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withahappyrefrain · 3 days ago

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Drowning in the Light Part 1

Summary: Once excited about your job as a lounge singer, now you can barely get through it, thanks to your less than charming boyfriend. Can a blue eyed bodyguard pull you out of a horrible situation? Or are you both doomed by the life you chose?

Warning: extensive reference to domestic abuse (not by Bob), language, guns, mob bodyguard Bob AU (yes he comes with a warning you'll see)

***

Sharp pain seared throughout your body, starting at your legs, bruised from kicks, up to your shoulders, sore from being shoved against a wall. Then your head, God, your head. You must have hit something when you got knocked down.

The throbbing pain surrounding your right eye was familiar. From past experience, you knew it would be bruised, no need to look in the mirror. But the sharp, stinging pain near your scalp was new. Gently, you placed your fingers on the area, feeling something wet.

Blood.

You should get up, take care of yourself, try to leave before the man responsible for it all comes back. But instead, all you could do was curl into a ball.

It wasn't always like this.

For as long as you could remember, you wanted to sing. Selling out Madison Square Garden wasn't your end goal. No, you were content to land a job where you could sing at the same place every night. No more wedding gigs that took up your entire weekend. No more supplementing your income with that lousy waitressing job. Plus, the owner was sweet on you.

At first.

Slowly, you sat yourself up, thankful the pain in your arms from a few days ago has subsided. It wasn't fun wearing long sleeves in late spring, but you didn't have the time to cover it up with makeup. No, you were now far too busy helping run the club, despite making almost no money from it. After all, who was going to restock the bar? Clearly not the owner. Nor would he clean up the room he just destroyed. Chairs had been knocked over. A now broken bottle of Bourbon had clearly been smashed against the wall, the scent burning your nostrils.

But no sign of the man who was the cause of all this.

Looking back, the red flags were obvious, but at the time, they were easy to ignore. You were living your dream and had found someone who supported it. That was all you wanted since moving away from your family to pursue your ambitions.

So what if he got a little jealous when you spoke to male patrons? It was easy to calm him down and besides, you quickly learned to be on the lookout for him. When he suggested you stop interacting with your family, it seemed to come with good intentions. They had never supported your dreams and their phone calls always ended with an offer to pay for graduate school, scoffing at the possibility you were truly happy.

In retrospect, it’s possible they saw the red flags you were blind to.

Moving in together was a no brainer. It meant you could quit your temp office job that you did only to make ends meet. It also made sense why you were giving part of your paycheck to him, to help cover household expenses.

You were now lucky if you could stash away a few dollars from your nightly tips before he got to it.

Running a club was stressful, especially one where clients did seedy business. They never harmed you or other patrons, unless provoked (by someone who had too much liquid courage and not enough wits about them). He started off just yelling, which then turned into shoving, which had now turned into you lying on the floor of your dressing room, surrounded by destruction.

So you didn't get up right away. Your eyes remained closed as you attempted to block out the sounds of an argument on the first floor. Your so-called "boyfriend" was probably giving some bullshit excuse as to why he was unable to pay someone on time.

Again.

Tonight, you had interrupted to offer a much better reason as to why he couldn't pay a vendor on time. You even got an extension, something the club desperately needed. Can’t run a place like this without alcohol, after all.

But that wasn't good enough. You made him look incompetent, stupid. Like he couldn't manage his own lounge. It was the truth, one that everyone could see, but making it known was a sin. You knew it would be bad with the way he grabbed your wrist, practically dragging you back to your dressing room, ignoring the stares of onlookers.

This was a new low for him. Funny how he kept surprising you, even a year later.

Sounds of men talking downstairs were muffled, probably one of the many seedy customers who stayed past closing to discuss less than legal matters. They were loud tonight and you'd probably have to clean up whatever mess they were making. After all, your boyfriend was far too busy to help.

But first you had to clean up yourself. Standing up was painful, your knees throbbing from being pushed onto the hard wooden floor earlier. If things kept the way they were going, you would need a walking cane before you turned forty.

There was no way in hell you could put up with this for much longer. You wanted to leave, it was escaping that was the problem. The other night acts felt pity for you, but they also had to make ends meet. Assistance came with a risk, whether it was losing a huge chunk of their income or worse, facing his wrath. Same with the bartenders, the bottle girls. Looking the other way was much safer. Besides, you weren’t the first they’ve seen in this situation. Won’t be the last either.

The broken mirror encapsulated the damage done to your body. Your tights were now torn, a sleeve ripped, revealing the constellation of healing bruises on your arm. The skin around your right eye was swollen, no doubt turning into a blackened bruise by tomorrow. Some of the blood near your scalp had begun to dry. That would be a pain to hide. Applying makeup would run the risk of infection. Perhaps you could come up with a believable excuse, should Bob ask.

Bobby.

The thought of the blue eyed man brought a sense of warmth to your body. How such a kind man ended up working as the bodyguard of a gang was a mystery, how he kept that kindness even moreso. His boss Maverick had been a repeat customer for several months now. Where they went, Bob followed. He always made sure to comment on how well you did up on stage, even sneaking you a tip. Bob had the sweetest smile you ever saw; pink lips forming into a thin, slightly lopsided grin, the corners of his eyes subtly creasing. He didn't smile during his shifts, just with you.

His beautiful smile entered your mind quite often. It was the nicest thing you’d see all day. Yes, you were in a relationship, but it’s not like you were in love with the guy. No, if you had a choice, it would be Bob, the man who always spoke respectfully to you, always asked how you were doing, always genuine.

But you didn’t deserve a guy like Bob Floyd. Before, you hoped for luck. That you’d finally win this time and be happy. Be loved.

What a fucking joke.

Wetness began to form around your eyes. Looking up, your reflection revealed eyes brimming with tears. A year ago, you rarely cried. Now it happens almost every day. You had become numb to it, barely registering as you grabbed a tissue, trying not to physically wince as you blotted the open wound.

It was time to fix yourself. Stuff it all down and go out and sing. Just like you did every other night.

Bob Floyd had always been quiet. Truth was, he preferred to mind his own business and not get in anyone’s way. Ironic, considering his job.

He didn’t want to do this. But when his father died and left Bob, his mother, and his four other penniless, his sixteen year old self knew something needed to change. Temporary, he had told himself, it would be temporary. Enough to get his family back on their feet. Besides, it was more de-escalating situations rather than causing them. Usually his stern voice and presence was enough to deter folks, meaning the amount of times he had to resort to violence was rare.

It was supposed to be a temporary job.

But he was good at it. He got promotions, more money, more stability for his family. He was able to send his mother back to school, giving his family a better life. When Iceman retired, Bob was kept on for the new generation due to his valuable knowledge and established connections.

Jake called him a stealth pilot. Quietly lurking, observing. Taking mental notes to share later, keeping track of every detail. It was how Bob realized what was going on with the lounge singer.

Bob had been going to the club with Jake and the rest of the crew for almost a year now. Maverick wanted to keep a low profile, so he sent the latest recruits who had proven themselves. The first sign was how the light had steadily left your eyes, even when you were singing. When Bob first met you, you were like a ray of sunshine, eyes bright, smile radiant.

Then came the tense arguments with the owner. Bob could never hear them but he could tell from your face afterwards it wasn't a two way street.

Bob didn't hate most people. But he fucking hated Beau Simpson.

It was obvious he didn't treat you well. Bob noticed how prevalent bruises had become on your arms, how often you ‘bumped into something' to explain a black eye. No person could be that clumsy.

So when Simpson had come up short on payment again, Bob didn't show mercy.

“Isn't this the fifth time he's been late? Why don’t we go down and talk to him?” Bob suggested to Jake.

Jake, always eager to please Maverick (and annoy Bradley) was more than happy to take him, Javy, Mickey, and Natasha over. They were a well oiled machine; Bob would find and corner him, Jake would ask the questions directly to the traitor, Javy and Mickey were there for muscle while Nat was getting the real answers from others and looking into their systems if need be.

The coward made eye contact with Bob and then swiftly turned around, no doubt attempting to avoid him. What a fucking joke. Bob hated this was the guy you were tangled up with.

So yeah, maybe he should have used his voice before putting his hands on Simpson. A saying his mother always told him and his siblings, her school teacher career showing.

She also still thought Bob worked in construction.

Bob couldn't lie, it felt good to slam him against the wall. Make him feel a tenth of the pain he caused you. It would never be enough, not unless he saw Simpson six feet under.

But when he came into the doorway of your dressing room, the rage disappeared. It was gone the moment he saw you hunched over the vanity, applying makeup despite the steam of tears on your face.

"Dove?"

As soon as you turned your head, he made way to the vanity, carefully stepping over broken glass and knocked down chairs.

Bob knelt down, his hands near yours, but not quite touching. You couldn't even look him in the eyes. Normally his special nickname would bring a smile to your face, but you were too ashamed of how he found you.

What a fucking pathetic site.

"Dove," he repeated, his voice now soft, barely above a whisper, "Who did this to you?"

He knows the answer and has for months now. It's the confirmation he needs. But it's also the hope that maybe with your confirmation, he could help you begin to heal.

The name was on the tip of your tongue. But that would mean admitting it. Not just that he hurt you. But the fact that you had become some pathetic singer who was stuck with an obvious piece of shit. This wasn't supposed to happen. When you first started working here, it was full of excitement.

It was easy for your mind to think of Bob when you were with your partner. It was easy to think of those surprisingly soft blue eyes. In bed, you did your best to pretend it was his hands touching your body. It was an escape. A fantasy you indulged in as a desperate attempt to not think about your current situation.

Like he would want to be with you! You were a liability. You didn't deserve him.

That didn't stop your heart from fluttering when you felt his fingers gently cup your face, tilting your head up to look at him. His fingers were calloused. You knew what his hands were capable of, having witnessed him sling punches, like they were nothing.

But Bob Floyd’s touch was soft. You could feel them on your face, but he refrained from adding pressure. And gentle, oh so gentle. He avoided the bruise that was forming near your right eye. The way his thumb gently stroked your mascara stained cheek was comforting.

Soft. Gentle. Comforting.

When was the last time you felt any of that from someone touching you? It was a foreign concept, one you so desperately chased that you were willing to ignore the bright, beaming red flags and run head first into danger.

By all means, he should be seen as a danger. A huge scarlet flag. His 'job' required him to oversee and commit violent, illegal acts. He didn't hide it. And with those expensive suits, rings, and those dark eyes, he looked almost like the Devil, ready to trick you into signing your soul away.

But he wasn't like that. At least, not to you. A sweet smile, reserved only for a selective few. Eyes that pierced through your soul. His presence brought an ease to you.

He leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours. A battle of emotions was going through his eyes. Rage. Anger. Concern. It felt nice for someone to be concerned about you.

"Did Simpson do this to you?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

When you nodded, it felt like a weight being lifted off your chest. Finally, someone else knew.

Bob’s jaw tensed as he nodded his head in understanding, "And was he responsible for all the other injuries you've had?"

He did notice. Why he was paying attention to you, some lowly singer, was beyond your comprehension.

You nodded your head, tears filling your eyes, "It's…..it's all been him, Bobby."

He nodded, the tension in his jaw remaining. He wanted to say so much, but knew what was most important: you. Your safety.

"Let's get you cleaned up Dove," He said softly, standing up. He stuck out his hand, clearly gesturing for you to take it.

It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. His large hand felt like a peace offering, a shining lighthouse in the midst of the dark, bleary night. But taking it meant Bob would now be involved. You didn't want that, couldn't have that. If he found out….sure, Bob could take care of himself. But you would feel guilty if anything were to happen to him. Besides, what would happen to you? What if Simpson found out? The beating would probably send you to the emergency room. Even worse, it probably meant you wouldn't get to see Bob anymore.

You needed that lopsided smile and kind eyes to get through the nights. The thought of not seeing them scared the shit out of you.

"You need a first aid kit, not concealer," Bob explained, sensing your hesitation.

So sensible. But you didn't have time for any of that. Shaking your head, you turned back to the vanity, “I have to go on soon.”

“We shut down the place. Need Simpson to explain why he's gone two months without paying us.”

When you still didn't move, Bob’s hands trailed down your face, landing on your shoulders. He kneeled down, looking into your eyes, “Can I help you? Please?”

"Bob, it's not worth it. I don't…if he finds out…” The very thought of what could happen made your eyes brim with tears.

You were right to be hesitant. Bob wished he could scoop you up into his arms and take you far away from this place. For now, first aid would have to be done and he needed you to see that.

“Dove, I can make sure he never touches you again, if that's what you want.” God, he hoped you wanted that, “But getting cleaned up is the bare minimum of what you need. And the least I can do after not saying anything earlier.”

So he had noticed all the bruises you tried to cover up. How the light in your eyes only came back when you were up on stage singing or talking to him. He noticed how quickly that light drained from your eyes, how fear replaced it at the sight of Simpson. Bob should have said something earlier, instead of waiting so long.

Never again.

You didn’t know this at the time. But something, deep in the back of your mind- call it hope or wishful thinking-told you he meant it.

So you took his hand. He could see you limping and placed an arm around your waist, allowing you to put your weight on him. Sage flooded your nostrils, his scent comforting. Bob led you to the couch in the Manager's office, walking away to find the first aid kit. It was quiet, but not in an awkward way. You enjoyed it, to be truthful. So much of your life was loud, violent, chaotic. To sit in peace was refreshing. Though you couldn't help but look at the door, the thought of anyone being able to come in at the back of your mind.

“He's not going to come up. Mickey and Javy are currently holding him down while he answers Jake,” Bob commented, not even bothering to look up from the first aid kit.

How did he know? The question was soon replaced by another one, “Why aren't you down there with them?”

Bob made his way to the couch, gently laying the kit on the coffee table, rummaging as he picked up sanitation wipes.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” He confessed, the tops of his cheeks turning a dusty pink. The admission made your heart flutter. Despite his job requiring a cold, hardened demeanor, a kindness shone through.

You witnessed it the first time Bob met you. Oh, you had seen him beforehand. It was hard not to miss the tall handsome man with the piercing blue eyes, clad in a well fitted suit. The top of his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver chain that reflected against the lights.

God, he was so attractive. Still is. It was your first day on the job and the last thing you wanted to do was ruffle one of the patrons. Beau had warned you that they would leave you alone as long as you did the same.

Looking back, you wondered if his advice had other intentions, more self serving ones that out of kindness. You tried to follow his advice, situating yourself near the bathroom while waiting for your cue. Once the previous act waves goodbye, you knew it was time to move. But God, you were so nervous that day! So nervous that you were too busy inspecting your dress for any possible wrinkles instead of looking up.

Your head ran into a firm chest, large hands quickly stabilized your body. When you looked up, you found yourself face to face with Bob Floyd.

Instead of a scowl, there was a small smile on his face as he asked, “You alright ma'am?”

You had been smitten ever since. Keeping a distance made sense, he didn’t deserve you. Which is why you brushed it off as just a silly crush and looked elsewhere for affection.

“Whatcha thinking about Dove?” Bob asked before gingerly applying the sanitizing wipes to your forehead.

“The day we met. You were so sweet, making sure that I was okay and wishing me good luck,” you spoke fondly of the memory, sharing a smile with him, “I think about that day often.”

“I do too,” he confessed, making your heart flutter once again. It made you want to explain, want to tell him everything that had happened.

“I....it's all been going on for a year. It wasn't bad at first. Like yeah, he would yell at me, but he'd apologize afterwards. At first he’d just grip my shoulders real hard. Then he'd shove me out of the way. But he would still apologize to me afterwards. Sometimes he'd even get me flowers. I knew business was rough, so I convinced myself it wasn't personal,” you paused, “I must sound so fucking dumb.”

“No. There's nothing wrong with wanting to see the best in someone,” Bob mumbled as he shifted through the first aid kit, finding the right size gauze, "Doesn't make you dumb."

“That's what I kept telling myself when it got worse. Over time, he’d stopped apologizing. Made me feel bad, like it was my fault. And I knew it wasn't, but I didn't want to set him off again. By the time I realized it wasn't going to get better, it was too late. Did you know you need ID to enter those shelters? Can't get in if you don't have it. I've been trying to save up what I can to get a ride back to my hometown, but it's been six months and I don't even have half of what I need,” your cheeks felt wet, no doubt being stained by tears.

“He takes your earnings too?” Bob asked, trying to contain his anger by clutching a rag in his hand.

You nodded, “I can only take a little here and there, so he won't notice. I didn't want him to find out and…..”

A sob escaped your chest. Once it was released, you couldn't stop. Given how often you cried, it shouldn't feel any different.

But then a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around you, gently pulling you into a broad chest. Resting your head in the crook of Bob’s neck, you felt a sense of safety for the first time in who knows how long. A soft pair of lips gently pressed against your temple, a thumb caressing your cheek.

“We can make sure he never touches you again. And we will,” Bob murmured against your skin.

“How?” you sniffled, “I have a contract and it’s legally binding, I can’t leave.”

He shook his head, “We can take care of that.” Your hands found his, fingers skimming over his long digits, tracing over each ring, every crevice and line. It was comforting, helping you slow down your breathing.

Bob continued, “Natasha found out he's been running this place dry on purpose to commit fraud. He doesn't have enough to pay us back, so Jake is gonna make him sign over the place to Maverick.”

You had heard whispers about Bob’s boss. Apparently he wasn't a fan of Simpson anyways. Not a shocker, the man didn't even try to be pleasant.

Looking up at Bob, your faces were now inches apart. You could see flecks of gray in his stubble and at his temples. Faded freckles were scattered across his face, like stars in the night. Sandy brown hair that curled at the ends. A button nose that accentuated his pink lips. Did he have freckles else along his body?

“Whatcha looking at Dove?" He asked, a small smile creeping across his face.

“Just admiring how handsome you are, Bobby." The words left your mouth before your brain could process them.

You expected him to push you away, to shrug it off. Instead, his cheeks turned a bright red as he ducked his head into the crook of your neck. You figured that Bob heard it all the time. Besides, he was just being nice, done because he felt bad for you.

You certainly didn't expect him to become flustered, unable to form a coherent response. His soft lips pressed a kiss against your collarbone. You could feel his smile burn into your skin, like sunshine. When you grabbed his hand, Bob intertwined his fingers with yours.

Perhaps you weren't the only one who craved affection, for gentle touches.

“You're too sweet for me, Dove.” His breath was hot on your skin, sending a spark of electricity up your spine.

There was always an unspoken tension between you two. So many maybes. Maybe he should have spoken out sooner. Maybe you should have tried going for Bob rather than settling like always.

“I feel the same way about you,” it felt good to finally admit it, like a weight leaving your shoulders. For a brief moment, you forgot the circumstances of the situation. For once, it felt normal, as if you two were simply friends who met through work.

Bob gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before sitting up straight. He studied your face, taking in every mark and line, everything that made you you. Bob also took in the bruise forming around your right eye.

“We need to ice that eye. I'll be right back okay?” After receiving a nod, he untangled himself from your body, much to his dismay and yours. But he wasn't doing it because you repulsed him, no. Rather, he wanted to take care of you.

"So will Maverick be the new owner of this place?" You asked, eyes glued to Bob as he moved about in the room.

"More or less. Though he's still looking for a partner. Someone who can be at the club and help run things," He looked back at you, "Someone who has been working here for a while and was already unofficially running the place."

You knew damn well who he was referring to. Your lips tightened as a pang of panic peaked through your brain at Bob Floyd’s proposal. Was that why he was doing all this? So he makes a business deal?

