#and I say w my phone in my hand and was like what do I like abt my writing

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Staropramen: drink up

Content: context to part 1 of Modern au!Gojo's smau, just the first picture, wanted to write a little so I thought I'd do this one, not proofread

You pace back and forth in your room. The sky outside is darkening, dulling into dark orange hues, setting your room alight. You sweat, palms growing clammy. Part of your hair is tied up, arranged into some silly, convoluted up-do and your makeup contrasts with the soft curls framing your face. The maids twisted and pulled and plucked until you’re as presentable as possible, but you insisted, practically fought them, to let you do the rest.

So your piercings stay on, eyeliner as thick as ever, and lips painted a dark shade. And the dress hanging on the door? Well, it’s just as black as everything else in your wardrobe. 

This dinner’s important. You know that, as do the maids; your parents had been emphasising how every dinner, every engagement, every invite from the Gojos were important, so important, in fact, that preparations had begun hours ago, well before the clock could strike 7pm. 

But there’s one person who doesn’t seem to get the memo. Any of them.

One person who has evaded every meeting, every phone call, every email, letter, hell, every fax from your family. And he gets away with it. Every. Time. 

“It’s not fair,” you mumble, fidgeting with your lip ring, “I missed one dinner because I was literally sick and no one spoke to me for weeks. But he gets to miss every single one and we can’t say shit?”

A glance at the Sattler table clock by your bed says it’s nearing showtime. The chauffeur must already be running the car, awaiting your family. You’d have to put on that stupid dress and those stupid heels and plaster on a stupid smile, and shake stupid hands and eat stupid food and stupidly wait for someone who’s never going to show up. 

And it’ll be your fault. 

That’s what the looks they’ll give you will say. Somehow, you’ve messed up this engagement before it could even really begin, because, of course, it’s the girl’s fault that the guy is an irresponsible idiot. 

You didn’t want to have to do this. Didn’t want to have to cave first. But you must. So you pick up your phone and send a message to a number you hoped you never would have to contact. 

A girl had given it to you earlier in the week. 

She seemed familiar, perhaps she’s one of the more popular students, not that you interact with them. God, just the thought sends shivers down your spine. But when you had seen her parting ways with Gojo, your feet took you to her faster than you could even process and she was smiling at you with a look of surprise. 

It’d be great to say the surprise was just because she hadn’t expected you to approach her but that would be a lie. She probably wasn’t expecting someone dressed like you to stand before her in broad daylight and not ask for a drop of her blood to offer up to your gods, or whatever else people tend to think about you. 

When you asked if you could get Gojo’s number for ‘something important’, she didn’t fight you, she simply smiled more softly and eagerly typed his number into your phone, flashing you a wink before saying she has a lecture on fluid dynamics that she can’t miss. You assumed she was a physics student, not that she really gave you that vibe, but who are you to say anything?

You frown at his replies.

What a dick.

A honk breaks you out of your sudden violent desires to strangle and offer a certain frat president up for sacrifice, and you rush to put the dress on, already feeling the phantom ache in your feet at the thought of wearing insanely tall heels. 

You take one last look of your phone and sigh. 

This is going to be a long night.

On the other side of the city, however, lays a boy on a king sized bed. He’s shirtless, joggers hanging low on his hips as he glares at his ceiling, willing it to cave in and kill him right there and then. 

“Why did you give her my number?” 

A girl giggles on the other side of the bed. She’s wearing nothing but his shirt, typing frantically on her phone, most likely texting a certain blond tutor. Then with a sideways glance at the pouting child thumping his fist on the mattress to get her attention, she flicks his forehead with manicured nails. 

“Because,” she drags out, “she looked fun. I like her.”

Gojo groans. “You can’t like her. She’s the enemy!”

The girl rolls her eyes with a grin, half entertained by his theatrics and half excitedly waiting for Nanami’s reply. She had just sent a text asking him if he listens to music whilst having his ‘special alone time’, and the three dots dancing on the screen is making her heart skip a beat. 

A pillow gets smacked in her face and when it falls down, her view is obstructed by a pointed look. Focus on me and my dilemma or die, is what it says. 

What are they talking about again? Oh right. 

“She’s not the enemy, Satoru. She’s just like you.”

The white-haired man pouts even harder. He doesn’t want to admit that the thought had already crossed his mind; she’s a pawn in the game just as he is. But he can’t accept her existence. Because to do so would be like accepting his parents plans, accepting that he has so little say in anything that goes on in his life, and ultimately submitting to the terrible fate of being a Gojo. 

His friend has returned to her phone, squealing in a way that makes Satoru wince, and he doesn’t want to ask what she’s blushing over. He’d kill her and himself if she shows him a dick pic again. 

Then, as if his mood has somehow lightened, he pokes the girl on her shoulder, ignoring the scowl she gives in return, and asks, almost absentmindedly, “Is she pretty? My….fiancée, I mean?”

Gojo doesn’t know her name. 

He’s sure someone had told him but anything to do with the word ‘engagement’ makes him blank out, static playing in his head. 

A devious smirk creeps up on her face, eyes dazzling with mischief as she looks over at her friend, lying on his stomach now, bright blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. It occurred to her, when he mumbled his question, that he has no idea what she looks like. Satoru is in for one hell of a shock when he finds out that the girl he had been envisioning as the most prissy little future housewife is actually someone he totally would do a double take over. 

It’s gonna be so fun to watch this whole thing play out, she thought. But she can’t make it easy for her stupid friend. Never. 

So, she returns her focus on her screen, biting her lip at Nanami’s stern ‘behave’ message and dangles the answer in Satoru’s face. 

“You know Choso, right? Sukuna’s younger cousin?”

He nods hurriedly, patience running very thin. 

But that’s all she’s willing to give. 

And Satoru groans, nose crinkling in irritation. Quick as lightning, he snatches her phone from her hands, and sends the most recent picture on her camera roll to the guy he’s been hearing too much about. 

“You didn’t…” 

Her tone is disbelieving, a horrified expression pulling her features down before she lunges for her phone and shrieks at the picture of her lying on the floor after slipping on olive oil in Gojo’s kitchen. Her face was distorted in a blur and her dress had ridden up to reveal a hot pink g-string. 

Nanami’s going to block her. 

He’s going to complain to Professor Yaga and it’ll all be over. 

Satoru shrugs and heads to his bathroom, using the excuse of needing a shower to cover up the fact that he has every intention of searching up what a certain art student looks like through socials. 

Sure, he could search for his fiancee directly, ask one of his assistants to gather a detailed file, but where’s the fun in that?

Through the door, he hears his friend’s panicked voice, desperately trying to rationalise that the reason why her tutor isn’t answering is because he’s busy and not because he’s calling the police on her for sexual harassment. 

She really is the dumb to his dumber because if she knew anything about men, then she’d know he’s totally jerking off to that picture. Nerds are more repressed than anyone else, so she’s gonna have to wait a little longer for him to regain sanity. 

Under the hot stream, Gojo’s thoughts shift to a different focus, a girl resembling Choso, the brooding artist cousin of Sukuna, the devil spawn. 

There’s simply no way he’d ever like someone like that. 

It’s impossible. 

Right? 

[no-144444]

vampire!- o.piastri

summary: oscar gets a new nickname...

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! jack wolff nanny! reader

this is part of a series but can be read as a standalone !

part one | part two | part three

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar rolled out of bed with as much enthusiasm as usual, so none. Was he already late? Yes. Did he really care? No. Did he want to just stay in bed and relax with you all day? Yes. Did you look gorgeous in his bed? Yes. Did he want to stay there forever? Yes. 

But early meetings on track were a very big part of his job, and he’d be murdered if he was late again. 

“Don’t go,” you muttered, just waking up. He sighed and you smiled. 

“Baby I have no choice, I have to-” he was cut off by you kissing him, to which he wasn’t complaining. “Fuck,” he whispered against your lips, which then turned into you straddling him as he pressed kiss after kiss to your neck. Maybe it was the newness of your relationship, maybe it was the fact that he looked so pretty in the mornings, or maybe it was something to do with how persuasive you were, but Oscar finally had to run out the door, already running late for the meeting. 

Worst part? He didn’t regret shit. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You walked into the paddock looking like you’d just rolled out of bed (which you had). You had literally come in a pair of pyjama pants and one of Oscar’s hoodies, just grabbing your bag, slipping on some sneakers and leaving his hotel room. All of your makeup was in your hotel anyways, same with your clothes, but you didn’t care. 

Jack came running up to you as you walked into the Mercedes garage, and you picked him up, hugging him. 

“I’m rooting for Oscar today!” he cheered. “He’s my favourite.” 

“After Lewis and George?” you asked and he nodded, giving you a look that said ‘obviously’. You chuckled and put him back down, and he ran over toLewis, chatting animatedly. 

“What is on your neck?” Toto asked, his tone firm. He was pissed. 

You stared back at him, dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes, taking out his phone, snapping a picture of you, and showing it to you. 

Oscar was dead. A huge, huge hickey on the right side of your neck. You clapped a hand over it, and another over your mouth. 

“Shit,” you cursed. “I must’ve really burnt myself. I didn’t think it would bruise so badly,” you lied (rather convincingly), but Toto was having none of it. 

“We’re going on a little field trip to McLaren,” he told you and you deflated. “Come on!”

Jack held your hand as you crossed the paddock, walking into the McLaren motorhome. 

Immediately, Toto found Oscar and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him aside. 

“Toto, come on-” you started. 

“Me and Oscar are going to have a conversation, go take jack to see Lando please,” he smiled, but it was one of his scary smiles. You grimaced and mouthed Oscar a ‘sorry’. 

Oscar looked traumatised when he walked back in. He walked over to you and apologised for the ‘issue’, and barely made eye-contact. 

You groaned, looking at Toto. “You broke my boyfriend!”

Toto shrugged, taking Jack’s hand. “Too bad.” 

Off they went back to Mercedes, and you took Oscar’s hand. “You alright?”

“He’s very protective, and he did say that George would do everything in his power to shove me off the track tomorrow,” he admitted. “But it’s fine. You’re worth it.”

You felt yourself smiling. “Ever the charmer Piastri.”

He shrugged. “What else would I be?” he smirked. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

F1 GOSSIP:

OSCAR PIASTRI SEEN TAKING TO TOTO WOLFF TODAY!

Today, Oscar Piastri (McLaren Driver) was seen speaking with Mercedes team boss Toto Wolff. They seemed to be having a heated discussion, could it have been about a possible future contract?! 

Read all about it here! ->

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You stared down at your phone with a sigh and sent the article to Oscar, and Toto.

You were too busy with Jack to actually go visit Oscar and talk about the article, but you just assumed he’d seen your message. 

He hadn’t. 

When he was brought straight to the media pen after sprint quali, he was confused about the amount of Mercedes- themed questions. 

“WHAT IS YOUR OPINION ON KIMI ANTONELLI?” “ARE YOU CLOSE WITH GEORGE RUSSELL?” “WHAT’S YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH TOTO LIKE?” “ARE YOU CONSIDERING A MOVE?”

He just answered the questions as well as he could until someone finally just asked him straight. 

“Why were you seen with Toto Wolff outside the McLaren motorhome today?” 

Oscar burst out laughing. “That’s what all of this is about?” he asked and the interviewer nodded. “It was just about a personal matter, nothing to do with contracts or anything.”

“What was that personal matter?” 

Oscar had backed himself into a corner, it was just own fault. “Um… it was just something about something.”

The interviewer chuckled. “Oscar, we’re going to need more than that.”

“I can answer,” Toto interjected. “This vampire couldn’t keep his lips to himself!” 

“Is this about Oscar and Y/n’s closeness recently?”

Toto nodded. 

“Are they a couple?”

“I fucking hope so, considering what he did to her!” Toto scoffed. “Fucking vampire!” He said before walking off, the interviewer was left with Oscar, who was blushing very badly, and laughing very hard. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Oscar walked into his hotel room, silently praying that you’d be there. His prayers were answered when he found you in the bathroom in one of his t-shirts, brushing your teeth. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and held you tight. “Toto is fucking crazy,” he chuckled. 

You nodded, laughing. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “You’re worth it.”

“Chessy,” you teased, leaving the bathroom with him behind you. He dropped his bag on the floor and took your outstretched hand, landing the both of you on the bed.

“You love it,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. 

You smiled at him. “I do.”

He pressed his lips to yours, hoping that  it wasn’t the last time he’d hear you say that.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[sturnioloszn]

MARKED - C.S

summary; you get a new tattoo, and chris has to show you just how much he loves it...

warnings; smut, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap the willy), dirty talk, praise, cream pie, hair pulling.

a/n; sorry it took me literally foreverrrr to get a fic out, i did post one, but i actually hated it w every fibre in my being, so... it got cut. whoops. anywayyy, enjoy this one lmaooo.

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

I laid on my stomach, with my skin flush against the black leather of the tattoo table when the loud buzzing of the tattoo gun came to a sudden halt and broke me from my daydreams.

"Alright, you're done. I can't believe you did it with no breaks, you're insane," Sam, my tattooer spoke from behind me, gently cleaning and wiping the remaining ink off.

"It's wasn't too bad," I chuckled, peering over to Nick, who shoved his phone in his pocket and leaned over to get a clear look at the finished product.

After what felt like years, I finally sat up from the chair and kept my hands firmly on my shirt to make sure it wouldn't slip and I'd accidently flash a titty, since it was completely open in the back.

I stood up and walked over to the full sized mirror in the corner of the room and stared at my new decoration in awe. I loved it. It was perfect.

"Okay, so since this is a pretty big tattoo, I'll try wrap it as best as possible, but it'll probably start to peel in no time," Sam spoke, following me to the mirror with the wrapping.

Nick and I eventually pay and hop into an Uber to bring us back to his place. "Soo, do you like it?" Nick asks, turning to look at me.

"I don't like it, I LOVE it. He did an amazing job," I complimented, looking down at Nick's new addition to his tattoo collection too.

"I told you Sam is the best," He bragged.

The ride to the house wasn't long at all, but sure enough, the wrapping of my tattoo was already peeling and coming undone. I decided to peel it off completely and just try to deal with it, trying to not cause an infection.

I was so excited to show off my new tattoo that the second Nick unlocked the front door, I sprinted up the stairs into the living room where I found Matt sprawled comfortably on the couch, lazily scrolling on his phone.

"Hey kid, how was it?" He asks, momentarily looking up from his phone.

"It was amazing, wanna see?" I ask with a happy grin plastered on my face. Before even waiting for him to reply, I lifted the back of my shirt up and turned to show him my back.

"Holy shit, it's massive," he says. I crack an immature joke before gloating about the fact that I didn't take a break not once. At this point, Nick had joined Matt on the couch, and they began to discuss his new tattoo aswell but I'm overflowing with excitement to show Chris mine.

"Is Chris in his room?" I ask, receiving a small nod from Matt in reply. I skip my way downstairs to his bedroom and push the door open without even knocking.

I found Chris hunched in his gaming chair, eyes locked on the screen in front of him, with his headset over both ears. He must've not heard me and Nick come in. I sneakily crawled up behind him, placing my two hands on his shoulders.

He jumped out of his skin but instantly relaxed when he realised it was my touch. "Heyyy, you're back," He says, taking his headset off and standing up to place a delicate kiss on my lips and wrap his long arms around my torso.

"Wanna see it?" I ask, jumping out from his embrace. I can't help the smile from returning onto my face, feeling the dopamine course through my veins.

I once again turned to show him my tattoo before even earning his reply to my question. After a few moments of silence, I turn back around, worried about what expression I'd find on his face.

"Do you... like it?" I hesitatantly ask. However, his expression doesn't falter except that he's now looking into my eyes.

"Do I like it?" He repeats, taking slow but profound steps towards me, filling my surroundings entirely with his presence. "I fucking love it, it's so sexy," he whispers, now standing face to face with me.

He connects his palm to the side of my face and guides me closer to him, connecting our lips. Our kiss was passionate and meaningful until it wasn't. His lips roughly crashed into mine again, his tongue slipping in and out of my mouth with ease.

"Y'gonna let me fuck you and look at your new tattoo, hm?" He mutters, barely separating himself from me. I whine in return, letting him know that I need it more than he could imagine.

As he continues to bite and suck at my sore lips, his hands roam my body, slowly peeling off layers of my clothes. I'm eventually left in just my underwear, which he doesn't hesitate to discard, alongside the rest of my clothes.

"Ass up, face down, baby," he orders, quickly discarding his own clothes, littering them on the floor until we're equally as bare. I moved onto the centre on his bed, doing just what he asked; pressing my face into his mattress and arching my back so that my ass was in the air.

"You're so fucking hot," he groans, coming up behind me. I feel him grip my hips tightly before placing a few firm slaps on my ass, eleciting some yelps and moans from me.

Without warning, he slams his entire length into me, making me scream into the sheets. "Y'gotta be quiet baby, can't have Matt or Nick know how much you love my cock,"

My moans grow louder and louder as he ruthlessly rams me from behind, hitting that amazing spot that makes me feel like I'm in heaven.

"Sh-it, Chr-is, too mu-ch," I moan and whimper between his thrusts. His hands fall from my hips and move to my hair, gathering it together, forming a makeshift ponytail.

He yanks on my hair, pulling me up from the mattress, and sticks our two sweaty bodies together as he continues his solid pace.

"Fuck- you're so beautiful, love your new tattoo... looks so fuckin' good," he grunts. I feel my end drawing near, and with a few more harsh thrusts, I feel my orgasm crash over me. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and my pussy squeezes around his cock, begging for him to also finish. "..love how tight you are f'me, mh,"

He let's go of my hair, making me flop down back onto the mattress, and his hands find their way back to my hips, roughly grabbing them. He somehow snaps his hips even faster, making my second orgasm fast approaching. The headboard of the bed is banging against the wall, and there's no hiding what is happening anymore.

He snakes one of his hands around me, reaching over to my clit, rubbing it viciously. At this stage I've lost all self control and I release my fluids all over his cock for a second of time.

"Fuck! Just like that, come on my cock," He moans, filling me with his own release. His movements begin to slow, but he continues moving his hips, fucking his cum into me.

I feel him pull his limp cock out of me and stare at his work of art; our mixed fluids dripping out of my pussy and onto the sheets. The only sound heard now is our heavy breathing, which is desperately trying to return to normal.

-

After a few hours filled with cuddling and laughter, Chris and I decided to scavenge the kitchen for any food we could find, but as soon as we came up the stairs Matt and Nick stare at us from the couch.

"You could've just said you liked her new tattoo,we didn't all have to hear it," Matt grimaces, standing up and leaving, with Nick trailing his footsteps shortly after.

"Well... at least you know?" Chris jokes, turning to me. We break into laughter, and the rest of the night is filled with the same laughter and love.

