the obedient hare you were, followed his command without protest. You sat up next to Satoru, threw one leg over him, then slinked up to his face, where he laid and followed your every move, eyes of ice devoured by the impossibly dark lacunae in their centers.

You thought being over him would give you some level of control – how poorly mistaken were you.

As soon as your knees were on either side of his head, his arms wrapped around the backs of your thighs and he pulled you down faster than you could register his movements. He moved at lightning speed, wasting no time in shoving his tongue impatiently against your slicked folds and dragging it through.

His groan echoed your loud, unexpected moan, both of you wracked with sudden pleasure – him, at your taste, and you, at the addicting sensation of him lapping at your cunt like a man deprived of oxygen. Ironic, given the way he was all but begging for you to suffocate him, but you didn’t have the capacity to muse on it.

Electricity ricocheted up your spine, your synapses firing in overtime as he assaulted the hypersensitive nerves of your clit, sucking on it unforgivingly.

“S-Satoru!” You stammered out his name, one hand gripping the edge of your bed, the other tangling in his white, fluffy locks, tugging at his roots in a painful manner, no doubt. The devious keen he let out from the action told you he enjoyed it immensely, the muffled vibrations on your pussy making you clench around the tip of his tongue as it impatiently invaded your hole.

Suguru’s dusky, chocolate shades stayed glued to your form as you unraveled thread by thread from Satoru’s skilled tongue alone, his lips pulled into a dangerous smirk. “Open your mouth,” he rasped.

Your jaw dropped before he even finished his sentence.

You could see the unmitigated ardor flash in his pupils at your unquestioning submission, his cock twitching with the glee of knowing that he did this to you; that he and Gojo turned you into their brain dead beauty, eager and willing to please them however they wished.

His adoration for you was written plain across his face, mouth pouting at your adorableness. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to ruin you. He wanted to see tears glitter in your eyes from overwhelming euphoria, just so he could kiss them away and dote on you like it was the last night you’d all be alive.

Given the opportunity to inspect his manhood, you compared and contrasted it with Satoru’s. While Suguru’s was marginally shorter, it was thick, girthy, and ready to split you apart.

He perched the heavy peak of it on the pink muscle in your mouth that was dying for a sample, eager to guide it in and let it choke you half to death.

“Suck.”

He didn’t need to tell you what to do – the moment his sex was there, you wrapped your kiss-bruised lips around his tip and moved your head to take more of him into your awaiting maw.

Your power over the sounds daring to leave you had left eons ago. You whined like a bitch in heat around his length, the mildly salty and musky flavor of his pre-cum driving you mad. His piquancy tickled some deep-seeded hunger in you, a drop of liquor better than any alcohol ever made. It worsened your thirst, spawning a sine qua non for his cum to quench your thirst.

His large hand threaded through your hair, smoothing down the stray strands as he cupped the back of your head with his palm. His hold was deceptively lenient and respectful, a guiding kneading that set the pace he wanted you to adopt.

“That’s it, good girl,” he said hoarsely, laboring to preserve his composure and not drive his hips to bury his oversized dick deep into your pharynx until he bottomed out, your nose pressed to his pelvis. Not now, not yet. First, he was going to enjoy your suckling and demure kitten licks. “Doing so well for us.”

His validation worsened your arousal, turning that pulsing, throbbing pressure into a borderline painful cramping.

Fuck, you were past salvation.

God help anyone who tried to save you, because you would not let them.

You yanked on Satoru’s hair harder, gripping at the roots for dear life, and grabbed Suguru’s thigh with your other hand. The muscles beneath jumped at the contact, and you groaned. The vibrations from your throat on his cock earned you a whispered grunt from him in turn.

It didn’t seem true, you were still struggling to believe that you had one of them, let alone both.

Touching helped, solidifying the fact that they were there, with you, one eating you out like his life depended on it, while the second was putting your mouth to good use.

Tears sprung to your eyes as the head of his cock nudged deeper, but unlike before, these tears were of delight. You thrived on watching Suguru lose his sangfroid by the minute, sand slipping through his fingers that were going lax with disinterest in holding back.

If you learned they had a telepathic connection with each other, you didn’t think you’d be shocked. In fluid, synchronized movements, Suguru cupped the base of your skull to thrust hilt-deep into your mouth, and Satoru stuffed two fingers into your dripping pussy, pushing you right up to the edge of blissful collapse. His digits were long, wide, bigger than yours and capable of reaching further, of petting a spot that had you choking and gagging on the branch stuck down your esophagus.

He nipped at your clit, teeth straying too close to danger, curled his fingers to attack your g-spot, and that’s all it took for you to burst.

Your orgasm ripped through you in waves, crashing on the beach of your consciousness, addicting as it drowned you in white-hot rapture.

Suguru’s climax was set off by your muffled moaning, ropes of his cum pumping into your mouth and down your throat. You did your best to swallow every drop, mindlessly lapping it up each time his hardness stirred and twitched.

Slowly, he pulled back and allowed you to gasp and catch your breath, his length continuing to throb despite you having sucked the soul out of him.

He aided you in sliding off of Satoru and positioned you on the headboard of the bed, cooing at you for being such a good girl for them.

Satoru pounced on you, too antsy to let you rest. He smashed his mouth onto yours, tongue delving past your parted lips. You could taste yourself on him, in the way he rubbed his tongue on yours, sharing the flavor of your slick; mildly acidic, with a hint of salt and something almost bitter, but not quite.

Tang, the word hit you.

Big hands worked to hike your legs up, hooking them around that svelte waist of his, handsy and groping. The tip of his dick prodded against your fluttering, tender folds, causing you to attempt to retreat from the stimulus.

Keyword: attempt.

He latched his palms onto your waist, preventing you from running away. He huffed, voice husky from gulping down your juices. “Where do you think you’re going, pretty?”

“I’m s-sensitive!” You whined pitifully, fingers raking into his forearms, uncertain if you were trying to shove him away or drag him closer.

“Oh, baby, I know,” he purred with false condolence. “But, you can take it, can’t you? Be a good girl for me?”

Any of your pleas fell on deaf ears, your begging faltering as he notched the tip against your entrance and began pushing in, determined to fuck you dumb.

You hadn’t known it was possible to feel this full until he was bullying his length into you, inch by merciless inch, deeper, deeper.

“Fuck,” he heaved, struggling to maintain control. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You were trying to stay relaxed, to let him carve a spot for himself inside of you, but that fucked out look on his face and his whiny tone had you squeezing unintentionally. He grunted and paused, air whistling through his teeth.

“Don’t do that,” he hissed in warning.

Swallowing thickly, you whimpered, jabbing your sticky palms against his hips. “Too big!”

Suguru swept your hair from your forehead. “You’re taking it so well, though, angel,” he soothed, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Come on, you can take the rest.”

“The rest?” Your eyes widened. “There’s more–!?”

You cried out when Satoru gave you one last lunge to hilt himself fully within you, hips flush to yours, symphysis knocking against your tingling clit.

Heavens above, you swore he was buried up to your diaphragm.

He pried one hand from his hip, exposing the tiny ovals that would undoubtedly fade to bruises come morning, and brought it down to the apex of your thighs. He withdrew an inch at most, unwilling to part further, and guided it down between your thighs. He pressed it against your cunt, spreading your ring and middle fingers apart to slip the base of his cock between them.

“Feel me?” He growled against your cheek, imploring you to observe how you were connected directly.

You clenched around him with a whimper at the sensation, causing him to jerk forward involuntarily, then let out a gruff laugh against the junction of your neck.

“Get to it,” Suguru frowned, restlessness showing through his typically unruffled exterior.

Satoru sneered at him. “Give me a damn minute, I’m gonna cum way too fast if you rush me.”

Leave it to his best friend to taunt him in the middle of sex of all things. “What are you, a highschool boy?”

“She’s got my dick in a chokehold, man,” he spat.

He retracted halfway and sheathed himself again experimentally, testing the waters, and he was rewarded with a moan bubbling free from you.

Hunger flashed in his beautiful, eternal blues, a ravenous desire to hear more of the sweet noises you could give him, and you knew you were in trouble.

All hesitance flew out the window for him.

Any way to describe how glorious it felt to have his cock pounding into you disappeared from your vocabulary, abandoning you with only the ability to let out a petite ah! ah! ah! each time he vanished into you and his tip bumped against your cervix.

Suguru wasn’t content to have you experiencing only one form of stimulation. Set on making you lose your mind, the rough pads of his thumbs rubbed over your pebbled nipples, the contact steering you into arching your back. You weren’t sure if you were trying to push into his touch, or escape it, your body too overwhelmed to decipher your own intentions.

Satoru was mumbling praises to you, nibbling on your jaw and the slope of your shoulder, printing his claim anywhere he could. It went in one ear and out the other, your consciousness torn between the boys as they took you apart and put you back together to fit the mold they created for you.

A pinch and flick to your nipples had you belling in bliss.

Your vision was foggy with tears, blurring the lines between night and light, sky and earth, whose mouth was on you, whose hands were compressing your flesh until it spilled between their fingers. Whether it was Gojo suckling on your breast, or Geto rubbing your clit in rapid, honed circles, you didn’t know and didn’t care so long as it never stopped.

The peak of your second climax was approaching too soon, too fast. You yourself got only a wisp of a warning of its arrival, let alone a chance to warn the boys.

“Gonna– ah! ‘M gonna–!”

Satoru groaned. “Fuck, me too.”

“Say it,” Suguru goaded you on. “What do you want?”

You lugged in a shaky breath. “Wanna cum! Please, I– ngh!”

His lips grazed your cheek. “Cum.”

The strained wire inside the burning heat of your belly gave way to a rush of ecstasy, releasing in the form of a burst of clear spray onto Satoru’s lower stomach. A bell rang in your ears, pitchy and sonorous as you jerked and shook from the pleasure.

That set his orgasm off, his hips stilling flat against yours. Syrupy streams of his cum painted your walls pearly white, never-ending as he kept cumming, and cumming, and cumming.

You were both panting, struggling for air, when it finally stopped. He pulled out languidly, hissing as his soaked cock was exposed to the air. His eyes were welded to your pussy – specifically, the thin rivulet of ivory that leaked out. Unthinkingly, he scooped it up with two fingers and tamped it back into you, enamored by your bleat of objection.

“I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard in my life,” he confessed, sitting back on his heels and running a hand through his hair. “I get the sense that the feeling is mutual, eh?”

Geto kissed the corner of your mouth, kneading your sore chest. “You made quite the mess.”

You blushed and hid your face against your pillow. “Sorry.”

“No, that was hot as hell. Shoulda told me you squirt,” Gojo laughed, voice rough at the edges.

“I didn’t know I could,” you muttered.

He shuddered. “Fuck, you’re so bad for my ego, princess.”

You grumbled, squinting at him. Of course, he would find ways to boost his ego. You didn’t have it in you to mock him, feeling spent.

Oh, but they had other plans for you.

Your world spun as arms hooked under your body, picking you up and repositioning you.

Suguru lifted you onto his lap, setting your hands onto his pecs to keep you balanced. He placed open-mouthed kisses on the hickeys budding on your neck and collar as he pressed on your lower back to make you lean into him and subconsciously raise your hips. You were too hazy to pay any heed to what he was doing until he had the fat tip of his length poking at your entrance, seeking passage.

You jolted back to peer at him with panicked eyes. “Wait, no, not ready,” you shook your head. “‘M too sensitive.”

“C’mon, angel,” he comforted you by squeezing the outside of your thigh. “I know you can do it.”

You couldn’t argue back, your jaw busy hanging as he steered your hips down. Though you had been stretched by Satoru and were immensely slippery with a mix of his cum and your slick, there was still a hint of resistance. You held your breath, trembling as he pushed harder, urged you lower.

The head popped in, and you sank down several inches with a stilted gasp and drawn-out keen.

He inhaled sharply, burrowing his nose into the hollow of your neck, his grip on your hips crushing as he kept you in place. You were reeling from being able to take him to begin with, shaking from head to toe at the delicious sting of the stretch.

“Fuck,” he growled, poise dropping.

“So big,” you exhaled, speech staggered.

Gradually, he eased you onto him, letting you feel him in full. You clutched him like he was your lifeline because, honestly, he was.

You were too focused on not splitting apart to notice the second man in the room kneeling behind you until he broke your concentration by swiping slick from your cunt and pressing the tip of his middle finger against the tight ring of your other hole.

You yelped and whipped your head to the side, staring at Satoru from over your shoulder. “What–”

“Shh,” he nuzzled your temple, trying to distract you. “Just sit there and let us take care of you.”

To your relief, he went slow, letting you get accustomed to the sensation of one of his fingers prodding and toying with your hole. Your tenseness being replaced by breathy keens was his cue to coax a second one beside the first, the two pumping and scissoring apart. A third joined them soon, working you open unhurriedly.

Once he was satisfied, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his cock, stroking it a few times to smear your arousal onto it.

He positioned himself, one hand clasping your waist to keep you motionless, as if the secure snare Suguru held your hips in wasn’t enough.

“Deep breath for me, pretty,” Satoru requested.

You complied. Heeding his warning, you took a deep, measured breath.

At the same time, he pushed into you, persuading you to let him in with consistent pressure.

A protest crept its way up your voice box, coming out as reedy fussing. “W-Won’t fit,” you croaked.