He must have sensed this, as he quickly came back to the couch, bag of ice in hand, "If you want to. If you want to keep on singing here, you can. I also don't blame ya if you want to get the hell outta here."

Choices. You had multiple choices to choose from. When was the last time that had happened?

"What are you going to do to him?" It was haunting your mind. Was it worth staying here if you would always have to look over your shoulder?

Bob leaned in, his hand gently touching your knee, avoiding the bruises, "Whatever you want us to do."

Whatever?

"If you want me to put him six feet under, I'll do it," He elaborated, "If you want me to scare him off, make sure he never comes within twenty feet of ya, I can do that too."

More choices. It was your problem, you should have a say in how it was solved.

"It's up to you Dove," He said, his thumb softly stroking your knee.

You liked his touch. You wanted more of it. He was so gentle.

"I want…..I want him gone Bobby. I want to never worry about whether he'll show his face again," You revealed. The idea of it being a threat, always looming in the shadows, was terrifying. How could one expect you to sleep soundly at night?

Bob nodded his head. He leaned in and gingerly pressed the bag of ice to the corner of your eye.

“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as he saw you wince, “It's going to hurt a little, but the cooling will help with the bruising.”

“It would be nice to sing again and actually enjoy it. You think Maverick can actually turn this place around?” You placed your hand on his wrist. Bob wanted nothing more than to take yours and kiss your soft skin.

That would be taking it too far. Yes, ironic, considering he already kissed your temple and collarbone. Was a collarbone kiss more intimate than a wrist kiss? Or was it the other way around?

“Bobby?” A soft, sweet giggle fell from your lips upon seeing how his brows knitted together when he was in deep concentration.

“Sorry Dove, what did you say?” Bob asked sheepishly. He didn't know what was worse, confessing he was distracted by your beauty or that he was thinking about kissing your body.

“Do you think Maverick will turn this place around? Not trying to doubt your boss, but if it's just seen as a way to get back at Simpson….I don't know if I'd want to stay.”

Bob’s heart sank. If you wanted to walk out of this place, he'd burned your contract in a heartbeat. He couldn't blame you for desiring it either. But selfishly, he wanted you to stay. He wanted to hear your voice, see your smile, and speak without having to walk on eggshells in case a certain someone was listening.

“I think he will. He’ll probably give the place to either Jake or Bradley, either one of them will do a good job just to piss off the other,” Bob chuckled, “Besides, he doesn't want the transfer to be a big deal, so I don't see him firing folks, other than those that are loyal to Simpson. Which isn't that many. Maybe three?” Bob scratched his head, trying to think of the actual number.

You snorted, “Three's a pretty generous number.”

When Bob Floyd laughs, the corners of his eyes creased and he threw his head back. It was the sweetest discovery. It was also the first time you truly laughed, full belly, that day. Probably the first time in weeks. Lightness flooded your body, despite the bruises and cuts that currently marked it.

“And if Maverick owns it, I'll be here more. I can make sure you're safe. If that's what you want!” Bob added the last part quickly. You had just gotten out of a relationship from hell, one that involved controlling behavior. The last thing he wanted was for you to think similarly of him.

Your lips stretched into a smile, “I'd like that…to see you more. Whenever you came to visit, it was always the highlight of my day.”

Bob couldn't help but beam, his heart fluttering at a pace that should be medically concerning, “I felt the same about you Dove.”

Upon receiving a bright smile from you, Bob removed the bag of ice from your face, fingers delicately skimming over the bruised skin. It was as good as it was going to get. He would be happy to help you ice it later, if that's what you wanted. Bob would give you the world if he could.

Gathering all the courage he had (ironic considering he's killed people before), he leaned in, allowing his lips to press against your cheek. This time, it wasn't stained with tears or smudged makeup. A refreshing change that Bob hoped he could help keep.

You leaned into his touch, fingers finding purchase in the lapels of his black jacket. Looking up, your noses brushed, his lips inches away from yours, if that.

You could stay like this forever. In his arms, you felt safe. You felt like you could joke and laugh and be yourself.

Knowing how soft his lips were made you wonder how they’d feel against your own. It wasn't the first time this thought flashed through your brain. But it was the first time you were close enough to find out.

Simpson will be gone, Bob would make sure of that. There wasn’t anyone to fear, you could just lean in and-

A loud knock interrupted the sweet moment. Fear swept through your body as you buried your face into Bob’s chest.

He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before telling you to get in the corner, right behind the mini fridge. You did as you were told, crouching down to make yourself invisible to whoever walked through the door.

In your position you could see Bob, pulling out the gun he had tucked in the waistband of his pants. He quickly cocked it as he moved swiftly towards the door. It was locked but that didn’t deter people here.

“Floyd, you in there?” A familiar voice rang out on the other side. Relief flooded your body at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was a rare sight, working more behind the scenes. It must be pretty bad if they brought her in.

But Bob remained silent, back pressed to the wall, gun in hand. He couldn’t take any risks. Not when it came to your safety. The way he effortlessly demonstrated his care made you wish that Natasha had waited twenty seconds before knocking.

“The rodeo is all cleared,” Nat said. At the sound of their code word, Bob let out a sigh of relief. With his gun still in one hand (just in case), he opened the door, revealing the dark haired woman, who also had a matching gun in hand.

“We finally got him to sign over the place. Now we’re figuring out what to do with him. Got any ideas?” She asked with a smirk.

Bob turned to your direction, as you were now standing by the couch, “I think that’s her decision. She had to bear the brunt of him after all.”

Natasha peered over, taking in your bruises and cuts. She nodded, to silently show her understanding, “What would you like?”

You had a choice. What even was the right thing in this scenario? Was it letting someone live, despite all their wrongdoings? Or was it preventing him from hurting anyone else? The blood wouldn’t be on your hands, literally. But you still played a part.

“I….I want him gone. To not be able to come back to this place and hurt people. You guys know how to do that better than I do.”

You saw them nodding to each other. They had probably made a decision. It was obvious what was going to happen, but you didn't say it out loud. Does that relieve you of some responsibility?

Maybe. Probably not. But it made you feel better inside.

“You wanna come atch?” Natasha asked, motioning to you and Bob.

Seeing you shake your head, Bob mimicked, “I'll stay up here with her. Make sure she's all cleaned up.”

You sat down on the couch, waiting for Natasha to leave. It warmed your heart that Bob chose to stay with you. Maybe he also felt it too, that spark of kismet that circuited back and forth.

Bob kneeled down in front of you, eyes and hands inspecting your arms and your legs. His gentle touch left goosebumps along your skin. You shifted to the edge of the couch, clearly to help him inspect the rest of your wounds.

No other reason.

“I gotta clean up this scrape, don't want it to get infected.” A lovely gesture, considering you didn't make enough money to qualify for health insurance.

You nodded your head. His large hand placed itself on the back of your leg, the other gently pressing a wipe against the cut.

“You'll hear a gunshot pretty soon,” he warned, not wanting you to be alarmed. You nodded, bracing yourself for the imminent noise.

Except you didn't hear a gunshot. You heard several voices arguing.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Get him!”

“Get the gun!”

Then, you heard a gunshot.

“God dammit,” Bob cursed under his breath. His eyes darted to the door that Natasha left a hair open.

He moved quickly, not even waiting for you to stand up. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, the other underneath your thighs and picked you up. He carried you to the closest, gently sitting you down in the dark space.

“I’ll be right back, Dove. But I need you to stay here. I'm going to lock the other door, but don't open it to anyone. Even if you hear my voice, don't open it unless I use the rodeo, okay?” His voice was hushed, his ocean eyes piercing your soul.

He was leaving. A fight had broken out when they tried to off Cyclone. Started by either him or his two loyal goons. Bob was going to leave you.

He might not come back.

“No,” your voice shook like a leaf in the wind, “Please- don't leave me!”

His fingers stroked your cheeks in an attempt to bring comfort, “I’ll be back, okay? But I gotta go in order to protect you. I don’t want him or one of those goons to find ya.”

In the distance, a familiar voice yelled out your name. A voice that made your blood turn to ice.

Bob was operating off of adrenaline, off of the primal need to protect you. Desire was coursing through him as well. Your tears were for him, not because he brought you pain but rather you cared so much for him that the thought of him not returning tugged on your heart strings. He wanted to wait, to make sure you were ready and then take you out on a nice date.

The nice Italian place that was secretly a front for Slider’s real business. Despite being a front, it made some of the best penne alla vodka in town.

But a nice date wasn't at the forefront of Bob’s mind currently. Rather, it was your lips and how they were quivering, how soft they looked.

His mama would smack him upside the head if she could see him now, kissing a girl he hadn’t taken out on a date yet.

She would also smack the shit out of him for lying about his job all these years.

Bob was too lost in the softness of your lips. Your hands found their way into his soft hair, gripping the strands to deepen the kiss. His lips were so soft, his hands gentle as they cupped your jawline, as though he didn’t want to apply additional pressure, as though he didn’t want to cause you any harm.

You truly believed that was his intent.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, but simultaneously not long enough. Sounds of heavy footsteps and yelling in the hallway caused him to break away. Your hands remained on the lapels of his jacket, silently begging him.

Please. Don't go. Stay with me. Please.

“I'll be back, okay Dove?” he whispered before pressing a quick kiss to your lips once more. He removed your hands from the lapels, silently standing up. Bob paused for a brief moment, for what you hoped (in vain) was him considering staying. Instead, he took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders.

You wanted to shout, but that would be deadly. All you could do was watch Bob close the door, listen to the sound of his gun cocking and then a second door closing.

Left in the dark. Alone. Bringing your knees up to your chest, you tried rocking yourself back and forth, silently willing the tears building up to go away.

They still fell.

#my writing #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #top gun au #top gun maverick au #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd #lewis pullman

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johnnysuhbmarine · 21 hours ago

Text

Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Chapter Sixteen: smol bear - six images, 1.9k words - heads up, this has about the same vibe as last chapter

As soon as you opened the door to Haechan, you were ready to fall into his embrace, already having worn yourself out from crying prior to his arrival.

However, what you’re met with is a pint of Ben & Jerry’s The Tonight Dough extended out for you to take, and you flick your gaze up to Haechan in question. “You had enough time to run to the store in the past five minutes?” You ask with a laugh of disbelief, wiping away at the stray tears running down your face, his presence alone enough to start calming you down a bit.

Haechan uses his hand that's not holding the ice cream to scratch at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “No, I just- I keep a pint of it in my freezer in case you’re ever over and...want some, and I figured you’d probably uh- want some now.”

That was all it took before sobs immediately wrack your body again and Haechan just sighs, moving slightly to place down the pint of ice cream before coming back to wrap you in a bear hug. You can hardly think to be embarrassed about your tears staining his shirt, but you knew he would have been adamant that it didn’t matter in the slightest.

Slowly, he brings a hand up to run over the back of your head and through your hair. “What’s that silly brain of yours up to?” He whispers, and you shake your head against his chest.

“Currently? Telling me that I don’t deserve you,” you answer, rendering Haechan still for a moment.

“I can assure you, that’s a lie,” he responds seriously. You let out a heavy sigh against his body before speaking again, trying to ignore how your voice was cracking.

“I don’t like myself very much right now,” you sniffle in his hold, and Haechan is baffled that you couldn’t hear his heart breaking in his chest, though he figures he should be grateful for that. He takes care in maneuvering the two of you so that he could rest his forehead against yours for a moment, his thumb now gliding softly across your cheek.

“Don’t worry. I like you enough for the both of us tonight,” he says gently, and your grip around him tightens as you hide your head back in his chest to try and stifle more sobs. He runs a hand up and down your back in the meantime. “Thank you for texting me,” he continues, and you shake your head against his chest.

“I needed you,” you manage to say through a whimper, forcing Haechan to take a deep breath before tears could end up sliding down his face, as well.

“I’m always gonna be here,” he responds, and you knew he meant it with every fiber of his being - you could feel it.

When the two of you finally broke from the hug, Haechan immediately turned your attention to various board games and movies. Eventually, this led to the two of you laying down on top of your, much more comfortable, couch; with you almost entirely on top of Haechan as his arms wrapped around you loosely.

You were half-way through his comfort movie (the two of you already rewatched The Aristocats while playing board games) when he softly spoke up for the first time since it started.

“You can talk to me about it, you know? I told you your heavy feelings aren’t gonna scare me away, and just taking your mind off of it isn’t going to work forever.” His head is still turned to face the TV as he spoke, and you know it’s an attempt to make it feel more casual - less threatening of a topic.

You hold your breath for a moment before letting out a light sigh, giving in. “You’re not gonna get it, though. I feel like no one gets it. Sure, meeting you guys has been the biggest blessing and my mental health is honestly miles ahead of where it was…though that’s probably hard to believe given the situation. But- you guys always want to hang out with me, and my SM friends did, too, but I don’t get it. Half the time I just want to lay in bed and do nothing, and it’s like you guys know that and purposely don’t let me. I don’t know why you guys don’t let me. I don’t want to eat or see the sunlight all the time. I'm doing better but sometimes I just want to be here, and everyone acts as though it's the end of the world.”

Haechan takes a sharp inhale as his hands cease rubbing circles across your back and you’re terrified you messed up telling him all of that, figuring it paints you as ungrateful for your friends - a classification that he himself fell under, and now you’re worried you upset him. Though, moving your head up to look at him, you catch as he licks his lips in contemplation before pulling his gaze away from the TV and towards you, raising his eyebrows as he asks a question. “Do you step on flowers when you see them blooming?”

You look at him quizzically as you respond with a faint, confused ‘no.’ Haechan lets the softest of smiles cross his face as he shakes his head to emphasize your negative response, continuing to his point as he does so.

“We all try our best to take care of beautiful things, y/n. And even if you don’t see how your actions, or lack thereof, equate to you not taking care of yourself, think about the five year old who tramples over flowers without realizing any harm was done…but the rest of us know. The rest of us grieve. So, we’re all just trying our best to take care of you - before your mental health starts affecting your physical health and you have to stay in bed all day. I mean, I take you out to lunch all the time and I know you don’t want to eat, I know. But what you don’t know is that you eat a little bit more off your plate every single time. So, I never stop inviting you out, cause when I take care of you, you take care of yourself, too. The same thing when Jeno and Jaemin go exploring with you. It’s a huge part of why you’re miles ahead of where you were mentally. You’ve gotten stronger, you just don’t know it. So yeah, we like hanging out with you all the time - cause every time we do, we see you healing, and it gives us the chance to take care of you and fill all the gaps in between.”

If the two of you were breathing once he got done talking, you wouldn’t have been able to tell. The only sound breaking the silence was from the movie. You and Haechan seemed instead to be frozen in time. You watch as he takes a moment to study your figure, opening and closing his mouth a few times, apparently not satisfied with leaving off how he did.

He dodges eye contact now as he begins his next spiel, but his words come out slower, even more decided, than they previously were. “And if it’s the ‘beautiful’ part you’re having a hard time wrapping your head around…well, I’d tell you to think of art museums. Not everyone gets it, but there’s a reason for every piece that’s on display. Someone’s found it beautiful…even those weird modern art pieces that no one seems to get because they’re just red squares half the time. But you? If you feel like a red square painted on a canvas, just know that I get it - it was never even a question. I know you’re beautiful,” he says, moving a hand to gently tuck a piece of hair behind your ear so he could make unobstructed eye contact with you.

You don’t say anything back in reply. You can’t. Instead, you lay your head back on his chest to face the TV, squeezing your eyes shut, though it doesn’t do anything to stop the small shakes of your body with each soft sob that picked back up at his words. Haechan never said anything else, just holding you tightly to him as he resumed tracing shapes over your back until you fell asleep in his arms.

When you woke up the next morning in bed, what you weren’t expecting was to walk out to the living area and see Haechan standing in the kitchen.

At the sound of your footsteps, he turns to face you with a smile. “Hey, do you want coffee?” He asks casually, as if it were his own place and you were the guest.

You can’t stop the small laugh from leaving your system. “What are you doing here?” You ask playfully, and Haechan just shrugs as if nothing were off.

“Well, you fell asleep on me last night, so I carried you to bed and tucked you in and all that cause I figured your bed is more comfortable, but I didn’t want to just- leave you…in case you woke back up and needed me. So, I slept on the couch; unless you think that's weird!! In which case, I went home last night after getting you to bed, then came back here about ten minutes ago to make you coffee...and your friendly poltergeist roommate let me in.” He states plainly, and a fond smile paints its way across your lips as you stare at his figure, currently turned away from you as he resumed his task of making coffee.

“Thank you,” you reply seriously, and Haechan figures it was for the best that he wasn’t facing you anymore because just your 'thanks' had sent blush across his cheeks.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he answers, finally turning towards you again once the warmth in his cheeks dies down. “Do you wanna hang out today, too? Or are you about to kick me out of your kitchen?” He asks with a bashful smile and embarrassed laugh.

You shake your head and let your eyes roll playfully. “Well, you’re already here…we might as well hang out.”

Haechan lets a grin cross his face but he shakes his head at you. “Oh, no, I’m getting you out of here today; making you take a break from the confines of this place," he states with a lilt of seriousness.

You let out a sigh, though you knew arguing would be futile. “Well, I’m sorry to report that it’s a little early for lunch,” you joke, and Haechan rolls his eyes before answering with a cup of coffee extended out for you to take.

“I didn’t ask to go out for lunch, I asked to hang out. I’m ready for whatever it is you want to do, just let me know,” he says firmly, clinking your coffee mugs together in a mock 'cheers' before taking a sip through the stupid grin he currently bore on his face.

You roll your eyes in an attempt to negate the smile on your own lips. “Let me go get ready,” you say, but before you can take two steps back toward your bedroom, Haechan catches your wrist in his hand, forcing you to turn his way again in an instant.

“We have all day. Just stand in this kitchen and drink coffee with me for a bit first,” he pleads softly. That was all it took for you to move the mug up to your lips, laughing at the man in front of you who was now incredibly too invested in whether or not you liked your coffee.

[previous] -> [masterlist] -> [next]

a/n: sorry about this being posted slightly off schedule hours-wise…I was busy being thankful for my family (and I still don’t trust scheduled posts) but I’m also very thankful for all of you! I hope you enjoy this chapter and the holiday season :))

a/n (x2): you guys would not BELIEVE how long it takes for them to get together after this...

Taglist: @fullsunstrawberry @choizzn @raevyng @dudekiss3r @yewshi @artsenthusiastk77 @injunnie-lemon @markeroolee @chan-yeoldelling @sunflowerhae @mystverse @urlovelily @luvandletter @jeonghansshitester @dinonuguaegi @untilthesunrises @clean-soap @andassortedkpop @dlin3 @roseangelxfuma @gomdoleemyson @simmsunshine @swanyvess @awktwurtle @t-102 @kukkurookkoo @haefelt

@hahaechans @ypoom151999 @goldenclosethobi

#on the same page #haechan #nct haechan #lee haechan #donghyuck #lee donghyuck #haechan x reader #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #haechan smau #haechan social media au #nct smau #nct dream smau #nct social media au

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arrowfleur · 2 days ago

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✩‧₊˚ Redacted HC’s ✩‧

Part 2: Sam and Darlin’

Sam is very rarely, if ever, at his full potential because he doesn’t do live feedings unless he literally needs to.

Big time cuddlers, Sam’s cold body and Darlin’s warmth work wonders.