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

a/n; this is definitely better than the last fic i posted lmaoo, also my requests r open so feel free to leave some ideas! hope u enjoyed this, love you all <33

Taglist; @idrk2292 @clairesrose @045696 @forgottxen @mattsturniolover @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut

[h0ney-mochi]

Admit it, it's jealousy. (Scaramouche x reader)

# sub!Scaramouche, sub!scara, dom!reader, top!reader, readers gender not specified, can be read as gn!reader, reader gets called mommy though, begging, praise kink, scara gets called puppy a few times

Summary: Scaramouche gets jealous and he doesn't want to admit it. So you make him admit it.

A/n: I'm posting this on Tumblr because not all Tumblr people have seen my ao3, probably! :) It's pretty crazy to think about it... I wrote this in 2022... woah. It had its 2 year anniversary a few days ago. ...I still haven't finished the 2nd part since it's deletion from my old phone. All I have is a snippet.. sigh

You knew it. He was obviously jealous. You were previously speaking with some of your guy friends, having a fun time, because one of them apparently just chowed down on some soap that looked like a food. Scaramouche on the other hand was hanging with some other random people, but you caught his eye. He watched as you were speaking with a smile, all of you laughing, the way your friends smiled at you back. It made him feel weird, he didn't know what it was. But he did not like that feeling.

Now you two were back home. You went to make yourself a simple drink in the kitchen, while Scara slowly followed you. He sat down on a chair by the kitchen island and watched you do your thing. "Do you want some tea as well?" You turned to look at him for a moment. He replied with a simple no, so you continued. You filled the object with water and put it to boil. Scara's mind wandered back to your friends, which made him feel that weird feeling again. You noticed him zoning out. You sat down in front of him and began speaking.

"Are you alright? You seem down," you asked with a small smile. He immediately looked at you. He stared for a moment before replying. "I'm fine, just because I look like something doesn't mean I'm that," he rolled his eyes. You raised an eyebrow, "what's wrong?" "Like you don't know," he snarled. You were confused. "What do you mean?" You asked, trying to think of what has happened today. Scara turned his head back at you, staring right at you, "The way they laughed with you? The way they were smiling at you? Looked like they felt accomplished when they made you laugh." You blinked. Did he mean your friends..?

Wait. You furrowed your brows, "What- you've got that wrong, they're my friends. We've always been like that. One of them told me how he ate soap unknowingly, that was funny!" He just nodded his head, "really?" "Yeah, you know that I'm friendly with everyone!" You spoke, tapping the table. He just looked away, not replying. It was silent, except for the water boiling. Then it hit you. He was jealous.

A smirk slowly went on your face. "Are you.. are you jealous, Scara?" You asked. Surely not. He looked at you. So that was that feeling..? He shook his head and looked away again. "No, I'm fucking not." He replied. You blinked at him. "Oh my god, you're jealous??" You couldn't stop your smirk as you watched him avoid your eyes. "I just said that I'm not, are you deaf?" He grunted, looking the other way. You felt amazing for some reason. You got up from your chair and walked to the other side of the island, where Scara sat. He noticed that and turned his chair towards you. You pointed at him, "that, my man, is called jealousy." He glared at you, "I'm not fucking jealous, idiot!" You glared back, "then why are you mad?" "Because they were laughing with you! Did you see the way they looked at you? They definitely had something in mind!" He shot back at you. Silence again. You stared at him, lidded eyes. He stared back.

"That's jealousy." You mumbled. He wanted to say something back, but didn't. "It's not," he denied, starting to spin back to the kitchen island, but you stopped him. He glared at you again, "what do you want." "You're jealous," you repeated, holding the chair. Scara turned his head away, making an ugh noise. You took his jaw and turned him back to you. He went to take your hand away, but your hand that was preventing him from turning away shot to his wrist, stopping it. You watched his eyes widen.

Now he felt different.

"You're jealous," you whispered, staring into his eyes, "admit it." He was silent. He wanted to move his hand, but you tightened your grip on his wrist. His eyes drifted to the side, away from you. "Look at me, Scara," you immediately said. He looked to the other side. "Scara." You held his jaw a bit tighter, "look at me." You watched his eyes slowly look at you. His expression had softened. There was a moment of silence.

"Good boy," you whispered. That line went straight down his pants. You watched his eyes widen slightly. "Admit it. You're jealous." You spoke again, your grip on his jaw loosening, "It's normal, but you should tell me." His eyes drifted away again as he swallowed and you reacted. "Scaramouche, fucking look at me." You said and he immediately looked back. He felt tingly, he started feeling.. hot. "Speak." You simply said. He blinked, eyes looking away, "Ugh, fine, I-" "Look at me." You interrupted him. Scara felt his dick twitch. He looked at you again, a small blush on his face. "I was jealous-" He whispered. "Scara." "I'm jealous-" he said a bit louder. Silence again. You watched his eyes go away again. You sighed and watched as he looked back at you in a moment. You went closer to his face, going to his ear. "Good boy," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his neck. You took your hands away from him and went to pour water in your cup.

Scara just sat there, his mind repeating your words. He felt his dick twitch again as he breathed out through his nose. You just poured your water, put it away and watched the teabag float up to the top, the usual. You messed with your spoon and then put it down. You turned to Scaramouche. "Are you sure you don't want tea? Maybe you've changed your mind?" You asked. He stared at the ground. How did you change your attitude in a span of a few seconds? "Scara?" You asked again. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he just shook his head. You stared at him. Then it dawned on you.

You quickly went back to him, standing in front of him. He looked at you right away, scared that you'll tell him to speak again. "Oh God, I'm sorry, did I hold your wrist too tight?? Did I say something wrong?? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" you quickly started rambling. Scara stared at you in confusion. "What? No, no, you didn't hurt me- Where the fuck did you get that?" He furrowed his brows. "I don't know, you went quiet??" You shrugged, staring at him. Then he realized that you don't know the effect that your actions had on him. You two stared at each other. You looked away for a moment, then you started to walk back to your tea, but Scara caught your wrist and pulled you back. "Did I do someth-" "Am I really..?" He interrupted you. You looked at him. He was staring somewhere else. "What do you mean?" You asked, standing in front of him again. He took his hand away from your wrist. "What you said previously. Am I really.. you know-" he glanced at you before looking away again. You thought to yourself. Wait.. oh.

Your smirk was back. "Say it." You spoke and watched as Scara bit his lip for a second, turning his head away. "Am I really.. ugh." He felt his cheeks flush. "Come on, I know you can say it," you leaned closer to him. He was getting more anxious. "Am I really a- fuck. Am I really a good boy?" He quickly said, feeling the embarrassment wash over. You laughed a little, your hand going to his jaw. You turned his head towards you, his eyes still not meeting yours. "Look at me, Scara," you simply said, just like before. His eyes meet yours. "Yes," you started, your other hand going to his chest, fingers slowly sliding down, "you are a good boy." You could feel his heartbeat quicken. Nervous eyes staring into yours. "You want me to say it again?" Your fingers stopped at his stomach. He felt his dick twitch again. He blinked at you, glancing away from time to time, but not fully looking away. "Scara, tell me," you asked again. "Please," he whispered, eyes fixating on the ground.

"You'll have to try better than that," your fingers went back to his chest and you watched him look back at you. "No, please-" he repeated a bit louder. You smiled and he glanced away again. "There's no need to be ashamed, it's just us here, you know," you said, tilting your head to the side. Scara rolled his eyes, "Shut up." You pulled him a bit towards you by his jaw, causing him to look at you with a gasp. Your smile was gone. "I thought you wanted to be called a good boy, no?" You blinked at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, again. He just stared. "So you don't want me to call you that? You could have just said that earlier, you know," you looked away, looking bored. "No, please, please-" he started, but you cut him off with a stare. "What? Please what? Tell me." You put your attention on him again. He gulped, forcing himself to stare back at you, "please call me that, please-" "Call you what?" "Please call me a good boy, please, fuck-" He was getting desperate, you could tell. And you wanted to drag him further. "Not with that language," you lidded your eyes again. He exhaled, staring into your eyes intensively. "Please, please call me a good boy, for f- ugh, please," Scara started rambling in embarrassment, "mommy, just call me a good boy, please-"

"What was that?"

It went silent. He watched you slowly smirk as he realized what he said. "I-" he started, but nothing else came out. Fuck. "You want mommy to call you a good boy?" You whispered. He was desperate, nodding immediately, but you held his jaw. "Use your words, Scara." You pointed out. He wanted to curse himself for being so desperate for you. "Yes, please call me a good boy, please, m- ah, mommy-" he quickly spoke, eyes digging into yours. It went silent. His eyebrows were furrowed, face flushed — desperate. You slowly blinked at him. Then you went closer to his ear and spoke to him in a whisper.

"Good boy."

You heard him exhale. Your hand released his jaw. Your other hand went down his chest to the tent in his pants that already had a wet spot at the top. You heard him let out a surprised gasp. You pressed a few kisses on his neck, before pulling away to look at him. Scara's chest was rising while your hand circled his tip through his pants. You watched as his hand went to his mouth, loudly exhaling again. You looked down. You quickly got his pants down to his knees, staring at his boxers that were dark at a certain spot. You then pulled his boxers down just enough for his dick to be out. Scara was starting to feel dizzy, the feeling of his dick being free, your intense stare in his eyes. You quickly took his hand that was by his mouth and pulled it away from his mouth. "Don't do that, got it?" You told him. He quickly nodded. You stared. He licked his lips before responding, "yes, mommy-" You nodded, "Good boy." You noticed his dick twitch at that. It made you feel so powerful.

You let go of his hand, meanwhile your other hand slid down his chest to his thigh. You brought your finger to his tip, circling it, smearing his precum. He made a noise at that, bucking his hips. You took your hand away, looking at him. "If you're going to do that, I won't touch you." You warned. His eyes widened, "please don't, don't do that, please-" You nodded and went back to his dick. You wrapped your hand around and started to slowly slide it up, then back down, coating his dick with some precum. He whined, "please, please-" "Be patient, puppy," you responded, not removing your eyes from his dick. Slowly you picked up the pace. Then you looked at him. His eyes were shut, there was drool starting to slide down his chin. "Scara, look at me, open your eyes," you commanded. He slowly opened his eyes to look at you. You made eye contact. Fuck, he looked so submissive. You increased the speed, jerking his dick quicker, starting to make wet sounds from his precum. He moaned, head going back, more broken moans falling from his mouth.

"Scara, I told you to look at me," you reminded. He lifted his head back up, trying to look back at you. You giggled, "Good boy. Tell me how it feels, won't you?" Sweat was appearing on his skin, drool out his mouth. He started to speak, but that's when you started jerking around his tip. He moaned louder, tears starting to prick at his eyes. "Come on, tell me how good it feels," you whisper. "A-ah- f-feels good, fuck-! Oh my god, fuck, it feelssogood fuck, mommy-" Scara tried his best, but fuck did it feel good. You went closer, pressing your lips against his, indulging him in a kiss. His hands immediately clutched at your shirt while you drunk his moans. Your hand sped up, focusing on his whole shaft. More precum went down, making even more wet noises. You pushed your tongue against his, he kissed back messy. Then, you heard his moans becoming quicker, his hands clutching you tighter.

You pulled away from the kiss, licking your lips, staring down at him. "Gonna cum, puppy?" You asked and he nodded, staring up at you. Your hand started slowing down as you raised your eyebrow. He whined, "no, please, I'm close, please don't slow down, pleasepleaseplease-" "That's right, good boy," you went quicker, staring at his ruined state. His head fell back and his moans increased in volume. You could hear him say 'please' multiple times in a row. Then his head came back, looking into your eyes, begging you to not stop. You looked down at his dick, then looked back at him. You leaned into his neck to press a few kisses, while Scara placed his head on your shoulder, his hands going to your back, gripping the material again. "I'm- I'm gonnacum, a-ah, fuck fuck, I'm gonna cum I'mgonnacum please-" His breathing was heavy. "Then cum, go on," you whispered, "be a good boy and cum for me." That was the final push.

A loud moan went through his throat as he came. You looked down, watching his cum stain his shirt, drop on your hand, slide down to his thighs. After a few seconds, you started slowing your hand down. You could feel him shake, his breathing heavy again. Then your hand stopped. You kissed his neck while he breathed in your shoulder, calming down. Scara's head was spinning, he felt like he might pass out. Drool and tears had stained your shirt a bit. After a minute you felt him release your shirt. You pulled away, taking your hand away too. You looked at Scara. His eyes were unfocused, mouth still open, face hot, drool and tears. He looked so pretty, so ruined — it made you feel powerful, how you managed to somehow get him like this.

You broke the silence, asking, "Scara, are you alright?" You watched as he looked at you. "..I'm okay." He finally said, blinking at you. You smiled slightly, rubbing a few of his tears away with your clean hand. He was silent, staring at you. You stood up straight and looked at your other hand. You licked a bit off from your fingers, swallowing down. Scara stared, eyes slightly widening. No way he found that hot. "Alright, I'll get some tissues, wait here," you quickly said and walked to the bathroom. You washed your hands first.

Scara was zoning out, thinking of what the fuck just happened. He can't believe that he got so damn desperate for you, that he let that name slip out. He shook his head, looking down at himself. Yeah, he'll have to put this in the wash for sure. Then he heard noise, turning his head to it. You walked in with tissues and a slightly wet towel. You put down the towel on the island and took a few tissues. You took Scara's chin, holding his head up. With your other hand, you cleaned away his drool and a few wet tears. He couldn't stop staring at you. You noticed and just smiled at him.

Then you took your hand away from his jaw, looking down at his dick. You pushed his boxers a bit more away and cleaned the cum off his thighs with the tissue. Then you took another one, continuing to clean around. Then you carefully got to his shaft, then tried to get a few stains off from his shirt. After that you put the tissues away, taking the wet towel. You cleaned his thighs and areas again. Scara bit his lips, you were gentle. You put everything away and went to throw out the tissues.

"I think we should put a few of your clothes to wash, don't you think?" You asked, coming back. He nodded, but stopped mid-nod and responded, "Yeah, right." "Take your shirt off, I'll get you a new one," you smiled, running to a room. He felt his cheeks get hot again. He loved this, even if it made him very embarrassed. He slowly took his shirt off, then you ran back into the room. "Um, I got you clean boxers as well, if you don't mind-" you spoke, putting down the clothing on the chair next to him. He stayed silent, handing you his shirt. You took it and went to quickly put it in the washing machine. He took his pants and boxers off. He took the shirt and boxers that you got him and put them on.

When you came back, he was already holding his clothing in hand for you. "Did it get stained too?" You asked, taking them. He just looked away from your gaze, "just in case." You nodded and went to also put them in the wash. He could hear you pressing a few buttons and the machine starting to work. When you came back, Scara was still staring somewhere else. You stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry," you broke the silence. He immediately looked at you, face showing confusion. "Why the fuck are you sorry?" He asked. "You know," you messed with your shirt, "I kind of didn't really ask if you wanted me to do.. that, so- I understand if you're mad." He blinked at you. "You're a fool to think that," he replied, "I'm not mad. I'm.. surprised, I guess." "Why?" You stared back at him. Silence.

Scara stared at you. "Well, first of all-" he coughed, "you turned me on in the worst way possible." He looked away from you, feeling his face get hot more. "You made me beg for you, you- fuck. You.. goddammit, you made me fucking desperate." He felt the shame again. Silence. He started feeling nervous, for some reason. You quietly asked, "Did you hate it..?" He looked back at you, "No I didn't, I fucking loved it, idiot." "You loved me being controlling??" You asked again. He stared. He started thinking. "Well, if.. if that was that, then- um, I guess?" He shrugged. Silence, again.

You slightly smiled, "I'll make note of that." You leaned your head closer to him and he immediately kissed you. You kissed back, putting your hand on his chest, the other on his cheek. His hands went to your shirt, pulling you closer. You two made out, your thumb rubbing his cheek. Then you pulled away for a breath, but he pulled you back again. You slid your tongue against his, a muffled noise from Scara. After a few moments, he pulled away from the kiss, breathing on your lips. "You made me so desperate, you have no idea," he quickly whispered before kissing you again. You felt his hands clutch your shirt, pulling away again. "You made me- fuck, you made me-" he couldn't put into words. He wanted to kiss you again, but you put a finger to his lips.

You stared into his eyes, "I made you call me mommy?" He breathed out a 'yes'. "I made you obey me?" You continued, lidding your eyes. He breathed out another 'yes'. "I made you finish so hard, that you were shaking against me?" You put your hand back on his cheek. He whined out a 'yes.' You put your lips against him again, he kissed back immediately. You two made out for a while, some muffled noises from the man. Then you pulled away, pressing a finger on his lips again. "Let's go to bed. It's late and I want you to get rest, okay?" You spoke in a soft tone. He nodded. "We can continue tomorrow," you continued, taking your hands away from him. He did the same. You smiled at him. "Thank you," he mumbled so quietly you almost didn't hear him. "You're welcome, Scaramouche," you chuckled at his expression. "Jeez, so formal," he rolled his eyes. You laughed and then your eyes caught something.

A cup. With already cold water.

"Oh my god," you said out loud, Scara sending you a confused gaze, "I forgot about my tea." He turned his head to where you were staring and yep, your cup is there with your forgotten teabag. "..I'll heat it up and drink it, you can go to bed," you said, rubbing your forehead. He stood up and looked at you, wanting to say something, but didn't. He just stared, might slightly agape. You looked at him again. "You want me to tuck you in?" You smirked, a giggle coming from you. He widened his eyes, looking away, "no, fuck you." He started walking away and you followed him. Scara went into his room and turned around. "I thought you're making tea?" He raised his eyebrows at you. You nodded, "Yeah, I will. I just want to say goodnight."

"Well, you just said it, you can go now," he motioned his hand at you. "Get in your bed first," you said. He just rolled his eyes, "I was going to do that anyways." He walks to his bed and turns on the light on the nightstand. He sat on his bed, staring at you, arms crossed. You walked over to him, leaned down and pushed him down on the bed. He gasped and you kissed him. His heart started beating more again, feeling you move your lips against his. He got that feeling again. His hands went to your shirt, pulling you more. Your fingers ghosted on his arm, leaving behind goosebumps on his skin. He felt your knee press against his crotch and he moaned in surprise.

That was unintentional — you didn't realize where you placed your legs. You pulled away and smiled down at him. Scara started back. "Goodnight, Scara," you said, leaning into his neck, "Good boy." Then you got off him and left the room, waving at him before closing the door. He stared at the door. He ran a hand through his hair, then along his face. Scara got under the covers, trying to ignore the feeling, trying to ignore the need for your touch again.

You just went to heat up your tea. Microwave beeps, teabag out, a bit of honey in your cup, mix it. You sat down and enjoyed your drink, slowly. You put down your cup, staring at the surface, recalling what happened. It made you feel hot, just like before.

"And it started with him being jealous, huh?" You mumbled, taking a sip again. "Live laugh Scaramouche." You chuckled, finishing your drink.

© h0ney-mochi 2022 ; 2024 / Please don't copy or repost my work and writings! <3

[lovebittenbyevans]

Behind The Curtain | Part 1

Summary: When you and Toji thought you both finally went your separated ways but it turns out not everything is all that it seems to be when you both can’t escape the one thing you wanted for so long – Divorce. As Toji tries to get back into the spotlight you both began to wonder if this was ever real between you two or fake

Pairing: Actor/Ex-Husband! Toji Fushiguro x Female Reader

Warnings: cursed words

Author note: This will be a short series.