“It will,” he asserted. “You can take it.”

He abated for a second, and you loosened – then, he thrust upwards suddenly.

“Ah!” You cried out, eyes squeezed shut as tight as possible. Your nails dug into Suguru’s shoulders, deep enough to etch crescents into them, but he only crooned and rubbed his thumbs under your ribs to soothe you.

“You’re doing so well for us, angel,” he murmured to you, pressing tiny kisses to each corner of your mouth. “Taking us so well.”

They both grunted when you clenched down at the revere and Satoru placed his forehead against the curve of your trapezius. His hands held your sides tightly, fingertips no doubt leaving bruises in their wake.

He was buried only midway inside you, and already, he was at his wit’s end. You all were, to be fair.

“Need you to relax, bunny,” he mumbled, nipping at your nape. “Need to feel you. Be inside you.”

Suguru was holding up the best out of the three of you, murmuring sweet nothings to you, stroking your stomach, gently massaging your breasts, anything to get you to ease up and melt into them. He was already bottomed out in your cunt, so deep inside you, you swore you could feel him behind your navel.

Satoru waited for you to unwind, edging into you whenever you allowed it, sinking in more and more until he was finally seated to the base.

All three of you let out weighty sighs, pleased he was able to wrestle his way in.

Nothing could ever come close to the sensation of being crowded and stuffed to the absolute brim like this. You could distinctly feel their cocks rubbing against one another through the thin wall separating your cunt and ass, their heartbeats racing. You were filled beyond capacity, it was a boon Satoru was able to fit himself next to Suguru.

“Good girl,” the noiret beamed at you, smoothing his thumbs over your aching nipples. “Fuck, such a good girl for us, aren’t you?”

“Knew you could do it,” the towhead rubbed his cheek against yours. “You feel so good, baby.”

Satoru moved first, drawing back ‘til the tip remained, then shoved back in. You keened, your head falling back to rest on his collarbone. He took his time setting a comfortable pace, after which Suguru started moving. He guided your hips to grind on his, his motions opposite to Gojo’s. When one was in, the other was out, back and forth, ensuring you were never empty at any given moment.

A rhythm built up, a melody of harmonized moans and cries and filthy promises bouncing off the walls of your room. The three of you became one, a flowing machine, all parts operating together to create a rhapsody of names and skin-on-skin.

They were everywhere, all at once. There wasn’t a spot anywhere on you they hadn’t touched, a location they hadn’t fanned their palms over, a zone they hadn’t marked, a piece they hadn’t claimed.

Inside and out, if they could reach it, it was theirs. Body, heart, mind, and soul, you were theirs, and they were yours. They assured you of such, telling you how they pined for you, how you had them wrapped around your little finger.

“Loved you from the day I laid eyes on you, princess,” Satoru said, gravelly. “I’m– shit– I’m f-fuckin’ crazy for you.”

“Toru!”

“Yeaaah, say my name,” he implored you.

You hiccuped. “S-Satoru!”

He groaned, deep and from the soul. “Fuck, I love you so much, pretty girl.”

“Love yo-ou,” you stuttered, laboring to put more than two words together.

Suguru cupped your jaw. “And me?”

“Love you, S-Sugu,” you promised.

He gifted you that smile that you adored more than you could convey, your spirit overjoyed. “My precious angel. I love you, too.”

You didn’t know how he was acting so put-together in the middle of fucking your brains out. Sweat clung to his forehead, his defined neck, and the contours of his torso, droplets trailing down and sticking his hair to his skin.

By comparison, you were a wreck of incoherent babbling and firing synapses, strewn between them as they ravaged your body. Their syncopated tempo wouldn’t grant you a brief pause to anchor yourself, completely at the hands of their mercy. Their sizes caused them to push firmly into any and every sweet spot you had, blinding you with a euphoria unlike any other.

Either because he was amused by your struggle, or because he was a bit sadistic, Suguru planted his heels onto your bed and rammed into you.

Your vision flickered, cognizance short-circuited from the abrupt burst of pleasure. It forced you directly to the height of your elation, teetering precariously on the summit, ready to dive off it.

“Nngh!” You mewled, brows furrowed, body wound tight. A taut bowstring, waiting to be released.

“Go on, mochi,” Satoru grunted when you clenched down on them. “Cum for us.”

“I-I can't!” You sobbed. “I– I need–”

“I've got you, love,” Suguru huffed. You bucked when the pad of his thumb pressed against your sensitive, febrile clit.

He circled it roughly in pace with their thrusts once, twice, and you shattered.

Your muscles locked up, throat pinched shut as a shot of pure, electric nirvana in its rawest form rolled in your tummy, then exploded outwards. It filled your limbs, fogged your mind, darkened your sight, flooding your entire being until you knew nothing but such divine euphoria.

You couldn't register your own blissful cry, or if you had cried at all, too lost in your senses to hear both men trilling and fawning over you while struggling to keep rhythm and control when you squeezed and milked them so well.

In the darkness behind your eyes, where their light had yet to touch, you witnessed something beyond the bounds of your mortal comprehension.

You heralded the heat death of the universe. You saw every speck of cosmic brilliance either smolder out until it lived no longer, or detonate in the grandest scenes you never believed you could be present for. Dust, fire, and energy burst throughout the swiftly collapsing ether, until all that was left were the abyssal, all-devouring voids that struggled to survive with the last of the matter they had shorn from clusters of galaxies and the stars they eventually dragged into their bottomless weasands.

When they, too, died, there was nothing. Silence, stygian darkness, not a soul nor being to be found.

Then, it all compressed. The petals of the universe themselves tucked inwards, folded over and over, packed down into a tiny dot, a speck more than anything else, where all matter was serried and reunited as one. It shrank and shrank, growing heavier, denser, hotter by the second.

You alone were the sole seer to the birth of the firmament.

You were there to descry in all glory how the heavens came to be, how the stars sparked to life, weak at first as they formed, fell, and formed again, repeating the cycle until the colossal entities became gods in their own rights. You bore the heavy weight of being testimony to the truth greater than anyone could ever picture.

You saw the coruscating fireworks of resplendent celestial bodies as they caved in on themselves, then went out with a final, grand eruption of phosphorescence. You beheld how some brought the next generation of stars, while others crumpled under the overpowering vise of the freezing vacuum of space, creating monstrosities that knew only how to consume and exist as the brightest, most refulgent beings.

And then, as the universe retreated from your perception, there was only them.

Only Satoru and Suguru, as they grit their teeth and held your hips and waist with enough pressure to ache deep in your bones, their sweaty forms halted against your own. Sweltering, liquid fire poured into your core, their cocks pulsing within your snug walls as you drained them for all they were worth and more.

Time ceased to exist immemorial. The three of you wound down, breathing each other in, simply being. Once lecherous hands glided up and down your sweat-slicked figure, unhurried now that you’d all reached the promised land together.

They were patient, giving you time to return to yourself. Soft-spoken vows and encomia, gentle petting, bringing you down from your astronomical high.

Gojo crooked his arms under your thighs, hoisting you up off of Geto’s lap. The action caused both of them to slip out of you, making you wince and whimper.

He hushed you sweetly as he set you on your side, nestling against your back with his arms looped around your waist, keeping you close. Suguru laid down in front of you, dotting kisses along your hairline, cheeks, nose, and one right on your lips.

“What brought it on?” Suguru spoke in low tones, and you felt his voice more than heard it.

“Mm?” You hummed, sleepy and confused.

“Why’d you leave the wedding?” He clarified.

You blushed, embarrassed at the reminder, now that you knew how they felt about you. “Ah, well…I, um…” You cleared your throat uncomfortably. “I saw you smile at another girl and it kinda…set me off, I guess.”

He frowned. “Smile?”

You tilted your head to hide your face, regardless of the darkness in your room. “The one that kissed your cheek.”

Satoru snorted harshly. “Oh, my god, that wasn’t a smile.”

“It wasn’t?” You blinked.

He cackled. “Hell no. I thought he was gonna blow a fuse. He looked like he’d been dropped in a vat of sap or something. Livid, I’m telling you.”

“I refrained,” Suguru insisted.

“You almost broke your teeth,” the other boy refuted.

He clicked his tongue. “It was uncomfortable. Besides, I don’t want any woman near me that isn’t our angel.”

The baby bird residing within you fluttered its wings at his words. Our. You were theirs just as they were yours.

In the afterglow of your lovemaking, as the two got comfy with you, snuggled up with you in the middle, you let your mind drift. Thoughts you fought against since the day you moved here were given the spotlight, allowed to say their pieces without you shoving them into the box under your bed.

You’ve always likened yourself to a kite.

Where once you considered yourself faded, washed out, and forever at risk of being bound to the ground, you realized something important.

As your fingers carded through Suguru’s soft, damp hair, and Satoru formed small circles under your ribs with his thumb, you noticed that the achromatic world you had lived in had been doused with color. It took you a while to see it, to fully process that the longer you stayed in this little village, the more vibrant the watercolor paints became, but they were there now, and you’d never be able to draw your eyes away from them.

Like a kite, you yearned to be free; to feel the wind under your wings and the sun on your back. You always blamed the rope that connected you to the ground for keeping that freedom away from you. It had you locked in a gilded cage, so you trimmed it further and further until you were just a kite, without any strings, without any connections to anyone or anything.

Without a home.

Upon reflection, you acknowledged that it didn’t make you free – it made you lost.

You had been lost for so long.

Then, you found them; the boys that wrapped your body in countless arms and legs, never any real beginning or end between you and them. You found these friends you made, and they all tied differently colored threads around your bamboo bones.

You let them.

You were scared when you fell, when the wind stopped blowing and you were torn from the skies, unable to follow the gales, you’d splinter beyond repair.

But, they caught you – Satoru and Suguru, together, as one.

And it clicked in your head the moment they said they wanted you, the same way you wanted them.

Being bound didn’t mean you were chained. Being tethered to them meant you could glide and soar in the sky without the fear of ever getting misled again, and the strings would guide you home when the gentle gusts calmed or the whipping tempests grew too angry.

You thought, ages ago, that you’d never be okay with being fettered to someone, or something. You had to be completely isolated, unshackled.

In truth, you just needed to find the people you wanted to share your link with. The pinkies and ankles you’d knot red threads around.

It was them all along. The Sun and Moon incarnate, with their Star held between them, all of you aloft and flying with hands clasped as a single being. There was no fear of your bond ever snapping, of any of you ever being torn away by an unforgiving storm.

Being bound meant you had a home.

And your home was with these two, with Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

Your home was here, in this village, away from anything grand and suffocating. It was here, in their arms, fingers and hearts intertwined.

You just had to get a little lost before being found.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

taglist: @kimi01985

#Tether Me #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #satosugu x reader #chimera writes

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cl3fairyyy · 9 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ routine // edward nashton x GN! reader ˎˊ˗

summary // edward has always gone through life in solitude. he has the same routine, day in and day out, and he doesn't change that for anyone. he doesn't have time for friendship and looks down on his coworkers; their shallow gossip and strained smalltalk isn't worth his time. his way of thinking is soon flipped on its head when KTMJ hires a pretty receptionist to greet him every morning before work. what starts as innocent pining (as innocent as it gets for edward, anyway), soon spirals into something more, faster than he can control. alternatively, you score a cushy receptionist gig and start crushing on your cute coworker lol.

warnings // very brief mention of healed sh scars. edward and the reader smoke- reader is GN but is described as "pretty" multiple times. eddie is a little strange in this but that is just customary for him atp lol. a little angsty but mostly fluffy coworkers to more bc eddie deserves more soft fics :c no use of y/n!!

word count // 4.5k

notes // I haven't written a fic since my wattpad days so my apologies if this isn't great </3 I have been pining after the green man for far too long and have so many ideas in my system that need to come out !! I hope Edward isn't too OOC and would love any feedback on how to write him better :)) I might do a pt 2 if anyone is interested hehe

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Edward has never found any substance in socialising at work. He has never found the tedious break room small talk and uninteresting (probably fabricated) gossip that floats around the office to be very meaningful, and for the five years that he has worked at KTMJ, he has never had so much as a conversation, let alone friendship, with any of his colleagues.

His daily routine is fairly simple: wake up, go to work, come home, eat (if he remembers), and sleep. All without interacting with anyone. Edward lies to himself, convinces himself that he prefers, even enjoys, living like this. He has crawled through this city, through this life, in solitude, and he has always been fine.

But the ache in his heart and the lump in his throat when he lies awake at night, running calloused fingers over faded scars, say otherwise.

Edward is lonely.

His mind tends to wander when he turns in bed to look out the window. He watches groups of friends, drunk and stumbling down the old, cracked streets of Gotham, their rapturous (and rather obnoxious, he thinks) laughter echoing through his open apartment window. He imagines himself drunkenly walking alongside them, sharing inside jokes and funny anecdotes that make their cheeks red with laughter, and when he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of waking up in another body, another life, where he simply belongs.

He wakes up on a day like any other, in his cold, empty apartment, alone. He begins his routine, shoving a piece of expired bread in the toaster as he neatens his tie and pulls on his loafers. He is happy with this routine. He eats alone at the table, checking his watch, mindful of the 8:15 bus. He leaves his apartment and catches the bus just as it arrives at his stop. The driver, an older lady, offers him a smile. He keeps his head down. He is happy with this routine. He enters the office earlier than usual, hoping to get in some extra work to avoid staying any later than he must. He is happy with-

He pauses.