Although Sam is warmer than most vampires since he eats more food than most.

Very good cook too, he has a lot of family recipes from his grandma

Darlin’ can hold their own in the kitchen they’re just not that bothered about it, or eating in general.

They’re also always dehydrated asf, they only really drink water when they’re working out, other then that, they forget.

Darlin’ has bought Sam multiple tank tops that are too small for him.

One of them had ‘garlic’ bedazzled on it and they laughed at their own joke for the rest of the night after Sam put it on

They both like to do each others hair. Brushing it, washing it, shaving beards. They can’t get their hands off each other

Darlin’ sits directly on top of Sam often, even when the whole couch is empty. He’s practically a climbing frame.

Sam is closest to David’s height out of everyone in the pack, Darlin is pretty level with Asher.

Darlin’ calls Sam ‘Collin’s’ ‘sammy’ and ‘babe’ quite often but they’ve found themself saying ‘it’s Sam’ if someone calls him anything otherwise

Sometimes they both say it in unison

Darlin has picked up quite a lot of Sam’s language but it doesn’t fit quite as neatly with their accent.

After finding out what it means, they particularly enjoy saying ‘bless your heart’ and then smirking to Sam as if it’s some sort of inside joke just between them.

They both think each other to be the funniest thing to exist. Darlin’ will keel over giggling at the most mundane comments Sam makes.

The pack was rather surprised to find out how gossipy Sam can be. Angel, Babe and Ash were DELIGHTED.

But he will not tolerate bad words being said about his loved ones. And has on multiple occasions whipped out the dead-pan face with a ‘do you hear how stupid you sound?’ to someone who thought him a safe space for slander.

They play fight in the woods a lot. Hunting each other, whilst Darlin’s shifted. Sam figured he’d have to go easy on them the first time they did it but they are surprisingly sneaky for such a large creature.

Darlin’ pounced on sam once, not realising he was next to a hill and they both ended up with twigs in their hair cradling each other at the bottom, with the loudest belly laughs ever.

Sam uses Vaseline for everything. His bathroom mainly consists of that and old spice.

The first time Darlin’ teased him about it he just laughed and graciously reminded them of his ‘soft lips’ with an off guard kiss

Timberland hates to see Sam coming, he has oh so many boots

He’s surprisingly meticulous about what he buys and he has expensive taste

‘I’d rather spend the money now and have them last than have to buy ‘em again in a couple months’

Saying that, he probably couldn’t name a single designer.

Could care less about having the latest trend or product.

He orders clothes for Darlin’ as well. Mainly basics. It took them a while to realise when their clothes started taking up more and more space in their closet.

Darlin’ is more than happy to wear the same pair of ripped black jeans over and over but they do have a fashion sense.

And if they absolutely HAVE to, they will show out.

When they were younger they had a very 2000’s aesthetic and it’s never completely left them.

The same way they will never get rid of their Ed hardy t-shirts

Sam likes marmalade

Darlin’ once surprised Sam with breakfast in bed, which he tried his best to be grateful for but all he could think about were crumbs in the bed l.

Darlin’ realised their mistake and they moved it to the couch as a compromise.

Darlin’ has a journal but it’s just filled with random sketches and funny things they thought of. They’re very private about it though

When they first met, almost all of Darlin’s socks had holes in

Darlin LOVES the Wildlife they get to see at Sam’s house. They have tried to befriend dears and foxes many, many times.

They also know a strangely large amount of bird breeds

Sam has a strange hatred for bagels

Darlin’ bought Sam the new f-zero game as soon as it came out

Sam used to have a German Shepard named Fido

Darlin’ still goes back to their old apartment every week to take their elderly neighbour grocery shopping.

Darlin’ quit smoking once they’d settled with Sam

He never asked them too, but they want a long life with him

They still have a packet for when they’re stressed but baby steps

Darlin’ uses the amount of buttons Sam’s flannels have to their ADVANTAGE when they’re making out

And God they love his lap and his thighs and his neck and his beard and his smile and nose and hands and voice and and and and

Sorry l bout that one I miss my husband

Anyways that’s all and here’s my proof I got them second, not that it really matters but anyway

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #arrowsqueue #redactedverse #redacted sam #redacted darlin

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pandapetals · 3 days ago

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Disco Party

The mansion is turned into a disco party!

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

a/n: thank you anon for the request!

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

“A disco party?” Logan repeated, his tone caught somewhere between disbelief and outright disdain. His scowl deepened as he leaned back on the bed, watching you fuss over two sequined jumpsuits in front of the mirror. “You’re jokin’, right? Who the hell thought this was a good idea?”

You grinned, holding the jumpsuits up against your body and tilting your head as you examined your reflection. “It was Ororo’s idea, obviously. And for the record, I think it’s genius. It’s fun, it’s retro, and c’mon… you lived through the disco era! You should be excited about this.”

Logan let out a low groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Sweetheart, trust me—livin’ through it once was enough. The disco era wasn’t all glitter and bell bottoms, you know. It was chaos.”

You turned to face him, ignoring his grumbling. “Okay, Mr. Grumpypants, focus. Which jumpsuit—gold or silver?”

His gaze flicked over you, and even though he tried to maintain his gruff expression, the way his eyes lingered on you betrayed him. He pointed to the gold one with a faint smirk. “The gold makes your ass look good. And it’s more accurate to the time period if you care about that sorta thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched into a smile. “You really know how to sweet-talk a girl.”

Logan shrugged, leaning back on his elbows. “Just statin’ facts.”

“And what about you?” you asked, holding the gold jumpsuit up to your body for one last look. “What are you wearing to this fabulous disco extravaganza?”

“Hell no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not dressin’ up.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, setting the jumpsuit down and crossing your arms. “Oh, yes you are.”

“Darlin’, there’s not a chance in hell you’re gettin’ me into one of those ridiculous getups.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Logan, you’ve survived wars, mutant battles, and teaching hormonal teenagers. And you’re telling me you’re scared of a little polyester and sequins?”

His jaw tightened, and you could see him waver. He hated being called out, and you knew exactly how to push his buttons.

“You don’t even have to try that hard,” you added, softening your tone and stepping closer to him. “Just wear a pair of flared pants, an open shirt, and maybe a chain or two. You’ll look amazing. Trust me.”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting this. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But if anyone takes a picture of me, I’m leavin’ early.”

Later that evening, the mansion was transformed into a glittering time machine. The large ballroom was strung with colorful lights, a disco ball casting shimmering patterns across the walls and floor. Abba blasted from the speakers, and nearly everyone was dressed to the nines in retro-themed outfits—bell bottoms, platform shoes, bright colors, and sparkly jumpsuits.

You walked into the room with Logan by your side, beaming as you took in the scene. Logan, however, looked less than thrilled in his flared black pants, white shirt left unbuttoned halfway down, and a gold chain you had somehow convinced him to wear.

“You look amazing,” you said, threading your arm through his.

“Feel like an idiot,” he muttered, though the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“You’re my idiot,” you teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek before dragging him further into the room.

The energy in the ballroom was infectious. Everyone was dancing, laughing, and singing along to the music. You couldn’t stop smiling as you twirled in your gold jumpsuit, the sequins catching the light.

When “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” started blasting through the speakers, you turned to Logan with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, no,” Logan said immediately, holding up his hands. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Come on, Logan!” you said, grabbing his arm. “It’s Abba! You can’t not dance to Abba!”

“Watch me,” he deadpanned.

But you weren’t having it. With a firm tug, you pulled him onto the dance floor, laughing as he let out a resigned groan.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, standing awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor while you began to move to the music.

“Loosen up!” you said, grinning as you spun around him. “Just follow my lead!”

He grumbled something under his breath, but the sight of you—bright-eyed, laughing, and completely carefree—was impossible to resist. Slowly, he started to sway, his movements stiff at first but gradually more natural as you took his hands and guided him.

“That’s it!” you encouraged, laughing as you sang along to the lyrics. “Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight…”

Logan rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips as he watched you dance, your joy lighting up the entire room. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, spinning around and pulling him closer.

To your surprise, Logan started to move with you, his hands resting on your hips as he let the music take over. His movements were a little clumsy, but there was something endearing about seeing him let his guard down.

“See?” you said, beaming up at him. “You’re a natural!”

“Don’t push it,” he muttered, though the smirk on his face betrayed his amusement.

As the song reached its chorus, you leaned up and kissed his cheek, your lips brushing against his stubble. “You’re officially my favorite dance partner.”

“Yeah?” he said, his hazel eyes softening as he looked down at you. “Well, you’re the only reason I’m even out here.”

For the rest of the song, you stayed close, swaying together as the disco ball spun above you. And though Logan would never admit it, he didn’t mind the ridiculous outfit or the cheesy music—not when it meant moments like this, where everything else melted away and it was just the two of you.

As the song ended, Logan leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear. “Next time, we’re pickin’ a decade without sequins.”

You laughed, resting your head against his chest. “Deal. But you have to admit, you had fun.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

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lieslab · 2 days ago

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Broken hearts club

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Bang Chan X gn reader

Summary: Unexpectedly, you find yourself face-to-face with the leader of a gang, but you'd never imagine how your relationship would end.

Genre: Angst with no happy ending

Word Count: 3.8K

Trigger warning: Mentions of homelessness and insecurities/struggles surrounding it, fear of love, gun violence, casual crime, and murder.

A/N: I'm going to tell you now that if you struggle with feeling unlovable, you might want to skip this one. I have big feelings and this was like an hour long vent write for me. Please remember that it's fiction and this Chan does not exist (thank fuck)

_ _ _

It was like the home you never had. Two years ago, Bang Chan found you filthy and half-dazed in an alleyway. You were just trying to survive on the streets. Life isn’t kind to the homeless. When your dignity is stripped as you dive into dumpsters for food, you start to feel less like a human and more like a testing specimen.

The world kept spinning, families enjoyed their time indoors, but not you. You were left out in the cold like an abandoned dog. Without a house, without a home, without a family, and without love. The world conspired against you, it always had, and you were certain it’d be this way until the end of time.

Your clothes hadn’t been washed in days. You were one quarter short from being able to wash your clothes at the laundromat. You had enough to dry them, but washing them cost a whole quarter more; just another cruel way that the world laughed at you. The stench that radiated off you was a mixture between sour milk and sweaty socks.

You used to have an extra pair of socks to warm your hands. They were stolen by another homeless person when your back was turned. You thought the two of you were friends, but you forgot that when people are where you are, it’s survival of the fittest. Not everyone is genuine when you hit rock bottom. Humans will do what they can to survive.

You pulled the socks from your feet and used them to warm your hands. They hadn’t been washed and they were soaked in your old sweat and skin cells, but desperate times called for desperate measures. When you kicked off your shoes for a moment of rest, the scent of decay filled the air.

On that night, your body was burning up at the slightest touch. The Texas heat had nothing compared to what your body was going through. The weather was chillier, your cheeks were red from bitter winds, your nose was frozen to the touch, but your body was on fire.

A fever engulfed you and there was nothing you could do besides ride it out. Pharmacies didn’t care if you were homeless. Corporate greed had no compassion for the starving and the crippled. If you couldn’t afford to wash your clothes, you certainly couldn’t afford a bottle of cheap over-the-counter medicine.

You didn’t mean to stumble into Chan that night. You were certain you were going to die. Actually, you craved the sweet release of death. Without deodorant, you could smell yourself. Your hair had been saturated with grease for two days.

Every part of you felt filthy and worn. You felt disgusting and awful. You knew you needed to shower, but you were so delirious, you couldn’t even distinguish left from right. The gym was on the opposite side of town, your head was heavy, and your legs were on fire. Trying to make it would be a certain death wish. So, you stumbled forward instead.

Chan was supposed to be keeping an eye out for some guy he had been watching. His gang was well-known around town. They ran the streets and were on top of everything. Cops stayed silent about their crimes. Chan’s group was a bunch of vigilantes, they played both sides.

As long as the cops could run traffic stops and do the most of their jobs without concern, Chan and his heathens were let off the hook. All it took was one call and they’d be off into the dead of night again; disappearing into the sound of faint sirens, barking dogs, and the orange warmth beneath streetlights.

You didn’t have a choice when you stumbled into Chan. It was merely an accident, but his reflexes were fast. His gun swung and before you knew it, you were pistol whipped. The cold metal felt glorious for a moment and then you free fell. Unforgiving concrete, blurred vision, and the incriminating stare of a stranger above. God’s abandonment tasted like salted sweat and iron.

Blood oozed from the gash in your forehead. Chan didn’t have time to ask your name or gather any identifying details. Your eyes rolled back into your head and that was that. Sounds stopped, the earth kept spinning, and your soul was silenced.

You expected the devil to greet you when you woke up, instead you were met by a man wearing a pleather jacket. Black eyeliner rimmed beneath his eyes and an eyebrow piercing sat above his left eyebrow. A stern gaze, messy black hair, and a death sentence.

You were sure this was the grim reaper. He looked like heaven and hell combined. Along his cheek, a scar had healed, but the spot where stitches stretched skin together hadn’t. If you narrowed your eyes, you could still make out the exact spot where each stitch stretched honey-soaked skin together.

Your fear tapered out the moment he handed a water bottle in your direction. The plastic sides dripped with condensation. It cooled your overheating body the moment you took it. Maybe this wasn’t your enemy, but your long-lost savior instead.

He was too serious. Too serious all the time and you hated him for it. You grew to love him and his seven other goons. He was good at what he did. Always directing, always pushing and pulling, always carrying the gang. Dealing with enemy antics while fighting the stupidity and occasional incognitiveness forged in his own group.

They weren’t perfect, they had their issues, but they had Chan. They had a leader and a fighter. A whirlwind of chaos, power, and strict determination. They had a lot of things as a group, but they didn’t have you. You fit right in once your fever broke.

Your quick banter, sarcasm, and wit gave them a reality check. Even the best witted ones were out-smarted by you. After a shower, some new clothes, and a full meal, you felt like a person again. Chan and his crew became your family, but families don’t always stay together.

~ ~

“What the hell is this?” A manila folder flung your way. It landed on the table in front of you with a harsh thud. You had been studying the layout of a mansion for the next mission when you felt the first fissure.

Chan’s words pulled you from your planning and you glanced up at him. “What is this?” You pushed open the folder to find a thick stack of papers.

“That’s what I want you to tell me.”

You didn’t like the accusatory tone in his voice. Laced with venom, he was a copperhead waiting to strike. Every hair on the back of your neck stood up. Something was wrong, but you couldn’t place it just yet.

Paper after paper you flipped through. Photocopies of text messages, emails from your email address, and photos of security camera footage of you with different people. They weren't just anyone, they were rival gang members. Rival gang members were strictly off limits. Any act of breaching Chan’s gang’s trust was an act of treason. If you wanted to sign your own death sentence, it was the perfect way to go.

“I’m only going to ask you one more time.” His arms folded across his chest. “What the hell are these?”

“Photocopies and security camera footage.”

His nostrils flared and his eyes rolled. He stepped forward and tipped over you. The scent of some unknown spicy cologne with hints of vanilla and amber hit you. His hand smacked the wooden table, beneath it was a photo of you in a hoodie. A rival member stood across the way staring at you. He was identified by the obvious dark tattoo on his forearm.

“You know there’s a rat.”

Of course, you did. Someone had been leaking plans to someone. Information oozed out and missions were compromised. Compromised missions meant distrust and disorganization. How easy it was for a gang to slip up and have a member go missing, get injured, or be killed.

It hurt like hell, his words, the way he said them with no mercy. That fever of yours was two years ago. Two years of learning his ways and what made him tick. The way he touched his ear when nervous. The constant bouncing of his leg as he spoke about new missions; the proof that he was eager to get started. You swore you knew everything about him, but he couldn’t say the same about you.

He hesitated bringing you in. His gang was perfect, but he remembered how cruel the world could be. He saw the defeat in your eyes. The way you strolled along the side of abandoned factories and drug yourself along, trying to get just another step. He pitied you back then and clearly, it was all just a stupid mistake.

“I know what this looks like, but I swear to God, this isn’t what it seems. This-” You picked up a photo of you and a different rival gang member. “This isn’t me. I mean, it is, but it’s not. You really think I’d rat you out?”

“Well, it’s someone!” He snapped angrily. “It’s someone and look at this shit!” His arms waved in distress. “It’s clearly you!”

“They have to be fake. I’d know if I was a rat. Listen,” you pushed yourself from the stool you sat upon, “I’ll prove it. These emails and texts, they can be disproven. Stay here and I’ll be right back.”

You rushed out of the room before he could stop you. You had holed yourself in the small study. You always did that when you were studying for a mission. It was quiet and you liked to sink into that oversized leather chair beneath the books.

The scent of weathered paper and worn leather. You sat there so much, the leather creased from where it had been worn. The secrets of the shelves watched over you. The lamp on the window beside you had been thrifted before you were a member. Despite that, you were the one who always used it the most.

You came back with your laptop and your phone. You placed them on the oak desk and unlocked them. Your hands gestured to the objects. “Go ahead and look at them, you won’t find anything.”

He stared at you, but you were adamant. “Come on,” you waved him closer. “Go ahead and look.”

With a sigh, he dropped himself on the stool you had been sitting on. Blueprints were meticulous and you liked to keep your stuff straight. When you weren’t in that leather chair, you were on this stool studying things out and trying to make puzzle pieces fit together.

Tension kept brewing and your stomach churned. You weren’t the rat, you knew that, but Chan didn’t. You’d never have it in you to turn your back on this group. This was the family you never had. The love you always craved, it had been found here. Within the past two years, you felt enough love to last a lifetime.

You flipped through the papers. The text messages were fake and someone was good at impersonating you. From the text messages to the emojis, it was all spot on. The more you dove into the photos, the more you doubted yourself. There weren't any mistakes anywhere. Even the photos of you with rival members were photoshopped together seamlessly. Whoever did this, they were good. Better than good, they were damn great.

The sound of your laptop shutting pulled your head up. Your eyes met Chan’s with desperation, but his dark eyes gave away nothing. He still looked the way he did two years ago, so broadening and mysterious.

The only difference? You now knew the man behind the persona. You knew how he loved without him saying it. It was the way he passed food to you first and let you eat before him. It was hidden in the reminders he gave the members to buckle their seatbelts. It was found in the way he reassuringly checked for fevers, when members were sick, by gently using the back of his hand; the same exact way he checked yours two years ago.

“Did you forget that text messages and emails can easily be erased?”

“But why would I rat you out? The group? Why would I go against everything I love?”

He scoffed and shook his head. You stepped closer to him. “Please, you have to believe me! Chan, I don’t even know these people!”

“How did they get your email?”

“I-I-” You stuttered trying to find the words. “I don’t know!”

“Because you’re the rat. You gave out your email and yo-”

“Stop saying that! I know how bad this looks, okay? I understand it!” You desperately flipped through the papers trying to find one small mistake to prove your innocence. “You have to believe that this isn’t me. Please, Chan, please.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Because you trust me.”

“I used to trust you.”

It was so much worse than the betrayal of the homeless lady you befriended. You asked her to watch your stuff and she took off with your socks. You had been working up a friendship for two weeks and you disappeared into a store to use the restroom. When you came back she was gone.

You only knew her for two weeks, but how different two weeks was from two years. Two years of building up your own grit and determination. Building up a foundation of a body, fighting for the muscle you lost when starving on the streets, gaining back your dignity when the world ripped it away.