Part 1

Seeing him again you did not know what to think of it. You forgot how fast a year can go by quickly but you would always remember how he looked. You picture him in your head so many times but eventually you know this isn’t what it used to be.

You clear your throat as you pull out the chair to sit across from him. “Toji.” It was eight o’clock at night and you were in the mood for something warm to drink.

Toji takes a sip of his coffee and leans forward in his chair a bit. “Thank you for meeting me, babygirl.” You notice he had on a hat that says ‘better yourself’ while wearing trimmed black sunglasses along with a white shirt and blue denim jeans.

“Toji, cut to the chase.” You tell him seriously. You don’t have time to hear his fake sobbing stories this time and excuse.

He trailed off. “Always straight to the fucking point, huh?” He reached inside his red jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Remember how we finally got divorced from each other and my lawyer helped us out?”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. “Yeah, why? Your lawyer finally admitted she is a scammer and a piece of shit.”

“Well…” Toji exhaled loudly as he unfolded the paper and slid it towards you. “Apparently we are still married to each other.”

You took the paper and looked at it for a moment. “What?” You carefully read what was written on the paper.

11/4/23 –Toji Fushiguro and Y/N Fushiguro are still happily married

Your eyes slowly looked at him. “What the fuck!?” You scoff, shaking your head.

He lowered his hat down as his eyes were on you. “I know, look, I feel the same way you do.”

“You better get a fucking good lawyer this time and fixed this!” You raised your voice a little.

He leans back against his seat. “I know but we have another problem.” You didn’t want to hear those few words at all.

Before you open your mouth to talk, your phone vibrates against your jeans pocket. “That's definitely important.” He said.

You take your phone inside your green jeans pocket and check to see what showed up on your screen.

Actor! Toji Fushiguro and Y/N Fushiguro are happily married a year ago

Your eyes widened immediately when you saw the headlines. You seriously wanted to vomit and crawl into a hole.

Fuck!

“How? W–What?” You were speechless and shocked at the same time.

Toji took one last sip of his drink and said. “It was too late before I could call my publicist to ask them to get rid of the story.”

Your mind had too many thoughts right now. That bastard lawyer for not filing the papers correctly. You wanted to scream loudly but you already knew it was not going to make your problem go away.

“Too late?” You raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?” A part of you didn’t believe him one bit.

He took off his black shade sunglasses and pushed his chair back. “Look, I know you don’t believe anything I tell you anymore but I’m telling you the truth.”

You scoffed. “How long do we have to wait this time to finally go our separate ways.”

“Um, well…” He rubs his chin while looking at you. “She thinks this might help my image. I have trouble staying out of scandals.”

You shot him a look. “Excuse me? Are you–Sharon is a fucking joke.” You got up from your chair and pushed it underneath the table. “That’s not my problem, you can’t control yourself T.”

You were ready to walk out the door when he grabs your wrist, forcing you to look at him. “Wait, how long are you going to be in London for?”

You glanced at his hand on your wrist before looking at him. “My flight leaves today like I told you over the phone.”

Toji took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Stay.” His piercing dark blue eyes were fixated on you.

You let out a chuckle and pulled away from him. “Goodbye T.” You walked out of the coffee shop, struggling to keep a straight face.

[hyperdramas]

faithful | lee seokmin

pairing: lee seokmin x reader

warnings: non-idol au, fluffy (at the beginning & end), jealous seokmin, cursing, seokmin uses petnames (baby), reader uses nicknames, kissing, reader has an ex, reader thinks jealous seokmin is kind of attractive, seokmin apologizes to reader, lyr has too much fun describing seokmin pt. 92809423, happy/wholesome ending

now playing: faithful, wild east radio word count: 2069 (holy....) (for @kstrucknet)

lyr's notez: thank you @heechwe we all say in unison (she came up w this) 🤍 also....the 2nd/right picture has me feeling some type of way because holy....oh lord

As you and your boyfriend spent your Saturday afternoon parading the aisles of your local grocery store, the two of you couldn't help but be all over each other, nearly running into shelves left and right because you two couldn't keep your eyes off each other.

Seokmin was in an outfit you had never seen him in before, and it made you feel something─it was simple: a black turtleneck and a dark pair of jeans laced with a sleek, silver buckled belt.

His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing his sculpted forearms and tanned skin underneath. Your head was cloudy enough just looking at his outfit, but it got even worse when you looked at his face.

He was wearing those stupid black frames again─the ones you had bought him a few months ago for a surprise─and they perfectly sat on his nose. His smile was a bright, butterfly-inducing white as he scrolled on his phone, reading the grocery list. You almost kissed him in the middle of the frozen food section when he helped a lady's kid reach something on the higher shelf, paternal instincts kicking in without his knowledge.

"Did we get the salt?" Seokmin's voice awakens you from your reverie, and you nod, obviously flustered that he caught you in that state. He looks at you and smiles, knowing what's going through your head as his hand brushes yours. "Stay focused, baby."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one having to hold themselves back from flinging themselves on their boyfriend because he looks so attractive in the outfit he's wearing." You say while locking eyes with him. Seokmin gets a kick out of this, a smile coming on his face as he kisses your forehead.

"Who told you I wasn't also trying to hold myself back? You don't know─I may want to kiss you really badly right now," Seokmin's voice is playful as he gives you a sweet side glance, and you can't help but laugh, propelling the cart forward as the two of you laugh at each other's antics.

As you and Seokmin browse the produce section (Seokmin really doing all the hard work while you just hang back and admire the sushi a few steps away), Seokmin's hands find their place on your waist, shocking you as he presses you against the cart.

His lips hover just above your ear, and he leans in, tricking you into thinking he's going to kiss you just to reach around you to get his phone.

"Min, what was that all about?" You ask confused, body warm from his touch. You were already flustered─he was just making it worse.

"That guy keeps looking at you," Seokmin's voice is suspicious as he continues to push the cart, and you glanced over at who he was talking about, eyes widening as you met eyes with him.

It was your toxic ex-boyfriend who had left you for another girl two years ago, and he was back in town─without a girlfriend, might you add.

"Do you know him, baby?" Seokmin's voice is louder now that you two have turned the corner. He's curious: the man stared at you like he was familiar with you, and it made Seokmin sick to his stomach. The way his eyes sparkled when he watched you...Seokmin fumed quietly, knowing that he alone was supposed to watch you like that.

"That's my ex. He's...." You trail off, and Seokmin finishes it for you, eyebrows falling into a serious look. "I remember. You told me about him." Seokmin's voice had a darker edge to it, one you had never heard before.

Seokmin was always mild-mannered and polite, even when he had a strong opinion or dislike of something. This─the side of Seokmin you were seeing now─was very new to you. 

You couldn't lie and say you didn't think it was really attractive.

“Hey!” A familiar voice from behind you interrupts your thoughts about your boyfriend, and you turn around and lock eyes with your ex. There’s a surprising kindness in his gaze that catches you off guard, leaving you frozen and unsure of how to respond.

“Oh─hi!” You try to be polite, hoping your smile doesn’t come off as a grimace. Seokmin smiles beside you, trying to be polite: he remembers everything you told him, and he tries to push the thoughts of rising anger away, wanting to be cordial and polite in the situation.

“How are you? It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Your ex comes in for a hug, but you refuse, stepping back as you just nod. Your ex notices this, face dropping slightly as his grin turns to a straight-lipped smile. “It has. I’ve been good, though.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear. Who’s this? I don’t think we’ve met before.” His question is directed at you, but his eyes are on Seokmin’s imposing frame as he speaks. Seokmin doesn’t back down, not affected by your ex’s judgemental stare.

“This is Seokmin, my boyfriend.” You gesture to Seokmin, and he nods, reaching out to shake hands with your ex as his voice is warm. “It’s nice to meet you.”

"It’s nice to meet you too.” Your ex’s voice is filled with sarcastic politeness as he takes Seokmin’s hand, retracting it as his eyes glare Seokmin’s way. You both could tell that he was disgusted by Seokmin: it wasn’t hard to notice, seeing how his lips turned into a slight sneer when Seokmin entered the conversations started by your ex.

Seokmin was threatened by the way he looked at you─he could tell your ex was making you uncomfortable, and it bothered him even more that he was subtly yet surely trying to flirt with you. It was something in the way your ex had given you backhanded compliments it with a little laugh in his voice as if mocking who you were and the man Seokmin was.

Slight dislike grew into disgust, and before he knew it, Seokmin’s rational thinking had flown out of the window. He was seeing stars from how angry he was getting.

“So how has Seokmin been? Treating you and caring for you, I mean.” Your ex’s question sounded so sarcastic you almost visibly winced, but you bit back the urge, smiling up at your boyfriend whose expression had already darkened three shades.

“Seokmin has done so much for me, and I’m really glad I met him. He's been a breath of fresh air after our disagreement.” You try to stay polite, but it becomes increasingly uncomfortable to listen to your ex speak about your boyfriend. In reality, Seokmin is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

“You look happy, don’t get me wrong. I just─I would have thought that you would have chosen better. You were never good at thinking or using your brain for anything other than being cute and reading too much into things.” Your ex scoffed unamusedly, and your eyes got watery as you stared down at the grown, face warming up at his words. 

His words dripped with sarcasm that pierced through you, leaving you feeling small and uncertain about your nature. Each comment was like the stab of a sharp knife, cutting and slicing all the positive things Seokmin told you every day. Even though you said you had gotten over your ex, and you had, those words still hurt. No matter who said them, words still hurt.

“Okay, woah. Don’t you dare say that about her. That’s so far from the truth.” Seokmin’s voice grew harder by the second as he stepped towards your boyfriend, anger radiating off him in thick waves.

His eyes were five shades darker, sharp and fierce as he looked at your ex with a burning hatred. Seokmin’s hand tightened around yours as he stared, unmoved by the stares he was garnering from other shoppers.

“What? I was just telling the truth. She has this habit of making decisions about her love life and then crying when it all goes wrong.” Your ex’s voice had a bite to it, and Seokmin didn’t falter, lips curving up into a sneer as he let go of your hand. His whole body is tense, on fire, and he wants nothing more than to punch your ex straight in his jaw and send him crying to his girlfriend (or lack thereof).

“You have some fucking nerve saying that about my girlfriend in front of me. I was trying to be polite and cordial throughout all of this, but as soon as you started talking from your ass, I forgot. Fuck off.”  The cursing from Seokmin sounds so foreign to you─you knew he was capable of it, but you never heard him do it around you. The venom behind his words was tangible, and if you were your ex, you would back off in fear of him.

Seokmin’s voice is so low and angry that it even shocks him in the back of his mind, but his face doesn’t register the thought. Your ex backs off, obviously shocked at the sharpness of his tone as well. He doesn’t say anything more, giving the two of you one last glance before he strolls away. 

Seokmin’s chest rises and falls quickly, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he pushes the cart to the checkout area. The whole time he’s eerily quiet, on edge as he pays for the groceries and loads them out into the back of his car.

You get in on the other side, still in shock at the Seokmin you saw in the aisle just a few minutes earlier. He was harsh─harsher than you had ever seen him be before. 

It was an eye-opener for you, and you found yourself being attracted to your boyfriend even more.

When Seokmin got into the car and buckled his seat belt up, his head hit the headrest with a hard bump, causing you to look over at him.

He was quiet as he stared up at the car’s ceiling, and you reached out to touch his forearm, smiling at him as he looked over at you.

“I’m really, really, really sorry, baby. I overreacted in there and what you saw wasn’t necessary and was uncalled for, and for that, I’m─” Seokmin was cut off by you leaning over the stick shift and kissing him, feeling the stress disappear from his shoulders. He went slack under your touch, lips feeling yours as he let you take over.

When you pulled away, Seokmin fell quiet, confused as you smiled to yourself. “Did I say something funny?” He asked, and you shook your head, looking out of the window as you buckled yourself up.

“No, Min. You were just─I was really shocked when I saw you get angry at him like that,” You said, and Seokmin looked down at his hands, sighing.

“I’m sorry. When he started talking to you I was already starting to get suspicious of him, but when he started saying those things to you…god, it fucking drove me insane.” Seokmin started to get riled up again, but you placed your hands on his forearm, and he slowly dwindled back down after a few breaths.

“Did I scare you or anything?” Seokmin asks sweetly, eyes looking at you worriedly as you shake your head. Pushing his bangs back from his face, you caress his cheek, watching him with love in your eyes as you shake your head again, slowly.

“No, Seok. I thought it was really attractive of you.” You say softly, a heat rushing to your cheeks as Seokmin smiles deviously. “Really?” 

“Yeah. It made me want to kiss you really badly.” Seokmin leans over to touch his lips to yours softly, making you gasp at the way he slowly tickles your cheek with his slender, graceful fingers.

Seokmin leans closer, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, “You should do that.” A playful giggle escapes your lips, and you can’t help but smile at the mischief in his eyes. With a teasing flutter of your heart, you weave your fingers through his soft, tousled curls, feeling the gentle silkiness beneath your touch. You pull him in just a little closer, your lips brushing softly against his, slightly swollen from previous kisses.

Savoring the moment, you whisper, “Don’t mind if I do, Minnie,” before closing the distance between you, tasting the sweetness of the connection you both share.

[l2vedive]

BUTTERCUP w. kwon soonyoung (hoshi)

countryside boy x rich girl au (915)

pairing: kwon soonyoung (hoshi) x fem!reader

note: loosely based on the filipino romcom crazy beautiful you . please rb ur thoughts and give a like if you've enjoyed this read , thank you !

you’re trudging along the dusty road, fuming under the late afternoon sun, the straps of your heels biting into your feet. this place—this forsaken countryside—feels like the embodiment of everything your mother knows you hate. dirt, roads that lead to nowhere, endless fields, and the smell of livestock. your punishment couldn’t be more humiliating.

but you’re done playing her game. the bag over your shoulder holds just enough cash and a charger for your phone. you’d figured out the bus schedule last night; all you needed was to sneak out unnoticed. no more dealing with nosy neighbours or the suffocating boredom of country living.

but of course, nothing goes as planned.

"hey, miss," a voice calls from somewhere behind you. instinctively, you clutch your bag tighter and quicken your pace. it’s not the friendly sort of tone you'd expect from a stranger.

then, as if out of nowhere, someone grabs your arm. panic shoots through you as you try to yank yourself free, but the man is faster, rougher. your bag is ripped from your shoulder, and your heart lurches as you realise you can’t overpower him.

"get off me!" you scream, but the road is deserted, the fields stretching endlessly on either side. the man runs off, your bag slung over his shoulder.

before you can decide whether to chase after him or collapse in despair, someone else appears, jogging towards you.

"what the hell was that?" you demand as soonyoung stops in front of you, hands on his hips like he’s just finished a casual morning run.

“relaaaaxx,” he says, eyeing you like you’re some kind of puzzle. “you alright?”

"do i look alright?" you snap, but your voice wavers. you hate that you sound scared.

soonyoung doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks in the direction the thief ran off. then, without warning, he bends down, sweeping you off your feet and hoisting you over his shoulder like you’re some kind of sack of rice.

"put me down!" you shriek, pounding at his back with your fists. he doesn’t even flinch, the muscles under his worn shirt taut as he starts walking down the road.

"you’re welcome," he says, smirking.

"welcome for what? you didn’t do anything!"

"you were about to pass out from panic. i’m saving you."

"by carrying me like this?!"

he chuckles, the sound low and infuriatingly casual. "you’d rather stay here alone? the thief might come back, you know."

you stop struggling for a moment, because damn it, he’s right.

he brings you to a small, slightly dingy motel on the edge of town. the sign flickers in and out, and the smell of damp wood hits you as soon as he sets you down in the doorway.

"you’ve got to be kidding me," you mutter, brushing yourself off.

"what? not five-star enough for you, princess?"

you glare at him. "why are you even helping me?"

“let’s just say i’m… invested in your journey,” he says with a smirk that sets your nerves on edge.

you fold your arms, not buying his vague answer. "and what’s that supposed to mean?"

"well," he starts, leaning casually against the doorframe, "it means i know you’re trying to run off back to the city. and i also know you’re not going anywhere now."

"how do you know that?" you demand, your voice rising.

he gives you a sheepish smile that somehow manages to infuriate you more. "because the guy who stole your bag is a friend of mine. and, uh, your mom hired us."

for a second, you think you’ve misheard him. "what ?"

"it was her idea. she wanted to scare you into staying put." he shrugs, like this is all perfectly reasonable.

you stare at him, mouth open. "you’re joking."

"not really," he says, looking annoyingly unbothered.

"so you’re in on this?"

he raises a hand in mock surrender. "hey, i’m just doing my job."

“your job ? ” you step closer, glaring up at him. "so you’re what? some kind of low class actor now?"

"general helper," he corrects, flashing you a grin. "i do odd jobs. sometimes legal, sometimes… less so."

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. "this is insane. my mother is insane."

"maybe," he says, his tone annoyingly light. "but she’s got good taste in collaborators."

you want to slap that smug look off his face, but you also can’t help noticing how sharp his jawline looks in the dim motel lighting. you shake the thought away.

"you’re lucky i don’t call the cops," you mutter, turning away.

"on who? your mom? " he teases, following you into the room.

“you’re infuriating,” you snap, spinning to face him.

"and you’re spoiled," he fires back, leaning in closer. his smirk is still there, but his voice drops an octave, taking on a flirtatious edge. "but i guess that’s why i took on such a strange yet fun request."

"fun?" you echo, eyes narrowing. "you think this is fun?"

he steps closer, close enough that you can see the gold flecks in his brown eyes. "admit it," he says, voice low. "you like the trouble."

you hate that your heart skips a beat at his tone, hate the way he’s looking at you like he knows exactly how to get under your skin.

"you’re delusional," you say, but it comes out weaker than you intend and you mentally slap yourself for it.

"hmm, maybe," he murmurs, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "but that's probably because you’re stuck with me now, buttercup."

— please do not copy , translate or repost any of my works anywhere.

© l2vedive on tumblr

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Delicate (Jake's Version)

9 - Comme De Fleurs Nous Fanons

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!)

Warnings: SMUT, cockwarming, protected!sex, feelings and lots of them, mention of death (wow these are wild)

A/N: Smut and sad wrapped into one nice, little heartbreaking package. The chapter title is hidden in one of the songs on the playlist, by the way hehehe. Take that as you will.

Taglist: @mrsevans90

Playlist

Mom: Where are you

Mom:  assuming you're with Jake

Mom: I don't care i just want to know you're okay

Mom: your father isn't feeling well at all

Mom: he wants to speak with Jake at some point about you

Sam awoke to what felt like five hundred texts but it was just the ones from her mom and a few from Nat.

Nat: tell Jake we really appreciated him paying last night

Nat; we had a good time

Nat: maybe we can do that more often?