The receptionist, a woman far too old to not be retired, does not greet him with the flick of her pen as she completes the morning crossword.

The routine is disrupted.

His coworkers are crowded around his boss' door, straining to see through the tiny window separating "us" from "them." Edward's mind is clouded with confusion as he catches the eye of one of his colleagues, a man named Will, a man he can't stand, a man who acquired his position (as Edward's supervisor) straight out of college, through daddy's money and connections.

The routine is disrupted.

"Word is that we have a new receptionist." He fills Edward in. Edward wonders if he only tells him this through some feeling of obligation, rather than wanting to share the latest office gossip with him. He simply nods, making his way to his desk.

Back to the routine.

After possibly the most intimidating introduction to a boss you have ever experienced, you are given a brief tour of your new office and shown to your new desk. You are given your new tasks and set to work on your new job.

To be honest, it isn't entirely difficult. You are certainly overqualified, but you can't complain about being paid above minimum wage, in Gotham, in your twenties, for such a simple job. You remember reading that the best way to make a good first impression at a new job is to introduce yourself to your new colleagues, and, despite the anxiety welling in your throat, you put on a bright smile and set off to do just that.

For the most part, your colleagues are nice, a bit bored, but they seem interested in you and that surely must be a start, right?

The girl whose desk you're currently standing in front of (her name is Kate, you think?) perks up suddenly, seemingly remembering something. She gestures for you to sit next to her, and you do just that.

"You seem nice. Like, really nice. But you seem like the kind of person who is so nice that it borders on naiveté." You tilt your head in confusion but nod for her to continue. "I want you to, y'know, actually have a chance of fitting in here. So let me give you some advice."

She glances around inconspicuously before lowering her voice and tilting her head back ever so subtly. "That guy over there. Glasses. Yeah- okay, try not to make it so obvious that I'm talking about him. Don't bother trying to get a word out of him. The guy doesn't talk to anyone, and believe me, we have tried getting him to. I don't know if he's shy or thinks he's better than us or what, but he seriously is, like, mute. All he does is come to work and go home. He even eats his lunch at his desk."

You try and mimic her subtlety, glancing up to catch a glimpse at the desk tucked neatly in the corner, and you're met with eyes behind glasses staring right back at you. You quickly look away, your cheeks burning at the embarrassment of being caught talking about someone.

She smiles sympathetically at you.

"I know this schtick you've got going on. Introducing yourself to the office so that we all like you."

She snorts at your expression and continues.

"Hey, chill out. It's seriously endearing. I was the exact same when I started and, to be fair, it seems to be working for you. I just don't want you to get offended or anything trying to talk to Edward over there, and getting nothing out of him, y'know?"

You offer Kate a grateful smile and rise from your seat.

"Thanks for the warning. I think I'd like to at least say hi to him anyway."

All she offers you is a shrug, as if saying, "don't say I didn't warn you," as you wander over to Edward's desk.

You smile at him, introducing yourself and holding out your hand to shake. Okay, he's actually pretty cute up close, you think, with big green eyes concealed by glasses that have slipped slightly down his faintly freckled nose. He meets your enthusiasm with a blank stare and a readjustment of his glasses, and your shoulders deflate a little.

"You're, uh, you're Edward, right? That's what it says on your name tag, anyway."

Silence.

You giggle nervously.

"Well, I- anyway, I'm the new receptionist. I'm really happy to be working with you."

You're surprised at the sincerity in your tone, and Edward must be too, because you swear you notice his stoic expression falter for a second.

Your hand begins to shake as it remains in front of his face, and the air grows thick with awkwardness. It feels like every single pair of eyes in the office is on the both of you. You begin to retract your hand when Edward gingerly reaches forward and shakes it limply. His bored expression doesn't change as he does so.

"Likewise."

With that single word uttered, he carries on typing away at his computer, completely ignoring you. Your legs seem to work at their own volition as they carry you back to your desk, your cheeks pink.

Unbeknownst to you, Edward has been observing your every move since you stepped out of the boss' office. His desk is at the perfect angle, giving him a direct view of your own, and he had watched you approach all of your colleagues to give your little introduction speech. He had seen you chatting discreetly with Kate, and he had caught you peeking up to look at him. He had figured Kate had warned you to steer clear of him, and the thought had made his stomach sink.

He thought you were very pretty, and since he had first caught a passing glimpse of you, his mind instantly had began to wander to thoughts of him approaching your desk, introducing himself confidently and charming you all within your first interaction.

He had shaken his head at that, embarrassed by his little fantasy. He has never known the feeling of confidence in his life, and he had quickly resigned himself to thinking that you would be yet another coworker he would never interact with, besides a quick "good morning," and "good night," at the beginning and end of each day.

The routine continues, and he is happy with that.

The routine continues until it doesn't, until you meekly approach his desk and smile at him, and oh God up close you are so much prettier, he thinks, and then you're extending your hand for him to shake, that same dimpled smile on your face fading when he doesn't even acknowledge the action.

Of course he manages to make you uncomfortable within the first five seconds of interacting with him. Before his mind can catch up with his body, he is shaking your hand and uttering the first word he has spoken in this office in a long time.

He instantly has to break the intense eye contact he has held with you, pretending to type numbers into his computer, praying the colour of his cheeks doesn't betray him.

When you walk away he feels guilty, he wishes he could will you back to his desk so he could play off his awkwardness as a joke, so he could pretend he is someone much cooler and much more interesting than Edward Nashton.

But he can't.

He has to watch you walk away, back to your desk, your head down to hide your embarrassment.

When 5pm hits, you stand from your desk, stretching. God, that spinny chair does something awful for your back. You're packing up your things when Edward passes your desk. You offer him a smile as you wish him goodnight, fully expecting him to ignore you.

Instead, he pauses and turns to give you a small nod before exiting the building and all of a sudden it feels like your face is on fire and your heart is pounding like you've just ran a marathon.

Oh no.

Of course you get a crush on your first day, and of course it has to be on the one person in the building that has uttered one singular word to you.

You lie awake that night, tossing and turning in bed as thoughts of your colleague cloud your mind. Sure, you've always had a thing for nerdy guys, but nerdy guys who have a reputation around your office for being a complete recluse? Seriously?

But he had spoken to you, he had acknowledged your existence. So what the hell does that mean? You sigh, rubbing your eyes before popping a melatonin. Your mind is racing a thousand miles a minute and you know there is no way you're getting to sleep otherwise.

Edward's mind swarms with thoughts of you as he lies in bed, willing himself to fall asleep. He picks up his phone, reading the time, and sighs, opening up your social media page for seemingly the thousandth time that night.

He has already scrolled through your entire account, has already studied every single photo and video you have posted until he has them memorised. He swipes through pictures of you at bars with your friends, videos of you dancing on vacation with tan lines and pink cheeks, and the countless selfies you have with your dog on your page.

He imagines you introducing him to your friend group and him befriending them over drinks in your favourite bar. He imagines taking you away on lavish trips to Europe, Asia, South America, all the places you have on the bucket list posted on your profile. He imagines a domestic life built together, sharing an apartment with you and your dog, and he falls asleep with an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, hope rushing through his veins for the first time in a long time.

Over the next few months, you grow closer with your colleagues- close to the point that you even see them outside of office hours. Close to the point that, when deadlines are met and the entire office throws a party to celebrate, Kate always manages to convince you to tag along. Close to the point that, after a long week, you and the small circle of friends you have made go out for drinks to unwind- and you have even found yourself inviting your other coworkers to join you.

All of your coworkers, except one.

The guilt consumes you every time you pack up to leave, smiling and laughing with your colleagues, when you catch a glimpse of Edward hunched over his monitor, ready to log even more hours of overtime. You have always considered inviting him along, but the only words he ever utters to you are quiet greetings every morning and the occasional "good night," when he leaves the office before you do. You don't even know if he likes you.

You certainly like him.

You're sure the blush on your face is undeniable every time you accidentally lock eyes with him when you swivel absentmindedly in your chair, or when you hand him his mail (which is rare for him to receive, you've noticed). You always try and find excuses to talk to him, and every time you do, you're left stumbling over your words and pink in the cheeks while he remains completely unfazed, unbothered and silent.

You're determined to at least invite him for drinks. At any rate, if he says no, you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that you tried to develop some kind of friendship with him (while secretly hoping for more).

It is such an easy task, one you have discussed frequently with your coworkers many a time, who have repeatedly encouraged you to offer an invitation to Edward- so you don't understand why it feels like lead weights have been tied to your feet and sandpaper has dried out your mouth when you mentally prepare yourself to go and speak to the infamous office recluse. 'It's no big deal! It's just drinks with colleagues!' you remind yourself, but the rapid beating of your heart does nothing to comfort you.

You finally internally berate yourself enough to stand up and, as casually as you can, wander over to Edward's desk, a friendly smile on your face. Your shadow over his desk forces him to acknowledge you.

You clear your throat somewhat awkwardly before saying with as much (casual) enthusiasm as you can muster, "me and some of the others are gonna head out for drinks pretty soon. We'd love for you to come!"

You notice his eyes subtly squint behind his glasses as he sizes you up, before shaking his head, his gaze flickering back down to his monitor.

"Can't. Got some messy paperwork here that needs correcting, and it can't wait until Monday."

Your smile falters slightly and you manage to nod in understanding. "That sucks. We would've really liked you there. I wouldn't want it to eat up too much of your evening, so I won't keep you from it. Have a nice weekend, Edward!"

His head lifts at your mention of his name, and when you smile at him, turning to leave, he clears his throat. quietly

"I'm, ah, I'm sorry about that. Maybe some other time..."

You nod in agreement, giving him one last smile before heading out with your colleagues. Oh well. At least you tried.

Edward screams at himself internally for being stupid enough to turn you down, for having so much work on his plate that he has to reject an offer to spend time with you. His logic tries to argue with him that you are just a distraction from his greater plans, but for the first time in his life, he finds himself listening to his heart rather than his head.

The routine is disrupted.

The following Monday, instead of clocking in at 8:30am, Edward finds himself in the office at 7:45 that morning to begin his work day. When you enter the building (earlier than usual, he notes), you manage to shake off the shock of seeing anyone else here at this time, and give Edward a little wave.

You sigh as you sink into your chair, lazily replying to the emails that have piled up over the weekend. While this cushy job has its benefits, God, the actual work is boring.

You catch yourself repeatedly turning subtly in your chair to watch Edward work. Even though he's so far away, you recognise that concentrated look he has on his face when a particularly messy set of fraudulent taxes have him stumped. Before you can register what you're doing, you're walking across the empty office right up to his desk and Jesus, your hands are sweaty as hell.

You manage to discreetly wipe them on your slacks before he looks up at you, his stressed expression all the greeting you need to begin talking. "I know we usually say good morning at my desk, but you were clocked in even earlier than me this morning." Your sentence ends with an anxious giggle, and when he narrows his eyes in confusion, you continue. "I, um, couldn't help but notice that you looked a little stressed... can I get you something to help? Water, coffee, anything? I'm all finished catching up on my emails so..."

You trail off a little awkwardly and you swear you see Edward's lip quirk up in a tiny smile before returning to his usual poker face. You mentally slap yourself for expecting to get anything out of him; it's not even 9am and you've already annoyed him. Great.

"If it's really no bother... I take my coffee black, one sugar. Thank you."

He says the last part quietly, looking down. You smile, and head for the break room to get his drink, your hands shaking giddily. You have somehow gotten more words out of him in five months than any of your colleagues have in five years. You see that as a win.

Edward sees it as the complete opposite. His brain is in chaos trying to focus on work but constantly wandering back to new daydreams of you. Daydreams of living together in your shared apartment, where you make him coffee every morning and bring it to him in bed. He can't help admiring you from afar, the way your well (tight) fitting slacks cling to you in the best way, and he has to physically rest his head on his desk to remind himself of where he is before his thoughts get too carried away.

You place the styrofoam cup down in front of Edward and he nods gratefully. You take a sip from your own cup, watching him work, before you realise you're being weird, still lingering around his desk like some creep. You cough awkwardly. "I'm, uh, going to go sit back down now, let you get back to it. I hope the coffee isn't too gross."

It's perfect, Edward thinks as he watches you wander back to your desk, and well after 5pm, when everyone has left, he fishes through the trash can uncer your desk and retrieves your styrofoam cup from that morning, placing it in a ziplock bag and taking it home with him.

This is Edward's new routine. He comes into work early every day and sits in the empty office, doing as much work as he can so that he can muster up the courage to one day, finally join you after work instead of being swamped with tasks. For weeks, every Friday, you invite him to come drink with your little group, and every Friday he finds some flimsy excuse to flake on you, anxiety tightening his throat and dampening his forehead.

You begin thinking you must be bothering him- he hasn't once accepted your invitation, and you tell yourself after each awkward encounter, 'this is the last time.' Yet, each week, you find yourself stood at his desk, legs trembling and mouth dry, anticipating rejection.

Until, one Friday in late February, he gives you an awkward smile, shuffling the mess of papers on his desk.

"I, ah, managed to wrap up these returns... I'll come along, if you want me to."