“Don’t say that,” your voice cracked. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back your tears. “You do, you trust me. You trust me because I’m one of your members.”

His gaze went back to the papers strewn along the desk behind you. He’d never show you how he truly felt. Deep down, he was devastated. He wanted to scream and grip you. He wanted to tug you into his grasp. He wanted to show you the love and admiration that he had neglected giving you these past two years, but instead he stood still, the evidence was too damning.

“Prove to me you’re innocent,” he finally uttered. His heart fluttered with hope. A silent prayer was recounted from years ago. The memories of pews and biblical artifacts were dusty, but it was there. A basic prayer from Sunday School, one that was easy enough to remember, a five year old could quote it.

“I don’t know how. I-I showed you my electronics, those are the only ones I own. I don’t know what more you could possibly want from me. You can search my room. You can do anything, just please, please, please believe me.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but this was no longer a matter of Chan’s integrity and the gang’s security. This was a matter of life and death. You were no longer fighting for your innocence, you were fighting sudden death.

He made the rules so crystal clear two years ago. A major fuck up and you were gone. Something so quick and easy, a bullet to the forehead. Brains pulverized, neurons ripped apart, the soul slipped away so easily. A single gunshot stood between traitors; a one way ticket from this life into the next.

“Prove it,” he tried again. He wanted you to beg. To get down on your knees and weep. To repent for your sins and admit it all. He would find a way to forgive you, no matter how much the truth hurt, but you didn’t.

You couldn’t. How could you? How could you possibly explain that none of this was real? The screenshots, the security footage, someone clearly wanted you gone. You didn’t understand why Chan believed it so easily, maybe he was the one who wanted you gone. Why wasn’t he fighting for you?

“Chan?” You finally whispered. The reality of your situation was settling in. He never responded, but you spoke anyway. “Can you just…can you tell the guys that I love them?”

Betrayal clamped down. It was a confession in his eyes. The sting of a bee, the teeth of a cobra, a shot of gin mixed with rejection. After everything you had been through with the gang, he didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Those eyes used to hold warmth now and then. In the sunlight, they lit up like pools of chocolate. You saw those eyes at bonfires during the summer. It was the oozing chocolate between roasted marshmallows and graham crackers. You saw them in the dirt smeared along your jeans after you ducked, dived, and dodged your way through each dangerous mission.

It was a rarity, but it was special, your own personal Halley’s Comet. It was replaced with resentment and bitterness now. An anger had been uncapped and no matter what you professed and claimed, it couldn’t stop it.

“That’s all you have to say after everything we’ve been through?” His hand reached back behind his back. You knew what was coming. “You wanna die? I’ll fucking kill you myself!”

That black pistol was always loaded. His reflexes had been quick since you knew him. It was the same pistol that knocked you out two years back. You never had a chance to dive then and you never had a chance now.

“Fuck you and fuck your love! You’re nothing, but a liar and a goddamn traitor and yet, you want me to lie to them? To tell them you loved them after you put them in danger? You put us all in danger!”

“I-” You couldn’t get the words out. They lodged in your throat and you didn’t know how to force them out. You didn’t want it to end up like this.

“Fuck you, your love, and everything about you! Die knowing that no one will ever fucking love you and you’re dead to me.”

Bang!

The memories of the past two years flashed before your eyes. The fear building up in your gut on each harrowing mission you went on. The board games you played around the dining room table. They used to end with someone getting mad and throwing the board. You all collapsed in a heap of laughter at the pettiest members. It changed every time.

You used to find comfort within Chan. Every time you struggled, you’d find him and explain your problems. He wouldn’t offer hugs or sympathy, but he leant a listening ear. He wouldn’t pity you, he’d just listen. Sometimes you never wanted advice, you just wanted proof that you weren’t alone, a gentle and familiar reminder that you were loved.

Your body fell through the air and your brain stopped, but not in the way you wanted it to. Chan’s back turned to you, you didn’t realize it, you couldn’t. Not when you were like this.

The carpet was as hard and unforgiving as the pavement was two years ago. Warmth soaked your chest and you could still see. You tried to breathe, but there was no air left to take. In his fit of anger, Chan didn’t shoot you in the head, but he hit your heart instead.

The bullet lined directly with the center of your heart and his bullets never missed their target. One more cruel reminder from the world that you were unlovable. People didn’t throw pity when you were surviving on the street, instead, it was accusing glares, as if you were nothing, but a pesky vermin.

It was your biggest insecurity, feeling unloved. How could you after everything that happened in your life? No family and no friends. The only family you had was this gang and now it was all unraveling and slipping through your fingers. It was falling apart and it left you bleeding on the floor.

A gasp mixed with a squeak. Chan’s eyes squeezed shut. His fingers were still wrapped around the gun. He didn’t dare turn around to face you and admit what he did. He couldn’t. Deep down, he loved you. You flickered a spark that he thought died out years ago.

He was never one for being a coward, but something changed. You startled him and woke up something that was supposed to lay dead. The feelings for you weren’t supposed to wither and squirm this much. Rat or not, maybe it was just easier to accuse you of something and kill you before a flicker grew into a roaring flame.

Letting you in was a mistake. Building up a friendship, striking up feelings of something more, it was a pile of kindle that was always meant to burn. He’d always be a monster and you were just a person. Too innocent, too vulnerable, too sweet for someone with his past.

Your vision clouded as a tear slipped down your cheek. The person you loved most put you here, but you still couldn’t hate him. In fact, maybe you were grateful deep down. You were a bird with a broken wing and never meant to fly. It was better that an animal got to you rather than wither and rot away in the elements.

The door to the study burst opened. One of the guys rushed inside. You heard him speak, but you couldn’t distinguish who it was. Blood was seeping out so quick and you were growing weaker.

“What the hell did you do?”

“What the fuck?”

“Someone help them!”

Footsteps rushed towards you. Warm hands touched your chest, but it was too late. Your limbs were weak. They never got to see the last bits of light fade from your eyes. They fluttered shut just before the door burst open.

“Wake up! Just wake up! Please”

“Call the doctor!”

“What did you do? What did you do? What did you do?”

Someone sobbed. Salted tears mixed with the blood on your shirt. Desperate fingers pushed down to stop the bleeding, but it’d never be enough. Love surrounded you, but you didn’t get to see it for the last time, before your heart stopped.

Across the way, Chan’s bottom lip quivered. He dropped the gun and it landed with a clatter. Despite the sob that fell from the leader’s chest, they couldn’t find it within themselves to approach him. He collapsed in defeat and curled his hands around his head. The one person he truly loved and cherished, he took them out himself. Your blood on his hands would never be washed away. He thought it’d be easy to take you out, but now, his members would never look at him the same way.

Eight hearts around the room beating and the final one still bleeding.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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intheshadows2000s · 2 days ago

Text

Momentary Gains

Warnings: 18+, drug use, smut

He helped you climb to the top. But at what cost?

"I'll scratch your back, you can scratch mine."

"Well only if there's more where that came from."

The words you and him had exchanged years prior still lingered in your mind to this very day. You were stood with cameras flashing all around, a big smile on your lips even though the insides of you felt dull and ugly.

The dress you wore hugged your curves and showed off your assets appropriately enough to gain attention, which had always been your ultimate goal, your main desire, exactly what you had craved.

But then, what did they say about being careful what you wished for?

Well it very much applied to you. The big dreamer. The pretty girl who just knew she could turn heads with next to no work. And all you'd done to be stood here, a few albums out, world famous, an influence to little girls and boys who dreamed of making it....was shag your way to the top.

Maybe that's what made this life so hard to accept. Outside of the harrowing lack of privacy, the mishaps you'd face if a song flopped or hate you'd received if you were dared caught being normal - that fact had to be the worst part.

No one knew. When you sat in interviews and spoke of your sudden rise to fame, at the label who just couldn't help but pick you up after spotting you in a local pub, because you were just THAT good - you felt like an utter fraud.

Of course some of it was true. There had been a guy from the label there, Patrick Yakerman, who you worked with still to this day. He had seen you sing, and he had genuinely been impressed - Alex had influence, but not enough for someone to pick you up with no talent. But Patrick would've never been at that seedy bar in Camden Town, he would've never sat and bothered to watch you play with a glass of watered down wine and a curious expression - if it hadn't been for Alex Turner.

Alex had never held it against you. In the very few times you'd seen him since that day, he'd smiled at you as if you were no more than a stranger turned acquaintance. You knew he was subtle when you'd met him, but the deceitful act of not knowing you whatsoever was so subtle it was almost impressive. You hadn't minded, you were glad at the time that he kept to himself and eyed you with no more than friendliness in his eyes. Because if anyone were to find out how you really climbed to the top, your career would be over and you both knew it. He had all the power and yet he'd not once used it against you, you had to wonder by the point whether he even remembered what had happened or whether you were just another notch in his belt.

You'd heard things since that day about Alex. He was one of the most respected men, hard working, quiet and intelligent. Everybody seemed to like him, but one less notable quality was the amount of women he slept with. It just seemed to be known that he slept around, despite having an endless string of girlfriends behind him and half the time having one on his arm at these things, it always seemed he was caught doing something he shouldn't with a pretty girl. They never seemed to mind - perhaps they were in it for the exact same reason you had been and perhaps that's how he got it all - through power. But you doubted it. You doubted he got off on knowing he could destroy them, and more just got off on the fact he could have them at all.

You watched him as he climbed out of the car, his head bowed from the cameras. His hair was shorter now, slicked back and yet it seemed as if he was still trying to hide behind it - even though it wasn't there. You remember it being a warm brown, but now it was jet black and gelled to absolute perfection, not one strand out of place. As his body followed his head, you took note of the smart navy suit he wore, a white shirt underneath that was unbuttoned at the top, the lights catching against his silver chain and making it glisten like a lone star in a navy sky. The hair gave indication to his sharp features, the angles of his face almost seeming harsh now that they were fully on show, his eyes - big and brown - were thinned as he tried to adjust to the flashes as the cameras averted to him. He was deep into the industry when you met him, but now it had swallowed him whole - gone was the cute, fluffy haired, soft man you remembered from years ago and replaced instead with a full grown man, modest and attractive in his place and yet the quality of him seemed more mundane, more basic.

Behind him, long legs came through the car, thin and never ending and followed them happened to be a stunning girl - though unique in her appearance. She was tall, taller than him, standing at least six feet which didn't account for the small pumps she had on, probably in aid of his masculinity seeing as she towered over him. Her long blonde hair, tumbling down her chest in golden waves. She had a dress that gaped down her chest but the smooth surface of it was pale, freckled with a few moles. As your eyes trailed up to her face, you caught sight of plump, pouty lips and big blue eyes, her makeup subtle. You recognised her, you'd seen her at events like this before but not with him.

"Jordanna!"

As your stage name was called, you quickly pivoted your head back to the cameras before you, remembering what you were here for. You'd caught the tail end of Alex's head swerving but thanked the Lord you'd managed to glance away before you'd caught eyes and had that feeling settle over you. That shameful feeling of someone knowing who you really were, what you'd really done to be stood here. No one knew other than him, and because of that his presence always put you on edge even if it piqued your curiosity all the same.

It was time for you to move on, to make space for him which seemed awfully fitting. You were a big dog nowadays but your fame could simply never compare to him, to his talent, his aura. The effortless way he handled a crowd despite being the furthest person made for it.

"Good work darling," Harriett, your assistant, grinned as you stepped towards the end of the carpet. Your neck twitched to turn, wanting to catch one last glance at him. But you couldn't risk it, not with her eyes on you and not with the possibility of his either. And so you carried on, trying your best to remain unaffected, calm, untouchable.

You'd nearly mastered being fake after all these years. You weren't going to let one event lead to your demise. Never.

Once the after party commenced, you finally felt a little bit looser around the edges. It helped being surrounded by fellow celebrities, who didn't care what you were doing because they were likely doing things ten times worse.

You stood at the bar with an old girlfriend when she got distracted by someone. You stood to the side, knocking back a drink while you waited for their conversation to end. But suddenly, a shadow clouded your vision and you put your glass down to find Alex beside you.

He eyes you cautiously, as if he knows he shouldn't be talking to you. You wonder briefly where his girlfriend is, whether she would be bothered by the way his eyes have lingered on you all night long. You've not dared look towards him but the weight of his gaze has always been heavy, unbearable even. The sweat that's broke out on your skin is evidence enough that you're affected. Yet even though he's the master of pretence, you learnt from the best and you're not far behind. Your eyes meet his and the two of you stare at each other, both uncertain, both tight lipped and tensed jaws.

"What are you drinking?"

Alex's voice nearly shocks you. If you weren't so on edge about acting normal, you might have actually gasped. The northern undertones remain, yet they're softer now. The edge of his accent has been wiped away from his time in America, but the deepness of it still reverberates through you, raising goosebumps across your skin.

"Champagne."

His lips quirked, "of course."

He waved the bartender down and you watched on like a mentally absent bystander. His hands gripped the bar as he leant over it so the worker could hear him, your eyes trail towards his fingers. Glistening with silver rings, thick and shiny. The callouses remain no matter how prestigious he looks, and that familiar aspect makes you smile.

"Hey babe!"

Your friend turned back around to you, catching your attention and you off guard, checking Alex out shamelessly. But suddenly you spun, too quickly and fell into her a bit. She giggled as she steadied you, glancing behind you on what had gotten you so flustered.

"I'm off for a ciggie," she said, glancing between you and Alex - who you couldn't see, but you were sure he was probably intently staring, as he always does, "see you in a bit."

The smile on her lips is all telling of her underlying meaning. Usually, she'd drag you out there with her for a quick one, you'd head to the toilets after, touch up your makeup, snort some cocaine and rub the remnants on your gums before walking out and doing it all over again. But she doesn't even bother to ask, the blush on her cheeks speaking for her as she winks at you, then strides off in the other direction, clearly thinking Alex has approached you for something other than an old catch up.

"Your drink," Alex gestured to the bubbling liquid, the golden tint of it practically making you salivate as you lift it to your lips and down half the glass. He watches on with a slight smirk, his brow rising higher with each sip you take.

"I haven't seen you for a while," he says, voice smooth, soothing almost. He has such a way with words even when they aren't special or theatrical at all. Regardless of his looks, you know he could make a girl swoon, even if he acts nonchalant.

"I've been on tour," you say, "and it doesn't seem like you cross the water much these days."

He chuckles, looking away momentarily. He leans against the bar, his stance screaming casualness even if his muscles are pressing against the shirt.

"Maybe you just don't spend enough time in LA," he suggests and you scoff.

"If I spend five minutes of my year in LA, I'd say that's more than enough."

"Hmm," his eyes trail over your face and body, filling with something indecipherable, "maybe it's the complexion that's the problem."

"Are you suggesting I'm scared of the sun?"

"I'm suggesting you could do with some more," he shrugs, "good for the soul."

"There's nothing good about a musicians soul."

"Don't be melancholy. It doesn't suit you."

"How would you know?"

"You think I don't remember you, don't you?" he looks amused by this. His eyes once again trailing down your body as if he couldn't resist the temptation. Your dress was rather explicit, with the gaping neckline, your boobs were right there in front of him. You'd seen many men looking, some old, some too young and some with women already on their arms. Yet none of their gazes felt as invasive as his does, right now.

"I think we've made it clear I don't want you to."

"You don't want me to remember the reasons," he corrects you, "which are irrelevant to me, for the record. That doesn't mean I don't remember the act."

"Are you really going to bring up sex when your girlfriend is around here somewhere?"

"She's left."

"That doesn't make it any better."

"I don't think you really care about that."

"No?"

"No. It wouldn't be the first time you've slept with me while I'm taken."

That makes you wince. The memory resurfacing of his girlfriend at the time, how she'd been right there, watching him talk to you.

You'd managed to wriggle your way into the event from shagging an actor. You'd met him in London - searched for him even - after hearing rumours he'd be starring in an independent film which Alex would be creating the soundtrack for. It was perfectly executed, your plan and you'd made Alex aware of it without expressing it directly. Yet, he hadn't seemed to mind.

He took the bait so easily.

He'd walked in with one of the best looking, classiest girls on his arm. Him and the supposed love of his life at the time, everybody swooned over their relationship and thought it would last forever but you knew better. The second you felt his gaze on you, you knew you weren't the first girl it had wandered for. Alex wasn't loyal, you knew that and his pretty girlfriend had known it too.

He'd approached you with next to no shame, sidled up next to you, asked you the exact same question he'd asked tonight - what are you drinking? And then he'd asked you who you were, what you did.

Aspiring musician, you'd stated. You still remember the way his lips had quirked as if he wasn't surprised at all, but was amused by your dreams. He'd asked you who you were there with, when you'd mentioned who, his smile had deepened. You knew then that he could see straight through you and your heart had raced with fear that he'd leave, figure out you were nothing more than a desperate, poor girl who was using everyone in your path to get to the top.

You'd barely spoken for ten minutes before he mentioned listening to your stuff, possible studio time, an agent he knew that was taking on new clients. All the while his gaze had made its way down your barely there outfit, eyes lingering on your tits far more than they did your face.

"You know, you could always pop by the studio. I can show you the ropes, get you familiar with the equipment...."

That's how he'd made his move, which is when you'd addressed it. You'd made an agreement hidden behind friendly words that seemed harmless.

"I'll scratch your back, you can scratch mine."

"Only if there's more where that came from."

Alex showed you the equipment alright. He bent you over the control panel and fucked you like a starved man. He did actually show you around but you learnt nothing with your lust clouded mind. He'd ended up fucking you a few times that day, had you on your knees for him, buried his face between your thighs. And then you'd both walked away like nothing had happened, after he'd instructed you to perform at the specific bar in Camden - told you someone would be there, watching you.

"Wear something provocative. You can try for movement in the industry but it likely won't happen. I'm not being a pig, I'm being honest."

You'd done exactly that. It wasn't only Alex you'd fucked. Patrick was rather taken by you too. And now here you were. The man who had made your career in front of you, handsome and intimidating as ever.

"I'm not sleeping with you now."

"Not yet. But I'd quite like if you did."

"Here's to wishful thinking."

"You look fucking good," he nearly splutters it out, his voice thick with desire as his gaze wanders once more, "excuse me for trying my luck."

"I would expect nothing less from a ladies man like you."

He laughs again, but this time it's raw, honest. You can see from the sparkle in them eyes that he's taken by your dry humour. You're a far cry from the bashful, blushing girl in your early twenties.

"I'm not the ladies man you may assume I am," he notes, looking displeased at even the suggestion that's how he's seen, "I'm picky."

"You're not picky," you scoff, and he quirks a brow, challenging you to tell him what you think, "look at the girl you arrived with, versus me. Versus your last girlfriend. Versus the many before that."

"I didn't realise you'd been keeping such close tabs on me Jordanna," Alex drawled your name out with a voice intended to enamour you and annoyingly, it worked. You felt your cheeks heat and you saw the flush spread across your chest, glistening with sweat.

"I don't," you mumble, "it's hard to ignore when you're front page news Alex."

"Mmm," he hums, the drinks have clearly gotten to him, suggested by the glint in his eye. He looks at you over his glass as he downs the remainder of it, lips curling around the rim as he tries to suppress a smile, "what about you? Any boyfriends?"

"No. Been busy."

"I'm sure you have," he scoffs, "isn't it time to find some real love?"

Your anger flares like you're a bull and his words are a waving red flag. You stare at him blankly, trying to process what he's suggesting. You know he's within his right after how this all came to be. You wouldn't even know him if you hadn't done him for the wrong reasons, but addressing it is an entirely different ball game.