Sam smiled as she texted her mother back first.

Sam: im okay, yes I'm w Jake, I will tell him dad wants to chat, be home in a bit

Then she text back Nat back. 

Sam: well would both like that, and he said no problem at all, he enjoyed it too

She had rolled onto her stomach, and there was a well-muscled arm strewn across her back. Jake was still snoozing, his breath warm as it hit her arm. She nudged him and he groaned, but opened one eye slightly, then smiled.

“Fuck yes, there's a girl in my bed.” He rasped triumphantly, jokingly, and Sam shook her head and leaned in to kiss him. She put her phone down and snuggled up close in his arms. She swung a leg over his hip and remembering that they went to bed naked, he thrust his hips toward hers, settling his hard length against her. He wanted to push it inside her. He didn't even want to fuck her at that moment, he just wanted to be as close as he possibly could to her.

“Hey, can I...put my dick inside you? Like just to put it inside you? I just wanna feel you.” He asked, his voice so soft and needy that Sam couldn't possibly resist. She didn't, as she positioned herself so that he could just slide right in. She wanted to feel him too.

“Just don't cum...I'm not on birth control.” She said and his eyes widened. He glanced down between them, admiring her pretty, round breasts against his chest.

“Like to live on the edge huh?” Jake asked, as he gently pushed himself between her folds, letting a satisfied groan leave his lips. He pressed them into her neck.

“No, I'm just very careful with who I let inside me . I very much doubt you're gonna get me pregnant and run, pretty boy. Dare I say, Jake Seresin , I trust you.” Sam's tone was confident and matter of fact and Jake nodded in agreement. He would most certainly not do that. He was raised better than that and if it came to it, he would take full responsibility for anything that happened between them.

Her wet warmth enveloped his length so easily and left him feeling like he could just go back to sleep. He was so comfortable with Sam. It was then that he made a decision that would change the trajectory of the rest of his life. No doubt he wanted to be chosen for this mission, but if he didn't get to be team leader, he wasn't going to be as upset as he would if he didn't have Sam to come home to. He wanted to make sure he could come home. 

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Jake’s voice was low but soft as he ran his fingers down her ribs, around the curve of her ass, drawing her in even closer. He knew he hit the deepest part of her when her brow furrowed and she whimpered softly.

“Yeah...” she sighed, as she brought her hands up and around the back of his neck. She toyed with the hair there.

“What kind of relationship do you want this to be?” He asked and her eyes fluttered shut. She puzzled over her answer for a few moments, as she shifted slightly, pushing him so that he was on his back and she was straddling him. Jake relaxed into the pillows and placed his hand at her hips. 

“I want to be done dating...I need stability. I hate dating. I hate getting to know new people. I just want to be comfortable with someone. Especially with my dad being...” She stopped, mind going fuzzy at the thought of her father’s condition. Jake watched as her thoughts went elsewhere and he ran his fingers up and down her spine, attempting to bring her focus back on him. Her eyes flicked to the sage green of his and she bit her lip. “Is that what you want too?”

“I don't want to fuck around anymore. It's honestly boring. I'm ready to commit to somethin’ long term. I want someone to come home to.” He said softly, reaching up to brush hair from in front of her eyes. Sam could tell by the way he stared at her, the way he vigilantly watched her every move, he'd fallen head over boots for her. Sam wasn't even surprised. This happened with most guys, but it for sure felt different with Jake. Most guys she'd been with wanted to parade her around, introduce her to their friend and family, brag that they'd bagged a Naval Commander’s daughter. Jake had been humble about all of it though. It wasn't about the outside connections that would benefit him. Even when he had the few moments to show her off, he did it in a way that oozed confidence but was also respectful, which was on par with what Nat had told her about him.

“So were both compliant then?” Sam mused and Jake could feel her beginning to giggle, but she stopped herself, as her fingers weaved through his short hair, making him press into her hand.

“Yes ma'am. So official. Where do I sign?” He asked, voice husky as Sam scratched his scalp leisurely. She'd come to realize just how much he enjoyed her hands in his hair, so she was all too eager to please him in that sense.

“We need to discuss a few things before you sign.” Sam said and he drew back, slight panic crossing his features. “I think we need to be honest about past partners...”

“Okay?” Jake shifted and he felt his length soften, finding the conversation suddenly less interesting. He didn't really want to discuss his past partners like this, but he gave her pause because it was so clearly bothering her at that moment. 

“I've known Bradley for years because of Mav. I slept with him once, when I was with Dad, visiting NAS Oceana. There's no feelings from my end, but I know Bradley is still a little sore that I picked you over him.” She explained and Jake pursed his lips. 

“Ah...okay...well...I slept with Nat once. Only once. And there are definitely no feelings on either end. She kinda hates me.” He pressed in closer to Sam and she dissolved into a fir of giggles against him.

‘She doesn't hate you. She just knows your reputation with women and feels stupid for being another notch in your bed post. She thinks it makes her looks unprofessional, where it's already hard for her as a female pilot.” Sam reasoned and Jake understood completely. 

“I'm sorry she feels that way. I didn't intend it like that. I was a whore in my younger years and I really don't want to be that anymore.” He said and Sam grazed her nails up and down the back of his neck as the conversation went silent for a few moments. Jake's cock had checked out for a few with the awkward and serious nature of their chat, but with her hand at the back of his neck, it was beginning to gain interest again. She hiked her leg a bit further up his hip, needing to adjust her position for whatever reason, and that had him immediately hard again. He poked his nose at hers, gaining her attention. “Can we go back to the talk about where I sign on to bein’ your boyfriend full time? I think I'm like, a prime candidate for the job and since it's open...” 

“You are one smooth asshole, you know that?” Sam chuckled and she let her lips be drawn to his. She couldn't help it. It was like he had this unavoidable gravity that she got caught up in and couldn't escape.

“But I could be your smooth asshole.” Jake said with a smirk, his lips hovering over hers. He was achingly aroused now, not forgetting that he was already inside of her. Half of the work was done. 

“You already are mine. You waltzed in like the cutest, most confident stray puppy and had no doubt that I'd keep you.” Sam joked and Jake grinned.

“Please don't take me back to the pound. I'm too good looking.” He said, taking the opportunity to carefully move his hips back and forth a few times.

“Jake...careful.” Sam's voice turned stern but there was still lust on the brim. He rolled and pulled her with him, untangling them deftly from the sheets. He tapped her leg.

“Hop off my cock for two seconds.” He commanded and Sam’s brows furrowed and she couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips as she raised herself up and off of him. He reached over into the drawer of the night stand and plucked a condom from it. This one had a pink wrapper. “Ooh. This one's nice. One of those warming ones.” He said, ripping it open with his teeth, spitting the foil to the side of the bed, and rolling the condom over his length which was at full mast now. He reached for Sam, and she knowingly re-mounted him. 

Jake's hands gripped her hips, but then one hand went down to guide his cock back inside her. Both of her hands were on his chest, playing with the sparse hair there as she eagerly relinquished control to him. He slid inside with ease and a soft whimper left his lips that made her blush. The fact that the big, tough Hangman sounded like his composure could fail at any moment underneath her, made her hot. The sounds he made spooled heat in her loins like no other man had ever. It did nothing good for her own ego that Jake was a writhing mess for her. 

“God fucking damn it. You feel so damn good on top of me. So good wrapped around my cock, babygirl.” Jake's words had an edge to them, all desire and a little something Sam might have called reverence, but that might just be what she wanted to hear. 

“You need to stop with the pet names or I'll cum right now.” She moaned as he sheathed himself to the hilt, hitting the deepest parts of her. There was a twinge near her belly button that caused her to glance down at where they were joined. He was fully inside of her and it hurt so good. 

“Don't say shit like that. You're gonna awaken some sort of kink that I ain't never knew I had.” His voice took on a southern twang, making Sam shiver slightly. There was the good ole small town Arkansas boy she wanted. The California pretty boy came right the fuck out of him when his basal instincts took over and he reverted in speech and mind to his country boy roots. Sam would bet money that he had some kinks that she could get on board with. She's always wanted a pretty country boy to fuck her in the bed of his truck underneath the stars, so maybe she'd hint at that the next time they were in the truck. 

“Yeah, Jake? What kinda kinks do you have? Tell me, handsome, I wanna know.” Sam teased and a deep growl settled in Jake's chest as his hands took a hard hold of her ass. He wiggled both and then firmly slapped them, prompting Sam to yelp and dig her nails into his pecs. 

“You. In control. For one.” He said, pressing his head back against the pillows and using his whole body to bounce her up once, his actions begging her to get going. “Ride me like you stole me. I know you know how.”

Sam swallowed hard at his words, feeling breathless as she gazed down into darkened sage green eyes. They were calculating, and patient, but there was ferality to them that she wanted, no, needed, to tame. She took in a deep breath and she began to move her hips, not up and down but more scooping back and forth, so that her clit ground against the freshly shaven skin just above the base of his shaft. She was already on the edge of her orgasm, having had him settled inside her for such a long time beforehand, so she didn't need much to get her over the peak. 

“That's it, babygirl. You look so good up there, with those perfect tits bouncin’ up and down. Fuuuck . Use me . I wanna feel you cum on my cock so bad.” Jake's voice was strained, a needy whine at the end of his words that made Sam come undone so fast and hard that she saw stars as she moaned his name, loud and proud. Sweet, rapturous notes danced around his name, leaving her lips and filling the air in the room. She threw her head back in ecstasy, and raked her nails down his chest, which made his resolve fizzle out. He filled the condom, but he wished he was spilling inside her bare. He'd absolutely settle for what he was getting though, because it was a dream come true for him either way. 

Sam collapsed on top of Jake and he could feel for a moment how they were both in sync, breath ragged, hearts pounding in their chests. His hands traveled up and down her sides and her back, fingers dipping at the indent of her spine. She reached for his hair, massaging with the pads of her fingers softly. 

“Signed, sealed, delivered, huh?” Jake mused which made Sam burst out with laughter. Jake chuckled too, feeling warmth spread in his chest. It was unfamiliar to him as it was not a lustful warmth. It was something he felt few times before, something he felt that was similar to the comfortable warmth he would feel when he saw his brother or his parents after a long time away. His cold and seemingly uncaring heart filled with the warmth of love for Sam as she hovered above him. 

“Jake...I am so comfortable with you. I really like that...” Sam said and Jake's thoughts for a minute were ‘not feelings talk again’ but he let her continue, because not only did he know that he loved her, he also respected her. She had earned that immediately from him, by way of her own cocky confidence and intelligent retorts. “And...I am really grateful to you for helping me get through what's going on with my dad. I feel alone with it sometimes...”

“Remember I said you tell me when you feel like that and I'll take it away?” Jake murmured as he wrapped his arms around her lower back and squeezed gently. She made a satisfactory noise.

“Yes. And you are. You’re making me pretty fucking happy when I probably shouldn’t be.” Sam whispered and Jake’s brow furrowed at her admission. She lifted her head then, moving her arms to his chest, and propping her chin on her hands to look directly at him. “Which, by the way...my dad wants to see you. Wants to discuss you and I.”

“Nothing bad I hope? I actually wanted to talk to him too though, so I guess it’s good timing.” Jake said, as they settled and both became quiet and comfortable in the silence. Jake would try to talk to Ice later that day.

🛩🛩🛩

Ice wasn't doing well. Now he was having more trouble breathing. His cancer was back and it was fierce. Maverick had just been to see him a few days ago. Now he had another visitor. The blond knocked gently on the door and Ice made a motion for him to enter the room. He'd asked not to be put on a ventilator. He knew his time was coming and he wanted to go out at least a little like himself. A little bit of dignity left. 

Jake Seresin pulled the chair to the edge of the bed, where Iceman was propped up on a pillow. His phone was on his lap and he was resigned to the fate of using the notes app to communicate. Ice held a hand out and Jake shook it carefully. He felt like he might break the man. Jake hadn't known him personally for very long, but now that he did, it almost made this whole thing worse. Ice put his other hand over Jake's and patted it a few times before picking up his phone and typing something to show to him.

How's the training?

“Hard. Mav is tough. Expects a lot, but I guess that's good.” Jake said, glancing over at Ice with solemn eyes. Ice smiled. He typed again and showed Jake.

And Sam? 

Jake drew in a sharp breath and swallowed hard. He could've sworn the ring in his pocket vibrated in anticipation. The ring that he’d snuck away from work to buy. The ring that he felt like he was maybe making a mistake with. The ring that he’d spent way too much on for a woman he barely knew, but for once, he was going to wing it and trust what he was feeling deep in his heart.

“Uh, well sir, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. And I knew you wanted to talk to me about her too, so maybe we’re on the same page.” Jake said softly, glancing at the door. Ice nodded, having a feeling he knew what Jake was about to ask. He placed a hand over Jake's again and took a minute to type something out.

You're a good pilot. You remind me of...me...when I was young. Just the right amount of arrogance and loyalty. The kindness and respect you've shown my daughter is something of a unique and admirable quality. Not many men can be so honorable with someone else's daughter as you have been. You must really love her, though you’ve only known her for a short time, but...when you know, you know.

Good that Ice didn't know what he and Sam had gotten up to in private though. Jake's brows knitted as he stared into Ice’s eyes. Tears welled and his jaw worked as he gathered his composure enough to ask Ice the question he'd come to ask. He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. 

“Sir, I would like to ask for your blessing...to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.” Jake's voice was shaky and Ice smirked. He pulled Jake toward him in a hug. When he let go, Ice typed out his response.

I would be honored to have you marry my daughter.

Jake let his breath out and took a deeper one. He smiled and thanked Ice. They sat in a comfortable silence for a little longer. Ice only asked one thing of him.

Just be there for her, Jake. She doesn't need anything else but you. Especially now. I won't be here for much longer. 

Jake's mouth tightened, knowing he was right. Sam would need him more than ever very soon.

[itshomobirb]

if my parents keep talking to me im going to (remembers that suicide jokes are bad for mental health) go outside and dig a hole to narnia

[chiistarri]

imsoo normal about guys byw

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

.

[haunted-house-heart]

living with someone with untreated mental illness is like. i understand why you're like this and i do empathize but also like. jesus fucking christ get some help before i throttle you i stg

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[cherrygirlfriend]

answer the call pairing: reader x bsf!rafe synopsis: rafe fucking his best friend while she's on the phone with her boyfriend warnings: smut, piv, unprotected sex, possessive rafe MDNI! - wc: 1k it's the fourth day of my birthday week celebration!!! god, i spent the entire day running around my apartment doing chores bc i refuse!!! to do chores on my actual birthday n now i'm so tired i might go right to sleep ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

rafe had you on all fours on your canopy bed, holding onto one of the posts for dear life as he pounded into you, the bed swaying every time he thrust his cock into you, one of his hands gripping onto your hair while the other rested on your ass, occasionally giving it a sharp smack, causing you to let out a noise that was between a gasp and a yelp.

"aww, look at you." rafe cooed mockingly with a tug at your hair, the blonde panting behind you "so fucking desperate for me to fuck you. bet your little loser boyfriend can't fuck you like you need to be fucked, hm?"

you hated the words that were leaving his lips, but you couldn't deny that he was right; your boyfriend definitely couldn't satisfy you the way rafe always seemed to be able to do, he couldn't hit that spongy spot that caused you to curl your toes, or rub your clit in the way that caused your back to arch off the bed. not like rafe did.

"say it," rafe commanded, "say that he can't-"

rafe let out an annoyed growl when he was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. his initial plan was to tell you to ignore it, but when he saw who it was, he got a whole new idea, a grin taking over your lips.

"answer it."

"w-what?" you looked back at rafe with furrowed brows, thinking that he must be joking, but as he continued to pound into you, there was no sign of hesitation on his face, only a wide, cruel grin.

you reached for your phone from the nightstand, rafe slowing his pace as you looked at the caller id with widened eyes, almost waiting for it to change into something else, but clear as day, there was your boyfriend's name, along with the contact photo you set for him, a picture of you two taken at a carnival.

"do it before i do it for you." rafe mumbled as he bent to press a small kiss to the back of your neck, grabbing your ass roughly. and hesitantly, you pressed the green button visible on the screen as rafe pulled out of you.

"h-hi, babe." you said, trying your best to steady your breathing as rafe teased your entrance with the tip of his cock, the hand that was in your hair just moments ago going down to rub your clit.

"hey, everything good?" the voice on the other line asked, and you had to hold back a moan by biting down on your lip as rafe's middle finger brought some of your arousal to your clit, starting to slowly rub the puffy bud.

"yeah, everything's good." you chuckled, "i was just working out."

when you said that, you felt rafe's tip slowly starting to enter you, stretching your walls as you tried not to let out any noise, your boyfriend going on a tirade about something that you honestly couldn't give two shits about at that moment.

rafe continued moving in and out of you, at first at a slow pace, slowly building it up; all the while your boyfriend was talking, and you occasionally let out noncommittal hums and 'mmhm's, but the harder rafe was fucking you, the harder it was to concentrate on anything other than him, and trying to keep quiet felt like rocket science at that point, and you were starting to taste blood in your mouth from how hard you were biting down on your lip.

"i-i gotta go." you said into the phone, nearly panting, "i'll see you later." you said, hanging up before he could even get a word in, feeling the band in your stomach getting closer and closer to snapping, letting out a moan you'd held in for too long the moment that you were off the call as rafe started pounding into you relentlessly.

"say it." rafe commanded behind you, your eyes squeezed shut, your mind hazy with pleasure, confused as to what he was talking about. "say that your boyfriend can't fuck you the way i fuck you."

you were a panting mess as he continued hitting the spot inside of you that only he seemed able to reach; a part of you didn't want to say it, didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but the moment the palm of his hand landed on your ass, you yelped, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

"h-he-"

"nuh-uh. your boyfriend."

you let out a small whine when he corrected you, trying to steady your erratic breathing as he continued thrusting in and out of you.

"m-my boyfriend... can't fuck me the way you do..."

"atta girl." rafe chuckled behind you, and the way his fingers continued circling your clit while he pounded into you from behind was getting almost overwhelming, and rafe could tell that you were getting closer by the way you were starting to clench around him, the blonde letting out a groan, "gonna come in this pretty pussy..." he mumbled, "she's practically begging me to... wants me to show her who she belongs to..."

a part of you wanted to protest, but you were so close that your mind was clouded by all the bliss he was making you feel, the world around you getting so hazy that you couldn't bring yourself to care as long as you got to come.

and as soon as you felt the band in your stomach snap, rafe's cock buried deep inside of you, he couldn't help the almost animalistic groan that left his lips, warm pumps of cum filling you up

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

How to Write Strong Dialogue

(from a writer of ten years)

So you’re back in the writing trenches. You’re staring at your computer, or your phone, or your tablet, or your journal, and trying not to lose your mind. Because what comes after the first quotation mark? Nothing feels good.

Don’t worry, friend. I’m your friendly tumblr writing guide and I’m here to help you climb out of the pit of writing despair.