You can barely believe your ears, and your shock must be evident because Edward begins to flush under your gaze. You clear your throat, a bright smile on your face as you bounce on the balls of your feet. "Oh, that's great! We're ready to leave when you are."

Your small group bursts out of the office, your noses red from the February chill. You notice Edward lagging behind a little, and slow your pace to walk alongside him.

"I'm really glad you took us up on our offer finally. We found this sweet little hole in the wall bar only a little way from here, and happy hour lasts until 9 on Fridays." You grin at him. "I know I don't know much about you, but I really think you'll like it. The vibes are super chill, and they play some decent music. You like The Cure, right?"

Edward tilts his head curiously, and you flush as you scramble to explain yourself, so you don’t come off as an actual stalker.

"I, just, um... I could hear you listening to them last week when I came into work early."

He smiles, and the sincerity of it makes your knees go wobbly.

"Yeah, hah, I- um- listened to them a lot when I was young. I guess I never really grew out of it." He chuckles nervously, fiddling with the strap of his work bag.

You find a booth in the corner, and your group crams in, sharing the latest office gossip and complaining about how heavy the workload has been recently. You find yourself sat next to Edward and you smile at him as you settle back into the cracked vinyl of the booth, sipping your drink.

"I can't imagine coming into a bar and ordering water after how much you've worked this week. How are you not halfway through a bottle of whiskey right now?" You laugh lightly, beginning to feel pleasantly buzzed. Edward readjusts his glasses and thanks God that the red LED lights hide his pink cheeks. "I'm not really a big drinker... I prefer to be in control of my actions." He pauses, eyeing you clutching your drink in his peripheral vision, before clearing his throat. "N- not that there's anything wrong with drinking. I just, uh, have never really been a fan. I don't think it tastes very nice."

You giggle, slapping his arm lightly. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, Edward. I was only kidding."

After an hour or two, and a few more cocktails, the bar begins to liven up a little. Most of your friends have gotten up to dance, but you ignore them, deep in conversation with Edward about Gotham's current political climate.

"I thought I was the only one! Seriously, that shitbag of a mayor gets nowhere near enough criticism. They're corrupt, the lot of them, and I can only hope they get what's coming to-"

You pause, realising Edward is distracted. He fidgets with the sleeve of his jacket while rapidly bouncing his knee up and down, and you notice him cringing at the volume of the music.

You lean forward, resting a hand on his arm, your voice quiet as you whisper in his ear, "wanna go for a smoke?"

Your voice is a lovely contrast to the music blaring from the speaker, Edward thinks, and he can smell your perfume with you in such close proximity. It's sweet and flowery, and he wishes he could have you this close to him forever.

He nods, quickly standing and leading you out of the packed bar. The cold air hits you like a slap in the face as you make your exit, and you immediately regret leaving your jacket on your seat as you hug yourself, trying to stay warm under the broken heat lamps.

Edward fishes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and holds it out to you. You smile gratefully, plucking one from the box and holding it between your teeth. Your freezing hands tremble, fumbling the lighter in your hands, and you groan in frustration as the wind keeps blowing the flame out. Edward watches you from the corner of his eye and chuckles lightly, a newfound wave of confidence surging through him.

"Want a hand?"

You sigh, shutting your eyes and nodding in defeat. Edward laughs again, and it is a lovely sound; his laugh has an almost falsetto quality to it, and you can't help but smile back at him, your cheeks warm.

Edward takes the lighter from you, his other hand reaching to cup over your own, protecting your lips from the biting wind as he lights your cigarette for you.

It is such a simple action. 'There's nothing behind it!' you think, but it holds such an undeniable sense of intimacy. His warm hand lingers on yours, warming your entire body, and he doesn't break your gaze when he finally pulls away to light his own cigarette.

The two of you stand in silence for several moments, watching the smoke you breathe out dance into the night sky, disappearing from view. You feel so relaxed around him, and you turn your head to watch him study the night sky, his eyes darting this way and that before landing on you. He smiles shyly.

"I had a nice time tonight. I... honestly wasn't expecting to."

He notices your face fall slightly before he quickly continues. "I wouldn't usually call this kind of place my thing, but... I found myself really enjoying myself. The company certainly didn't hurt."

You smile at that, and he eagerly returns it.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but... I'd like to take you out sometime. Just me and you, away from all the noise."

Edward can hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth, and he's convinced he's dreaming. The smile on your face only grows.

"You mean, like a date?"

The redness of his cheeks deepens, and he nods, his knees feeling weak. You begin jotting something down in your notepad before pressing a folded-up piece of paper into his hand, blowing a plume of smoke just past his face. He can almost taste the nicotine and tequila on your lips as you lean towards him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm looking forward to it."

With that, you flick your cigarette on the floor and turn on your heel, heading back into the bar. Edward unfolds the slip of paper to be met with the phone number he has had memorised since your first day working at KTMJ five months ago.

The routine is disrupted.

#dano riddler #dano riddler x reader #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #paul dano #riddler 2022 #riddler x you #batman 2022 #edward nashton x you #riddler x reader #danonation #danocel #the batman 2022 #the riddler

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straykidshoe · 11 months ago

Text

Talk to me ?

PAIRINGS: Lee Minho x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Mature (Smut)

MUSIC: Aquainted by The Weeknd

CONTAINS: College au, enemies to lovers

SMUT WARNINGS: Oral (f recieving), heavy groping, phone sex (she's on the phone whilst getting some.), squirting, Minho being innocent bad boy. please message me if i misseed anything.

WORD COUNT: 2,969

A/N: Numero 2! bad boy with a heart of gold lee know is a weakness of mine. Please send some love for my work <333

You always hated Lee Know, the confident asshole would always sit on your right- always on your fucking right. Be it in class, or in the library where you were trying to study-anywhere you were trying to have some peace and quiet- there he was. With his gang of troublemakers, covered in tattoos and deliciously styled in a way that made you secretly clench your thighs together.

But you could never let him know, you just had to grind your teeth and let him do what he wanted because what could you do? It was a public space, anyone could do whatever they wanted as long as they were quiet. So you opted to ignore him, trying not to let his dangerous pull ensnare you, like many of his other victims.

That was until the day your teacher had asked you and him to stay back, it was a tuesday.. Phycology 101. And there he was- standing in front of the teacher’s desk, head turned back lazily, an expectant look in his eyes whilst you packed your bag- taking your own sweet ass time. Slowly you reached your professor, a sweet woman who would always give you a shiny A+ on every assignment, like every other course teacher you had.

‘-I need you to tutor him.’ You had tuned out the rest of the sentence your professor was saying, mainly because you were definitely not staring at the man next to you- how does someone so annoying have such a pretty side profile..Wait what?

‘Tutor..him?’ you pointed at Minho who was smirking at you,

‘Yes Miss Y/N. Will it be a problem?’ Your teacher was looking at you with such kind eyes, and who were you to say no to someone, a professor no less.

‘I would be happy to Miss.’ You said through your fake smile, your teeth had begun to dry out with how long your face had been fixed in the position.

‘Lovely! I’ll let you two discuss the details-’ She clapped her hands together before shifting her gaze to Minho, ‘-And you, I want to see a real improvement. You’re doing so well in your other classes, so it shouldn’t be too hard. Especially with such a wonderful teacher.’ Your teacher grinned at you, ‘Off you go now, my next class is about to begin!’

As you walked down the crowded hallways of the science block, you were trying to ignore the large presence following you around, hoping that with the many twists and turns you took- he would get the picture and leave you alone.

Soon enough you had reached the girls dormitory, the old vintage architecture always made you calm and serene, imagining the fancy women with beautiful dresses roaming the sidewalks when the university didn’t exist. How badly you wanted to be like them, rich and powerful so effortlessly..

‘Ahem, Ahem’ The coughing noise made you stop in your tracks, you hardly noticed Minho following you, assuming he would stop tailing you like a lost dog. Groaning underneath your breath, you turned on your heel,

‘What?’ You supported your books on one hand as you flipped your hair off your shoulder,

‘Well, when are you free?’ He shoved his hands into his pockets, swaying on the sole of his shoes. God you hated the way his hair billowed out, like a fucking cotton candy- how badly you wanted to take a stick and just-

‘Here- take my number, text me later.’ Once again his movements created an obstacle in your train of thought as he took a pen out of your open pouch and scrawled a few digits onto a scrap piece of paper sticking out from your notebook, placing the pen back in its position- he reached out and tucked a strand of stray hair behind your ear, ‘Don’t miss me too much sweetheart’ You flinched away from his touch, the pads of his fingers against your skin causing a spark of electricity to travel through you.

‘I won’t’, you gritted out from behind your teeth as you watched his retreating figure stop in front of the boys dormitory and begin conversation with one of his friends, ‘Asshole..’ you pushed the door open and sighed as the air conditioned foyer welcomed you in from the heat. Opening the small chit of paper he rested on top of the stack of books in your arm, you sat down on the common room couch. Quickly, you typed in the number into your phone- wanting to get any sense of him away from your person as swiftly as possible. Throwing away the chit in a nearby trash can, you started the treacherous trek of climbing around 5 flights of stairs to your dorm.

It was later the same day, and you had texted the devil himself to meet you in your dorm to begin classes. Since your last meeting with him, you had changed out of your white sweater and black skirt into some old night shorts and a spaghetti strap, along with switching out your contacts with a pair of glasses- but you kept your hair done, a long ponytail adorned with a purple bow clipped on at the rubber band. Lord knows how long that took you in the morning.

Around 6pm, there was a knock on your door- and there he was, in all of his glorious asshole-ness. One arm leaning on the top of your doorframe, another loosely holding onto the strap of his bag- he wore a long black top with grey sweatpants…

Of course he owns grey sweatpants, would he be your most stunning nightmare if he didn’t?

‘Can I come in, or do you need more time to eye-fuck me?’ He smiled at your stunned expression, removing his hand from the doorframe to step closer to you- scanning your face with a piercing gaze.

‘Whatever..’ Clearing your throat, you took a step away from him- giving him space to enter your room. You close the door, keeping your hand on the cold metal doorknob hoping that it will cool down the heat that had swept over your body. Maybe you should open a window?

‘You can sit there for now, next time we’ll meet up in the library,’ A hum of acknowledgement came from behind you. You made your way to the man who was now making himself comfortable on your plush bed, ‘Nice room princess, very.. clean’ he drawled as you sat in front of him and the open textbook in between you both- you scoffed at his comment, ‘Thanks, I guess.’

You brought your own book onto your lap, starting off with the very basics, ‘The first topic in our syllabus is the problem of intuition- it's pretty simple. Look’ You took a highlighter and began to explain meticulously every word in front of him, making sure to stop and answer his questions- if he had any.

This same stop and start procedure kept going for about 1 hour, and Minho was doing surprisingly well, he was attentive, asked all the right questions and answered yours with perfection every single time.

Though, you did catch him looking at you instead of the textbook. But that was a coincidence. That’s what you told yourself the last 4 times it happened,

‘Are you even listening to me?’ you asked him, annoyance evident in your tone, looking up at him from your hunched position over the very neon yellow highlighted text.

‘Yes, obviously I am listening to you Y/N’ He responded, equally annoyed,

‘Well, it doesn’t look like it.’ You straightened your back- squinting your eyes at him.

‘What is your problem with me?’ he threw his hands up, before crossing them over his chest- leaning back against your headboard, ‘I don’t talk to you, and you're annoyed with me. I talk to you, somehow I'm the asshole. What have I even done to you?’ He asked, accusation dripping from his words.

You climbed off the bed, ‘Because..’ you trailed off, for once in your life, you were at a loss for words, ‘Because you annoy me.’

‘Wow, and here I was thinking that you’re smart.’

‘Rude, it’s just-’ it was your turn to fling your arms in the air, ‘You’re annoying. You always pick at my hair, always make fun of my clothes. So, I just started being equally mean to you’

He gaped at you, ‘Firstly, I don’t pick at your hair- it was one time, and I was complimenting you,’ He brought one finger up, like he was checking off boxes in his mind, ‘And secondly, I have never made fun of your clothes- I think you look nice in them.’ he brought up the second finger, before looking back up at you.

‘Yeah, sure,’ you placed you hands on your hips, scrunching up the soft cotton material adorning your body, ‘Whenever you talk to me, you just use the same cheap pick-up lines that you use on all of the other girls you fuck’

His eyes widened in understanding, ‘You’re..jealous’

‘No- no I am not jealous.’ You aren't jealous, you were never that type to get jealous, especially over a guy you never had, ‘You’re just excruciatingly- Ugh’ you groaned, burying your head into your palms, ‘Forget it- where were we..’

You tried to clamber back onto the bed, but he was in your way- standing in front of you, following the steps you took trying to go around him, ‘Move, we still have another half of the-’ you stopped mid sentence when he crooked his index finger under your chin, guiding your head up to meet his eyes, ‘W-what are you doing..’

‘Just admit that you’re jealous.. And I’ll give you what you want’ he smirks, dragging his lips over your cheek- leaving a burning path in their wake. Holy shit.

Your breath hitches, ‘I will do no such thing,’ you were going for firm, but whatever just came out of your mouth was breathless, whiny. Just what he wanted.

‘Come on Princess, I know you want to..’ he had moved to your ear, nibbling on the soft cartilage. Just when you were teetering on the edge of succumbing to his mind games, your phone rang- the ringtone echoing around both of you.