"You're telling me you have ever experienced real love?" you hum, "that's cute, considering you shag half the female population while writing love songs about your girlfriends to keep them interested."

He smiles, "I struck a nerve, didn't I?"

You bow your head, feeling your heart race you're actually not sure how much longer you can sit in this situation. You feel so hot and bothered, your perfectly done hair beginning to unravel from the dampness of your sweat seeping through your skin.

"Personally I admire the hustle, regardless of the nature," Alex hums, catching your attention as you look back up, his gaze a little softer. He clearly doesn't want to offend you even though the nerve has already been struck, just as he said.

"The hustle is over now," you seethe, speaking merely through your teeth, "so I'd rather just forget about it."

"About me?"

"You were just another step up the ladder Alex, I was just another girl. It was transactional at best, let's not make it romantic."

"So it would have to be transactional for you to fuck me again?" he steps closer to you, his voice low, eyes burning with desire but he hides it well. To anyone else it would probably look like he was talking about the weather. But you saw it, the same way you'd seen it at the studio when he'd told you to bend over and lift up your skirt, "you like to be bought hm?"

Your hands press against his chest, holding him at an arms length. If he comes any closer, the burning inferno that is his presence will surely render you to a pile of ashes at his feet. You can't bear the heat of him.

"There's plenty of women here who would fuck you for free," you hiss, "sadly for you, I won't fuck you for money."

"What about for pleasure?" Alex's hand graced your waist, his head leaning closer to your ear, lips grazing the curve of it. He felt warm, smelt of something expensive mixed with cigarettes and whiskey. Your breath hitched and your hands bunched his shirt, the goal of pushing him away lost in your mind.

"I know you remember how much you liked it," Alex whispers, making you shiver as his breath fans over your throat, bringing your pulse back to life but overwhelming it, your heart thumping as if it's trying to escape its cavity and jump into his hands, "how you were screaming, cumming all over my tongue."

"Transactional. Performative, Alex....it was for show," your voice betrays you with its breathlessness, your thighs start to tremble with the promise of opening for him at any given second, the space between them throbbing with each drawn out word falling from his lips.

"I don't believe that," he says, clutching your waist now, fingertips rubbing slow circles on your ribs through your dress, "I like to think I know how to please a woman."

"If you think that, then surely you should leave me alone, no?"

"Is that what you want?"

He pulls back to look you in the eye. The sight of his eyes, darkened with lust, the bulbs of his cheeks also painted a rosy pink, his lips parted to make way for his own, uncontrollable, quick breaths. It's all too much. He robs you of any words. You don't want to say yes, but you don't want to say no either. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about it since it happened.

"Why don't you meet me in the bathroom?" Alex suggests, no hint of humour in his eyes, "I can make it snow, I've heard you like that."

You thin your eyes at him but with him pressed against you, you're too afraid to speak in case you actually moan.

"You don't have to come," he steps back, "but it would be nice to revisit what once was. Still, no pressure darling."

He turns in his pep, sliding the glass back to the bartender on the way. You down the last of your drink with a heavy sigh, feeling the coolness of his absence immediately. It rushes over you, making you shiver, goosebumps raising across your skin.

You consider his offer for a hot minute, pondering over an empty glass. It would be so wrong, when you've clearly seen him walk in here with another woman on his arm. There's no power coming into play, nothing to force you into this whatsoever except your own damned desire. Alex is attractive, possibly the most attractive man you've come across and it isn't just his looks that allude to his allure, it's the way he is. So effortlessly powerful and dominant - if you recall correctly. You don't sleep around much these days, if you so much as breathe the air of another man in public, it's headline news and so you mostly keep to yourself. But there's no eyes on you tonight, this is a VIP party - there's no one here to witness you cross a boundary burning with flames.

Your body moves automatically before your mind has even comprehended your decision. Minutes have passed and you're suddenly afraid he's changed his mind, that he won't follow through on his promise. But lo and behold when you walk into the bathroom, there he is, staring at himself in the mirror with his hands clasped to the countertop. He looks almost sinister with his dark eyes boring into his own soul, his features unmoving, hands turning white from the strength of his grip. Only when the door clicks shut behind you does he finally turn around.

"You came."

"You knew I would," you wave off, "make it snow then."

He chuckles, waggling his finger for you to follow him. The bathroom is spare of anyone for the moment but you know that won't last. Even if these types of ordeals are usual at events like these, you don't want to be the person caught in the act, your name and brand tarnished by your inability to make the right decision. You follow him into the cubicle, its roomy and smells of perfume, it's almost overbearing but soon your nose will be burning with something else, the discomfort will be short lived.

Alex reaches into his pocket and pulls free a small baggie containing stark white powder. Your eyes widen, pupils expanding in preparation of your bad habit, one that is far too normalised in the society you've become a part of.

He lays down his phone, tapping the bag lightly, brows furrowed in concentration as he racks up two perfected lines, the powder chalky and thick, not even needing to be cut.

"You've already cut it?"

Your voice seems to shock him out of a trance, as if he'd forgotten you were there entirely. His eyes move to you and grow lazy with humour.

"I need easy access at things like this," he says.

"You're the master of things like this," you scoff and he raises his eyebrows, pulling free a crumpled note from his pocket. It's a dollar, not even pounds and somehow that feels all the more dirty.

"That's where you're wrong."

"You quoting your songs to me now?" you scoff a laugh, watching his hands roll the note tight, so precise in movements. He always does everything with such care, such precision. It makes his recklessness endearing, dangerous even. How he makes it look so glamorous.

"Careful or I might start to think you're a fan," he warns, though you can see he's joking. He passes you the note and seems dismayed when it loosens in your grip. But it's good enough to snort with and so you lean down, pulling your hair out of your face, your eyes fluttering closed with premeditated relief as the hole hovers over the edge of the powder.

"Wait," Alex demands, just as you're about to snort it, he grabs your arm. You look around, bent over, finding him stood there with a frown. You quirk a brow and the desire pools in his eyes once more as they trail over your body.

"Tell me before you've done this," he says, gesturing to the powder, "that you want this."

"I do it all the time-"

"Not that," he rolls his eyes, "me. That you want me."

"You want my consent?" you nearly laugh, it's just so unrecognisable in the industry for a single man in it to care. Alex might be corrupt but he's always been a gentleman to some degree. Maybe that's why he's so irresistible. In a cesspool full of arseholes doing bad things, his account for less judgement.

"Fine. Yes. I want this," you sigh when he stays silent, searching your eyes for the green light. He nods, a smirk moving onto his mouth, and then as you revert your eyes back to the powder, you feel his body shift, moving behind you, his crotch digging into your arse. The fabric of your dress stretches taut over your supple flesh, the curves made obvious by the silk material. Alex's breathing becomes faster, in the silent echo of the bathroom, it's so apparent that it makes you smile.

"You snort that darling," he says, rugged voice, thick and relentless as his hand trails down your thigh to the hem of your dress, "and I'll make you feel good."

His hands lay flat over your arse, smoothing over the fabric, his breathing becoming more shaky, more uncertain. He's very calm and collected but his breathing gives him away, save for the desire in his eyes.

You snort the line up slowly, savouring the burn, savouring the euphoria of the moment. Your eyes roll back into your head and your body relaxes as you sniff back the powder, sighing in relief.

Alex groans, watching your head tilt back with pure bliss written on your features. Your sparkly eyeshadow glistened under the light along with your gold, shimmery highlighter. You look ethereal leant back like that, hands clasping the countertop, bent over with your dress now bunched at your waist.

"Fucking hell," your voice is thick as the drugs bring you back down to earth, sliding down your throat with the bitterness of hate and you refrain a cough as you turn around, facing Alex.

"Let me do it off your arse," his voice is full with desperation, his eyes pleading and wild as he glances behind you at the line, still perfect and untouched practically screaming his name.

"Could we get any more scandalous?" you chuckle, your exterior loosened from the drugs that have started to make your lips tingle, heart pound and muscles melt. Alex chuckles, a breathy, light sound and reaches for the phone.

"Turn around," he orders. You comply almost embarrassingly quickly, landing on your front with your breasts pressed against the cool ceramic as he pulls your dress up once more. The slight tear of the fabric concerns you but you don't have much time to ponder before you feel his fingers toying with your panties. He moans as he feels the wet, stickiness of them against his fingertips. You're clearly more turned on than you've seemed. The ceramic does nothing to cool your burning cheeks, they're too far gone to save, but the rest of you shivers appropriately as his teasing touch continues across the delicate lace.

"Stay still sweetheart, this is the good stuff," Alex clutches your hips, holding you still. He leans down behind you, and you just about adjust your head to watch him, eyes fixated on your arse, his finger toying with the side of your panties, trying to be careful in his approach so not to knock the powder off of you.

Just as his fingers find your slick, he brings the note to his nose. The whole situation is sinfully sexual, you can't help but whimper when he pulls your panties to the side with two eager fingers, rubbing those same calloused fingertips through your folds, collecting your wetness.

"Perfectly ready, aren't you? Almost like you were waiting for it," Alex hums, his voice quiet yet echoing off of the walls and making your head spin. You stare behind you with your mouth agape, your arse like the sun on a horizon.

"Snort it."

"Giving orders now, are we?" he quirked a brow, amused by your demand, the note hovering just above the powder. You're desperate to touch him, desperate to fuck him but he's taking his sweet time like the two of you even have much of it.

"Alex, come on," you whine, closing your eyes in dismay until suddenly he plunges two fingers inside of you, your loud moan mingling with the sordid sound of him snorting the powder up. You'd missed the show, immersed in the pleasure and it doesn't cease - not even for a second.

Alex holds the note against your back, holds you in place as his fingers start a relentless rhythm against your walls, fast and unsympathetic to the suddenness of it all. Your eyes fall shut, when suddenly Alex bites down on your arse cheek, teeth sinking into the supple flesh as you cry out.

"Shhhh," he curls his fingers, his demand a contradiction to his actions, only intensifying your pleasure while begging you to contain it, "fuck you're so wet. Hear that?"

The squelching of your pussy echoes through the cubicle, bouncing off the walls and making you blush. If anyone were to walk in, you'd be caught, there's no two ways about it. You're not being very vigilant but you can imagine Alex is experienced in playing it cool, so you leave the worrying to him, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure instead.

His pace is intent to overwhelm, fingers curling into the right spot, his other hand, still with the note in, moving to rub hard, quick circles on your clit. You don't know how long you'll last with the relentless pressure he's putting on you, pressing you harder against the ceramic, hung over you, engulfing you with his warmth.

"Come on now darling," he whispers, the sound nearly getting lost with your delicate cries, high pitched and whiny, begging for more without really being aware of it, "I want you to come before I fuck you. Want you fucking dripping for me."

You whine again, thrashing your hips back against his fingers, and he chuckles. He adds a third, a tight squeeze but manageable considering how wet you are, your juices running down his fingers, getting caught in his rings. Curling all three of them upwards, he starts to move his whole arm as well as his fingers, his other hand using all four fingers to spin your clit to a degree you can't keep up with. At this point with your face pressed against the sink and your eyes blurring with tears - you don't know where the pleasure begins nor ends.

You cum without warning. You don't even feel it build up, you don't have to focus on anything. All you feel is the knot in your stomach that you didn't know was there, snap. The toe curling euphoria that soars through you is unlike anything you've ever experienced. Your vision goes black as your pussy convulses around his fingers, drawing him in more and more but Alex doesn't stop, no matter how tight it is, no matter how much his arm aches. He keeps on going until he's rinsed you dry, building you up again within seconds. Your second orgasm brings a gushing wave of wetness that spurts out of you and all over him, the navy suit turning black with droplets of your release. His moans mirror yours as the situation reaches a peak, an unbelievable high that you've never experienced, not in your thirty years of life.

"Fucking hell," Alex groans, suddenly pulling his fingers out of you, the last of your release seeping out of your stretched hole. He watches it drip down your thighs, staining the lace stockings you have on.

"Oh my God," you mumble, barely sensical at all. Your face is burning, the tears streaming down your cheeks and the mascara now loosened burning your eyes at it runs into them. You probably look a state but you can't find it within your floating, pleasured body to care one bit.

"Did you know you could squirt?" Alex grabs your backside, spinning you around until you were against the wall. He barely looked at you before he started to fiddle with his belt, desperate to get his aching cock out. You could see the outline of it straining against his trousers, too tight, giving way to every inch of him. You remember that he's big, and you bite your lip to contain a shameless moan at the thought of him filling you.

"No," you admit, making him grin.

"Mmm," he pulls his cock free, pumping it languidly and although you're desperate to look, you keep your eyes on his. He demands your contact and in this state, you're his to obey to.

"Well that's good," he hitches your thigh up onto his waist, your dress splitting even further up the seam. His fingers fiddle with your panties once more, not getting a good grip, not being able to move them. He groans, frustrated and instead just rips them off you, the sharp tear of the lace echoing off the walls, "means you won't try to forget me again hm?"

"Alex!" you groan, "I needed those."

He laughs, "what for? They're barely worth a penny they're so skimpy. I'll buy you some new ones if you want."

"I can't walk out of here with no panties on," you insist. He rolls his eyes, suddenly aligning himself with you. The heat of his cock against you makes your breath hitch, the panties suddenly unimportant in light of getting fucked, being ruined by him. He rubs his head through your folds, the slick sound making him groan, and your body jerk as he hits your sensitive clit over and over again.

"Trust me darling, that's not the prominent issue," he suddenly pushes into you, making you cry out and slam your head against the wall. His hand grips the underside of your thigh, hitching it up further as he starts to pound into you, his thrusts quick and hard - no time for you to adjust.

"Makeup all down your face," he grins, "your dress is torn," he emphasises this with another thrust, "your hair is a fucking state," he chuckles, "plus I'm gonna make sure you have a hard time walking out of here at all."

Your hands move around his frame, moving to the back of his neck which you claw each time he hits that spot inside you, his head rests on your shoulder, groans muffled into your skin. The same can't be said for you - you can barely withhold your moans as he stretches and fills you to the brim, his cock hitting places you forgot even existed inside of you.

There's no romance, no gentleness to his actions - there's no sweet whispered words or doting looks. It's rough, fast, dirty and you wouldn't expect anything less from him. He wasn't this good the last time but he'd been as relentlessly desperate as he is right now and you find comfort in the fact that he hasn't changed, only improved. His eagerness to also pleasure you still prominent even though he looks a cocky arsehole from afar, and you find that charming in this day and age - even if you shouldn't.

Your hips start to ache from how hard he's slamming into you, your nails digging crescent shaped marks into his neck as your eyes find solace in the back of your head, unable to refrain from getting lost in the immense pleasure, in the build up of your orgasm deep into your core.

"Where shall I cum?" Alex's voice is gruff, he lifts his head to look at you, eyes glazed with sweet pleasure. He looks so good that you simply can't form a sentence, your horniness increasing from the mere sight of his parted lips and the perspiration on the edge of his hairline.

"Y/N," he repeats, "I'm close. Tell me where."

"I- Ah, Alex, I-“

You try to reply but you're too deep into the sensations, suddenly you're screaming as your body starts to shake, wetness, growing impossibly tight around him as you cum, hard.

"Fuck, oh my God," he groans, unable to stop himself as the pleasure wracks through him too. He trembles against you as his head falls onto your shoulder, his hips moving on their own accord. You feel him twitching, his cum spilling into you, seemingly endless, warm and sticky against your sore walls.

"Fucking hell," his voice is breathless, whiny with the remnants of his pleasure, a few short, uncontrollable thrusts coaxing the last drops of him out before he stalls inside of you. His cum spreads up his length and starts to spill down your thighs but despite that, neither of you move.

You're desperately trying to catch your breath and he's desperately trying to regain some energy, your arms around his neck, his face buried into your shoulder.

"Please tell me you're on the pill," he mumbles, his voice slightly deeper with tiredness, "I'm in no position to be a father."

You can't help but giggle, imagining a scenario in which this would be where you got pregnant - snorting coke and shagging random men against toilet stall walls - what a story to tell. One that you're in no position for either.

"I'm on the pill," you confirm and he breathes a sigh of relief before pulling out of you, slowly, aware of your pain as you wince and whimper, feeling cold and empty in his absence.

"You fuck like a rabid dog," you state, making him laugh as he rolls some tissue around his hand, passing it to you before grabbing some for himself, cleaning the end of his cock before tucking himself away.

"You take it like a compliant whore," he hums, his eyes sparkling with teasing. If they weren't, you'd probably slap him. But thankfully, he's just teasing. No violence necessary.

"That was bad, right?" you bite your lip, trying to pull your dress down. It's torn at the sides, the fabric tainted with release and sweat. You can't even begin to imagine how you look.

"Bad?" he looks over, concerned and frowning.

"I mean what we just did," you confirm quickly, "I mean it was good, obviously...."

"Obviously," he muses, searching the floor, "I'm not sure these are gonna work."

Your torn panties dangle from his finger, looking very sorry for themselves. You sigh, closing your eyes in dismay. You won't be able to return to the party, but you also can't walk through it and back out to the red carpet like this.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"Isn't your assistant here? Ask her to bring a car around the back," he shrugs as if it's easy, still teaching you things about the industry you've been a part of for years now. He is the king of it all, after all.

"Where's the back?"

He rolls his eyes, "kids of the industry. You're all inexperienced."

"We're the same age," you point between you both.

"You know that's not what I mean."

You sigh, unable to bear the thought of having to see Harriet. She'll know immediately what you've been doing, and even though she's one of your best friends, she still flocks around you like your decisions are life changing. She'd be incredibly disappointed to see you fucked out, shaky legged and looking a wreck at a VIP event.

"I'll get you a car," he says, pulling his phone free, "and take you to the back. It'll be discreet, you won't be seen."

"Are you sure? What if your girlfriend-"

"I told you she left."

"Well you're a liar," you bite back, catching his eyes, which suddenly fill with unexpected guilt, "I saw her on my way in here."

"Well aren't you a naughty girl," he drawls, "perhaps you should've stayed away."

"Perhaps you should take your own advice."

"Hmm," he does that a lot, and you like it - you barely suppress a smile despite the seriousness of the conversation, having to bow your head, "I can't leave with you. Don't take it to heart."

"Like I said, I wouldn't expect anything less from a ladies man."

The disappointment from you calling him that returns, but he looks towards his phone quickly, calling you a car. You wonder who on earth will turn up, it's not exactly like you can get in a Uber in this state and risk being seen. But weirdly, you trust Alex, sure he'll make the right calls, the right decisions even if he's only ever proved otherwise to you.

"Me girlfriend is calling me," he runs a hand through his hair, "the back is opposite the bar. You can walk through the corridor to the right of the toilets and it will lead you straight to the exit. Staff will know if you get lost, and they're obligated to keep it zipped, so don't worry."

"You aren't taking me there?"

He sighs, "I'd love to doll," he shifts, looking fairly unaffected despite what you've both just done, "but we've already addressed that my girlfriend is waiting for me, haven't we?"

You both exit the stall, you're relieved to find that no one is in here for the moment. Just as Alex's hand lays on the handle, after a less than hearty goodbye, his mind clearly preoccupied with explaining where he's been - you hold it shut. Your other hand stretches out, and you look into his eyes with a determination that's rare from you.

"You promised to make it snow. Barely a flake landed in my hand, Alex."