I’ve created a character specifically for this exercise. His name is Amos Alejandro III, but for now we’ll just call him Amos. He’s a thirty-something construction worker with a cat who hates him, and he’s just found out he has to go on a quest across the world to save his mother’s diner.

1.) Consider the Attitude and Characteristics of Your Character

One of the biggest struggles writers face when writing dialogue is keeping characters’ dialogue “in-character”.

You’re probably thinking, “but Sparrow, I’m the creator! None of the dialogue I write can be out of character because they’re my original characters!”

WRONG. (I’m hitting the very loud ‘incorrect’ buzzer in your head right now).

Yes, you created your characters. But you created them with specific characteristics and attitudes. For example, Amos lives alone, doesn’t enjoy talking too much, and isn’t a very scholarly person. So he’s probably not going to say something like “I suggest that we pursue the path of least resistance for this upcoming quest.” He’d most likely say, “I mean, I think the easiest route is pretty self-explanatory.”

Another example is a six-year-old girl saying, “Hi, Mr. Ice Cream Man, do you have chocolate sundaes?” instead of “Hewwo, Ice Cweam Man— Chocowate Sundaes?”

Please don’t put ‘w’s in the middle of your dialogue unless you have a very good and very specific reason. I will cry.

Yes, the girl is young, but she’s not going to talk like that. Most children know how to ask questions correctly, and the ‘w’ sound, while sometimes found in a young child’s speech, does not need to be written out. Children are human.

So, consider the attitude, characteristics, and age of your character when writing dialogue!

2.) Break Up Dialogue Length

If I’m reading a novel and I see an entire page of dialogue without any breaks, I’m sobbing. You’re not a 17th century author with endless punctuation. You’re in the 21st century and people don’t read in the same way they used to.

Break up your dialogue. Use long sentences. Use one word. Use commas, use paragraph breaks. Show a character throwing a chair out a window in between sentences.

For example:

“So, you’re telling me the only way to save my Ma’s diner is to travel across five different continents, find the only remaining secret receipt card, and bring it back before she goes out of business? She didn’t have any other copies? Do I have to leave my cat behind?”

vs.

Amos ran a hand over his face. “So, you’re telling me the only way to save my Ma’s diner is to travel across five different continents, find the only remaining secret recipe card, and bring it back before she goes out of business?”

He couldn’t believe his luck. That was sarcastic, of course. This was ironically horrible.

“She didn’t have any other copies?” He leaned forward over the table and frowned. “Do I have to leave my cat behind?”

The second version is easier to digest, and I got to add some fun description of thought and action into the scene! Readers get a taste of Amos’ character in the second scene, whereas in the first scene they only got what felt like a million words of dialogue.

3.) Don’t Overuse Dialogue Tags.

DON’T OVERUSE DIALOGUE TAGS. DON’T. DON’T DON’T DON’T.

If you don’t know what a dialogue tag is, it’s a word after a sentence of dialogue that attributes that dialogue to a specific character.

For example:

“Orange juice and chicken ramen are good,” he said.

‘Said’ functions as the dialogue tag in this sentence.

Dialogue tags are good. You don’t want to completely avoid them. (I used to pride myself on how I could write stories without any dialogue tags. Don’t do that.) Readers need to know who’s speaking. But overusing them, or overusing weird or unique tags, should be avoided.

Examples:

“I’m gonna have to close my diner,” Amos’ mother said.

“Why?” Amos growled. “It’s been in the family forever.”

“I’ve lost the secret recipe card, and I can’t keep the diner open without it!” she cried.

“The Bacon Burger Extreme recipe card?” Amos questioned.

“Yes!” Amos’ mother screamed.

“Well, that’s not good,” Amos complained.

vs.

“I’m gonna have to close my diner,” Amos’ mother said, taking her son’s hand and leading him over to one of the old, grease-stained tabletops with the ripped-fabric booths.

Amos simply stared at her as they moved. “Why? It’s been in the family forever.”

“I’ve—” she looked away for a moment, then took in a breath. “I’ve lost the secret recipe card. And I can’t keep the diner open without it.”

“The Bacon Burger Extreme recipe card?”

“Yes!” She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her shoulders were shaking. “Yes.”

Amos sat down heavily in the booth. “Well, that’s not good.”

The first scene only gives character names and dialogue tags. There are no actions and no descriptions. The second scene, however, gives these things. It gives the reader descriptions of the diner, the characters’ actions, and attitudes. Overusing dialogue tags gets boring fast, so add interest into your writing!

So! When you’re writing, consider the attitude of your character, vary dialogue length, and don’t overuse dialogue tags.

Now climb out of the pit of writing despair. Pick up your pen or computer. And write some good dialogue!

Best,

Sparrow

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO HAS LOVED YOU SINCE YOU WERE KIDS - HE’S GONNA MAKE YOU HIS ! ❞

✧ series: call it what you want (part one)

✧ pairing: younger!satoru gojo x reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo fell in love with you from the moment he met you at eight years old. and now, in his twenties, when he sees you again after you move back to be closer to your aunt and your cousin, suguru, he knows — he has to make you his by the end of the summer.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, eventual smut, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, fake dating, gojo is four years younger than you, rich boy!gojo, suguru is your little cousin, very fluffy, slow burn, like they don't even kiss, but they will :), love at first sight for gojo, naoya is your ex,

✧ w/c: 15,285

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Satoru muttered in your ear, breath fanning hot against your neck, “be a little quieter, sweetheart, otherwise Suguru might hear us,” 

You whine, but his fingers drag against your kiss bitten lips, until the digits slide into your mouth, as his hips rut against yours. And you didn’t think you’d ever be in position with your cousin’s best friend — pressed to the doorway of your apartment where Suguru could walk in at anytime. 

This isn't what you thought would happen when you invited him over to talk. This isn't what you thought would happen when you agreed to pretend to date him. This isn't what you thought about -- but how could you think about anything with the way his breath felt against your skin?

He loved you -- loved you since you were kids, and he couldn't let you go, not like this. Not when he had you.

Not that you even wanted him to.

You didn’t think you’d shiver as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your neck, tongue flicking against your burning skin. You never thought you’d want to moan his name, like you had, far too many times. 

“You may have never thought about this, Princess, but I sure have,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, the wet sounds your skin slapping together, as he reaches around your body, pinned on your stomach to the mattress, to rub at your swollen clit, drawing a muffled cry from your lips, “far too many times,” 

In fact, Satoru Gojo knew exactly the first time he fell for you. It was the day he first met you. 

“Be my girlfriend!” 

It was less of a question and more of a statement.  

One declared in the doorway of your room, with flushed cheeks and flowers in hand. And they weren’t your cheeks or hands, but your baby cousin’s best friend. 

The first time Satoru Gojo asked you out was at the ripe old age of eleven, but truth be told he had held this crush since the moment he saw you when he had come over to Suguru’s house for the first time, almost three years ago now.

Your fingers brushed his as you gently took the flowers, “Satoru, you know I care about you, but not like that. You’re better off seeing other people your own age, ok?” You smiled at him, the same way you always did, a slight pout on his lips as he nodded, saying nothing more. 

And you knew you were right — there was no fucking question that you were right. He was eleven and you were fifteen — an age gap untenable and unreachable.

But now—

“Long time no see,” Satoru said, lips curled in an all too cocky smile that you couldn’t believe belonged to the same blushing kid who confessed so earnestly back then, “it’s been too long,” your name rolled off his tongue with a familiarity that was the same but all too different. 

But he wasn’t a kid anymore — far from it. It had been over a decade since you had seen him, as the summer he confessed was the last one you had spent at your aunt and uncle’s home. And you and your family moved overseas shortly after that, and you didn’t return until now, four years after you graduated college, for a job offer you couldn’t pass up. 

And you didn’t realize that so much time had passed. 

But he did. 

“Eh? What do you mean you can’t help me unpack today, Sugu?” you hold the phone between your ear and shoulder, as you rip open the tape on yet another box you had hauled into the proper room to unpack, “you told me—“ 

“I told you I’d help you unpack if I had time. But now, I’m stuck at work until the evening,” you heard your cousin sigh over the phone, “But don’t worry — you’ll have help—“ 

You’re too busy trying to rip the tape off as you rip into Suguru to notice the door creaking open behind you, “Suguru, I swear to god if you’re sending a total random stranger to help me—“ 

“Not a total stranger,” a voice says behind you, and your head whips around so quick, you nearly drop your phone, gripping it, “unless not seeing me for years makes me one,” 

A mess of white locks and sunglasses tilted downward to reveal a hint of his cerulean eyes that you could never forget — but still, you barely recognize the man that has them. Even if the grin on his lips with the lilting sound of his voice told you that he very much recognized you. 

“Satoru?” Suguru’s explanation falls on deaf ears, as Satoru’s eyes don’t bother to take in your new place, all too focused on you, hands slipping into his pockets, “you—“ 

He steps forward and plucks the phone from your fingers, “Yo Suguru, I told you it’d be better as a surprise,” and you gape at him, as his grin curls wider, “yeah, yeah, I didn’t take the phone to have you lecturing me — I get enough of that from my dad,” and Suguru says something that makes Satoru’s cheeks flush, and he hangs up, before his attention returns to you, “so, shall we unpack?” 

A few minutes turns into hours of hauling boxes inside and then unpacking them. It’s relatively silent, surprisingly for Satoru. The silence was a far cry from the boy who couldn’t shut up for two seconds, telling you about the test he aced or something stupid that one of his classmates said or asking you about your day. 

Instead you watch him haul boxes like they were filled with styrofoam and air from the truck outside, and then lift his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, a flash of his abs shiny with perspiration. Your eyes dart away, suddenly incredibly fascinated with the contents of this box of kitchenware you opened up, cheeks burning, wondering when did the little boy you looked after become a man? 

“Princess, where do you want this?” Satoru lifts a box, and you can’t see the writing on it from the angle he picks it up. 

“Do you still have to call me Princess?” The embarrassing nickname your aunt had given you still stuck — the one that Suguru would always tease you with, while Satoru’s decidedly lacked any malice, “my aunt only called me that because she wanted a girl so bad,” 

“Is that why Suguru is growing out his hair now? Trying to fulfill her dreams?” You snort, as you walk over to him, “it still fits you regardless of the reason Princess,” 

You’re close, even with the box providing glancing around the box until you find it scrawled on the box underneath his arm — his very…muscular arm, veins bulging and muscles tense underneath the weight of the box—

“So this is stuff for my bedroom, you can just leave it on the floor, it’s right over here,” you lead him over and he places down the box, “I think that’s mostly it, I’m sorry Suguru made you come down here to help,” 

“You don’t need to apologize, I wanted to see you,” and you smile softly, “it’s been too long,” 

“It really has,” and your neck strains a little with how he towered over you, “can't believe you’re the same little boy I used to babysit,” 

And he rolls his eyes, “Suguru would say it’s arguable I could still use a babysitter,” and you chuckle, “I’m not so little anymore, but I wouldn’t mind if you were my babysitter,” 

Was he? No. No, he wasn’t. 

Right? 

“Stop fucking around,” you shake your head, as you head into the kitchen, “do you want to wash up, and then maybe I’ll order take out to thank you?” You’re turning on the faucet. 

You don’t notice the slight pout on his lips, one he schools into a smile as you glance back at him, blinking as you find him shirtless. 

Fuck. How was it possible for a person to be this gorgeous? Sweat slid down his body, slipping between the dips of his chest and ridges of his abs until disappearing into the fabric of his pants, or somewhere hidden— 

You look away — “I’d rather take a shower. Do you mind?” And you force your voice not to come out a squeak, busying yourself with washing your hands, just so you don’t have to look. 

“Yeah, of course, the bathroom is just around the corner. There should already be fresh towels inside,” and yet his steps grow closer, as you glance back, “uh—“ 

He’s still fucking shirtless. 

“Instead of take out, can we grab dinner somewhere? You haven’t been back to the area recently so it’s a good chance to show you around,” 

“You really don’t have to—“ 

“I want to, Princess,” he cuts you off, reaching around you to grab a water bottle off the counter, “get ready while I clean up?” 

And you bite your lip, “Okay, okay,” and he grins back, a glimpse of the little boy that beams at you when you’d praise him for a high mark on a test. 

“It’s a date!” And he’s off, disappearing into the bathroom, and you’re left there, wondering — what had you gotten yourself into? 

~~~

“So,” Satoru lifts a spoonful of his dessert — a fruit parfait with a sugar coma inducing amount of whipped cream — and you were almost relieved to see some things about him hadn’t changed. How many times had you scolded him as a kid not to eat so much sugar — and he still hasn’t kicked the habit. You bit back your chuckle, as he spoke, “did you get dumped?” 

You almost choke on your drink, as you splutter for a moment, before glaring at him. 

And yet the more they stayed the same. 

“I see you’re as subtle as you were when you were 11,” you mutter, setting your drink down, as you wipe your mouth with a napkin. Satoru tilts his head, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. 

“So you dumped him?” He leans back, “I didn’t know you had such high standards,” your cheeks burn, distracting yourself with becoming enthralled in the menu — Satoru had dragged you to a hole in the wall barbecue place (after your insistence that you didn’t want anything fancy after unpacking for hours). 

“How did you know I broke—“ and you cut yourself off at the obviousness of the answer, slapping another piece of meat on the grill, the sizzle punctuated by your words, “I’m going to murder him,” 

“Well, you’re in the right place to dispose of his body,” Satoru licks the spoon clean, before sticking it back in the whipped cream, “why did you break up with him?” 

You shrugged, “I realized he was a narcissistic prick who only wanted me as a trophy,” and Satoru whistled lowly,  “I’m done with dating losers. And dating in general,” 

“I don’t think you should give up on dating just because you had a few bad experiences,” his voice grows soft, “you deserve to be happy and taken care of, even if you have bad taste,” 

And you pout, “I don’t have-“ and he tilts his head, and you lift a few pieces of meat from the grill onto your plate, tongs clattering slightly as you set it down, “fuck, I do,” you groan, shaking your head, “that’s why I had to get out of there. Just needed a fresh start you know?” 

“Sometimes that’s just what you need,” and your lips curl. 

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” and his eyes flit up to yours, gleaming in the low light of the restaurant, cerulean irises catching the drops of light like comets across his gaze. 

“Don’t know what you mean, Princess,” he busies himself with his parfait, and you scoff. 

“Come on, half the girls in this place are glaring at me while I sit here, the waitress has been flirting with you, and now they had brought you out the biggest dessert that I’m starting to wonder if they even serve it here,” he spares a glance around, several gasps from giggling girls who avert their gazes, before his eyes are back on you. 

“Jealous?” You roll your eyes — he wasn’t lacking for ego at least. 

“More like wondering what a guy like you is still doing single,” and he sighs, leaning back, with a tilt of his head. 

“You sure are curious about me,” and his gaze softens for a moment, while he picks at his dessert, scooping the strawberry off the top, “there’s only really been one person that I really wanted,” his tone grew more serious, lips in a bittersweet smile, “but she’s never really looked me like that,” 

“Don’t tell me it’s one of those things where she rejected you and you have to have her now,” and he chuckles, shaking his head, gaze far too wistful. 

His words are slow, as slow as the ice melting in your glass, “It’s more of if I don’t have her, I don’t want anyone else,” and your heart squeezed — would you ever have someone care so deeply for you? 

“Then why haven’t you said anything?” you picked up another piece of meat off the grill, “anyone would be lucky to be with you,” and you meant it — he was blunt, but also kind, sweet, not to mention rich and you flushed as you thought back to his hiked up shirt — good looking. 

But he only stares back at you, tilting his head — expression unreadable, an emotion you can’t grasp before it’s hidden under his gaze’s tempered waters, “Are you included, Princess?” 

There’s a pause, as you almost chuckle, but your laugh dying in your throat at his expression — that same smirk, but the way he looks at you stops your mind in its tracks — only one word rolling around in your head: what? 

And your brow furrows, your lips parting in a response you don’t have — only questions, ones you don’t get to ask as Suguru slides in beside you. 

“Sorry, I’m late,” Suguru sighs, the moment broken, and you don’t catch Satoru’s expression, too distracted by your cousin, “got stuck in a staff meeting,” 

“I told you academia is hell,” you elbow him, and Suguru rolls his eyes, as he shrugs off his suit coat, “were these meetings the reasons you got held up or are they just an excuse so you didn’t have to help me?” 

“Who said it can’t be both?” And he earns a smack to his shoulder, your attention turning back to Satoru, his gaze fixed outside. 

“You’re unusually quiet, Satoru” Suguru kicks him lightly under the table, “not like you,” 

He looks at you first — and you grasp the emotion he had hid before — what was it? Sadness? Longing? — right before it’s gone again as he slides his mask back on, grinning as he always does. 

“What can I say? The view outside is much better than your ugly mug,” and the two of them begin to bicker, and you lean back in your seat, a smile pulling at your lips, even as you glanced back at Satoru. 

And now you wondered if you would ever get an answer to your questions. Or maybe, you sipped your drink, it was better not to have it answered at all. 

~~~

Satoru Gojo was eleven years old when he fell in love with you. It was from the moment he met you. 

And there hasn’t been anyone else since. 

He supposed it was inevitable in a way — since Suguru was his best friend, and his first, and when his family finally decided to enroll him in school, instead opting for private tutors, for the social aspect of making connections, of course. Because what else was your eleven year old son good for then helping to make future business deals easier? 

But Satoru made friends with the one person who couldn’t help their deals — Suguru Geto, one of the only scholarship students in the entire school. And Satoru’s want to avoid spending his days with servants or on the rare occasion, dealing with his dad’s lecture for getting in another ‘disagreement’ with one of his classmates (that ended with that classmate crying after Satoru evaded his punch and kicked him in the shin), ended up with him at Suguru’s place. A lot. 

Then soon enough, he was spending most of his summers there too. And that’s when he saw you. 

“You said your cousin’s here? Is she nice?” Satoru asked, taking off his shoes, as Suguru shut the door behind them. 

“She is, except when she’s being a pain about homework. And when she gets mad, she reminds me of my mom,” Suguru grimaced, as he walked past him, calling out for you. You rounded the corner, book in hand, and Satoru’s eyes grew wide. 

“Hey Sugu, you brought a friend?” You walked over, still clad in your high school uniform, before introducing yourself, and offering him a warm smile, “it’s nice to meet you. I’m Suguru’s cousin,” 

Satoru didn’t know what this feeling was — and he wouldn’t until a few more summers passed, and his hormones kicked in — but all he knew was that he would do anything to see you smile like that at him again. And he did — he would spend as much time as he could with you — talking to you about a test he aced, about something funny that happened at school, or even ratting on Suguru about what he was up to (earning him many knocks to the head by his best friend). But every time you smiled or laughed, it was worth it — worth every second he spent counting down the time to summer break so he could see you again. 

But he didn’t know his seconds would run out so soon — and he only learned one random day going home with Suguru, from a snippet of a conversation he had with his mom. 

“I know, I know she’s coming next week,” Satoru’s interest hadn’t been peaked by Suguru’s conversation until then, because he knew exactly who they were talking about. After all, you always came right at the start of break, and finally he could see you again — and maybe this time, he could tell you how he felt. 