You cursed under your breath- it was 7:30, your father always calls you at 7:30. On a tuesday. And if you didn’t pick up, there would be a heap of messages for you to answer in the next 10 minutes.

You rushed over to your phone, sliding the call button over and holding it up to your ear, ‘Hey dad…’ you looked up to Minho who was boring holes into your face, you held your finger up to your lips- narrowing your eyes at him when he approached you at your desk.

You stifle a gasp when he connects his lips to your neck, sucking and biting at the skin- teasing it between his teeth, ‘Yeah, nothing- nothings wrong. How’s mum?’ you mumble into the phone, before rolling your eyes back when he drags one strap off your shoulder, planting a kiss onto the sensitive skin.

You hear him snicker against your shoulder before doing the same to the other side, you shoot daggers down at him. Trying to will him to stop before you end up giving your father a very inappropriate memory- but the man doesn’t get the message and pulls your tank top up from the hem, stopping just below your breasts.

Exposing your stomach and shoulders to the chilly air in your room, whilst keeping your breasts covered by the remaining fabric, Minho gets down on his knees in front of you- looking up into your hooded eyes, looking for any signs of inhibition- but all he can see are your cheeks flushed with colour and blown out pupils.

Painfully slow, he brought his face closer to your stomach- leaving wet kisses everywhere. Man, he is such a fucking tease. You lean back, resting your ass on the side of your desk whilst your free hand grips the wood so hard it looks like it’s about to crack; lolling you head up, you felt your brain getting fuzzy so much so that you almost missed what your father was saying on the other end of the phone, ‘Hmm, what dad? No, no I am not distracted. No please don’t go get mum- dad!’ you groan heavily as the familiar hold music blares into your ear.

You gaze down at Minho, snarling when he starts drag his fingers around the waistband of your shorts- cupping your hand over the microphone, you bring your head low enough so you can hiss, ‘Don’t you fucking dare..’

He shoots you a cheeky grin before roughly pulling them down your legs, he pushes you further into the desk- forcing you to sit on the smooth dark wood. Just as you were about to curse at the personified version of horny, your mother’s shrill voice screeches out of the speaker, ‘Darling, your father tells me you don’t sound well. Should we come by to visit?’ You open your mouth to answer, just as Minho leaves an open mouth kiss on your panties- just over your leaking sex.

You bite your knuckle as your parents continue to bombard you with unrecognisable words, honestly. You couldn’t care less about whatever your parents were going on about when Lee fucking Know was in between your legs kissing the sensitive part of your thighs, teasing you to the point where there was now a visible dark patch on the crotch of your underwear.

‘Mhm yea sure mum, you can come by tomorrow. No I am not trying to get rid of you- no mother I still love you-’ you hold the phone away from your ear so that you are not subjected to the shrieks of your beloved parents.

You glance back down at Minho who was now prodding the wet cotton with his finger, he curled an eyebrow up at you. And as much as you wanted to tell him, ‘No you beautiful bastard, I do not want you to finger me senseless whilst I am on the phone to my parents,’ you just whimpered and nodded you head down at him- sighing in relief when he pushed your underwear to the side and sunk his long, middle finger until the knuckle.

‘Y/N? Y/N can you hear me, see I told you- we should never have let her stay in the dorms.’ You grit your teeth as your mother threw around these accusations.

Sighing in frustration you cut the call- deciding to deal with the ramifications later, you moaned out loud when he curled his finger upward, ‘Please..’ Minho wretched his gaze away from your dripping cunt, ‘Please what sweetheart? Gotta tell me what you want..’ he smirked up at you, damn him and his smirk, sighing in frustration you gripped his soft strands and whispered out into the silence, ‘Want you to finger me senseless, then fuck me into oblivion’ you smiled down at his stunned expression, before choking on a moan when he added a second finger into you- providing you with a sinful stretch.

‘Well, well, well. All it takes is me fucking you senseless? Shoulda told me that earlier, dirty little slut..’ he breathes out a chuckle against your pubic hair as he drags himself up to your face, keeping his fingers stuffed within you.

Slotting himself between your legs, he connects both your lips into a messy, heated kiss- you felt his tongue caress yours poisoning you with the sweetest venom. Pulling away, you groan when his fingers start moving at a brutal pace- gripping his loose shirt, you slip your hands underneath, revelling in the small divots and bumps his toned stomach contain, ‘Holy shit-’ you gasp out resting your head on Minho’s shoulder,

‘Nuh uh, want you to keep your eyes on me when you cum around my fingers..’ you loll your head up, before reaching the tight fabric around your breasts down, exposing them to his ferocious gaze- bringing one of your hands off your desk, you roll your perky nipple between the pads of your thumb and index finger, ‘Fuck Fuck- Minho please, please lemme cum. Wanna cum for you..’ you babble incoherent sentences against his lips, praying to whichever god is willing to answer you that he lets you cum, ‘Oh God..’ you bite down on his lip, revelling in his deep moan when you draw the smallest amount of blood.

He pulls away, ‘Not God, baby- Lee Minho’ his deep growl paired with him harshly pressing the heel of his palm against your clit sends you off the edge, like a rubber band pulled to taut. You snap. It feels like you're on cloud 9, you sag against him- twitching and breathing heavily; you feel wrung out of all energy.

Until Minho uses his thumb to roll your puffy clit underneath the pad of his large finger, ‘Shit-’ you jerk up, rutting and rolling your hips into his harsh movements, ‘Ngh, No- no stop. It hurts..’ You whimper loudly, he ignores your cries when he feels your walls clamping down on his fingers; bringing his mouth up to your ear, ‘Imagine how good my cock would feel inside you..’ he pistons his fingers inside of you, curling them up- finding the spongy place inside of you that catapults you out of the heavens and straight to hell. You convulse around his fingers strongly, whining when you feel your thighs sprayed with liquid, ‘Jesus christ sweetheart.’ He trails off, you try to open your eyes but slump down onto your desk- resting your back against the cool surface, you laugh into the heavy air when he mutters, ‘Should’ve got you to talk to me sooner..’

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darcytaylor · 27 days ago

Note

You may be tired of this discourse and in that case, feel free to skip this lol, but I was thinking about some things today after rewatching S3 and seeing the new pap attack on N&JD and Tom H getting fed up with Zendaya being swarmed by fans, and I was thinking, what would I do if I was in their position or I was the normie partner of a celebrity? Like, I can't even imagine dealing with something like that, but if I had to, what would I do?

I was also thinking about why I was really put off by A's latest photo dump and I've come to some realizations. I was aware of her existence early on but I wasn't deep into the fandom until May, so I wasn't phased by the stuff with her and L that came out after. I didn't look into her much because frankly I wasn't interested and I was very vocal about people giving her grace or barring that, at least ignoring her. I felt like whatever she did, the fandom would find a way to hold it against her, so she might as well live her life. That is why when people spoke of her "playing SM games", I scoffed at it and interpreted her posts as typical GenZ SM activity. But that started to change for me when she posted those two stories where she literally bent over backwards to show us that L was her phone background, and resurfaced again with the latest summer dump, where she went out of her way to post parallel photos with L when he'd made every effort to make this paid-for promo as free of any hints to his private life as possible. And I started to think, why would she do that, especially if it was a sponsored post (which, mind you, is still up), which he would be expected to be professional about? If I was the partner of a celebrity and they clearly wanted us to be private, and made every effort to make it so, why, out of everything I could be posting, would I post things that would be sure to rile up a trigger-happy fandom and heap further hate onto my partner? Why, after everything that's happened, would someone do that? The only reason I can think of is - they care more about the attention they're getting from being with that person than the person's actual wellbeing.

Both him and his entire friend group changed their posting behavior post-Sorrento. Everyone... Except A. Now, I don't know what goes on in her comment sections, I don't go there nor do I wish to, so I don't know what she might be responding to with her posts. However, when everyone else in their circle has pulled back and learned lessons about fame and unhinged stalker behavior, why hasn't she? I used to make the argument of, well, she's a model and dancer, and therefore she has to maintain an SM presence to book jobs. Yet... These kinds of posts - the hints, the random limbs, the implied company, the specific timing and locations... These are things that contribute nothing to her professional aspirations. Most of them are empty landscapes and very generic photos without her in it. There's no purpose to them other than to maintain a back-and-forth with a small but captive audience that's build up around her. I now realize that I got this all wrong because to me, desiring and actively seeking out attention or fame is an alien concept - I don't understand why anyone would. But something about watching Portia say "my girl" to Pen after her speech and then remembering that that's exactly what A's mom commented on the papgate pics made me realize that I need to look at this from the POV of her having gone on a talent show and having a dad who's a DJ and how chasing fame (or in A's case, it's moreso notoriety) might not just be normalized, but perhaps even the "done thing" in her household. If my mom saw me plastered all over the tabloids with me and my partner looking freaked out and miserable, I'd really take issue with her if that was her reaction. What about that sordid incident was to be celebrated??? I understand now why so many people felt strongly it had been staged.

So now that my lens has shifted, I've been analyzing her actions from the POV of - what if they're calculated? And while L isn't entirely without fault here, he has course-corrected, so what's her endgame here? Both of their careers seem to have suffered. If I'm not mistaken, she used to be able to book better gigs, and while the Hollywood downturn is something that is happening, one has to wonder if all of this drama hasn't impacted L's ability to book roles, especially when compared to his costars' bookedness and busyness.

I was also thinking about all the WT-related events that she awkwardly tagged along to and what I would've done if I was in a situation like that, getting bombarded with hate from strangers over my very existence, but I liked the person and I wanted to stay with them. And honestly? I wouldn't have gone. Or at the very least, I would've been as discreet as possible. And while it's clear that it's L who had to invite her and he's the one who waffled on launching her until someone else did it for him, she could've conducted herself differently and at least flown under the radar more. Yet she elected to be photographed on red carpets, stepping out of cars with his family, knowing that people would pay attention to that group of people. What did she think would happen? That the public would swoon over her, someone with very little to her name? And it's like, at this point, she could stop. She should stop. L, R, S all have, to the best of my knowledge. But she can't seem to help herself. She had to make it known that she was in Spain with him, and for a second time, too. At this point I can no longer reasonably attribute these patterns of behavior to her age or inexperience. She's not changing her ways because she's feeding off of this. I mostly wasn't paying attention, but I was also naive, because I don't think like people who desire fame think. I just wonder where L is at with all of this and why he's going along with it still, is it rose-colored glasses? Does he feel guilty for everything that's transpired? Is he now stubborn and feeling petty, so he'll keep indulging her and trolling the fandom by proxy?

I was thinking about how there are so many celebrities whose partners I couldn't pick out of a lineup - I know they exist, but they aren't front and center. Some even have rabid female fanbases, yet they've managed to keep their private lives on the DL. I couldn't tell you what David Tennant's wife looks like, or Dan Stevens', or Jamie Dornan's, to name a few. There are actors who have been with their partners for a long time but almost never take them to events and they're still fine. So, I don't know if N&L landed in the spotlight too late in life so they still think of themselves as regular people and couldn't really anticipate this, but in A's case, given everything I know about her now, I'm honestly done giving her the benefit of the doubt. My biggest question now is - why does L continue to? And for how long? Is he complicit in these games or does it not even occur to him that's what they are, like in my case? I guess if we don't look too closely at things, we can't see them for what they are.

Anyway, I hope you're having a fun rewatch like I did and I hope our faves are safe and happy and DM burns to the ground, amen.

I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to respond to this ask because I was concerned it might add unnecessary drama to this whole situation. However, I thought about it and realised that you seem to be approaching this with a lot of empathy and depth, which I really appreciate. Your long, drawn-out paragraphs (which I definitely appreciate!) tell me you’ve put a lot of reflection into this.

You raise some interesting points about navigating a relationship with a public figure, especially when the partner isn’t someone in the public eye (and maybe they want to be and their family wants it for them as well). It’s understandable to wonder what someone would do in that position, especially when you see posts that seem to clash with the other's desire for privacy. Something about it feels like it's part of a social media game - or even a subtle taunting of the fans/fandom.

I do like that you questioned if it could be Antonia being Gen Z and that it might just be part of that always-online mentality, where sharing life moments (even indirectly) is natural, without considering public repercussions. But at the same time, if you’re dating a public figure who wants privacy, it would make sense to be more mindful. Part of being in the public eye is knowing that people will observe your every move, and when those closest to you don’t understand that reality, it will create issues.

I understand the shift in your perspective. When actions repeatedly go against someone’s implied boundaries, it raises questions about motivation and whether they’re prioritising attention (self-image or fame) over respecting the relationship they are in.

I noticed the change in the friend group after the Sorrento trip as well (I think I also mentioned it somewhere in a blog post), and while I will say Antonia did change her habits a bit (she deleted a number of Instagram posts of her trips with Luke), I agree that out of everyone, she’s still the one who continues to post and make it known that she may be with him (but then fan's also imply and spiral over the smallest things as well). It’s strange to continue doing that when you know these posts will only fuel ongoing speculation rather than help reduce it. And honestly, I think that, at this point, reducing speculation could only be beneficial for Luke. Antonia's posts seem more detrimental than supportive.

I’m sure fame would be hard to navigate, and I think it’s fair to say that, in certain situations, some people might see an opportunity to maintain or even leverage attention, regardless of how it might play out publicly.