He raises an eyebrow, amusement rippling through his now honey coloured eyes.

"So you do like being bought," he chuckles, reaching into his pocket and pulling the baggie out, "it's pure but be careful."

"Transactional," you shrug, "it seems fitting."

You tuck the baggie into your bra and his gaze wanders down to your outfit once more.

"You truly are gorgeous," he breathes out, before suddenly his lips are on yours, still holding the door tight. It's so fleeting that you barely know what's happened before he's pulled off, "hopefully I'll see you around."

And then he leaves, the only reminder of him being the baggie in your bra and the ache between your thighs.

A/N: This feels naughty to post. This is not a true representation of him, nor the industry. Just a fun little idea. 🥀🙂‍↔️

#alex turner fanfic #alex turner smut #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you

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nicholasgoodgirl · 2 days ago

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no regrets - spencer reid

summary: you went to an event with your dad (aaron hotchner) and couldn't even bother to be there any longer, so you take too many drinks of wine and get reid to take you home hopefully you don't regret what happens.

warnings: cheating, suggestive, underage drinking. that should be it

a/n: i like the whole Aaron's daughter concept.. so i might do that often

flashy clothes and showy jewelry is what the people consisted of. i was at some event with my dad i couldn't care less about, but he just wants me close by because the unsub they're dealing with seems to be a threat. well atleast thats what he keeps telling me

every glass of wine that is offered to me i down it; feeling a slight effect with each drink.

next thing i knew i couldn't even walk with one foot infront of the other properly. i go over to my dad and ask him to take me home with one glance he knew i was intoxicated.

"how many glasses did you have to drink?" he whispered while taking me away from the group he was talking too.

"It's fine im of age" i replied dismissively "no, you're 20" he grabbed ahold of my shoulders and made me face him.

"so what? im lacking just one year, whats the difference?" i got out of his grip and rolled my eyes. he got his phone out and texted someone. a few minutes later spencer came over there. "he's taking you home"

spencer tried to take me by my hand but i snatched it away "no i wanna stay" i whined. "you take things too far, it's a bad look on me, it's a bad look on your boyfriend, and it's a bad look on the whole team"

"just say you don't want me around and I'll leave" i said sounding a bit hurt. thats because i was.

"and my boyfriends not even here or hardly around guess thats something you two share"

"I try-" is all i heard before walking away with reid. he took me out to the car and helped me into the passanger seat, then went to the drivers side and drove me to my dad's house.

---

my movements were more sluggish and i started to think mindlessly. spencer got me through the front door "why do you treat your dad like that- i mean i have a few ideas why, but i wanna hear personally from you" he probes.

"m' not sure reid" i reach out for the couch, pointing to a random place in the living room where i thought the couch was "couch" is all i muttered.

he helped me over there and placed me on the couch "you shouldn't drink. not only does it effect your brain development but it's illegal" he stated matter-of-factly.

"mhm" i groaned "would you like some water? I'm gonna go get you glass of water" he was up going through the cabinets looking for a cup. he came back with a glass of water

he sat on the couch putting my legs on his. he put the glass up to my lips but i didn't take a sip "please sweetheart it will lessen the chances of a hangover"

"awe that was cute" my tone a little condescending before pushing the glass away. my phone began to ring and spencer checked it for me "it's your boyfriend"

"don't answer" me and my boyfriend got into a tiny argument before i left to the event because he didn't trust me.

"just take a sip and I'll stop nagging" he offered the glass to me again and i parted my lips slightly to take a sip. "thank you"

"mhm" i took the glass from him drinking more; finishing the whole glass and setting it down.

for the first time tonight i actually looked into spencers eyes. i lock eyes with him, his gaze piercing into mine. for a moment it made me feel a rush of something i never felt before, not even with my boyfriend.

i take action stealing a kiss then pulling him closer towards me by his tie; his body fitting perfectly in between my legs on the couch .

"uh.. i don't really think we should-" i place another kiss on his lips "-be making out on your dads couch" he finished his sentence ultimately defeated when he gives into me.

the heat of our bodies on eachother intensifying the moment. it was irresistible, every movement was perfect

i run my fingers through his locks, working my lips to breathlessness. "no.. we don't work. this won't work" spencer sits up and scoots away from me "you have a boyfriend and im not really into the whole cheating and sneaking.. thing"

"sorry okay i don't know what i was thinking" i apologized feeling so much embarrassment. he just sighed running his fingers through his hair. "let me just get you to bed"

he helps me walk to my bedroom, putting my arm around his neck steadying me with his hands around my waist.

"while you're here can you help me change into my pajamas?" a humorless laugh had him winded and he was hesitant at first but began to take my heels off then removing my dress, leaving me in my bra and panties.

spencer took this as his chance to admire me. for the first time tonight i got shy under his gaze. he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and gave me a kiss on my forehead.

there was something i felt for spencer reid, i have for a long time. i don't know if it's a thought or feelings i already had that boiled down from fear of rejection. all i know is im in a relationship right now probably not the healthiest but i can't do that to him, it wouldn't be fair.

maybe spencer is the right persn wrong time.

in the midst of thought i had been snapped out of it by spencer placing a shirt over my head then laying me down to help the sweatpants up my legs. i lifted my hips so he can pull them up for me all the way.

i crawled over to my usual side of the bed, laying down getting comfortable. "hey reid? can you stay with me?"

"i probably shouldn't" he walked over to the door of my bedroom to leave out "goodnight" ,,night" i mumbled

that was it. he left and i was gonna have to tell my boyfriend i cheated on him. while im at it i should probably tell him that i want someone else. but i won't do that i could never bring myself to do it because i also don't know if the feeling is mutual between me and spencer.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction

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monowritestoomuch · 1 day ago

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My thoughts on the High King/High Queen of Prythian Argument:

I am currently reading A Court of Silver Flames and have not finished it has not been confirmed to me through reading that Eris has killed Beron yet, so until then and Eris can reform the Autumn Court, these are my final scorings.

To preface this, I currently like how there is a seven court system for Prythian in the books, as the lands are a continent, not a country. In addition, it would be impractical and inefficient for there to be a “high king or queen” of Prythian as the geopolitical system and issues would be far too difficult and incredibly complex, giving its high chance of collapse under the sheer weight of whoever ends up ruling on the throne.

This being said, many arguments have been made on who is going to be the high king/queen among the high lords and I believe I’ve figured out, if there was to be a high king/queen, who would be the best to sit on the throne and bear the title.

So here we go:

7: Rhysand

At number seven we have Rhysand. I know I’m about to get a supreme amount of hate for this, but hear me out. Most of his people hate him, including the Court of Nightmares and others, including Hewn City. His armies aren’t loyal in places like Hewn city or the Court of Nightmares because of his treatment of them, and I haven’t even mentioned how he treats women.

This man took over FIVE HUNRED YEARS TO REALIZE that Illyrian men’s treatment of Illyrian women was too harsh. He put in place laws to stop wing clipping and to allow women to own property and business, but there was a fatal flaw in his lawmaking process. He didn’t enforce it.

It had already taken over 500 years to make proper laws to prohibit the mistreatment of Illyrian women, but he doesn’t even enforce the laws he put in place, basically rendering them useless. And the Illyrian men don’t even care, they just carry on with the treatment, only now they can get caught but not much would be done about it regardless as Rhysand never visits to do a welfare check.

And don’t get me started on Velaris or Illyrian reproductive rights.

6: Beron

There are many others who could go here but I’m putting Beron. The reason he isn’t at the bottom is because his court doesn’t completely hate him.

However, his prominent issues are clear within his court. There is a clear divide in privilege between classes, a classist system, clearly enforced by him. And as far as I’m concerned, this man doesn’t care for child safety laws (based on how he treated his dead son’s deaths after their subsequent murders) and murder. Since he clearly doesn’t care for the lower class, there could be horrific crimes against them, such as what happened to Jesminda.

His entire court, including his advisors and emissaries, are all toxic, backstabbing individuals who couldn’t care less about anyone besides themselves, which is what Beron intended.

The only reason he isn’t lower is because his court is still decently stable and doesn’t look like it’s going to collapse due to the obscene laws created by the high lord or BEHAVIOR exhibited by the high lord.

Once Eris kills Beron then perhaps the court will be reformed and this rating could be changed but until then this is my opinion.

5: Tarquin

Now I love Tarquin, he’s my favorite character out of everyone in this series, but there are some extremely flawed political matters that have landed the Summer Court so low.

Here are the Positives:

Tarquin, as the youngest high lord, has a more modern viewpoint than any of the other high lords.

Tarquin wants to abolish classism in his court, he wishes to merge the higher and lower classes into a single body, for there to be little to no tension between them. This is a very different view than what the other high lords have conjured for their courts.

He also takes in refugees from spring after Feyre destroys the Spring Court, implying the reconstruction and beginning rehabilitation of his court, including the deep care he has for both his subjects, and refugees that may be in harms way. He offers them benefits and a way to live with less fear than they had, which I admire about him. He seems to be a very kind-hearted high lord.

However,

Flaws:

He’s too trusting, as exhibited when Feyre visits the Summer Court for the first time. He trusts her immediately, causing him to have a piece of the Summer Court stolen and diplomatic declaration of perhaps even war on his hands due to the actions of another court because of how trusting he is. This boils over when he sends blood rubies to the night court to show his distaste, displeasure, and a ban from returning to the Summer Court overall.

He is also too forgiving, as exhibited when he forgives Feyre for the blood rubies without an explanation. I can’t tell if that is SJM’s intention, or if Tarquin is just that naïve.

In addition, he has a weak military. This is exhibited during the war with Hybern, as his forces cannot properly hold their own and the Summer Court gets heavily damaged due to it.

He is also the youngest high lord, at only eighty years, he hasn’t lived long enough, or been the high lord for long enough to fully grasp his position and the power it holds, along with the power his subjects hold. His modern views are nice, but he isn’t experienced, which can and has caused tensions and fatal flaws in his rulings.

Tarquin is a good example of a good person, just not entirely fit to rule, which isn’t his fault given Amarantha’s whole “I’m gonna be high queen shtick” with her murdering his parents and relatives, causing him to have to become high lord.

4: Tamlin

Now I just KNOW I’m going to get hate for putting him as fourth on this list, but if the shoe fits 🤷

Tamlin was a decent high lord before Amarantha and Feyre came into the equation. Even when Amarantha came into play, he welcomed in refugees from all over the continent, especially the Summer Court, as if you recall, Alis and her boys were from there.

Not only that, Tamlin’s people were extremely loyal to him, his emissaries were loyal enough to GO OVER THE WALL AND GET KILLED FOR HIM. That is how loyal they were.

(And another thing, because there were refugees from all over Prythian in the Spring Court, they celebrated other courts’s holidays and traditions, as a form of respect.)

He had reformed the once slavery-ridden court his father ran, effectively destroying the concept and acceptance of slavery. He reformed his court to be nothing like the court his father tan, but more alike to what his mother would’ve approved if she were still living.

However, Tamlin’s easy ability to get manipulated and gaslighted is very troubling and important to include in here. Because of this, his court is falling and his people have become disloyal. His self-destructive, and generally destructive tendencies must also be raised in alarm as he drove his sentries out by shapeshifitng into wild form and becoming a beast. He also was just generally self-destructive and dangerously suicidal when we last saw him.

In the past he was a good high lord, but now? He needs a good healing arc before he can properly rule again. He needs to be able to make himself better than he currently is, meaning in the future he’ll NEED a support system to help him reach that. Until then, he stands at fourth place.

3: Kallias and Viviane

These two are so politically inclined that it makes me incredibly relieved that some high lord and lady in Prythian is finally getting forcing and regulating laws, not only that, but reviewing previous laws and adjusting them to fit the newer values of the court to part of the people’s values too.

Speaking of their people, they listen to their people and they care, they let their people speak to them trustingly, giving them hope and encouragement that their high lord and lady will listen to their issues and find a viable solution.

They’re both politically strong people given Viviane held the court up on her back for fifty years while Kallias went UTM to help protect and keep a watchful eye on his people and other citizens of Prythian.

They also are decent at making deals and alliances with other courts, which is a very good thing considering how much war this continent goes through on the regular.

But here are their issues:

They have a weak military, as it’s mentioned during the war with Hybern how their forces might be able to hold off Hybern’s forces and help, but that they’re small and not very powerful. This is a very prominent issue as an improper military could lead to the collapse of their entire court.

And with the other courts there are some tensions mentioned? Such as between them and the night court, as Rhysand’s actions UTM were less than pleasant.

With that being said, they would making promising rulers, which is why they take the third spot in the top three for now, this is until we hear any more about their court in future books.

2: Helion

Now Helion and Kallias & Viviane’s spots on this chart could flip flop depending on what he opens in the future books, but until then, this is my placement.

Helion’s court is not only rich in magic, but it’s rich in information. Don’t forget this man being the second oldest high lord.

Magic is very prominent in the Day Court, the Fay Court itself being the most magically driven court, leading me to assume that’s a large part of the infrastructure and economic system.

But it is also mentioned how the Day Court has the biggest and most libraries in all of Prythian. That is a lot of reading material, meaning a lot of information, which is valuable.

Helion is older and wiser, he’s seen a lot in his days as the High Lord of the Day Court, meaning he’s much more experienced than many of the other high lords. He’s dealt with war before several times and he knows how to handle himself and his court.

That being said, there’s also some not so great parts of him being the High Lord of Day. . .namely his actions.

Sure, Helion is nice, but he’s also incredibly sexual. He can be serious, we’ve seen that, but he is known as the high lord who sleeps around. Not exactly the nicest title to be given. He needs to be able to be more mature sex miss given his age, especially around other diplomats, such as high lords.

In addition, we don’t know much about his military, which is disappointing to me as it’s a large component on whether one’s court can hold its own. Without a proper military, the Day Court could be in shambles. Luckily, it seems like the court does have a good military, it just hasn’t been mentioned. But I’m the future, knowing how efficient his military is would certainly help in my scoring of the Day Court as a whole.

AND FINALLY

1: Thesan

Hear me out, he would be the best candidate for High King of Prythian.

As previously stated, he has a strong military, loyal and dedicated. His husband is literally their general, so he’s constantly well informed on it.

He might not be one of the older of the high lords, but it is implied how he has much expertise politically and morally.

Another large part of Thesan is how the Dawn Court is known as the most neutral court in Prythian. This is an incredibly important position for his court to be in, as a strong military and strong neutrality is a great defense for his court, not to mention when Dawn helped during the war with Hybern, Dawn’s reinforcements of the Seraphim military were mentioned to have helped push back and eventually defeat Hybern.

Dawn also held the meeting between all the high lords, giving Thesan the upper hand as the host to have executive authority as it’s HIS COURT.

Their neutrality is incredibly important as it’s kept them out of trouble for most of the series so far, and I sincerely hope SJM keeps it that way. We haven’t gotten to know Thesan and the Dawn Court well enough as they haven’t been mentioned since the war with Hybern.

Also, just personal opinion, gay high king. He would totally legalize gay marriage, prove me wrong.

Again, these are my opinions, and if you’d like to be an ass about them, then click off of this post. This is just what has been on my mind since I’ve seen others on tumblr debating who the High King of Prythian would be.

That’s all for today, Mono out ✌️

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bruhstation · 2 years ago

Note

Why Gordon Saved Henry's Life ?

I believe you mean the luck fiend! even though he merely took on henry's appearance (which made gordon despise him the moment he went honest about it), gordon just feels uncomfortable at the thought of him getting hurt. the luck fiend has henry's face, talks like henry, has a softspoken yet blunt personality just like henry, but.... he's not henry.

also gordon has has enough of seeing people die in front of him lol even though he initially hated the luck fiend he can't stand having to watch someone that looked just like his old partner die

#asks #anonymous #trainsaw man au #3x4 #<--- technically #also ollie called the luck fiend ''lucky'' which I think is quite a nice sounding and fitting name for him :]#luck and henry combined.... and also just a simple nickname from the word ''luck''#worth mentioning that the luck fiend started off uncaring about ''his'' comrades (including gordon)#and cared even less about the body he took over #but he slowly felt more and more guilty about that and also deceiving everyone in the sodor public safety #that's why he got confused when gordon saved him #because he has always believed that gordon hated him #(he's not responsible for henry's death. just so you know)

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fairy-angel222 · 8 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐈𝐗 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 ft Gojo Satoru

— Six years. He’s loved you for six years. He was too young back then but now he’s not. And he plans on showing you that.

᧔♡᧓ Semi Yandere! Gojo x Fem! Reader

᧔♡᧓ Content: age gap (gojo’s 21 n reader is 27), obsessive behavior, smut, pussy eating, porn with some plot, cheating while in talking stage, petnames, praise, breeding, baby trapping, manipulation, gaslighting

᧔♡᧓ A/n: reader always saw gojo as a brother since he was so young, and never really developed feelings for him. it was just lust taking over when they fucked

Six years of friendship with your current best friend. Six years in which her little brother Gojo has had a crush on you. Six years of you only cooing with a giggle as you ruffled his fluffy white head of hair before calling his doting nature cute.

Six years.

Six years that he’s waited for you, becoming more of a man for you. Working out, gaining experience. It was all for you.

You’re twenty seven now, barely any different since the first time he met you. Your soft features still as beautiful as ever and your body just as perfect as he remembered. He’s studied you over the years. Every single time you came over. Studied your patterns, your every move, your likes, your dislikes, he’d even gotten to know your type.

He’d loved you since he was fifteen.

But he’s not a little kid anymore. He’s grown. Twenty one years old. Mature enough to be yours, to take care of you. He deserved you after waiting for so long. And he would show you. Show you that you needed him just as bad, craved him as much as he craved you. He’s the one for you, you just had to open your eyes and see that.

Gojo knows you feel at least a slight bit of attraction towards him. Hell, you’d called him handsome so many times— even though it had been strictly platonic— that you have to had felt something.. right?

On his eighteenth birthday you were there with him, his friends and his sister. He’d even brought a girl, introducing her as his girlfriend to try for a reaction out of you. But you didn’t bat an eye, you were genuinely happy for him. It made his jaw clench, but he was reminded of why he loved you. You were so sweet and caring. A big smile on your face as you embraced him in a hug, giving him the present that you’d been so excited to get. It was something that he had wanted for a while. A part of you saw him and his sister as the siblings you’d never had.

He didn’t need your gift, of course. He had enough money to buy anything he wanted. But it being from you made it special.. so so very special. Especially since you had listened to him. And it was his turn to return the favor. The random expensive gifts never stopped, every time you came over for the next three years it seemed that there was always something wrapped and waiting for you. Somethings just never change, you thought to yourself, piecing together that the boy’s crush had never left.

Then his gifts started getting more and more.. well, whatever you’d consider those matching lace sets that were accompanied a little note that made you swallow hard. Followed up by short dresses and eventually fancy shoes and purses to match. Not to mention the collection of jewelry you’d gotten from him.

Then he was.. less subtle, sending small smirks and winks your way. Finding any excuse just to be next to you or let his hands innocently wander during a hug.

You were not going to tell his sister. You didn’t want there to be any problems between them. You also couldn’t just start coming over less, she was like family to you. So you let his harmless crush continue.

…

Gojo swears luck was on his side, the universe wanting to make things easier for him. You had a boyfriend, a guy you worked with who was a good five years older than you. Like he said, you had a type, and he checked out none of these boxes. He knew everything about the dude, and he knew that he was not good enough for you. He tried to warn you, but what did you do? You smiled at what you took as him being worried about your well being.