“I know, I know it’s her last time here so it has to be perfect,” and Satoru’s head snapped back to Suguru, last time? “I will,” and Suguru hangs up, a sigh on his lips, “my mom is being so annoying about my cousin. So what it’s her last time staying with us? It doesn’t mean we have to—“ 

“What do you mean it’s her last time?” Satoru kept his tone steady and slow, even as his heart thrummed against his ribs as if it was a xylophone, “she always comes every summer—“ 

“Of high school,” Suguru corrected him, “she is applying to university this year — most of them are abroad, and it seems likely she won’t be back in Japan, not for a while,” Suguru continued to complain on their way back to his place, but all Satoru could do was think about you. 

It was your last summer with him. His last chance to make a move, to be something more than your younger cousin’s friend. His last chance to make you see him as a man, not a kid. 

He had to confess, his fingers curled into fists, before the end of the summer. He would make you his girlfriend — one way or another. 

And he did confess back then, Satoru thought, as he picked up a photo, wrinkled and yellowed at the corners, a picture that Suguru’s mom had taken of you and him the summer you had left. A candid of him and you looking at each other — one that Suguru’s mom had slipped to him with a knowing smile and a wink (one that had mortified him as a teenager). 

He was always looking at you — no matter where he was, his eyes always found your form, a magnet to its opposite pole, and he didn’t know how to stop you from drawing him in. It had been over a decade and he still couldn’t. 

He stared at your smiling face, the very same face that had looked at you with a smile fading to confusion this evening. He had gotten so close to asking you — to telling you how he felt — and he flips to the next picture, a scowl on his face as a picture of him and Suguru with his smug smile stared back at him. If only fucking Suguru hadn’t interrupted. 

He shook his head, flipping back to his picture of you. This wasn’t the summer and he wasn’t a kid anymore. And you weren’t out of his reach, bound for another country across the ocean. No, you were here — only a short drive away. 

And he made a promise to himself — he would get you to fall in love with him, before the end of this summer. 

~~~

You hate first days. 

“Did you see the guy waiting outside?” one woman whispered not so softly as you passed by. 

“Yeah looks like he’s waiting for her,” the other’s lips formed a frown but only to hide her smirk. 

From the time you were a kid, your first day of school was something you had all the time from your family moving around. You were always the new kid — the one who would be met with wide eyes and curiosity, only to be tossed aside a few days later. 

But this was a fresh start that you had wanted — a new job far away from where you had started, with new responsibilities — a first day you had looked forward to, until it went so downhill. 

And it was all your ex’s fault. 

You texted Suguru — is it too early to quit on the first day? 

He replies, well it’s been four hours, think you’ve lasted through one of my dad’s long winded stories longer than that. What happened? 

You glanced outside towards the front of the building. It was more like ‘who happened?’ 

It was an innocuous enough morning, of introductions, trainings, orientation, and finally computer set up. You were rifling through your paperwork, trying to figure out what sheet looked the least daunting when someone called for you. 

“There’s someone looking for you outside the lobby,” you saw a flurry of looks shared and smirks shot in your direction, and when you arrived downstairs you knew why. 

What. The. Fuck. 

You couldn’t help it. You bursted outside, “what are you doing here?” It was your ex — the very same ex who had started at the same overseas company after you both graduated and the one you had. And again, had chosen to follow you here. 

“Waiting for you to change yer mind,” Naoya tilts his head, hands in his pocket, “and I know you will, because you love me,” he raises his voice to catch the eye of several passerby, and you grab his wrist, dragging him away. 

“Fuck off,” you hiss under your breath, “I told you it’s over, and don’t you have a fucking job?” 

“Did you forget? I’m rich, another reason ya can’t do better than me,” Naoya’s lips curl into that same grin, one you knew as charming once, until you saw past his pretty pink lips and glimpsed the sharp fangs behind them, “I took time off. Did ya think it was a coincidence we ended up at the same company?” 

You gritted your teeth, “Naoya—“ and he breaks from your grip, instead his fingers dig into your wrist. 

“All ya are is me. All that you have is me. And all you will have is me,” he dared closer, breath warming your lips, as he took hold of your other wrist and tugged you close, “the sooner you accept that, the better, doll,” 

‘Doll.’ The term of endearment you had seen as precious to you. Something you always loved to hear roll off his tongue, the word you had learned to learned to reply to, even more than your own name. The one you regarded with such love had burned, burned until the flames licked your skin and knew what it really meant — a doll with strings, one he was meant to be the master of. 

“Don’t call me that,” you rip your hands away, “leave. You’re embarrassing yourself,” 

“Am I?” He tilts his head, jerking his head in the direction of your building where your offices had a clear view of this, “or am I just embarrassing you?” 

You stared out the window for a moment and you knew he was still out there — judging but the way your phone was on the verge of suicide by notification, he was still very much there. And now, all people would know of you is the new worker with a crazy stalker ex. 

I’m calling the police, Suguru’s text popped up, what’s your workplace’s address? 

You think I hadn’t thought of that, Sugu? You sigh, he’s not doing anything. He’s on a public sidewalk. They can’t do anything to him. 

Another text: when do you get out? You glance at the time, seeing another two coworkers whisper to each other, stealing looks. 

An eternity — In another two hours. 

I’ll handle it. Just wait in the lobby after work. And you frown. 

Sugu, I can handle it. I don’t need you to come down here. 

You always fought your battles. You didn’t need anything else to — or anyone else to pick them for you. Not even your baby cousin — no matter how sweet his intentions were. 

Don’t worry. I’m not coming down. And you frown, staring at the text, before your phone rings, and you groan as ‘Assistant Director’ flashes on the screen.  

You were so fired. 

You weren’t — as you shut the door of his office behind you. However, he did advise you that this company had a strict no nonsense policy and did want personal drama to be dredged up in the office. And you were given the day to sort out your “mess.” 

You scrub a hand down your face, but it wasn’t even your mess, and how would you fix it? He wasn’t going to listen to you. You sit at your desk, packing up your bag for the day. And your phone vibrates. 

Come down. 

You hesitate, But he’s still downstairs. 

Just go. 

Fuck. You sling your bag over your shoulder, piercing eyes digging into your back, vultures circling an already dead carcass, whispering still even as the elevators doors shut. 

And you almost wish they never opened when you see what’s waiting for you outside. 

Fuck. 

You grit your teeth, stomach in absolute knots as if to brace yourself for the complete shitstorm you’re about to deal with. 

“Satoru?” 

Satoru Gojo leaned back against his expensive (likely imported) car, shiny as it was new, sunglasses glinting in the light, but not brighter than the grin he gives you. He holds out your favorite drink, a tilt of his head. 

“Are you ready to go?” 

You glance around, as he places the drink in your hand, “But what about—“

“Let go of me!” 

Satoru’s lips curl, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, “Oh, I’ve gotten him handled,” 

Naoya stood between two men restraining him, both in suits, as his face contorted in anger, veins bulging, eyes darting between the two of you, “Do you know who I am? I’m the heir to the Zenin Corporation — you cannot treat me like this. I’ll have you—“ 

“Heir? Really?” Satoru stepped forward, blocking him from your view, “is that right? I thought the Zenin hadn’t decided announced a successor yet,” 

You furrow your brow — how does Satoru— but then you’re being put into a car with Satoru’s arm curled around your waist, as he opens the door and tucks you into the passenger seat. 

And now you won’t know. At least not now. 

Naoya scoffed, “And who are you to know anything about—“ 

“Have you heard of the Six Eyes Corp,” and Naoya’s eyes narrow, “you should have because we account for a large chunk of your business. And if that support were to disappear,” he flashes his blue eyes at him over the rim of his sunglasses, “I’d hate to tell them it’s because of this,” 

“You fucking liar, like you could tell anyone anything—“ 

Satoru chuckles, “You’re right, I am a liar,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I don’t need to tell anyone. Except my father,” 

Naoya’s sneer fades into confusion, his eyes narrowed, “Don’t fucking tell me—” 

“Then I won’t,” he steps forward, hands slipping into his pockets, “but if you ever step in her presence again,” he jerks his head towards you in his car, “then I will, and you don’t wanna know what happens if I do,” he steps in front of Naoya, back blocking your view so you don’t see him grab Naoya’s wrist, blue eyes aflame with something far deeper than anger, “because it will much worse,” he squeezes Naoya’s wrist hard making him flinch as he grits his teeth at Satoru’s smiling face, “who knows? Maybe I’ll break your wrist next time.” 

He turns around, waving off the guards, as he makes his way back to his car, sliding into the driver’s seat, smile fading to concern. 

“Are you alright, Princess?” You’re watching those people drag Naoya away, his hateful gaze trying and failing to get a last look at you as the guard takes a hand to the back of his head to force his gaze forward. 

“Where are they taking him?” 

Satoru starts the car, the quiet rumble of the engine filling the silence of his pause, “just to the proper authorities. He won’t bother you again,” 

You bit your bottom lip, eyes burning with tears — and you don’t know whether if it’s embarrassment or relief, “I’m sorry—“ 

“Don’t finish that sentence,” and your eyes slide to his, a soft smile on his lips, “you don’t have anything to be sorry about. Or to thank me for,” he cuts you off as your lips part, “is your wrist okay?” 

You glance down and see the slight redness still lingered, a final parting gift, and your other hand closes over the wrist, “it hurts a little, but I’ll ice it when I get home,” 

“We’ll go to a hospital to have it looked at,” and you’re shaking your head. 

“I don’t want to sit—“ 

“Then I’ll hire a doctor to come see you,” and you stare at him, as he rolls to a stop at a red light…is that a pout? “I just want you to be ok, Princess, please,” 

You bite back a small smile, and ignore the flutter in your heart, “Fine, you win, let’s go to a walk-in clinic,” and you spot his shoulders relax, “but it’s not really fair when you give me your infamous pout,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “‘Infamous?’” 

“You used to whip that out all the time on me and on my aunt when you were a kid — it did always work,” 

“Not always,” he replies, as he turns into the parking for the walk-in clinic, “in fact, I remember a time that it specifically did not work,” 

“And when was that?” You tilt your head. 

And he smiles, “When I asked you to be my girlfriend,” and you furrow your brow, nearly forgetting the memory, until it hits you. 

“Oh my god, the last summer I spent here,” you covered your mouth with the tips of your fingers, a chuckle on your lips, “you were very direct,” 

“I could say the same about you,” and you roll your eyes. 

“You were a kid. You were way too young for me, you know that,” you unbuckle your seatbelt, “plus now I bet you could get any person you want. That’s why I was surprised why you didn’t have a girlfriend,”

“Like I said, there’s only one woman in the world for me,” his eyes find yours, cerulean bathed in sunlight, light catching across his irises, “and only one woman I ever wanted to be with,”

Oh. 

Oh. 

No, no, that couldn’t be it — you couldn’t be her, not after all this time—

You blink, “Satoru, you don’t—“ 

“Well our age difference isn’t a problem anymore is it?” Your brain is struggling to process, lips parting with no words, “Princess,” his fingers brush yours, gently grazing your hand, as your gaze finds his again, “when are you going to take me seriously?” 

“Satoru—“ 

“Just don’t say no,” Satoru cuts you off, pulling his hand away, “don’t say no and think about it,” you open your mouth only to waver at the sight of the pout on his lips and you sigh. 

It was hard to say no, especially right now. 

“Okay I won’t say no,” you slip from the car, lips breaking into a wide grin, before sticking your head inside, “don’t smile like that. It’s not a yes,” you huff, cheeks burning and stomach erupting in butterflies. 

“Not yet,” Satoru says as you shut the door, “not yet, Princess.” 

~~~

“Huh? You did what?” 

You loved your aunt. You really did. She and her husband had taken you in when your parents were too busy working to properly take care of you during the summers. But times like this reminded you—

—-she truly was her mother’s sister. 

“Well your mother was telling me that you haven’t dated anyone since you’ve been back—“ 

“It's only been a month!” You had barely finished getting unpacked, and in fact, you still had at least five boxes still stacked up in the closet, “I’m not interested in dating, I’m trying to focus on work,” you rubbed the back of your head, “new topic, please,” as you sip on your drink. 

And after the debacle Naoya had caused, you needed to — you had put up with the whispers and stares for a few days, but since Naoya had stayed away, the rumors faded with time. Now things had died down for the most part. Except for—

“Has Satoru still been picking you up?” You nearly do a spit take, but instead you choke down the water, coughing, “eh? Are you okay, honey?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” your cheeks burn at the thought of Satoru — he was always a bold kid, but you didn’t think he’d confess to being in love with you all this time. Especially now as a man — and not a kid, “yeah he’s still picking me up,” 

When he had confessed to you all those years ago as a young teenager, you had thought nothing of it. Except that it was a crush on his best friend’s older cousin — something that would pass easily with time. You hadn’t even thought of it in all these years. 

But now, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

Especially when he kept showing up to pick you up from work. And now you were stirring other sorts of rumors. 

After he had taken you to the walk-in clinic, he had driven you home, making sure to check if your place was secure enough, and that you weren’t too shaken up. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off to Suguru’s?” he had asked, crossing his arms, “I could also drag his ass here, he owes me anyway,” 

“No, no I’m really fine,” you chewed your lip, looking down, “you sure he’s not going to come back?” and he leans down, forcing you to meet his gaze, as he tilts his head. 

“Sweetheart, you think I’d even leave your place if I thought there was a chance of him coming back?” he offers you a smile, and you scoff softly, shaking your head, “trust me, he won’t be bothering you again, not while I’m around,” and he added, “and I’m not going anywhere.” 

And you didn’t know what to do with the promise in his words. Because you knew he meant that — in more than one way. 

But even so, he hadn’t brought up his confession — not once. 

“He’s so sweet isn’t he? Suguru is always so busy but Satoru’s making time to pick you instead,” your aunt gushes, and you shake your head, your aunt did have a habit of being a little hard on her son, “by the way, would you mind stopping by the house today?” 

“Why’s that?” 

And well, how did you end up here? 

You stood in front of the entrance to a very expensive looking building with a very intimidating doorman, with a large tote bag full of food that your aunt had insisted you drop off. She had given you his address, but by the time you arrived, you realized that you didn’t even have his number. And now Suguru or your aunt weren’t picking up their phones. 

Fuck. 

You were internally debating whether to talk to the doorman or to just go home and deal with this another time, when you heard someone speak behind you. 

“Looking for someone?” You jump slightly, whirling when you see Satoru, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips, as he lifts his sunglasses to meet your gaze, “didn’t think I’d find you hanging outside my apartment building, princess,” 

“Well, you show up outside my workplace and I’ll be showing up outside your apartment building,” the words leave your mouth without much thought, as your cheeks burn at the implication, “I mean—” 

“Is that supposed to discourage me from picking you up?” he grins, “Doesn’t sound like a bad deal to me,” 

You roll your eyes, before holding up the bag, “My aunt asked me to drop off some dishes for you. She’s worried you’re eating too many sweets,” 

He takes the bag from your hand, fingers brushing, as he shakes his head, “I shouldn’t have ever told her that I had cake for dinner,” and you snort, unable to hide your giggles, “what’s so funny?” 

“I can see a lot about you has changed, but your sweet tooth is just as bad as when you were a kid,” and you see him scratch the back of his head, “is your favorite dessert still mochi?” 

“You still remember that about me?” A smile pulling at his lips, and your cheeks burn, but you refuse to waver. 

“Well, it’s hard to forget you threw up all over the rug when you ate too many,” You bite back a smile when you spot the tips of his ears burn red, as he gapes at you. 

“Did you have to bring that up?” He mutters, a small pout on his lips, and you snort, as he can’t help the curl of his lips, “now, c’mon,” his fingers brush the small of your back. 

“Satoru, where—“ but his hand is firm as he guides you towards his building. 

He flashes you a grin as he signs you in with the doorman, “Do you think I’d let you come all this way without staying for dinner?” 

~~~

“Do you want anything to drink?” Satoru’s penthouse was nothing less than immaculate — high ceilings, pristine floors, and an interior designed living space. You swore in some places it was still shiny — and you felt very out of place in your casual wear for the weekend. 

“Just a water,” you reply, as he opens his refrigerator and you raise an eyebrow at the fully stocked compartments, “wow,” you murmur, and he’s pulling a water and a fancy looking juice out of it. 

“What was that?” He raises a brow, and you stammer a moment, “c’mon princess, share with the class,” 

“Just surprised your refrigerator isn’t just stuffed with just desserts, sweets, and ice cream,” and he hands you your water, before sitting beside you, spread out on the couch, as he always was. 

“Oh it is, it’s just very well hidden,” and you snort, as he throws his arm over the back of the couch, “I may be an adult but I’m not going to be a boring old geezer like my father,” 

“I don’t think I could ever see you becoming boring, Satoru,” you chuckle, and he tilts his head. 

“Is that a rare compliment from you, princess?” And his grin only makes your cheeks warm, as you roll your eyes.

“More like an observation,” you reply, as your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out to check — who would be messaging you now? 

Oh fuck. 

“You ok there?” 

No, no you weren’t. Because your lovely aunt had given your number to a prospective match, and now he was texting you. A lot. 

“It’s nothing,” you sigh, shaking your head, putting your phone on ‘do not disturb.” You would have dinner first, and then you’d murder your aunt after dessert, “do you want me to help take out dinner?” 

“You expect me to believe you don’t hire a chef to make these sides?” The food was spread out across the table, many of the dishes your aunt had made plated and presented, but along with sides that Satoru had made, “Suguru had made it seem as if the only thing you ever made was microwave ramen,” 

“Well jokes on him, I burned it the one time I tried,” he grinned, “but I did learn to cook, I just never bothered to cook for Suguru,” 

“And why’s that?” You take a bite of the pickled radish he had prepared. 

“Because I’m not trying to impress him, am I?” And you nearly choke slightly, as you manage to swallow, “you should know I’m so much more than a pretty face, Princess,” 

You sigh, “Satoru—“

“Have you thought about what I said at all?” 

And you had. A lot more than you cared to admit. Especially after all he had done. Everything he had to Naoya to defend you. And just about him — how sweet he’s been, how protective, how kind, and how you’d like nothing more than to do the same for him—

But…

“I have, but Satoru, our ages—“ 

“We’re both adults. We both graduated. We haven’t seen each other in over a decade,” his leg brushes yours as he shifts closer, “are you telling me you don’t feel anything?” 

You didn’t know how to answer that — not when you didn’t really know yourself. And you always knew the answer — you knew you wanted to study abroad, you knew you had to leave Naoya’s company, and you knew you wanted to live here — so why was this the one time you didn’t? And why was he the one thing you were unsure of? 

You bite your bottom lip, “But, Suguru—“ and he scoffs softly. 

“Are you really thinking about Suguru right now?” he asks, “or would you rather date the guy blowing up your phone earlier?” 

Your eyebrows knit together, “How did you know—“ 

“Well I know it’s not Naoya, and I heard from Suguru that your aunt wanted to set you up,” fucking Suguru—and your lips twist into a pout, he tilts his head, not bothering to hide his smile, “if you dated me, you could get your aunt off your back,” he muses, leaning against his elbow, “she always did say I was family, and I’m not looking to be your brother,” 

Your cheeks burn at his words, “Satoru,”

“Think about it, Princess, you don’t have to give me an answer now,” but his eyes flicker to your phone, “but I know you’ll find me once you meet any one of these guys your aunt sets you up with,” 

You grimace at your phone, picking it up to see the messages from the guy your aunt had given your number to, “fuck,” you murmur, locking your phone before tossing it away, an image of you trapped at a dinner across the most boring man alive. And then you glance up at Satoru, still a smug smile on his lips, and then back to your phone. 

“What’s your plan?” 