In the end, I have no idea why any of the people in this situation continue to do what they’re doing, or why they keep posting things that only fuel more drama. I’ve mentioned before that maybe this is Luke’s way of not letting the fandom dictate his life - but, like you said, maybe he’s seeing things through rose-coloured glasses, or even feeling a sense of guilt or responsibility to make Antonia happy given the amount of hate she’s received. It could be any combination of loyalty, stubbornness, or simply him wanting to show support, even though the public perception won’t be positive. Luke could be trying to balance his desire to keep things private with Antonia’s approach, which may be different. But we won’t know for sure without knowing him personally (or being him!). It's all speculation and guesswork.

In the end, these kinds of things are complex, and I think reflecting on why people make the choices they do is absolutely valid and normal. But like I always say, there are so many possibilities for why things are taking place and unfolding the way they are. There are countless options and scenarios, both now and in the past, that could explain each action. Even if something seems clear, as fans, we don't know anything about motivations or anybody’s relationship status.

I really enjoyed reading your ask - it offers a lot to consider about how fame and notoriety affect both personal and professional lives, especially when someone’s actions seem intentional or at odds with their partner’s approach to privacy. So thank you!

I am having fun with my rewatch! I also wouldn't mind if DM burnt to the ground!

#bridgerton #luke newton

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keelt9 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 2

Masterlist

Mom keeps talking about how happy she is that we finally spend time together after so many years, just like the old times.

She grabs my face. “Now the 9 years of difference are almost imperceptible.”

“Mom! I don't look that old!” Lewis choked with his fruit.

“You wish you looked like this at my age.” He sat straight. I was about to speak but mom interrupted us.

“Keep eating, keep eating.”

This week I'll be at our parents house, so Lewis can have a few days off from me.

A Wednesday night mom entered the kitchen where Jewel keeps at my side.

“How is the project going?” I'm buried in papers, madeleines and tea.

I scoff and take my glasses. “Good? I don't know, I never imagined this amount of responsibility.”

Mom serves a cup of tea, and sits next to me. “He said you're doing pretty well.” I scoff and watch the papers and empty pens, picking up all the things so we can talk calmly.

“Next is?” I pat Jewel and gave her a piece of carrot which reject at the second bite. Lewis and his idea about trying to become her vegetarian, it's useless.

“Miami.”

I’m melting like ice, if I thought the first day we arrived was hot I was clearly short about how hot the day of the race is.

“How much weight will he lose?” I asked the doctor who weighs Lewis and George.

“Between 4 or 5 kilos.” I opened my eyes. “Maybe 6.”

“SIX?! Oh my word!” Lewis laughed and set properly his race suit one more time. “Drive safe, all right?” He nods and kisses my cheek.

I walk to the hospitality area, 50 minutes until the race begins although I see Checo chatting with Yuki, a casual talk in the way both are laughing. This time Red Bull is in front of Mclaren and Mercedes next to them.

Checo saw me and waved his hand, so I walked closer to greet him properly.

“Hi. Yuki have you met Y/N?” Yuki made a small bow and I did the same. “She is Lewis sister.”

Yuki opened his eyes, like he just knew a big secret.

“How are you?” Checo asks me, I move my hand trying to have a fresh breeze of air.

“Melting, but I'm fine.” Both giggle.

Yuki is the first young driver I officially met, beside George of course. “It's your first time in the paddock?”

Checo saw me with pressed lips. “Kind of.” It’s a half honest answer. “I'm dying to be in Japan, that definitely will be my first time.”

Yuki smiles as we get involved in a deep talk about food and places I should visit in the few days we'll be there.

“It’s hot, definitely hot.” We turn around and see Max walking right to us. “Morning Yuki, Y/N.”

I don't want to be rude with Yuki so I cut the conversation as friendly as I can. “I count on you for that, all right?”

Yuki nodded and I said goodbye to them bumping fists with Checo.

“What did I say this time?” Max says it almost right to my face. Checo laughs and pat his teammate back.

“You’re on the darkside, mate.” Max bluffs but raises his voice as I walk away.

“FINE! IT DOESN'T MATTER!” I roll my eyes when I enter the hospitality building.

A tricky race, Lewis fought until the last lap but just reached the sixth position. It hasn't been his weeks and he knows it by the way he goes down this car and walks slowly to the garage.

This time I took a risk and waited for him at the back of the garage, even here I could hear the noise of camera shots, reporters and all the talks from the mechanics.

Lewis was surprised I was there. “Hey.” I smile and give him a small push, making just the faith of a smile appear on his face.

“You get back, don’t pressure yourself too much.” He just nods and keeps walking to change his clothes, definitely mad about his performance.

By the time we arrived at the hotel Lewis put on his best facade during the day and tried to fool us but the one who knew him, saw something was going on.

“What do you want for dinner?” He asked me as we left the paddock.

“Actually, I prefer rest, tomorrow I have an early flight and I still have things to work on.” I’m hungry but I know he always chooses to make me company when actually he's dying from a proper rest.

Lewis is about to complain but I grab his hand on the SUV. “It’s ok, I eat a lot in the hospitality and I always can order room service.” He laid back in the seat. “Just rest, all right?”

I don't lie, I kept working on some drawings until my stomach started to growl, but I needed fresh air, so I took my purse and phone and went out for dinner.

After a quick research online I found myself waiting on a food truck for a burrito and a lemonade, with the ocean at my back and a humid ambient.

“Here you have. Enjoy your food.” A young woman gave me my order, I thanked her sitting in one of the benches they have.

It’s a peaceful night of course with a Grand Prix this morning, you can hear from time to time chattings about the drivers, the race and the results.

“I'm telling you, it was insane!” A man is walking hand in hand with a girl, who is thrilled as him, for the way she makes little jumps and talks with her hands.

“It will be out of this world, be this close to a car.” She narrows the distance of her fingers.

I scoff as I clean my fingers after finishing my dinner, even in the most random place people agree with Max.

I go back walking to the hotel, just a 20 minute walk; I need to do the last adjustment before I leave. I was talking with the receptionist when loud laughs and mumblings distract me.

Carlos, Charles, Lando, George and Max enter the hotel making the few people still up late at night and staff members look at them.

“Miss?” The receptions remind me of what we were talking about.

I asked her to please wake me up at 4 am, and disobey Lewis' order, they don’t wake him up. I take full responsibility for him not getting upset leaving a handwritten note.

“Sorry.” I ended up writing the note and gave it to her. “Thank you so much.” The girl smiles at me before I take my phone and walk, seeing the photos of Nicola with the kids and Roscoe.

Until I almost hit my face with the floor of the lobby.

“Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen to you tonight.” I didn’t even notice the fast reaction of Max grabbing my left arm.

The half twisted smile and the fact he's holding too to a chair, make me take my arm from his hand.

“I'm fine, thanks.” Max stares at Charles who has a red face almost like a tomato, sitting in the chair.

“Long legs, you almost make a girl fall, that's rude.” I refuse to get involved in this so I start to walk to the elevator.

“Wait, I'll take you to your room.” Max panicked and corrected himself. “To the door of your room, not inside of your room, at the frame of your door.”

I bluff, he's definitely drunk and the only one staying alone there; Charles, is talking with a girl who is coming for him.

I want to leave him there, I truly want to, but the half closed eyes and the fact he believes he is the savior when I easily could get in trouble, makes me doubt.

I clicked the bottom for the elevator but he sits on the chair.

“Goodness gracious.” I whisper to myself before walking back and pull him to the elevator.

He looks at me with his eyes as open as possible, still I didn't even say a word.

The 10 floors seem eternal as the elevator goes up, I keep tipping the floor with my feet as it could make it go faster, getting distracted when I feel Max is sliding.

I complain internally about dad always teaching us help every time you can. I grabbed his arm and put it around me, at least he could lean on me.

“Which one is your floor?” The smell of whisky is perceptible.

“What? No, no, I'll take you. You're the one who almost got hurt.” I clicked my tongue; discussing with him is harder, now, being drunk could be a pain.

“Ok, at least you should tell me, just in case I need more help.” My words are pure irony.

He sighs and a rumble laugh comes out of him along with a. “Smart girl.”

My giggle is an honest one. “Yes, I know.”

When we reach the 12th floor Max keeps mumbling things about the race, the night and why he “thinks” he’s probably drunk.

“Ok, which one is yours?” I practically dragged him out of the elevator begging no one else where in the hallway.

He splits and leans on the wall. “No, no, no. You first.” He highcough, still I know I have to be patient.

“Why don’t we go to your room, calm and then you could leave on mine? If you throw up, at least I prefer to be in your room.” He scoffs but nods.

“Omg, Max?” I feel my blood turn cold when I hear another voice. “I thought you would say any drinks tonight.” A man runs to him and holding him avoids him crashing on the floor.

“It was the plan, just…” He plays with his fingers before grabbing the man shirt. “A few.”

“Let’s go, I’ll take you to your room.” But Max splits and points to me.

“No, we almost made this young girl fall, I must leave her in her room safe.” Finally the man noticed my existence and smiled in an apologetic way.

“I’m sorry, but one of the girls called to the reception about Max making a scene in the lobby but when I arrived he was already gone.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Harry, teammate of Max.”

I take his hand. “Y/N Hamilton.” He blinked rapidly.

“Y/N Ham… Hamilton. Lewis sister?” He mumbled, still Max answered for me.

“His little sister, to be more clear.” Harry threw lethal eyes to him.

“You made Lewis little sister carry you up here in these conditions?” Max nods slowly and makes me smile. “Oh, right, I almost forgot, almost made her fall.”

“Fuck yeah.” Max answers and walks where I still was standing.

“No, no, let’s go Max, you need to lay down.” Harry tries to grab him but he already has his arm around my shoulders holding me tight.

It’s obvious he won’t let go of his nonsense of leaving in my room.

“Hey Max, let’s do what I propose, all right? Then you could leave in my room.” In his condition, as soon as he touches his bed he falls asleep. Harry watches us unsure however follows us until his room.

Inside I walked with him to his bed as Harry closed the door and ordered a strong coffee to his room. When we reached the border of his bed I carefully made him sit but he fell backwards and closed his eyes, like I predicted.

I was about to leave him when he spoke, turning to his left side. “Y/N, you’re pretty strong you know that?”

His words left me surprised with a strange sensation of pride. Harry enters and apologizes one more time, saying he takes care of him.

“Thanks Y/N. Most of the people will leave him, making sure they win a good post on their feeds.” I nod before walking out of the room, this time after 20 minutes I arrive at my room.

By the time I was about to get in the plane, I received a text from Lewis complaining that I must wait for him to at least he take me to the airport but I calmed him down saying I take one of his boys to do that.

“Try to have fun, ok?” I keep reading his text before entering the house.

After my no-wedding I barely see my friends, I feel so ashamed and embarrassed even though there were just a few ones who used it all the “momentum” against me. This is the first time I came to a birthday party fully convinced.

“It's nice you came Y/N, thanks.” Thomas hugs me after I finally get the chance to talk to him, he’s the birthday boy.

“Oh my, look who’s here!” The voice of Hanna or I must say the scream makes Thomas sigh and I tense my whole body.

“I’m sorry but even if I tried, she always is in the wrong moment.”

I take a deep breath before facing one more time my “best friend” who tactfully reminded me after and during 5 months of my broken heart.

“Go, I can deal with her.” Thomas is about to speak but it's his birthday, the last thing he needs is stress on his day. “I’m fine.”

Thomas nods and walks away as Hanna comes closer, a drink in her hand and poison accumulation in her mouth.

“My girl, it’s been what? 9 or 10 months since we saw you?” Both of us know the last time she saw me it’s the day after my wedding. “And you barely reply to my texts.”

“Yes, I've been kind of bussy.” I play with the ice of my drink to avoid making eye contact.

Hanna fake a compressive smile, predicting something she will say. “I can imagine after a failure like an almost wedding, there are a thousand things to do.”

Even now she gets under my skin so easily.

“I sent you the invitation for my party but you didn't reply or anything like that.” She takes a sip of her drink.

“You know, it's the 21st century, when something is unwanted, hateful or something like that the mail goes right to the spam.” I turn around to see Mika challenge her.

Mika is a friend from the college who Hanna always told me it’s a witch, I guess it was her reflection in the mirror.

“Mika, nice to see you.” Hanna said, trying to kill her with her eyes.

“I love to say the same but…” Mika eats his olive and smiles. “It’s stressful to see you.”

Hanna scoffs but I learn something about Mika all the months she helps me pack and making sure I barely see people who were enjoying seeing me that hurt, she doesn’t leave a prayer alive.

“But hey! Don’t worry, I’m not the only one who thinks the same here.” Hanna takes a deep breath before leaving us.

I take out all the air I’ve counted and smile at Mika. “Thanks.”

She smiles. “She’s been hunting you since she arrived, I was at the backyard with the food but Thomas gives heads up.” She takes the last sip of his martini. “Nevermind her, let’s party all night.”

I spent the night talking with friends, drinking and enjoying the night dancing, until the clock marked 2:37 am, and my legs screamed for rest.

I say goodbye to everyone leaving Thomas and Mika at the end. “Thank you for inviting me.” I hug Thomas at his door.

“Thanks for coming, hey, when you’re in town give us a call, any plan could come out.” He smiles at me.