So when you came knocking on his front door, flinging yourself into his sister’s arms as you cried into her shoulder. He knew. That asshole had broken your heart. He’d deal with it. He’d truly make the guy regret hurting you.

You were at his house all week, falling into the stage of the break up where you sat in your room (with their house so big you were bound to have one if your own) watching tv with a tub of ice cream and a string of adorable laughter. Anything to take your mind off the sting in your chest.

Then you were out. Everywhere. Going to clubs and parties with his sister just as you two did when you were a little younger. It was reckless, what if you got hurt? What is someone tried something? You were a sight for sore eyes after all. He would make sure to never let that happen. It was why he always accompanied you, whether you were aware of it or not. It was no surprise that you were never able to get laid, despite all the ogling eyes set on you.

…

Gojo leaned against the bathroom’s door frame as you emptied your stomach’s contents into the toilet in front of you. Small moans of displeasure filling the room as your body slumped against it. After math of a night full of drinking.

His arms were folded across his chest, muscles bulging through the tight black fabric which was paired with grey sweats which hung lowly on his hips. Gojo chuckled, pushing himself to stand straight before walking over to you. Stooping down to your current height with the shake of his head. “You should know better than this baby.”

Your brows furrowed, opening your mouth to question him before your head was over the bowl once more. Tears welling in your eyes at the massive headache that had sprung to life. “Shh shh shh baby.” He whispered, “let it all out, you’ll feel better soon.” He soothed, pushing stray strands away from your sweaty forehead while stroking softly at your hair. Whispering little words of encouragement as he held you, smiling sadly when the hug caused you to break down in his arms. No doubt reminding you of your recent breakup.

“Here, i brought you some panadol.” He reached for the two pills and the cup of water on the counter. Letting you sit with your back against his chest as he guided them up to your mouth, bringing the cup to your lips right after. “Here, drink it all okay?” You nodded, swallowing down the water along with the pain relievers. Gojo’s lips pressing softly to your head as he continued to stroke your skin.

You’d fallen asleep. And he’d laid you down on his bed instead of yours. Tucking you in and leaving you to rest.

Downstairs he found his sister, an empty cup sat in front of her along with the pill bottle. She’d clearly been hungover too. “Where is she?”

Gojo gave her a knowing look. “She’s sleeping.”

“Where?”

“My room.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing, not liking the way she was watching him. Was she really that selfish over her best friend.

“Satoru.. she’s twenty seven. You need to get over this stupid little crush of yours and go find someone your own age. She doesn’t want you, she never will.”

Gojo seethed, fists already at his side as he stared angrily at his sister. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Satoru come on-“

“No.” His voice was firm, he didn’t look angry anymore, he looked hurt. “Just.. shut up, please.” A part of him knew that maybe he’d just never be enough for you.

…

Making his way back upstairs Gojo had a plate of pancakes, bacon and eggs along with a glass of hot tea. He walked into his room to find your eyes only just fluttering open with the small stretch of your body. Blinking your eyes to adjust to the bright light while taking in your surroundings, realizing immediately where you were, and who was standing at the door.

“Oh.. Satoru, hi.” Your voice was timid, embarrassed to have been seen in your drunken state by the boy.

“Hey, how’s your head? I brought you breakfast.” He set the food down near the bed before taking a seat next to you. Allowing his fingers to play with the fallen hair from your bun.

“T-thanks.” You nodded, shifting to sit up before grabbing a strip of the crispy meat.

He wouldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t stop staring at you. And you smiled in his direction, “thanks a lot, i should really get back to my room though.”

He shrugged, “or you could just stay, it’s not like we’re doing anything.” He grinned. “Yet.”

You couldn’t help the way your cheeks heated up at that statement. “It’s okay, i think i’ll just-“

“Stay. Come on, don’t be like that. I’ll even put on your favorite.” Reaching for the remote to search for your favorite show. You bit your lip nervously, not understanding how he could act so normal after all the inappropriate gifts and advances.

His smile never faltered as his hand ‘accidentally’ found yours, slipping his fingers into your own. Not allowing you to let go even if you tried.

…

The next few days were.. good. Gojo had assumed that everything was going well. They were going well, until you decided to ruin everything.

Toji Fushiguro.

A forty something year old man with two children. That’s who you were talking to. Gojo didn’t appreciate how hard you making things for him. You were supposed to be his and he was supposed to be yours.

He was tired of waiting for you to come to him, so he went to you. Knocking on your door with vigor and a small scowl. When the door swung open you were mid-laugh, Toji coming into view behind you with a glass of champagne in hand.

“Seriously? You’ve been ignoring us for him? Him?” Gojo accused pointedly, “My sister misses you, she’s been crying. A lot. Says you’re choosing a guy over your friendship.”

His jaw was hard as he fed you lies through his teeth. Watching your eyes widen as you pondered. Were you ignoring your best friend? You’d seen her just earlier today. You guys had hung out, gone for lunch. Talked about who you both liked with big smiles and non stop giggles. It didn’t feel like anything had changed. “I.. I didn’t realize- i’m sorry.” You didn’t know what to say, it made zero sense. But why would he lie?

Gojo silently cheered as you sadly asked Toji to leave. Giving him a small kiss on the cheek and promising to call him tomorrow. He was not very happy about the last part, but at least he was alone with you.

As soon as he left Gojo marched into your apartment. Nearly falling over his two feet when the scent hit him. Your scent, stronger than ever, that sweet strawberry smell that he’d grown to love.

“Satoru, i didn’t-”

He couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t. “It’s okay I forgive you.” Turning around for his hand to snake to the back of your neck, heart rate speeding up as he crashed his lips onto yours.

You whimpered in surprise, Gojo controlling the kiss as he backed you up against a wall. His lips quickly traveling down to your neck in desperation. “You know, i’ve waited so long. So fucking long. Waited for you. For us. I’ve given you everything, i’ve done everything. But it’s just never enough is it? You’re just too ungrateful huh baby?”

You moaned loudly. “Satoru.. what are you.. hmm.”

“I’m taking what’s mine baby. Taking what i deserve. I’m not a little boy anymore. I’m a man. I can take care of you.” His lips moved with force, sucking harshly at your skin as he kissed down your chest, free hand roaming to your ass with a squeeze. “I’m old enough to be yours. This isn’t just some crush anymore. I fucking love you.”

You could feel your heart pounding as he uttered the words you wished he hadn’t. “Satoru we can’t.. your sister’s my best friend. I’m still older than you.”

“She’ll get over it.” He breathed, making quick work of your tank top that clung deliciously to your tits. “We’re both consenting adults now aren’t we. If you tell me to stop, i’ll stop.”

Your mouth went dry, lips parting to demand him to go but you couldn’t. You didn’t want him too. What was wrong with you?

“So what will it be baby? Stop? Or don’t stop?”

“Don’t stop..” You mumbled in shame, avoiding his eyes as you looked away. Gojo’s fingers dug into your cheeks, forcing you to turn back to face him.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“I said, don’t stop.” You said a little louder, cheeks burning up under his touch.

“Good girl. I knew you were playing hard to get.” He grinned, “You love the chase as much as i do.”

Gojo’s arms hooked under your thighs, lifting you onto him before reattaching your lips. Carrying you to your bedroom to drop you onto the sheets. Lips never leaving yours as you both hurriedly undressed. He was addicted to you, and having you set fire to his veins. This was all he’d ever wanted.

Gojo dropped to his knees before you, kissing lightly at your pussy before enclosing it with his mouth. Tongue lapping you up hungrily as you moaned, fingers finding his hair with a tremble.

“Satoru— feels so good, haah.” You breathed, Gojo burying his face between your legs with a tight grip on your thighs. Allowing your legs to wrap around his neck as he devoured your sopping heat. You were so sweet— just like everything else about you. And he couldn’t help but rut against nothing as more blood rushed to his cock. Finding pleasure in getting to taste you after years of jerking off to the image.

He’s seen your room more than you, always snatching a pair of anything he could find. Just to be able to hold you in any way or form. Feel you on his skin. Touch something that had already touched you.

Gojo pulled away with his face glistening, “Learned how to do this just for you baby. Wanted to be good for our first time.” He smiled lazily, eyes dark with need as he got back to work, sending muffled groans into your bundle of nerves while you mewled loudly. Back arching with the curl of your toes before trying to pull away.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Gojo growled lowly, fingers digging painlessly into your flesh as he pulled you impossibly closer, tongue flicking at your clit before his lips closed around it. Sucking and swirling the sensitive bud into his mouth with a satisfied hum. All while you cried out above him, moans getting louder each time you called out his name.

It was like music. The sweetest song ever. Hearing you moan for him, moan out of pleasure, need, lust. Knowing that it was him making you feel so good. He almost came right there, determined to give you the best orgasm of your life with just his tongue. You tugged at his strands, your vision blurred in the nearing of your high.

“Satoru— o-oh fuck Satoru, ‘m gonna cum. Nngh, you’re gonna make me cum.” You moaned noisily, lewd slurps and sloppily kisses filling your ears as he made out with your wet pussy.

Gojo loved how much you were squirming, your legs tightening around his neck as you screamed. You actually screamed. He made you scream. His tongue was awaiting when you began to shake, toes curled and eyes rolled back as you squirted nonstop. The clear liquid gushing onto his face and tongue in long streams.

You whined at the overstimulation when he licked a stripe up your pussy. Collecting every last bit of your sweetness before standing up. You were panting, hard. And Gojo felt accomplished as he smirked. “Has any older man ever made you cum this hard baby?”

Your head was dizzy, trying to bring yourself back down to earth as you blinked up at him with the shake of your head.

He scoffed in pride, “Now try telling me that i’m too young for you now.”

Gojo was quick to lay you flat on the bed and crawl in on top of you. Consequences of your latest activities still fresh on his chin and chest. There were so many positions he wanted to take you in, but first he wanted to see you fall apart under him. See your face contort into one of pure bliss when he started pounding into you.

“You ready for me?” He husked, impressive cock already swiping up and down your slick filled folds. You nodded, looking up at him through your lashes with parted lips. “Ready.”

You both shared a drawn out moan when he nestled his cock past your tight entrance. Feeling him graze your gummy walls before reaching deep within you.

You felt so good, so tight.. warm. And he felt so deep, so big.. perfect.

“This pussy was made for me.” He grunted with a loud groan, slowly speeding up his pace till he was fucking into you with no end. Hips snapping into yours as his cock kissed your spot, prodding at your cervix with every hard thrust. “Fuck- look at how well you’re taking me. Fucking swallowing me all the way in.”

You only moaned in response, teary eyes meeting his sinful ones as he molded you around his cock. Making sure that you knew nothing but the shape of him, the feel of him, when you were done.

Letting out the whiniest cry, your arms reached up around his shoulders, clawing at his skin when you felt your stomach tighten.

You could feel him so deep, the roll of his hips allowing his fat tip to curl up and kiss exactly where you needed it most. The fast pace pulling short screams past your swollen lips.

“Satoru— haah, you’re so deep. I love it s’ much Toru. So m-much— ahh.” You couldn’t think straight, your brain only registering the way he was sliding in and out of you. It was all you could think about in that moment l, the way he felt.

Gojo watched you fall apart, just like he wanted. Your glossy eyes closing as your head fell further into the pillow, unable to control your noises as you got closer and closer.

“You don’t know how hot you look right now. I love seeing you like this. All for me.” His voice cracked, cock twitching in an aching cry to get its release.

“S-satoru, ‘m so close. Gonna cum again.” You choked out, nails piercing into his broad back as your hands roamed down.

“Yeah? Gonna make a mess f’ me again hmm? All that denying me, making me feel like our love was one sided. You put me through a lot you know.” He shook his head. “If only you knew the lengths i’d go for you.”

His eyes were crazed, and a shiver raked through your body at his words, whimpering as you succumbed to the building pleasure with a mewl. “O-oh fuckk.”

“Nuh uh, baby. Apologize to me first then you cum.” His tone was firm, serious. He wanted to hear you say it.

“Ahh, ‘m sorry Satoru— ‘m so so sorry. You’re goid enough f’ me. Mature enough. You’re perfect. Please let me cum. I need to cum.” You cried, the man on top of you pretending to ponder your words which went straight to his cock before smiling darkly. “Go ahead baby, cum for me.”

Your body shook as you yelled out his name, your surroundings becoming blank when you began to squirt messily, again. The intense orgasm seeming to stun all of your body’s systems as you failed to come back down. Gojo’s continued thrusts keeping pleasure flowing through your sensitive body.

“I love you so much baby. I always did. It makes me so happy that we can finally be together. Fuckk— ‘m all yours. All yours.” He buried his face in your neck, his own eyes closing shut as his body trembled, stilling inside your warmth before you felt his cum pumping into you in spurts. The thick substance coating your every wall in white.

“And now you’re mine.” He didn’t pull out, staying buried inside you in hopes of you two being connected forever. There was one thing he knew and you forgot. You hadn’t taken your birth control in a while, and a part of him hoped that you had seen this coming. That you wanted it. But one thing remained true either way, he was never letting you go.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo

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foxy-eva · 1 month ago

Text

Drunk on You

Summary: Spencer is completely and utterly infatuated with you

Request: Pussy drunk Spencer where it’s the first time they sleep together and he’s completely obsessed with being inside her and eating her out (initially requested to @imagining-in-the-margins)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, oral (fem receiving), protected penetrative sex, slight overstimulation

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

Maybe it was a bit cliché to invite Spencer into your apartment for coffee after your date. The ulterior motive was obvious but there was no elegant way of telling him what you really wanted. He didn’t seem to mind when he accepted your offer with a grin on his face.

The tension between the two of you was palpable once you stepped through your door. The warm amber of Spencer’s irises shone even brighter under the lighting of your living room. It was mesmerizing to look at him, so much so that you quickly forgot about the coffee.

Spencer couldn’t care less. It was obvious that he knew a hot beverage wasn’t exactly what you craved right then. The way he licked his lips as he looked at you gave away that he was longing for something else, too.

Stepping closer, you left barely any space between the two of you. The warmth he radiated penetrated your skin and spread through your body. You breathed in his scent, a pleasant mix of his cologne and laundry detergent.

“So,” you teased as you leaned closer. “Are you gonna kiss me now or what?”

“Gladly,” he chuckled.

To your surprise, he took his time with you. His fingers found your jaw, gently brushing along your skin before slightly tilting your head. His other hand made contact with your waist to pull you even closer. Then, unhurriedly and with a precise motion, he finally leaned in to close the distance.

Once your mouths made contact there was no more holding back, though. His lips were soft yet demanding and he didn’t waste any time to deepen the kiss. Tasting you broke any resistance Spencer had and he couldn’t keep up his demeanor anymore.

His fingertips dug into your waist before you felt them trembling against your body. His tongue brushed over yours as if you had finally granted him the first taste of water after a life-long drought. When your hands found the nape of his neck to playfully tug at his curls, he unabashedly moaned against your lips.

Spencer was desperate to make you his and he had no intention of hiding that from you. His lips only left yours to gasp for air before kissing you some more. When you wanted to lean back to look at him, he chased your mouth and immediately closed the distance again.

His enthusiasm made you smile into the kiss and he noticed. That was when he finally slowed down, leaving a few more feather-light pecks on your mouth before leaning back.

“Sorry,” he awkwardly laughed. “I’ve been waiting so long to do this.”

“Don't apologize,” you breathed. “I like how eager you are.”

To prove your words, you took his hand in yours to lead him into your bedroom. Spencer wasn’t the only one who had been waiting too long for this to finally happen. You had no intention of acting shy with him when it was clear how much the both of you yearned for each other’s nearness.

Right beside your bed you came to a halt and turned to him. Patiently he watched as you undid the buttons of his dress shirt and brushed the fabric over his shoulders. Once the shirt dropped to the floor, your hands wandered along the waistband of his pants.

Your eyes followed the movements of your fingers and you couldn’t ignore the outline of his hardness straining against his trousers. You looked at the man in front of you and found him staring at you with the utmost adoration in his eyes.

“Can I touch you?” You asked and he nodded.

Your palm carefully made contact with his clothed cock and a sigh immediately escaped Spencer’s throat. He leaned into your touch and twitched against the fabric of his confines. You decided to free him as you undid his pants and slowly pulled them down together with his underwear.

As you took your time to admire the beauty of your lover, you completely forgot your surroundings. Only Spencer’s hand brushing along your arm brought you back to reality. You locked eyes with him again and felt your cheeks heating up.

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled.

His hand found the fabric of your shirt and tugged on it as he cooed, “I want to see you, too.”

Together you got rid of the remaining pieces of clothing until both of you were completely bare. You lay down on the mattress to continue kissing without any barriers between your bodies.

Spencer hovered over you when he began kissing down your neck. He left sweet pecks on your skin before biting down on your pulse point, drawing a whine from your lips. To soothe the angry skin, he carefully licked along it before moving further down your body.

“You smell so good,” he groaned as he kissed your breasts. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He took one of your hardened peaks into his mouth while his hand found the other, teasing it with his fingers until you couldn’t hold back your moans. When he heard your hymn of praise, he hummed into your skin.

Hungry lips found one another once more. “You are marvelous,” Spencer mumbled into the kiss.

While he was distracted with his mouth on yours, a curious hand made its way down his body to wrap around his erection. It made him whimper against your lips. Your fingers brushed over velvety skin until they found the weeping tip to spread his arousal over it.

“Fuck!” he hissed as he looked down his body to watch your hand caressing him.

“Do you like that?” you teased as you kept stroking him a little harder.

His hand found your wrist to stop your movements. “Yeah, a little too much,” he confessed and his words made you smile.

You let go of him and watched as his fingertips danced along your chest and down your stomach until they reached their destination between your legs. Tentatively, he let one finger glide along your slit before spreading your folds apart. When he found you already dripping with desire, he groaned, “So wet for me.”

He collected your dew on his fingertips and dragged it along your folds before circling your most sensitive spot. The sounds of your pleasure only spurred him further on, caressing you some more before he breached your entrance with two digits, finding little resistance from your body.

Spencer kissed along your neck as he curled his fingers inside you, pressing against a spot that made you light-headed and let your walls flutter around him. He seemed to relish feeling your body like this, taking his time to explore your core before settling on a steady pace. It didn’t take long for you to dance along the edge of euphoria.

His lips brushed along your ear as he whispered, “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

That was all it took for your undoing. Spencer groaned as he felt you pulsing around his fingers, your entire body writhing as you found relief. You were still panting when he withdrew his fingers, making you whine at the loss of contact.

With a playful smirk spread over his face, he brought his hand to his mouth to lick your release from his fingers, savoring the taste of your cunt on his tongue.

“You taste so good,” he breathed before moving down your body. “I need more.”

Before he could settle down between your thighs, you grabbed his shoulders. The feeling of being empty was overwhelming and you yearned to be filled out by him. Even though the prospect of having his mouth on you was exciting, it was not what you needed then.

“I need you inside me now,” you whimpered. “Please, Spencer.”

He kneeled between your legs when he chuckled, “How could I say no to that?”

Hurriedly and with little grace you reached over to your nightstand to get a condom from the drawer. Spencer didn’t waste any more time when he took the wrapper from your hands to put the condom on. As he leaned over you, you watched him closing his eyes for a moment before he aligned his cock at your entrance.

Then, after locking eyes with you, he began pushing his hips against yours. He hissed a curse at the sensation of slowly stretching you open one inch at the time. When he dared to look down between your bodies, he got so overwhelmed at the sight of his cock entering you that he almost came on the spot.