~~~

“So, I heard you turned down the boy I gave your number to,” 

Your aunt hardly pulled punches. 

She never did when you and Suguru were growing up — she always knew what the two of you got up to, even if you were both sure she could never find out — she always did. Even the one time that the two of you had snuck out to get ramen on a late night, Suguru’s parents were in a dead sleep — but by the time you both snuck back in, she was waiting for both of you in the hallway. But this time, she wasn’t even leading with a wind-up before swinging. 

And then she adds, eyes narrowing, “He said you declined because you’re dating someone,” 

She was going for the kill. 

She turns to grab the whistling tea kettle, turning it off, before pouring the hot water into two cups. You force yourself not to bite your bottom lip, the smallest tell was dangerous, even with her back turned, “Is there anything he didn’t tell you?” She’s placing the tea cups one by one on the tray, as if laying out her pieces on a board only to corner you. 

Your aunt frowns, “His mother told me,” great, even better — he was a momma’s boy, and now you were starting to wonder just how many bullets did you dodge,  “are you seeing someone?” 

You were beginning to regret this plan — and you don’t know why you let Satoru talk you into it. 

“You want me to do what?” You stared at Satoru as if he had suggested going diving with sharks, which is not far from what he was suggesting, “tell my aunt that we’re together. No way,” 

“Aw, am I that embarrassing to date, Princess?” And you roll your eyes. 

“Yes, for me,” and he’s tilting his head, “my aunt will immediately tell my uncle and Suguru — and I don’t know which one of them would kill you first,” your uncle wasn’t one for words or conflict, but he had a soft spot for you — and a fist for anyone that tried to come date you without his approval. 

“Eh? Doesn’t Uncle like me?” And you snort, the one sided conversations that Satoru had with your uncle that usually ended with your uncle excusing himself to get away from that “annoying moron.” 

“He doesn’t hate you but,” you choose your words carefully, “he doesn’t prefer you,” 

Satoru scoffs, crossing his arms, “Well Auntie loves me, and I had a plan for this,” and she did, she had quite the soft spot for Satoru, ever since he was a kid. You couldn’t exactly blame her — he looked like an angel, even if the words that left his mouth made it seem like the contrary, his fingers brushing against a strand of your hair, “and soon I’ll make you love me too,” 

Fucking cocky bastard, you thought to yourself, cheeks burning at the thought of the smirk on his lips, but you’re jarred back to reality as you hear the clattering of cups and spoons.  

“I am,” you reply, and your aunt’s head whips around, the clinking of the glasses cutting through the pause, “it’s new,” you add, as she sets down the tea cups, placing the tea dispensers in each one, “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything,” 

“Why wouldn’t you? This is wonderful,” she blinked, and her brow wrinkles, “unless it’s that Naoya—“ you flinch at the thought of him. 

“No, I’m done with him,” you wave her off quickly, wrinkling your nose at the thought of that bastard, grabbing the tea cup, the scent of green tea wafting from the steam that warmed your face, as you blew air to cool it off, “it’s someone I reconnected with here,” 

Your aunt raises an eyebrow, “So soon? Is it someone from work?” Again, is the word she implies with the sentence, a sharp tone that nicked your armor. 

“No, it isn’t,” and she’s sipping her tea, and you take a sip only to burn your tongue, “but he is younger,” 

“That’s not a problem if he’s not too much younger — how old is he?” and this was exactly why you hadn’t wanted to tell your aunt, it was more of an interrogation than a conversation. 

“He’s about Suguru’s age,” and she’s tilting her head, “Suguru introduced us,” and that wasn’t a lie — it was true — both in the past and now. 

“Really? And Sugu is okay with you dating his friend?” Your aunt may be gossip and a meddler, but she wasn’t a fool, your hesitation is your end, “and I assume you’re telling me all this to get me off your case and to ask not to tell Suguru,” she sighs. 

“Auntie—“ 

“You know I don’t like lying for either of you—“ 

“But—“ 

“No, I can’t—“ 

“How about lying for me?” Satoru stands in the doorway, head tilted, a smile on his lips. And your aunt blinks before she slowly puts the puzzle pieces together, a mix of emotions crossing her expression — confusion, disbelief, and maybe a hint of joy, before she settled on a neutral 

“Satoru—“ 

He frowns, “Auntie, you know Suguru will kill me for dating his cousin, please,” and then he does what he does best — pouting. 

And your aunt breaks — with a one hit-KO. 

“You must have been blessed by some needlessly annoying god,” you murmur as he walks you back to your place, sun gleaming as it gave off its last rays of light before setting for the night,  “because I don’t know how you still get her to fall for that,” 

“I was born blessed,” and you snort, as you catch sight of his smile out of the corner of your eye, “and speaking of which, when’s our first date?” 

“Straight to the point, huh?” You stop walking, hands in your pockets, “Satoru—“ 

“Don’t tell me you’re about to launch into another speech about how you can’t date me,” he gives an exaggerated sigh, “I could go back to your aunt and tell her how you broke my heart and let her pull out list of aunties who have sons who are excited to meet you—“ 

“Alright, fine, a date, but one thing first,” you step close to him, making his breath catch, pretty blues finding your gaze, the very same he would love to get lost in, before they flicker down to your lips. And he swears you can probably hear his heart beating out of his chest, thumping at the bony bars of his ribcage, and he hates it, hates how you have him twisted around your finger without trying, “Princess—“ 

You reach for him, fingers nearly about to brush his cheek, his eyes fluttering, before you flick his forehead, “ow!” 

“I was just going to ask when our first date is going to be, but if you rather I go on a bunch of blind dates—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing his forehead all the same, “then do you have any ideas?” 

He grins, “Plenty, but there’s one in particular.” 

~~~~

“An amusement park?” 

He sat next to you, driving, hand on the console and you couldn’t help but brush your arm against his each time you moved — and you felt as if he did it on purpose. 

He raises an eyebrow, stealing a glance out of the corner of his eye, “Uh-huh, got a problem, Princess?” 

“No I’m just surprised, we went to plenty of these as kids,” you glanced at him, his eyes concentrated on the road, fingers curling a little tighter around the steering wheel. 

You had raised an eyebrow at his choice, but now that you were here…it wasn’t a bad pick. 

You hadn’t been to one in years — not since your summers with Suguru. The screams in the distance told you there was a rollercoaster not far off, the syrupy sweetness of sugar somehow emanated from every inch of air, and the park was filled to the brim with families and couples. 

You glance at Satoru, a plain t-shirt and shorts, and somehow he still looked as if he stepped off a page of a men’s style magazine. He looked around, his eyes landing on a vendor selling cotton candy, and you hid your chuckle. 

“C’mon,” you took his hand, leading him over without a second thought, and you’re grabbing a giant cotton candy for him, made into a flower by the vendor. Satoru’s practically vibrating with excitement, slinking his hand around to sneak the vendor money before you even had a chance, “I wanted to pay—“ 

“You think I’d make my date pay?” He takes a bite out of his cotton candy, sugar sticking to his lips even as he nearly inhales a petal, “even the arranged set ups should do that much,” but it’s hard to take him seriously with blue sugar all over his mouth, “what?” 

You snort, grabbing a wet nap from your purse,“Well, you’d be surprised,” and you wipe his face, fingers cupping his chin, “some guys are a little immature,” and he stares back, and you swear you see a flush settle over his cheeks, before he turns away to wipe his lips. 

“Not me,” he mumbles, tips of his ears burning red, and you bite your bottom lip, cute. 

“Should we find a ride to go on?” he immediately grins at that, offering his arm this time, and you take it, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. 

~~~

Oh you were wrong. 

So wrong. 

“I changed my mind, I don’t want to get on,” and before you can leave a hand catches you by the wrist gently, blue eyes judging over his rimless sunglasses, “Satoru—“ 

“It’s just a rollercoaster,” just a rollercoaster? No, it was literally your death. You stared up at the contraption above you, the echoing screams growing louder as the line crept forward — akin to a rickety boat that Charon would wade you across into hell itself. 

“No, I can’t—“ you shake your head. 

“C’mon it won’t be that bad—“ 

“So you admit it’s going to be bad,” and he’s biting back a smile, “what?” 

“I just never really saw you being scared of anything, Princess,” he sighed loudly, “I guess I’ll have to ride it all alone,” but that only serves to make many women (and men) stare at him as if to offer him their company. 

“You have options,” and he shakes his head, his hand outstretched as the two of you enter the final stretch of the line. 

“Like I said, sweetheart, there’s only ever been one option for me,” and your fingers graze his with several second thoughts, but when his fingers laced with yours, you knew there was no turning back. 

“I didn’t know you could scream that loud,” 

You grinned at a shaken up Satoru, throat probably raw and aching as he frowns, face turned away, “I’m not used to the speed, unlike you, from how I heard you drive,” and you bite back a laugh, as he fails to hide his flush from you, his ears burning red. 

Your chuckle is a badly disguised cough, “Are you pretending to be this way to make me feel better?” You tease, and he’s crossing his arms. 

“No way I’d let myself look so lame in front of you, I’m no better than Ijichi,” and you raise an eyebrow. Ijichi was a boy in Suguru and Satoru’s class when they were kids — one that Satoru loved to complain about being slow. 

“You still think about him?”

“He’s my assistant,” and you snort at the thought of Satoru still hassling that poor guy. 

“I hope you pay him well,” he’s officially pouting again.

“I didn’t know it would be that intense!” you tilt your head, as the two of you find a corner of the park that’s not so crowded and riddled with children running amok, and you watch him down a sugary soda drink he had bought from one of the food stalls. 

“You act as if you’ve never been to an amusement park,” he’s quiet for a second too long, and your eyebrows knit together, “but Suguru—” 

“You guys would go every summer, but it was when I had my prep classes on the weekends,” he runs his fingers through his white locks, “I would have skipped when I was older, but by the time I had stopped caring what my father thought of me, you had already gone to college and Suguru’s family stopped going,” 

You frown — you knew Satoru didn’t have the best upbringing — yes he had every opportunity at his fingertips, all the money in the world that you couldn’t even fathom, but you could count the number of times he’s mentioned his parents on one hand. 

“I was always so jealous when you guys would go,” he sighed, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “it seems silly now—” 

“No, it’s not,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “you should have been allowed to be a kid,” 

He chuckles, a noise that sticks in your chest, “Well, more than anything, I wanted to go with you,” his cerulean eyes find yours, a soft smile on his lips, “thank you for indulging me, princess,” 

“Well, you’re the one doing me a favor, right?” you tease, getting to your feet, “c’mon we have plenty of other things to do — I saw a booth with candy apples not too far over there—” you point, and his fingers are already finding yours as he nearly drags you along, a laugh caught in your throat as you can’t help but smile at his excitement. 

It’s infectious, you thought as the two of you got in line, Satoru nearly vibrating with need for his sugar fix, and you shook your head, biting back a laugh, just like him. 

~~~

“You don’t have to walk me home,” the sun had long sunk by the time you both had left, staying to catch a glimpse of the fireworks before heading back, “it’s not that far from here,” 

The two of you had opted to take public transport to the amusement park, knowing there would be next to nowhere to park or rather only the middle of nowhere to park. The cicadas were already beginning their symphony, filling the relative silence of the neighborhood now, except for the chatter heard from inside houses or outside in gardens. 

“Who would carry your loot home?” and he tilts the giant plushie to show his unimpressed face, “you barely wanted to carry this at the park, even after you begged me to win it, and I did, in one shot,” 

And he did, he had won you a giant polar bear plushie nearly as tall as you were in his hands, along with several bags of sweets he had bought on the way out, just to snack on tonight (and you seriously wondered if he ate anything that was not coated in mochi, chocolate, or sugar). 

“I don’t remember begging you — I asked you,” you cross your arms, and you know he’s smiling behind the bear, using the plushie to hide his goddamn smirk, “i did! I just asked if we could try to win it—” 

“And I remember the phrases ‘please’ and ‘i need it’ being involved in the conversation,” you felt your cheeks burn, “you still like these things, huh?” 

“What do you mean?” and he moves the polar bear under one arm, the bags in the other so you could actually see his face. 

“You always loved plushies, you had that one from your parents that you kept in your room with you all the time—” 

“Panda, I was very original with that name,” you shake your head, before your gaze turns to him, his sunglasses gleaming on his head in the low light of the streetlamps, “I can’t believe you remembered that,” 

“There’s barely a thing I’d forget when it comes to you,” and you bite your lip, heart squeezing at his words, “you look like you wanna say something, princess?” 

You reached the outside of your apartment building just as night fell, humidity still clinging to the thick summer air. The light of the lobby spilling out into the sidewalk through the glass doors, just as the streets grew quieter. 

And you do — you’re not sure if you should ask it — a question posed on a precipice of uncertainty that you didn’t know if you wanted to step off of. But you know you had to, at one point or another. 

You could just go inside, brush off his question, and leave the day at that. But a nagging question had wriggled it’s way to the forefront of your mind, and you knew it wouldn’t leave your mind until it left your tongue. 

You chew on your lip, “You say these things so easily when it comes to me, but how are you so sure?” 

And he shrugs, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second, “I just know,” 

“But how?” He’s shaking his head, stepping forward, until he’s a breath away, your eyes flickering from his gaze to his lips for a split second, your own air caught in your traitorous throat. 

“Instead of wondering why I feel why I do, I think you should wonder why you’re so unsure,” and his fingers graze your cheek, tilting your chin upwards, his touch sending heat to the far reaches of your body, and he’s leaning forward. Your eyes nearly flutter shut, as his words nearly warm your lips, but no, instead they brush against your ear, “because if I was still just that kid to you that I was all those years ago, then why aren’t you pulling away?” 

Your eyes blink open, as he pulls away, grin on his lips, as he hands you your polar bear plushie, “Satoru—“ and you don’t even know what you want to say — you want to argue, you want to say something, anything, but nothing comes out but his name. 

“You shouldn’t let a guy get that close, Princess, especially not twice,” he sighs, lips still curled, “because if you let me that close again, I won’t be leaving without a kiss,” 

And you could only stare after him as he left — fingers touching your ear he had whispered against, lips pursing, as you huff, cheeks burning as you step inside your building, burying your face in white fluff of the polar bear that looked a little too much like someone’s hair. 

“Idiot.” 

~~~~

You’re avoiding me. 

Satoru wasn’t wrong. You were — but not exactly on purpose. Or at least you didn’t think so. It had been the third time you had turned him down in the last week. Although, today’s wasn’t intentionally so. You stewed in a corner of the bar, eyes glancing at your phone — what was really an appropriate time to leave a work-sanctioned event without looking completely anti-social? 

It was never really fun coming to these events alone — but you knew if Satoru was here, you’d actually have a good time. You were almost surprised he hadn’t shown up at your place or your work to see you — all he had done is text you. And why did that almost disappoint you?

You checked the time again, met with the notification of Satoru’s message again before you swiped it away out of sight. But he wasn’t out of mind. He hadn’t been for days. You rubbed at your temples — you hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since your day at the amusement park, thoughts spinning in circles and it was all his fault. You had done everything to get him out of your head — minimize contact, not see him, even drag yourself to an event like this — but still, you stared at your phone screen again, the ghost of his words still warming your ear. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

Fuck. What were you doing? You took a long swig of your drink, hoping the alcohol could erase some of that night out of your mind. The last thing you needed to be thinking about was Satoru Gojo. 

“So who’s the guy who has been picking you up after work?” 

You nearly choked on your drink. Really? You downed your drink, hoping you can ignore the question if you take long enough downing the searing concoction that the bartender had handed you, maybe they would let you off the hook. But as you finish the drink, you only find your coworkers staring back at you still. The hush that fell over this group of women was far too reverent for a conversation about a man. 

“He’s my little cousin’s best friend,” you reply, ordering another drink — you were going to need it, and the women exchange glances, fake smiles plastered on their lips. 

“He’s not your boyfriend?” and a strange twinge settles in your chest at the question, poking and prodding your tongue to say no, no he wasn’t, but you almost didn’t want to. 

“No, he isn’t,” and the women grin amongst each other, “if you would excuse me—” 

“Wait, wait, we just started talking, come on now,” you sigh internally, as they order another round of drinks as they corral you to their table, maybe after this you could finally leave. 

~~~

“What’s got you so down?” Suguru slides into a seat across from Satoru — Satoru who couldn’t stop checking his phone to see if you had replied. 

“What do you mean?” he sighs, he shouldn’t have sent that text earlier. He shouldn’t push so much, he’s already pushed enough with his comment. God, why the fuck did he say that? What if you thought he was a creep—what if you thought he was disgusting? What if— 

“You look pathetic,” Suguru sips his coffee in his hand, scrolling through his phone, “who is it?” 

Satoru sits up, locking his phone, tucking it away as if it would incriminate him — flashing your name across the screen like it was plastered over his mind, “what do you mean?” 

“I’ve never seen you like this, you keep checking your phone — you barely can keep track of it most of the time,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I figured you must have grew a dick and started liking someone,” 

“Look who’s talking — when’s the last time you dated someone again?” And Satoru catches the crumpled up paper Suguru tosses, “don’t get on your high horse if you don’t want the same thing back,” 

“At least I’m not waiting like a lovesick puppy over my phone,” Suguru mutters, taking another sip of his drink, and that’s when a phone ringing cuts through the silence — that was your ringtone, the very one he set to know when you’d call — just so he wouldn’t miss it, “looks like your waiting by the door paid off,” 

“Fuck off,” Satoru mumbled, walking off with his phone as he picked up, “hello?” 

“Suguru!” Satoru’s brow furrowed at the sound of your cousin’s name leaving your lips, “can you pick me up plz—“ your words were slurred, sounds of chatter cutting through the background. 

“Princ—“ you hiccuped, a small groan leaving your lips. 

“You can’t tell Satoru, he’ll come here and my coworkers won’t stop asking me about him,” you sigh again, mumbling, “why does he have to be so—ugh, it’s not fair for someone to be that pretty—“ 

Pretty? 

His cheeks burned, as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying and failing to bite back a stupid smile on his lips — it’s not fair for you to be this cute. He would have preferred ‘handsome’ or ‘perfect’ or ‘your boyfriend’ — but he could settle for pretty. 

“Anyway!” You cut his thoughts off, “could you come get me?” And Satoru bit his lip, glancing at Suguru — he could tell Suguru to get you, he could, but the odds of you letting something slip to Suguru—- “remember you can’t tell Satoru—“ 

—was really high. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there, and I won’t tell him,” he adds, because you already had. 