“And if you need something for the refuge, we love to help.” Mika said, almost dragging her words.

I was about to get in the cap when unlucky Hanna realized I was about to leave.

“Y/N make sure at least just pass another 4 months until we see you again.” The bloody wink makes my blood boil.

The next morning I was received in the kitchen with an aspirin, and a black coffee.

“Long, funny night?” Dad smiles at me with a newspaper in his hands.

I cover my eyes with a napkin. “How can people do this every weekend?”

Dad chuckles and I hear the slow but heavy steps in the wood floor along the gasp, Roscoe is coming.

“Hi, baby.” I carness his head as he closes his eyes. “Wait a little bit more and you’ll be with me.”

After the race in Italy, I already talked with Lewis about taking Roscoe a week earlier before the race in Monaco, a little help and a needed backup for the team.

“Me?” Dad asks standing to prepare the breakfast, I roll my eyes and clarify.

“Us, you’ll be with us.” I sat on the floor and gave a kiss to him. “Let’s keep a secret, I'm your favorite.”

I arrived the night before the race, I had two visit schedules for seeing apartments and made it impossible for me to leave until the night; that’s why I don’t see my brother until early morning, indeed early morning.

“Morning.” I appeared at the restaurant of the hotel where he and Bottas were having breakfast before getting ready to go to the paddock.

“Oh, hi, I thought I’ll see you in the paddock.” I kiss his cheek before giving a hug to Bottas.

“I’m hungry.” I joke as I sit with them, Bottas giggles and calls for the waitress.

“Something doesn't change.” We looked at him with curious eyes. “For winning something with his young lady, food is a shortcut.”

Lewis laughs nodding incessantly. “I couldn't agree more.”

Arriving at the paddock when the drivers are doing the same, is total chaos, people, reporters and cameras all over the place, it’s like an obstacle race.

I walked to the Mercedes hospital next to Red Bull and in front of Ferrari, my eyes were stuck on my phone, when I felt someone soft touch.

I lift my eyes and I recognize the girl in front of me, the same that picked up Chalres. “Hi.”

“Hi, I’m Alexandra, Charles' girlfriend.” I nod, but don’t say another word. “I want to apologize for leaving you alone the other night.”

Oh I got it. “Oh, no worries, it’s ok.” I smile honestly as I put my hand on her arm.

“I hope someone went fast to help you, I tried to go back but Charles was a little bit of a troublemaker that night.” Well, at least I wasn’t the only one with that situation.

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re the one who called to pick him?” Alexandra nods. “Thank you, and yeah, someone help me.”

“Great! I think I'm seeing you around right?” I realized I didn't introduce myself.

“We could say that, I’m Lewis sister, Y/N.” She smiles but we were interrupted by Charles, who has an embarrassed expression.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” He giggles and covers his face with his hands. “I’m so embarrassed with you.”

Alexandra giggles, it's obvious the love in her eyes. “When Alex told me what happened…” He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, containing the laugh. “It’s ok, don’t worry, I understand, great race.”

“Max wasn't that drunk.” Alexandra plays with him, making him raise his eyebrow. “She’s in fact Lewis sister.”

“Oh, he's definitely going to throw up this time.” Charles noticed the confusion on my face. “When Aelx told us what happened, Max said he had blurry memories of you helping him but we thought it’s the hangover, clearly it’s not.”

“Talking about the king of Rome.” Alexndra points to Max who’s coming out of Red Bull hospitality.

When I turn around I see a red Max walking… dragging his feets to us, the blue t-shirt just makes the redness intensify.

“Am, Y/N?” Rosa calls me to appear at the door. “Your brother is looking for you.” I nod but the fact I don’t move makes her say one more thing. “Like, now.”

I open my eyes and before Max reaches us I apologize to them and wish Charles a good race, running inside as she holds the door for me.

“Making friends?” She smiles at me as I walk inside and put an arm around me.

#f1 #f1 imagine #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #max verstappen imagine #lewis hamilton #mercedes #sir lewis hamilton

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moirindeclermont · 2 months ago

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Fashionable late but I was delayed by my own unlocking of the next stage. If you think a cold is bad, a cold with chronic sinusitis is way worse. But... This is literally the highlight of my day, so I could not miss it...

Today's episode of "All Polin's first times we didn't see" is about the first time they try 🐕

Pen reads about it in one of Colin's diary. It's from Colin perspective, but being her husband the sweetheart he is, he does mention in the diary that he asked the woman he was with if it was good for her too. She said that it varies but most women found it pleasurable, with someone who knows what they are doing.

Perhaps she should be jealous of the past lovers in Colin's life, but in her heart, she can't. First of all, they are not that many, truth to be told. He seems the loyal type, even when it comes to sex worker. Second and most important, they are not threats for their relationship. She is secure in her feelings for Colin and it's the same for him as well. Lastly, she kinda want to thank them for all the knowledge she is gaining into this aspect of their life.

Like this one lucky discover. She talks about it with Colin in the evening and he just laugh when she explain what she wants to try. "I should have realize that you'd use those diaries as research and exercises... Not that I'm complaining, wife." As he envelopes her in his embrace for a long and passionate kiss.

"Can I add something to your request, Pen?" And before she can answer he goes "Can we also use the mirror?"

She moans at that, imagine how them together in that position.

They start slow, their passion increasing in waves as they explore each other. Colin loves to stimulate her with at least his fingers and often with his mouth, and today is not an exception. "I want you open and relaxed for the next step, " he says as he makes her come loudly.

His favorite meal of the day, he calls it, and it definitely shows.

When she is ready, he helps her get into position. She sees herself, her face red and relaxed, her eyes trusting. Her curls all over the place, her breasts almost touching the mattress - Colin gives a good squeeze to both and looks at her in the mirror, "you're a vision, Penelope" and then he hets behind her, in between her legs. "Stop me of you don't like it," he makes sure to tell her and she nods. "Look at yourself in the mirror," and he starts to push.

She sees her mouth drop open and she can't resist closing her eyes for a moment, but then she reopens them, she wants to see. He is all inside her now, hands on her hips as he is giving both of them a moment. They look at each other through the mirror and Colin starts to thrust.

It seems much deeper than other positions they tried before and it's soooo good.

It's a bit of a blur after that, Colin speeding up and losing control. They are both moaning messes, Colin's eyes fixating on her face and her bosom, oscillating with the movements, adding another layer of stimulation for her. She sees his hand sneaking up on her body, towards her core and when he touches her pearl she comes with a shout, Colin right behind her. She collapse on the bed, her arms shaky and Colin is hugging her from behind, caressing her all over.

"Remind me to send flowers to all the brothels you've been, she says still breathless, and they laugh together at that.

"For what?" Colin find himself asking.

"But for all the wonderful ideas, Colin," she answers as if it's perfectly reasonable, and they start laughing again.

#polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton s3 #polin positivity #polin bridgerton #polin brainrot #polin fanfiction #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington

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copiousloverofcopia · 1 year ago

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imagine copia about to become papa iv and his prime mover saying something like "you're going to be papa" and he's like duh, not getting it at all, and she literally has to go "no, you're going to be *papa*" and that's how she breaks the news to him

It's a shame how long it's been since I got this...like a year. 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

Hopefully this little sumthin sumthin will be worth it.

And Then It Hit Him

You have news for your husband, Cardinal Copia on the brink of his ascension to the Papacy, but will he stop long enough to listen?

Also available on AO3 HERE!

You were doing your best to remain patient, though the news was burning from inside you. Wringing the fabric of your habit in your fingers as you waited for the perfect moment to interrupt him. Your husband had barely looked up from his parchments since you entered. A comfortable silence between you as you noted his hands were once again covered in ink.

You were instantly transported back to when your dear sweet Cardinal was only the Ministry treasurer, and you still a naive novitiate. A time when you fell hard and fast in love with eachother. Watching with joy as he ascended the ranks of the Ministry. Proving himself worthy of his station at each and every turn.

Now he was only weeks away from the announcement that he would receive the miter. The highest honor that only the select few could ever hope to achieve within the church. Truth be told you had wondered if your news would pale in comparison, but knowing Copia as you did, there was no way it would.

"Cope..." You nudge, hoping to finally garner his attention. Copia stopped, pulling his glasses off from where they hung on the bridge of his nose and began rubbing his eyes. Clearly he hadn't moved them from his work for more than a few second at a time.

"I'm so sorry cara, I just have so much work that needs to be done before I head back out on tour. If I leave anything unfinished Sister will have my head for it." He responded, taking your hand in his. His eyes, returning to his desk. You could tell he was worn down by it. The endless bureaucracy of the Ministry trampling over him in the guise of all this paper and ink.

"Copia, my love...I know you have a lot on your plate, but I—I just have something I wanted to tell you."

"Of course, what is it?" He asked you, a sweet smile sent your way.

"Well.." You began, rounding his desk and placing your head on his shoulder. Breathing in the scent of his cologne. Like old books and patchouli, a scent that had intoxicated you night after night for so long now. It hardly seemed fair just how much it had affected you. Like a spell cast on your senses. Clearly it was one of the many reasons, like his undeniable charm, that led to you being in this position. "Soon my love…you are going to be a Papa.”

You were surprised when Copia's reaction was lacking. Letting out a sigh as he finished up the sentence he had been writing. "I know, I know. That's why I have to get this done." He explained, clear now that he had completely missed what you were trying to tell him. You thought for a moment, trying to decide if you could stand one more minute of knowing it all on your own, before finally you let out a groan.

It stopped him, Copia catching on that you needed him. Letting the pen drop to the desk as he pulled his attention away from the plethora of papers decorating it to face you. Heeding you as you gently brought his jaw up to help face you. Your eyes locked with his when he gently kissed your hand. The hair of his sideburns, tickling your palm as you spoke.

"No…Copia.” You began, a note of both amusement and disbelief in your voice, “...that's not what I was trying to say.”

“I'm sorry amore… you should have had my full attention. Please…what is it you wanted to tell me?”

“I'm trying to tell you, you silly man, that you are going to be A PAPA.” You emphasized by taking his hand and placing it on the small of your belly. Suddenly it was clear to him. Hitting him all at once as his eyes began stinging with tears. He stared at your still inconspicuous belly. Both mystified and deliriously happy before looking up at you.

“Amore, are you sure?” he asked you. His voice quivering—a mess of emotions. You could feel Copia's hand trembling as his thumb gently glided over your stomach. Already so gentle and tender with a child he had only just discovered existed.

“I'm very sure Cope…we’re going to have a baby.” You smiled.

“Sweet Satanas, I'm going to be a Papa!” Copia yelped, casting himself up from the chair and pulling you tightly into his arms. Blissfully crying and whispered praises in Italian, his hand never leaving your belly. You began to laugh. Copia looking up at you once again just as your own tears began streaming down your face.

“A papa and Papa.”

Notes:

novitiate- nun or sister in training

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 5 days ago

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Imagine being kidnapped by Tom Ludlow.

Hi anon. This got out of hand. I’m sorry. CW: mentions of child abuse/dark humor concerning it, rape/noncon fantasies and details. I write from a place of my own trauma, and it gets a little fucked up. If you don’t like dark fics, or are triggered easily, DO NOT READ THIS. Violence, bad cops, SA. Tom Ludlow is not the bad guy in this, though.

If you’re a big girl, a tall girl, a girl with a lot of muscle or fat, you probably haven’t been picked up off the ground since you were very young.

You question your femininity because of it, along with a whole lot of other shit that society decides to push on you for not having a traditional feminine figure…whatever the hell that is.

You often take on a more protective, mothering or masculine roll with your smaller or daintier or gentler friends. You don’t look down on them at all—or envy them too often. Some people just carry a unique tenderness that you wish the world had more of. But every little rainbow or sunbeam needs their strong protective cloud, and you mostly gladly, sometimes reluctantly take on this role.

You will never be a meek, kind, delicate person. It’s just not going to happen. You don’t want it to happen. You’re pretty comfortable with your role in life. It’s just…sometimes…and this is probably something that everyone craves in vulnerable moments…you want to be the one getting protected.

It’s just kind of exhausting, always being there for everyone else. As much as you love it, and you do, it can also really drain you.

The duality of man is that we can be more than one type of person, and want different things. You know this. But…it’s hard as hell to admit you want to be taken care of. Because doesn’t that ruin your tough facade? Your strength and independence? Doesn’t that let everyone know that you’re just putting on an act to cover up who you really are—a weak, sniveling girl?

That’s why you bottle up, keep things to yourself, regard the world cynically and humorously with a lazy shrug of your shoulder. You act like nothing gets to you, like you are a stoic guard at the queen’s gate, like a big mastiff on patrol of your sheep.

When you do wear an emotion, more often than not it’s either sarcasm or…anger. Like tonight, when some guy won’t leave your friend alone at the bar.

She’s visibly uncomfortable and attempting escape from the creep following her around. She’s too nice to tell him to go away, but you’re not, and you have had to put yourself between them way, way too many times.

“She’s not interested,” you tell him.

He sneers at you. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

Except he fucking doesn’t, because ten seconds later he’s smacking her ass when she stands up, and you’re punching him in the mouth.

He hits you back, and it feels like a slap from a two year old, but it startles your fight or flight, and before you know it, your vision is blurry with rage and your fists are flying.

The security guards have to pull you off of one another and haul you outside to where the police are waiting with cuffs.