Quickly, he averted his sight to get his composure back. Your walls fluttered around him and you felt him twitch in response. Once he had filled you up to the hilt, he took a moment to feel your heartbeat deep inside you.

“Spencer,” you whined as you began rocking your hips against his. “Please!”

He didn’t mean to tease you or test your patience. He just wanted to fully savor this moment. Feeling you tightly wrapped around him made his head spin. He felt inebriated when he began moving and started to think you had cast some kind of spell on him.

“You feel so good,” he breathed when he began moving. “So tight for me.”

Pure magic was the only explanation for what you made him feel. Spencer struggled to wrap his head around the fact that this was reality. Nothing else mattered other than being right there with you, making you his as he fucked you against the mattress.

“Harder!” you cried and Spencer obliged.

It proved to be a mistake, though. As he watched you quiver underneath him, the bedframe shaking with his forceful thrusts, he struggled to delay his downfall. Feeling you getting even tighter around him made it impossible to not fully indulge in this sensation.

With his whole body trembling, he tried but failed to slow himself down. Desperation was written over his face as he attempted to prolong the feeling of being inside you. Of course you noticed it, too. Seeing him fall apart on top of you as pleasure overcame him was exhilarating and you had no intention of slowing him down.

“Come for me,” you murmured and Spencer’s eyes widened at your words.

Then, with a particularly hard thrust, he did. Trembling and groaning, the built-up tension was released as his climax washed over him.

Before you had a chance to wrap your arms around him to welcome him inside your embrace, he pulled out of you and quickly moved down your body. With your head still spinning, it took you several seconds to realize what he was doing.

Only when you felt his tongue glide through your folds did you comprehend that he had found his new home between your legs.

“Oh fuck, Spencer!” You hissed at the feeling of his mouth caressing your sensitive center.

Like a man starved he collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue, moaning into your skin as he tasted your heady aroma. The vibrations he created sent shockwaves through your body, prompting you to buck your hips against his face.

Seemingly unfazed by your reaction, he wrapped his arms around your legs to keep you in place as he continued pleasuring you with his tongue and mouth.

“So good,” he whispered against your heat.

Despite his effort to hold you securely against his mouth, you were sure you might start floating at any moment. Two of his fingers found their way into you, adding more pressure and bringing you closer to your undoing.

It only took a few more seconds until ecstasy overcame you. Your thighs trembled as you rode out your high, rocking gently against Spencer’s face. He didn't let go of you, though. Almost in a trance-like state he kept caressing you, licking up your release as you writhed underneath him.

Your chest was heaving when you looked at him, eyes closed and half of his face buried between your legs. Spencer didn't even consider stopping, not when you tasted so heavenly, even more so after you came. Drunk on your taste and scent, he would have been more than happy to spend the rest of his night right there.

It became too overwhelming for you, though. The constant stimulation was too much to bear and almost became uncomfortable, so your hands found his curls to pull on them. “Enough,” you murmured.

In an instant, he removed his mouth from your core to litter your inner thighs with little kisses. Then he looked up at you, a wicked grin painted on his glistening face. He wiped himself clean with the back of his hand before plopping down beside you.

“Sorry, uh…” he muttered. “I got a little carried away.”

You placed a kiss on his lips, noticing your own scent still lingered on them.

“I’m not complaining,” you purred. “I just need a little break. We can continue later.”

The glimmer in his eyes at your words must have been akin to someone witnessing a miracle. Content with the prospect of doing all of this again, he wrapped you into his arms.

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gojonanami · 2 months ago

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❝ 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.

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

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo fanfiction #gojo fanfiction #gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo fics #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jjk smut #satoru gojo fluff

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venmondiese · 4 months ago

Text

THE WARM OF BOTH BODIES

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

✧Rating: +18 mdni explicit

✧word count: 3.1k

✧gif credit: aegon ✧ aemond

-ˋˏsummary: Dragons are greedy, and both of your brothers have perverted desires that you take no issue on entertaining. ✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, mummy kink, lactation kink, breastfeeding, threesome (f/m/m), aegond, targcest, polyamory, oral (f and m receiving), masturbation (f and m receiving), aegon is the most submissive to exist, switch!aemond. ✧ this is a part from @targaryen-dynasty 's 3k celebration ! check all the other works too, and as always a pleasure to participate with my silly things and congrats to her ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ✧ note: i added my own spice. it didn't say anything about aegond but i am... weak... #i tried

By no means had you known what being alone was like.

After Aemond, you were the fifth child of king Viserys to survive childhood. Daeron was your youngest by two years, and like your sister, you were dotted and cared for by your mother and father… unlike your brothers.

Your mother had a weird way to demonstrate affection to them, you always thought. With Aegon was non-existent, and Aemond had this burden to be the reliable sibling amongst them all.

When Aegon had to marry Helaena; you married Aemond. It was how the tradition dictates, and it was under your father’s wish, much to your mother’s dislike.

And just like Helaena, you recently had a daughter with Aemond, Rhaelle, who was the apple of his father’s eye. Yet, the only difference between your duty and Helaena’s is that she wasn’t the one who had to take care of Aegon. Instead, you took care of Aegon’s whims, alongside your husband’s.

Aegon was greedy, whiny and clingy. He searched you whenever he wanted, following you around like a puppy for your attention. Whereas Aemond was quiet, reserved and embarrassed, but not less greedy. He often wanted comfort, praise for his action and the reassurance that he was doing no wrong in his desires.

Both of them accepted the other, in a quiet agreement. You were a petulant person, and if you wanted, they knew this, all of it, would be over. So they shut up their differences for the sake of it.

Aegon was curled by your right side, lying on the bed of your chambers. Post coital bliss at its finest, as he was slightly sleepy, and even a bit grumpy when bothered. It had been some cold days, but the fire made it more bearable, and it gave some sense of cosiness to both. He was just resting, a bit sleepy, his head on your stomach as you read some silly book about Valyrian fashion, as his legs were pressed against your shoulder, as you slowly caressed his leg, soothing him like that.

You hear his soft yawn, as the laziness of the evening consumes you both as you are cuddled against the other for the warm. As Aegon draws slowly patterns upon the lower part of your chest, you feel the door of the chambers opening knowing it was your husband

You lower your book, caressing Aegon’s heel and calf, as you look at Aemond, walking closer to the bed as he makes a slight face at seeing Aegon here, as if he wanted you all for himself. He takes his boots quickly, moving to take off his leather jerkin.

“Hi” You say, softly, and he hums. You can see it in the slight frown on his face.

Aegon stirs a hit, not greeting Aemond as he sits on the bed, closer to you. Like a lazy cat, he yawns, and you feel his muscles stretching a bit.

“Did you tuck Rhaelle?” Aemond asks, his shoulders tensed up as he takes off his eye patch and loses up his hair. He was tired, you could see.

“Yes, she is sleeping in the nursery…” You say softly, looking at him. “What is it?” You ask, seeing how Aemond wants something, yet he doesn’t know how to say it, looking at you a bit unsure.

“Mummy” He whines softly, frowning as his tone was a bit sheepishly, sitting closer to you, by your left side.

You press your lips together, looking at him as he seems so vulnerable, and tired, for whatever reason he probably will tell you later. Aegon nuzzles your stomach, his interest piqued on Aemond’s word, because if it involves Aemond, it will involve him as well.

The unspoken words between you and Aemond are no obstacle to knowing what he wants. You know your brothers, surely, but Aemond was different. Aemond was your husband, and you knew him like the palm of your hand.

Aemond nods shyly, as if agreeing with the thought on your mind, and he scoots closer once you sit better on the bed, leaning back properly on the pillows. Your nightgown is easy to untie at the front, more so when you are lactating and need an easy way to open the dress. Rhaelle would fuss and wail her little lungs out, so your clothes were always easy to undo.

Now, if Rhaelle’s father and uncle enjoy the same, is another thing.

You undo the laces in the front of your dress, and you know how Aegon reincorporates to sit, suddenly all woken up and interested in this. The dress is pure cotton, and it is comfortable to wear. You pull the fabric out of the way, and with their gazes following your each movement, you know it is a matter of time for them to hungrily latch onto you.

Aegon curls up to your right side, whereas Aemond does the same on your left. He always preferred your left, since the blind spot faces Aegon, so he doesn’t have to bear seeing him too. Aegon is much more shameless, clinging to you and moving his hips softly against your right side.

You feel both men getting closer, and their breaths hit your nipples as they nuzzle your blossom, in hopes of sucking hungrily.

“Aegon…” you say softly as he was growing impatient, moving a bit as he pressed his face closer to your breast, restless and eager.

Aemond is never restless; he stayed still as he loved, caring. He always pressed faint kisses, around your tits, before suckling calmly. His left arm always found its way to wrap your waist, keeping you close to him as he delighted himself with soothing milk.

Instead, Aegon immediately latched onto your breast, suckling and trying to get all the milk he could, eagerly as he always seemed relentless, always craving more and more. He’d watch you with bright, purple eyes as he craved for your attention.

You comb their hair with your fingers, kiss the top of their heads and rub their back. They were your older brothers, but behaved like hungry little kittens that needed their milk.

Always was a bit strange, as they weren’t always amicable. It took a long time, for Aemond, at least, to join in. It was mainly due to the fact that Aegon rarely left you alone, even if you were Aemond’s wife. Little by little, they learned how to warm up to each other, and sometimes to your request, they’ll kiss.

The suckling sounds are loud, almost obscene, as you feel both swallow each drop from your leaking milk. Aemond had probably been tasting it since the end of your pregnancy, yet it didn’t tire him at all. And Aegon? He was always hungry, and he suckled and his tongue lapped your breast, milking more and more.

You can feel how they swallow the milk, both eager. Aemond has a hand around your waist, as Aegon has his hand around your breast and squeezes it slightly as if to have more.

“Mummy” Aegon murmurs, pulling back as he looks at you, and he has wide purple eyes “are we being good?”

The reassurance is a must, you realise with time. “Yes, baby. You both are my good boys” you murmur, caressing the top of their head “Both of you, my best boys…”

They delight themselves in the praise; you hear Aemond’s faint moans, as you feel his body at ease. You caress the back of his head, feeling the loose hairs on your fingers.

It always made you feel the arousal settle in the lower part of your belly, and feeling so turned on you had to press your thighs together a bit. Aemond loved when your breast grew larger, and full of milk. Aegon was not behind that feeling, as he was the one to propose the idea to ‘help you with the heaviness of them’.

Aegon gulps on the milk like a glutton, and his eyes are closed in the delight of nursing. You feel his cock hardening little by little by your side. Aemond instead, looks at you. His eye is deep and intense, watching your face as his mouth is still working on your nipple, his tongue pressing against the nub getting more milk. His hand on your waist loosens up slightly, slowly moving down all the way to your stomach, and little by little, makes its way to your centre.

Aegon is oblivious to that, as he suckles and slurps loudly, with not a care for the world, nipping and licking all of the sweet milk that your breast can produce. He whines a bit, scooping closer and closer as he tries to get more and more.

“Doing such a good job for mummy, darlings…” You say to both, as you feel Aemond’s hand almost innocently brushing against your womanhood. “So good…” You murmur dreamily, sighing as Aegon nuzzles his face closer to your right breast, his nose brushing the skin as his mouth slightly presses a bit harder, eager for more.

They could feel you moving under their touch, almost possessive as they fed from you, keeping you right there at their mercy. The sound of your praise stirred something in both of them, yearning more of your affections, more of mummy’s affections.

Aemond is the first one to pull away from your breast, beginning to shift as his body moves higher, his mouth kissing all the way up to kiss you in the lips. You hum, feeling the taste of your own milk on his lips.

“Mummy” Aegon protests, not wanting to be left out as always, as he pulls away from your breast, an obscene sound from it as he moves his head to nuzzle your cheek, kissing lazily to keep on worshipping your body.

Aware of how his hand was still between your legs, Aemond pressed it harder against your core, rubbing more firmly. As if wanting to draw more sounds from you, Aegon moves his hand to grope softly, carefully your breast, not wanting to leave a part from you unattended.

“You are such good boys for me, always wanting to please me, hm?” You say, panting a bit from how good your husband's hands on your pussy feels.

“Yes mummy” Aemond murmurs, and Aegon nods in agreement.

It’s as if Aemond knows your thoughts, because he turns to watch Aegon, moving slightly his other hand to place it on the back of his neck, pulling Aegon closer to share a slow, yet passionate kiss between both of them.

They could feel the milky taste in the other’s mouth, and you could see how their tongues crashed against each other, making it as sloppy as possible as they made out for quite some time, as Aemond’s fingers tried to pry into your clit and pussy.

You know that at the beginning it was more to put on a show for you, for your delight that they agreed to do as well. If they enjoyed it, you could never know. But now it’s different, watching how they hungrily seek each other’s mouth, and if one tries to pull away, the other is quick to lean, following their mouth to keep on kissing.

It’s hot, to say the least, and it makes wonders for your arousal to see both of them kiss like this. You think, for a moment, if you could maybe propose the idea for them to follow this lust for each other further. Maybe for another occasion.

As Aemond’s lips move to kiss Aegon’s neck, you see how your baby seems so aroused, you could always see it clearly with Aegon, how his cheeks turned pinker and he had that blissful expression. You feel Aemond’s hand moving away from your core, and before you could ask anything, they both pulled away from each other.

Aemond probably murmured something in Aegon's ear, because they shared a look before the eldest slowly turned to you.

“Mummy, can we please you…? We wanna taste your pussy… please…” he asked, and you see how Aemond looks at you, awaiting your answer, as his hand caresses your thigh softly.

You caress Aegon’s thigh softly, as they both almost look at you with puppy eyes.

“Yes, my darlings. Please mummy with your mouths”

It does not take them long to accommodate between your legs, Aemond presses one hand to your left leg, keeping it still. Aegon does not bother to do the same for your left thigh, as he has other priorities.

You feel Aegon’s mouth first, his tongue tracing along her slit. Aemond moves his hand to the back of Aegon’s head, pushing his mouth further into your cunt, as the eldest savours your wetness. And at the sound of your moans, he doubles his efforts.

Then it’s Aegon who pulls your husband’s face down to join his mouth, both of them licking and sucking your wet cunt. You can see both of them, their cheeks pressed together as they pleasure you with their mouths at the same time, licking and slurping in unison.

“Fuck, f-fuck, gods…” you moan, your hips moving closer, grinding against his tongues, grabbing Aegon’s hair, short and easy to grab (unlike Aemond’s)

Aegon seems delighted at that, and you feel his tongue darting out to suck your clit eagerly, and you feel your jaw moving at the motion, and he whimpers with need. Aemond is, as always, focused as he slurps and sucks on her entrance, obscene sounds fill the room as his expert mouth works on you.

They both clearly relish both the taste and the privilege of having their faces buried between your thighs, moving to please you, and their tongues crashing together as they do so.

“Mummy, you taste so good” you don’t even recognise the sound, the sound muffled by the little space between his mouth and your folds.

“Fuck, so good…” the other agrees, and your legs tremble, as your hips try to get more and more of their wicked tongues.

Aegon is the one whining, you know that. As you pull his hair, you see his needy eyes looking at you. You press your heel on his back, as if pushing him closer to your cunt. He moans, closing his eyes as he goes back to feasting on your pussy.

Aemond moved to your clit now, and you can see how the sapphire glints on the dim lights. You imagine that both of their cocks are rock hard, throbbing impatiently.

Maybe it’s Aegon or Aemond (maybe both) the one who drools, while the muffled moans still come and go. You, on your side, are a mess, as you try to keep both of them close to you, feeling Aemond’s hand caressing your breast. Your pussy can’t take longer, and your hips grind against both of their faces, as you roll your eyes back and lean your head back in the pillows, as you feel your orgasm so close.

“Fuck, babies, so good for mummy, fuck…” you mean it, moaning loudly as you feel them whimper.

“Wanna make you cum so hard, mummy…” Aegon’s raspy voice is a bit clearer, as you clench on his hair.

“Hmmmm” Aemond hums, not separating one bit from your cunt.

As you start cumming, both of them press their mouth against your pussy, wanting to taste your cum as they try to be the one to get more. You are cumming hard, and their greedy tongues only fuel your orgasm even more.

Feeling your pussy quivering and pulsing around their tongues it's probably one of their favourite things, along with the rest of you. The feeling of your creamy juices made them greedy, and they share it all

Their faces are shiny with your arousal, and even when you retreat, they lick their lips as if wanting more. You can’t exactly see in the faces of your brother’s what they are thinking, but you feel tired to think about anything but the great orgasm you just had.

You are not exactly sure who started the kiss, but it's messy and sloppy, as you see their tongues sharing the last tastes of your cum, as their hands clenched to the other to keep him close, and keep on the passionate kiss.

It’s Aemond who groans, Aegon pressing his body to his, almost humping his cock to any part of your husband’s skin, who holds him close, one hand on his jaw and the other moving down to the eldest hips.

You move a bit, sitting better on the bed, yet your back still leans on the pillows, body relaxed as you accommodate to watch them devour each other as one does sit to watch men fighting in a tourney. But both of them were involved in different practices, which was a show for you to see and most importantly- enjoy.

You can see their tongues pressing together, their heads moving to not break the sloppy kiss, messy and passionate. They surely are doing this out of passion and lust, rather than rational thought, but you are not complaining.

Aegon’s hand comes to caress the firm abdomen of Aemond, like you enjoy doing. Your husband is a creature of many sides, and he can be as submissive as he can be dominant. He moves the hand on Aegon’s hip to grip his short hair, and keeps him in place to keep on kissing him.

“Aem… mummy” Aegon’s little whines come in a low tone, and a bit slurred, as Aemond does not give his mouth a break.

It takes you a while to notice that Aegon is using his hand to stroke Aemond’s cock, using the side of his thigh to hump and grind his own cock. He was needy, but he was too much of a needy baby to fight for dominance. Aegon relished on being submissive, either with you, or Aemond.

Aemond breaks their kiss, his head falling back to pant, groaning slightly as Aegon uses his hand on his cock. You know Aegon is the most lustful creature since he discovered pleasure, and he was always good with his hands.

“Mummy…” Aegon whines, wanting you to help him with his cock, and you move on your knees closer to where they were having this exchange of pleasure, because both of them wanted to cum very badly.

Your hands on Aegon’s cock make him go weak, whimpering as he leans closer to Aemond, moving his lips down on his body, his abdomen and the tip of his cock.

“Good boys, hm? You both are such good boys for mummy, pleasuring yourselves…” You say, that sweet tone of yours makes Aemond’s arousal explode.

“Fuck-” Aemond mutters, groaning and whimpering as he cums one of his hands moving to grip your shoulder, and as your hands stroke the eldest’s cock, your hand over stimulating movements on his cockhead, as if trying to replicate his tongue movements on Aemond’s tip.

Aegon is greedy, and he whimpers, still pleasuring Aemond, his hips bucking on your hand, as his own orgasm hits hard. Aemond is the one holding him, as your baby’s orgasm hits him hard, trying not to fall on the bed, panting loudly and whimpering.

He makes a little sound when you kiss him, wanting to taste Aemond’s cum on his tongue. It was delightful, and you feel his body melting on your touch. You feel how your other brother moves to caress the back of your head, nuzzling your shoulder and kissing it tenderly.

You could get used to this new dynamic, surely.

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