~~~

“How did you find out where I work?” Satoru didn’t know after so many years that there were still new things to learn about you still — and one thing he had learned tonight was that —- you pouted at him, stumbling slightly as he came to a stop in front of your building — you were really whiny when drunk. 

“I picked you up there, remember?” he lightly flicked your forehead that only made you huff, “now do you have your keys?” 

“Do you know how annoying you are?” And he has to bite back a laugh at your scrunched up face. 

“I do, sweetheart, but I’d love to hear you tell me,” you scoff, crossing your arms only to immediately uncross to dig through your purse for your keys, tossing out several things that Satoru catches or picks up. 

“You come to my work and pick me up, and act all swoon worthy, and perfect, and you look like that—“ 

“Like what?” he can’t hide his smile this time, and your brow furrows as you pull out your keys, lips opening and closing, until you purse them. 

“Like that,” you grumble as you teeter on your feet again, before he supports you, and he swore he heard you mumble, “so disgustingly handsome,” 

And he’s glad your eyes are half closed and focused ahead, otherwise he knew you’d smack him for the grin on his face. 

“Oi, don’t—“ and you don’t listen, nearly falling over as you unlock your door, whole body weight leaned against it, but his arm slips around you, holding you up from face planting into your floor, “you’re gonna break your neck, Princess,” 

“You wouldn’t let that happen,” You break from his grip and lean up close, your breath warming his lips, your gaze half lidded, “not when you love me,” and his heart thuds against his ribs, rattling his lungs and bones alike, “that’s what you said, right?” 

You weren’t making this easy, not with your fingers now sliding up his chest, toying with the top button of his shirt, “I did—“ 

“So are you going to prove it?” And the floor feels as if it slips out from underneath him, and all he feels is you, only you — the brush of your fingers against his chest, the faint scent of lavender from your perfume that your aunt had gifted you, and the caress of your gaze against his lips, the same eyes he could easily lose himself in — if he wasn’t careful. 

But he had to be careful — because it was you. 

“But—“

“But what?” it would be so easy to kiss you, when you were only half a breath away, lips parted and gaze asking him to do so, to just lean in—but he can’t.

Not like this. 

His thumb runs down your lips, your eyes fluttering shut, fingers sliding to cup your jaw, and he leans in — feeling your breath catch—

But he only flicks your forehead, drawing a soft yelp from you. 

“I’d like you to remember our first kiss,” and he’s corralling you into bed after that, your body keeling over into the soft mattress, as he’s able to wriggle you under the comforter. Your body relaxes into the plush bed, eyes shut, as your muscles loosen and unwind, while Satoru stands over you, the exact opposite — muscles taut and mind whirring. 

Fuck.

“You never make it easy, do you, Princess?” he mutters under his breath, swallowing thickly as he scrubs a hand down his face, “good night,” his fingers ghost over the swell of your cheek, before turning to leave—

And your fingers caught him around the wrist, eyes half open as you stared up at him, a pout on your lips but now for an entirely different, but somehow the same reason—

“Stay,” one word nearly had him crumble right there — and how pathetic was that? Maybe Suguru was right — he was no better than a puppy at your beck and call — waiting by the door for his master to return. And he almost didn’t mind — if you always came home to him.  

“Princess, you have to go to sleep—“ he could easily break from your grip, fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, but your grasp may have been very well made of iron with how you had pinned him into place — an entomologist pinning their butterfly in their display. 

“Don’t wanna sleep alone,” a slight whine in your voice makes him waver again, but he had a problem with sleeping beside you—

He shifted in place, adjusting himself, a somewhat big problem thst wouldn’t go away — no matter how many times he thought about Gakuganji in his underwear — especially when you were looking at him like that, half dressed in bed with a pout on your lips and want in your gaze—want that he never thought would be for him. 

“Please?” And that’s all it takes, his thumb rubbing against your fingers — because he could never say no to you. 

~~~~

“Are you okay?” 

Satoru was never left alone — not since he had managed to wander off alone when he was five. It took several hours and a dozen security guards to find him at a bakery, having his third piece of cake. And when he was brought home, he was told just how many ways that could have went wrong — what could have happened to him, and most of all — how badly it could have made his parents look. 

After that, he couldn’t remember a time that his hand wasn’t clutched by a caretaker or escort — from school to home to anywhere else he wished to go. But he never wished to go anywhere, not with a stranger at his side. 

It was only when he met Suguru that he was allowed to go out without someone hovering over his shoulder. But without warning — warning that if any incident would mean he would be stuck back in his daily life. But that meant when he got distracted in the pastry section of the supermarket — looking for the exclusive mochi he desperately wanted — he found himself alone, with you and Suguru nowhere in sight. 

“Suguru?” Satoru called, head whipping around, chest thudding as the white noise of the market grew louder. His gaze falls, ears ringing with all that could go wrong, back to the life with no one at his side, only strangers— 

“Toru?” Satoru’s gaze snaps up, your hands on your hips, your head tilted, “you okay?” And he’s quickly wiping away his tears, sniffling softly, your hand finding the top of his head, “i got you something,” and you hold out a mochi in front of him, and he blinks. 

“You found it?” He’s blinking and your lips curve into a pretty smile. 

“Anything for you, Satoru,” your fingers run through his hair, “Satoru? Satoru—“ 

His eyes flutter open, finding you leaning over him, your tousled hair in messy tangles, “finally awake?” And a soft chuckle on your lips as you speak, rubbing your eye, flinching as you rub your temples, “what exactly happened last night?” 

“You mean besides you calling me pretty?” And your jaw drops, biting your lip, “and begging me to stay? Didn’t know you liked my company that much, Princess,” 

You glare at him, “well with charm like that—“ you mutter, when it occurs to you, “why did you sleep on the floor? And with that?” You point to the polar bear plushie he used as a pillow last night. 

Not his most preferred bedfellow. 

Always full of surprises, his cheeks burn, and he only can hope it doesn’t show on his face, hidden behind a cheeky smile, “Didn’t know you were so eager to share a bed with me, sweetheart,” and you roll your eyes, “I have to warn you, I have a tendency to cuddle—“ and you smack him with a pillow, he sighs, “someone wasn’t too keen on sharing her pillows with me, so this was the best I could do,”

You snort, as you take the offending plushie from him, “Did you do something to him?”

He tilts his head, “Eh?” And you hold up the polar bear plush, “what could I do to him?”  

“Someone did threaten to toss him out into the ocean so he could join his family,” 

“I can do a lot of things, but I can’t solve global warming, Princess,” and you bite back a laugh, “I was on my best behavior with him last night, even though he’s a shitty pillow,” and you didn’t have to know how he had slapped him a couple times. 

But even so, you bite your lip, looking down as you toy with your comforter, “why did you come?” 

He blinks, “what do you mean?” 

“You could have sent Suguru, but you came, and you stayed, on the floor,” and he curls his lips. 

“Well what kind of fake boyfriend would I be?” And you roll your eyes, still waiting for an answer, and his voice grows soft, “you know why, Princess,” 

“I do, but I don’t,” you murmur, fidgeting with your blanket as you chewed on your bottom lip, “my coworkers couldn’t stop talking about you last night, they kept saying how handsome you are, how wonderful, how perfect—“ 

“Should I be less handsome or perfect? Because don’t know if that’s possible—“ and it earns him another whack with the pillow, but he only catches it, “you say that like it’s a bad thing,” 

“It’s not, but I don’t know why after all these years, you still want me,” you sigh, words pushing past your lips,  “you could have anyone, Satoru,” 

“If I just wanted anyone, I wouldn’t have fell in love with you,” and you bury your face in your pillow, gaze peeking down at him. 

“You say that with such ease, how do you know what love even is? I don’t know if I know what it is,” you add, mumbling under your breath, and his eyes can’t help but follow the way your fingers run through your hair. 

“I don’t think I need to know when I feel it,” Satoru sat up, dangerously close to you, within reach yet so far out of it, “do you need to know to see the sky is blue? Do you need to know to feel pain when you burn yourself?” 

“Didn’t know you were taking philosophy classes with Suguru,” and he snorts, shaking his head, “Satoru—“ 

“Like I said before, Princess, just give me some time,” his fingers reach for you, and your breath catches, before he slowly smoothed your hair out, “and I’ll win you over,” 

Your eyes flicker to his, and god, he wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss you, but he couldn’t. He had to be patient. He couldn’t push you — he wanted you to want him just as much. He would make you fall into his arms willingly, and you’d kiss him — not the other way around. 

“Want some breakfast?” your lips curl into a soft smile, the very same smile that he had fallen for time and time again. 

“You offering to cook me breakfast?” 

“Just wondering what would shut you up the quickest,” and he has half a mind to reply with ‘your lips,’ but he decides against it, “pancakes?” 

~~~

“I can feel you staring,” 

Even with your back turned to the stove, bowl in hand as you whipped the batter with the whisk, hoping your laser focus on the pancakes would help you distract yourself. But it did little when you could feel his gaze sticking in your back, spotlights on every little movement — something that wouldn’t have bothered you before — but after last night—

This was why you never drank. 

You covered your face with the back of your hand, cheeks burning, as you placed the bowl down, what had your life become? 

“C’mon you can’t just let a guy like that go,” one of the women from work nudged you — you couldn’t remember if her name was Kanae or Kanao — handing you a refill of the drink you had gotten, “he certainly seems into you from the way he looks at you,” 

“If he isn’t, I’d take him off your hands,” Saki slurred, nearly spilling her drink, “he seems to like you. Is there really nothing between you two?” 

“Not really,” you sipped your drink, if confessing to you after over a decade was nothing, “he’s just a friend,” and he was — a friend who was your fake boyfriend. 

“You know with how you started, I thought your love life would be a lot more interesting,” Kanae sighed far too loudly, as she took another long swig of her cocktail. 

“Well we’ve talked a lot about what you guys are but we haven’t asked how you feel,” Saki grinned, sloppily drunk yet somehow masterful with her questions, “how do you feel about him?” 

And how did you? If someone asked you a few weeks ago, you would said he was just your little cousin’s best friend, a childhood friend — and you wouldn’t have thought twice. But now, he has given you so much to think about. Would you be this hesitant if you two haven’t met as kids? If he wasn’t Suguru’s best friend? If he didn’t seem so far out of your league? 

Maybe. But you were never good at going for things you wanted — or accepting things as they were. Even with Naoya, you knew you should have broken up with him — you knew he was toxic, and yet you stayed — because it was easier. 

And maybe it was easier to push Satoru away than to face how you felt.

Fuck, you were too drunk for this — you needed to get out of here, “excuse me,” you manage to slip away into the bathroom, washing your face, leaning over the sink. 

You held your forehead, steadying yourself against the cold porcelain, fingers digging into the rim of the sink — eyes burning as your head throbs, a wave of nausea pulsing through your stomach. Fuck, there was no way that you could get home alone. 

You pulled out your phone and scrolled — who the fuck would you call? The only people you knew were your family and…

Nope. No. Not an option. 

You found Suguru’s number and tried to text, only to find your eyes blurring, and you knew if you sent a message he would be holding over any typos or fuck ups over your head forever. 

You found his name, your head spinning as you clicked and called. 

He didn’t pick up.

“Fucker,” you mumble, trying to hit his name again, your head spinning, and finally someone picked up—

And then you woke up in bed. A soft groan fell from your lips, knives prodding at every inch of your brain, memory blended and choppy as you drew into consciousness. You were home, your eyes fluttering open to sunlight illuminating your bedroom, a dull stiffness in your muscles that makes you stretch, turning on your side only to be met with a sight. 

Satoru Gojo. Asleep on your floor, cuddling the plush polar bear he won for you. You stared, blinking, wondering if blinking away the sleep would somehow blink away Satoru too (it did not unfortunately). So you did the only other thing you could think of — take a picture. 

As you glanced from the image to him, bits and pieces came back — from your drunken ramblings on the phone to the ones in person, your cheeks burning as you buried your face in your comforter before staring down at him. Was it possible to die of embarrassment? You were really testing those limits. 

But even so, as you watched him sleep on top of the plushie, the only thing you could wonder was why had he stayed? He could have left after you fell asleep, or even before that, there wasn’t much you could have done to stop him. But he stayed, even on the floor, rather than anywhere else. 

“So?” you didn’t need to turn from the stove to know he was grinning, “can’t I enjoy the show, Princess?” 

“If you’re enjoying it so much, how about you become part of it and help?” you offer him a spatula, as he makes his way over, leaning over you, his body brushing against yours, but you ignore it all the same, eyes focused on the task instead on the warmth blooming from his touch, “I’ll spoon and you flip,” 

The two of you work in silence, as you spoon batter onto the griddle and he flips the pancakes — and it’s only when you’re both just about done that you glance over, and his lips are curled, “What are you smiling about?” and he shakes his head, as he flips the last of the pancakes onto the stack, “Satoru—“ 

“I just never really have made breakfast like this before, or had someone make it for me,” he scratches the back of his head, “my parents always had chefs or maids or someone make me all my meals, and even when I moved out, I always cooked alone or bought my meals out,” he shrugs, as he turned the stove off, “it reminds me when you’d make me and Suguru instant ramen after we came in from playing outside,” 

You snort, “You remember that?” You would get stuck making ramen for the two of them, tossing some seasoning and sauces into the mixture along with an egg, “I always put too much black pepper. I thought you hated it,” 

“But I always finished,” he added, and he did, even if his cheeks were burning red and eyes watering by the end of the bowl. Your lips curl at the memory of him at the age of twelve downing an entire glass of water and spilling it all over the front of himself. 

“Well I can make a lot more than instant noodles now,” you have Satoru set the table while you start to clean up, turning on the sink. You hear the clink of plates and utensils behind you, as he sets them down on the table, but you can feel his gaze fall over you even as your back is turned. 

“I’m going to need some proof — there were a few times you almost burned those noodles,” and you pout, turning with your hands on your hips. 

“Oh you want me to prove it now?” You turn, running your finger discreetly up the side of the used mixing bowl, finger full of batter as you walk up to him, hands behind your back. 

“And how’re you gonna do that, Princess?” the corner of his lip quirks upwards, as you step close up to him, and god, he’s fucking tall — and it kind of pissed you off — all these boys shoot up like fucking weeds, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t knock him down a bit. 

“Close your eyes, and find out,” he raises an eyebrow, suspicious, but still he obeys — good boy, the praise runs through your head to the tip of your tongue, but you bite it and the words back alike. And you’re so close, you can see his snow white eyelashes fan out against his cheeks, and he’s so unfairly pretty, 

For now. 

You’re so close, you nearly feel his body warmth radiate your skin — and you swear you hear his breath hitch — and it would be so easy to lean forward— “Princess — what—” 

And then he gasps when you smear pancake batter down his cheek, a snort leaving your lips as he gapes at you, mouth ajar. He blinks, his hand reaching for his cheek, before he stops when his eyes flit to your batter caked finger, “You—” 

You’re giggling, trying to stop yourself from doubling over at his expression, “What? I just wanted to give you a taste of my cooking before you tried it,” and he frowns at you for a moment, before his lips curl deviously, tilting his head. 

“Is that right?” and his fingers run through the smeared batter, caking his finger tips before he’s stepping towards you, “then it’s fair, if I make you taste it too—“ and you’re trying to back up, giggles leaving your lips,  but he catches you by the wrist. 

“Satoru—“ you whine as you’re trying to squirm away, “let go!” but he only pulls you close, your body nearly bumping against his — and it was your turn for your breath to catch, cerulean irises stealing the air from your lungs as you drowned in them, “hey—“ 

“Just how much are you gonna tempt me, Princess?” and you should step away, but his fingers around your wrist send warmth blooming down your arm, straight to your chest, and you can’t bring yourself to step away. 

“And how am I doing that?” His fingers tug you closer, thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist, before he leans close. 

“You know exactly how,” and your glance flickers from his gaze to his lips, and back again, resisting the urge to shut your eyes — but you don’t have to, when he smears the batter all over your cheek. 

“Toru!” You stare at him, and he’s laughing, as you grab at him, only for him to slip away, “I’m gonna kill you—“ and you move towards the sink, batter covered bowl still inside, “oh just you wait—“ 

But your beeline is cut short by his grip, arm darting around your middle, as he pulls you back. You gasp, struggling in his arms in vain — fuck his stupidly toned arms,  “you shouldn’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” his words are said against your ear, but they rush down your body in almost a shudder. 

His lips are an inch or two from yours, you would barely need to lean to reach them — the words of your coworkers ring in your ears 

“Who said I wasn’t?” His eyes find yours, his fingers tilting your chin ever so slightly, when your phone rings. 

You jerk slightly at the sound, your eyes flickering to the name across the screen and see Suguru’s name flashing on the screen. 

“It’s Suguru,” and Satoru lets go of you, as you make your way to the phone, and you swear you hear him mutter something under his breath, “what did you say?” you don’t pick up the phone but a few texts come through anyway. 

“Nothing,” he scratched the back of his head, “what did he say?” 

“He’s asking if I wanna come over for dinner tonight, said you’re gonna be there too?” And you raise an eyebrow, as Satoru fishes his phone out of his pocket and glances at it. 

“Apparently I am,” you turn on the faucet, cleaning your face off, offering Satoru a damp tissue. “Guess this won’t be the last meal we’re sharing today,” 

“Guess not,” his fingers brush yours when taking the tissue, trying to clean the batter off his cheek but only spreads the mess. You snort, as you take the napkin from him holding his face by the chin, “so how’re we gonna play it?” 

“Play what?” You toss the napkin away, both of you taking a seat at the table. 

“Did you forget?” He stabs a pancake and places it in his plate, “we told your aunt we’re dating — and that we’re hiding it from Suguru, and you just agreed to dinner with both of them,” 

Fuck. 

✧ a/n: hi it's been quite a while T_T. sorry work has been so busy. i haven't had a moment to post, and now i had to split this up because it just got too long lmao. part two will come later, i'm going to be prioritizing my kinktober fics. thank you to @coffee-and-geto for betaing :)

✧ taglist: @satorusmochis , @celestialgojo , @sugurubabe , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @strawberryfanatic01 , @cira273 , @sobbangchan , @hiraethwrote , @peppertoastuniverse , @dreamtardisspace , @redmangotango , @h4ru-h4ruu , @anpacax0 , @theshylittleelfgirl , @hyori2 , @elliesndg , @maddietries , @roses-can-be-deadly-too, @vernasce-blogs , @mrsoikawa17 , @spider-fan72 , @haoxiaoxi , @horchatacow , @lovemoreworrylessv, @maybe-a-bi-witch , @missroki , @rubyarerosies ,, @ranatherealestsigma , @svt-backup , @catsgomurp , @sakurastorm , @forest-fruits-jam , @lemonpoppy-seed , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @notgoodforlife , @johannakhalafalla , @fushitoru , @kentosbutterfly , @augustwinesworld