“He was harassing my friend,” you tell the guy who’s chaperoning you.

“Her ugly ass is just jealous cuz nobody wants her!” Screams scumbag from down the sidewalk.

Wow, you’ve never heard that one before.

One of the cops grabs him by the collar and says something that appears to be stern with his finger pointed at his face.

The guy looks visibly shaken after that, and he specifically avoids looking in your direction again.

The ballsy officer, probably in some sort of supervising position by the looks of it, gets to you next, and you have to crane your neck up to look at him.

You expect anger, but his face is neutral as he pulls a pen and paper from his utility belt. “Hello, ma’am, my name is officer Ludlow with the LAPD. You mind telling me what went on here tonight?”

You tick through the list of events as best you can, trying not to paint yourself as innocent (because with the way you beat on him, you’re definitely not), but making sure he knows what a fucking reprobate you were up against, and he scribbles it all down diligently.

After you’re done, he flicks his chin at the officer standing next to you. “Reed, let her go.”

They uncuff you, and you roll your arms, testing the circulation and rubbing out the raw red marks on your wrists. “Thanks,” you tell the lead officer. “You mind if I go back in and get my friends? There’s only three of us and I’m worried about them…”

“I can’t let you go back in,” officer Ludlow says, “but give us their names and descriptions, and I’ll send Reed in for them, alright?”

You nod, comply, and a few tense moments later Abby is running out to wrap her arms around your shoulders, smearing her glittery tears and pink blush on your jacket.

You hug her back, picking her up a little bit off the ground with the ferocity of your relief, and look at officer Ludlow over her head. “Thanks,” you tell him.

Tye, arriving from the thicket of people at the entrance a few moments later, immediately wants to know what happened.

She, however, is interrupted, by the asshole down the sidewalk, still in cuffs. “Hope you think of me when you see that handprint on your cute little ass tomorrow!” He calls, and Abby turns away, choking on a sob.

You’ve always had anger issues. Usually, in adulthood, they’re pretty easy to tame down. Not in this circumstance, not when you see Abby shaking and crying, looking as defenseless as a baby mouse.

Unbeknownst to you, because your sight and sound have been marginally narrowed to one person who needs his face bludgeoned in so hard that he finally shuts the fuck up, the head officer has already signaled for them to haul this guy into the back of a police car.

You’re not sure how you cross the distance between you and him so fast—you’re built for endurance, not speed—but suddenly your fists are connecting with his flesh again, and there’s a lot of yelling and pulling and finally your feet leave the ground and your knuckles leave his face.

It takes you a minute to realize you are being carried away—that your feet are not on land—and you look up at the person whose arms are currently wrapped around you.

Like mentioned before, it’s been a long, long time since someone has picked you up and you’ve lost your center of gravity so quickly and so thoroughly. Like a startled animal, you fight to try and get back to the ground, more out of shock and adrenalized fear than anything.

You don’t mean to scratch or bite the nice officer, you really don’t.

Ludlow just sighs at your resistance, like he could be doing something much more important right now rather than manhandling you into the back of a squad car like you’re an ornery kitten rather than a formidable opponent.

You are silenced into shock the whole way to the police station.

They put you in the waiting room sans cuffs, and you’re not sure how much time passes until a heavy presence plops down on the plastic chair next to you.

“Fuck,” is the first thing you say to Ludlow. “My friends…”

“They’re safe. I’m giving them an escort back home.”

He gives you some room temp water, and after the fear wears off, grants you enough time to come back to your good senses. You look at him sheepishly, with your head tucked down. “Sorry, he was a fucking creep.”

Ludlow nods. “I get it, hopefully I can get you out of it with a slap on the wrist.” He hands you some tissues from his breast pocket. “Wipe that blood off your face.”

You didn’t realize you were bleeding, so it’s a shock to finally feel the ache of a bloody lip and bruised cheek and see the paper come back crimson streaked.

After a few long moments of silence, you say, “I feel like an asshole.”

He shrugs, leans back, grins over at you. You fight the urge to flush at his crooked smile. He’s a handsome man. Sometimes you like those. “Asshole, no. Dumb, maybe. He could have really fucked you up.”

“I handled myself just fine.”

“Your split lip will disagree tomorrow morning. Lemme see.” He holds out his hand, as if for you to rest your chin in, and you’re not sure what brain malfunction gets you to comply. You are not a good listener by any means, especially for men in positions of authority or power.

Maybe it’s sexist, maybe it’s unfair. Spend your whole childhood getting the shit taken out of you by a man that’s supposed to love and care for and protect you, and then decide what’s fair and what’s not.

He whistles low, turning you this way and that with a tenderness you don’t expect from calloused, bear paw hands with knuckles like golf balls. “I’ll give it to you, you’ve got balls. Bigger than most men I’ve met.”

Your mouth betrays your tough girl facade, and lets a tiny smile hike up the edge despite the stinging pain that follows.

Officer Ludlow gets you out with a slap on the wrist—aka a misdemeanor—just like he said he was going to. You tell him thank you about ten million times for saving your ass, and for offering to give you a ride back to the bar to get your car.

“I’ve already put you out too much tonight,” you tell him. “I’ll get a Taxi or something.”

“It’s a Saturday night,” he says, jangling the keys in his beater pocket. “By the time you get to the bar, you’re gonna be towed. C’mon.”

You open the back door of his charger, but he shakes his head and, instead, opens up his passenger seat for you to slide in.

It’s about now you’re starting to get a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach, like something is off about this interaction. You’re not one to trust easily, and getting in the car with a complete stranger, although one in uniform, is out of character to say the least.

Your radar has really been fucked up tonight. By the alcohol, the scumbag, the being arrested, the bruising and tearing of your knuckles. What a way to end it, you think, if Ludlow is a bad guy.

The funny feeling in your guts that you decide to ignore this one time? It turns out to be right. And as Tom Ludlow starts driving up through the deserted hills, in the opposite direction of the bar your car is at, you almost want to burst out laughing at how stupid you are.

Asshole, no. Dumb? Fucking definitely.

You test his door handle and he snorts at you; like he’s saying, you think I’m that stupid?

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” you grumble, sizing him up from the corner of your eye, deciding whether to fight or flight or just give up now. He’s thin, but he’s broad. Tall. Not lanky. He won’t be easy to push over. You’ll have to bite, claw eyes out, rip his hair from his head. Make sure he doesn’t pull that shiny pistol out of his belt before you can jump on him.

You could do it right here in the car and risk barreling over the steep hillside on your right. You could—

“Hey,” he says, calmly, capturing you too easily from your violent thoughts, “it’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

A part of you wants to believe him, or maybe just believe there’s still some good in the world—some good in men. Hell, maybe leprechauns exist, too. You never know.

He looks sideways at you when you giggle in response to these reassuring words, as if you’re the one who’s fucking psycho. “I’ve heard that one before.”

He makes a pensive sound, air puffing from his nostrils, switches gears as the incline increases. “Daddy beat you up?”

Well, fuck it, might as well share all your sob stories if this is really happening tonight. “Uncle, actually.”

“Sorry,” he says, and you hazard a glance over to see if his face matches his empathetic tone—it, surprisingly, does. “He still alive?”

“No.”

You must be violently shaking to compensate for the repression of a panic attack, because his still, steady hand on your shoulder pauses the tremors. “It’s okay,” he assures, like he’s trying to soothe a crying kid. You have to admit, his voice is a cool ointment for hot nerves, even if he’s the reason for them in the first place.

The brain has a funny way of dealing with things like this. There’s about a 30% chance his intentions are raping you, because with his looks he could get any lady in the city of lights for free, but rapists and molesters rarely think about physical attractiveness when it actually comes down to the act. Psychologists say it’s more about the power trip for them. And, at least, if he is going to fuck you, he’s not exactly the worst man that you could pick to do it.

At least he’s hot, is what it boils down to. Because you’re a disgusting degenerate. Because your coping skills are a ticking time bomb, a broken record, stuck back at the part of your life where you had to start liking the way uncle Eddy touched you to deal with the shame and the despair of it.

Officer Ludlow’s gonna pick you right up off the ground again, slam you into his backseat, tug your pants and underwear down in one go. He’ll make you beg him to fuck your pussy instead of your unprepared and untainted ass, use his spit as lube, rub his meaty fingers over your puffy lips and taunt you when his saliva encounters your slippery cum. He’ll smack your ass for liking this, leave big red handprints, whisper in your ear that you’re gonna remember him, not just tomorrow, but for weeks after he gets done working your cunt. That he should kill you and leave your body out for the flies, but he wants you to live just so you can feel the way he destroyed your pussy.

The charger slows to a halt out in the sticks, and you have no idea where the fuck you are or how long you’ve been driving. The night is thick black soup in a boiling pot, and his headlights cut through it meagerly. It’s enough light to see what’s happening ahead, though, and when you look over at him curiously, he is grinning at you.

The man from the bar who assaulted your friend is in cuffs, an officer on each arm holding him in place. You don’t feel bad at all when you notice his swollen lip and purple temple, but you do wish you would have gotten more hits in.

Lucky for you, Officer Ludlow has you covered.

“Do you want to hit him?” He asks, unclipping his seat belt. “Or do you wanna watch?”

You blink a few times in response, not sure what to say to this brutally kind gesture. This man who barely knows you is helping you exact revenge against his own brethren. You’ve never been so…flattered.

“Don’t tell me you’re attempting to grow a conscience?” He teases.

“I wanna hit him.”

To your disappointment, Ludlow is not a total savage. He lets you get 3 or 4—it’s hard to remember the exact number—good hits on this dirtbag, and even wraps your knuckles up in a cushiony flannel from his back seat beforehand. His only rule is, “stay away from his ugly ass face. I don’t need him coming back to the station more fucked up than it already is.”

You get him in the stomach, the ribs, kick him so hard in his dick that you feel the hard pelvic bone underneath. Maybe it’s only a couple hits, but you make them count. And when you start to ache, or get tired, all you have to do is remember the tears smearing Abbie’s pretty glitter eyeliner down her face.

If he does say anything to you, you don’t hear it. Or maybe he really doesn’t, because Ludlow stands behind you like a watchful wolfhound the entire time, and then escorts you back to his car with a heavy arm over your shaking shoulders.

“Good job,” he praises, seeming very amused and unaffected by this whole ordeal while you are trembling, soaked with sweat, panting like a hooker in a fur coat. “It’s alright, he had it coming. Hey, hey, hey, look at me.”

You do as he says, momentarily escaping your fury in favor of his calming voice and soft black eyes.

“You did amazing. Lemme see the knuckles.”

He takes your hand in his, and you notice the size difference first, and then the warm, damp, pleasant heat second.

There’s been a lot of firsts tonight: someone’s hands being larger than your own (big lady hands should’ve been your nickname in highschool), being picked up off the ground past the age of 7, a man going out of his way to do something nice for you—because your brain decides that’s how it’s going to frame this scenario whether you like it or not, as some fucked up little date on Tom Ludlow’s dime.

You feel safe with your hand tucked into his and the heat of his skin and the cozy intimacy of being belted into his vehicle. You feel grateful that good men still exist. You feel…tight, twisted up in some deprived box of longing you’ve made permanent home in.

You leave the sanctuary of your comfort zone, and have another first, as you cross his center console and kiss a man on his mouth.

For a moment where you feel like your heart is suspended on the edge of a very tall cliff, he freezes. This stiff resistance immediately makes you want to pull away, but, before you can, he wraps his hand around your chin and pulls you deep into his mouth.

Arthur from college, Monica from New Orleans…Hell, even Uncle Eddie—they have nothing on Officer Tom Ludlow with his big, slick tongue and muscular lips.

It’s so good you can almost ignore the fresh sting of your split lip.

He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, and murmurs a laugh when you give him a low groan for the effort, then takes your angry little grumble and dampens it with his renewed fervor. His hands remain gentle and chaste on your face, your neck, your shoulders, even though there is nothing gentlemanly about the way he devours your mouth. He does not push for more, does not hold you down with those big hands that absolutely could if they wanted to.

You set the pace, you pull him closer, you push him back when you need to gasp for air.

He licks the taste of you from his tilted, beautiful lips. “You have to breathe through your nose, honey.”

“Sorry,” you say, crossing your arms over yourself, pressing back against the door, away from him.

His lazy smile droops. “Are you alright?”

”I just…Can you take me to my car? If not I can—“

The thick start of his engine cuts you off.

The car ride back is silent. You think about turning on the radio a few times, but don’t want to cross more boundaries than you already have. Luckily, he flips it on for the both of you and you’ve never, ever been so happy to hear Metallica.

When he parks, cutting the engine off in the nearly deserted garage, the tension between you immediately peaks, sizzling like vinegar on baking soda. He wraps a long limb over the back of your seat, looks confused—vulnerable for such a big, scary man, and he makes your heart twang a lonely cord.

He seems almost boyish, when he asks if he can take you out sometime.

And you want to say yes. Every feral primordial part of you does, anyway. But then there’s the rational part, the one that should and does win most of the time. You’ve already snubbed that part too much tonight, so you politely decline Ludlow’s offer, and with your traitorous heart padlocked and chained back into your breast cavity, you say goodbye to the nice officer.

#tom ludlow x you #tom ludlow x reader #keanuverse #IV Drabbles

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