#and then she spends the rest of her life with just 1 of them

[decentwritings]

Chapter 1

Summary: At twenty-six, you never expected your life to look like this: a veteran, a college dropout, now running drugs to cover your late father’s debts. The military took you away for a brief moment, but now you're back in your hometown, keeping family at a distance to keep them safe. Your simple plan to clear the debt, one job at a time, unravels the moment Mabel steps into your life.

previous part <- -> next part

The man's voice echoes as you make your way to your truck. You're too focused on his words, the smirk on his lips as he says it.

"Like father, like daughter..."

You grip the car door handle, pulling it only to find it locked. You swore you unlocked it. You shake your head at yourself and unlock it this time, hopping in with the words still echoing.

The truck's interior feels suffocating, the familiar scent of worn leather and saltwater suddenly heavy. You slam the door shut, trying to drown out the memory of the man's mocking tone. He didn't know anything about you—just like everyone else in this town, he only saw the shadows of your father's choices lurking behind you.

You lean your forehead against the steering wheel, taking a deep breath. Your heart races, the weight of the night settling onto your chest. "Get a grip," you mutter to yourself, but the words offer little comfort.

You glance in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see him lingering behind, smirking like he just won some twisted game. But the street is empty, illuminated only by the flickering streetlights.

You start the engine, its rumble cutting through the silence. As you shift into gear, a sense of urgency drives you to leave this place behind. But then a flash of Mabel's smile crosses your mind, a light that momentarily pierces through the darkness that seems to follow you.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, torn between wanting to escape and wanting to stay. What if she finds out? What if she looks at you the same way he did?

What about your mother? Your sister? Your nephew? You have so many people relying on you—and the weight of their expectations feels heavier than ever. You can't afford to let them down, to bring them into the chaos that has consumed your family. You can't let them see you falter or break, not when they've already lost so much.

Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to focus on the road ahead, the dim glow of streetlights flickering past your window. The familiar sights of the town blur together, each one a reminder of what you're fighting to keep safe. You push the thought of Mabel aside, reminding yourself that friendships can't thrive in darkness.

You're in need of a swim. The last five days have been filled with work that you haven't had time to go for a swim in the ocean. You also have been avoiding it because you're afraid Mabel may be there.

It's been five days though. No one goes to the beach recurrently like you. You should be in the clear.

Your duffel bag hits the sand when you find the right spot. The sun is beginning its descent behind the horizon and you can't believe how beautiful it looks. It never ceases to amaze you how the sun setting looks. Especially when it tucks behind the horizon.

The swim is long but not long enough. The only reason you swim back to shore is to rest your arms, the ache in them stronger than your need to do another lap. You return back to your spot and plop down on your towel, eyeing the shimmering sand on your wet legs and feet. You're slightly out of breath and tired, but you needed that more than you care to admit. You know you can't spend too much time here. You have a feeling Rudy will come out here in search for you after your last run in.

"You've been avoiding me."

Ahh damn, you think, your head dropping the instant you hear her voice.

You pick at the sand on your legs, attempting to brush it off. "I'm not avoiding anyone," you say back, glancing over your shoulder to get a look at her. You let out a soft sigh, knowing you can't hide from her now. Mabel stands a few feet away, her silhouette framed by the fading light, the glow of the sunset casting a warm hue over her features. You can feel your heart racing despite the chill of the evening breeze.

"Your uncle says you come by here everyday," Mabel says as she makes her way over to you.

You glance up at her, feeling a mix of embarrassment and longing. "He tends to exaggerate. It's not like I have a set schedule or anything."

Mabel laughs softly, her eyes sparkling in the waning light. "Well, it seems like he knows you better than you think. It's kind of sweet, actually. He worries about you."

It is sweet. What is also sweet is she's checking in on you. Mabel, who you have only known for a few hours, is checking in on you. You haven't had anyone other than family check in on you. You lost touch with your military buddies the minute they returned to base. They didn't like you leaving in the middle of a rough time in America. You argued that the hard time in this country will never cease, but the hard time in your family can with your help. Conversations between you and them ended since then.

You swallow hard, the weight of her concern settling in your chest. "I appreciate that, really," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "But it's complicated."

Mabel takes a seat on the sand next to you, her presence warm and inviting. "Complicated how? You can talk to me, you know. I'm a good listener," she smiles, like there's more to her words that you are failing to understand.

You glance sideways at her, searching for any signs of insincerity, but all you find is genuine curiosity and kindness. It's disarming. "I guess... I haven't been in the best place lately. Things have been rough at home," you reach for the end of the towel you're sat on, using it to dry your feet.

Mabel nods, her expression softening. "I can relate. Everyone has their own battles, right? I mean, it's not like my life is perfect either."

"What do you mean?" you ask, genuinely curious. That and to avoid the conversation from being all about you.

"I'm in town for summer break," Mabel begins, scooping some sand into her hand. She carefully pours it between her hands back and forth. "I have my own place–I've had my own place since I was eighteen to get away from my mom but when I'm in town, she tries to reel me back into her shit."

You watch her, intrigued by the way she opens up, revealing pieces of herself like a puzzle you're eager to solve. "That sounds tough. What kind of stuff? If you don't mind me asking."

Mabel pauses, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sun is slowly dipping into the ocean. "Just...stupid stuff." She answers, and you decide not to ask for elaboration. If she wanted to share, she would have. "She has this way of making everything about her. I love her, but it's draining, you know? It feels like I'm always trying to help her when I really need to focus on myself."

You nod, understanding all too well the pressure that comes from familial obligations. "Yeah, I get that. It's hard to balance everything."

"Exactly," she says, turning to you with a spark of understanding in her eyes. "And then there's school, and trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. I mean, it took a while for me to even make the decision to apply to college. It can feel overwhelming."

You nod, remaining quiet, feeling the connection deepening.

Mabel sighs, running her fingers through the sand as if it could somehow sift away her thoughts. "I guess I just feel stuck sometimes, like no matter how far I go or what I accomplish, I'm still tethered to this place. To her. To the people."

You lean back on your hands, looking up at the sky as it shifts into twilight, stars beginning to peek through. You look at her, really look at her. You hadn't noticed it before, but she has more freckles than you previously thought. The denim shorts she has on and the soft, oversized sweater she's wearing make her seem even more at ease in this moment, despite the heaviness of her words. There's something about the way the fading light catches her freckles, her hair slightly tousled by the breeze, that makes you realize just how much she's been carrying. She looks...ethereal.

And you've never even used that word before.

"Where do you go?" You ask her, and she looks at you in silent question. "College, I mean. You said you're in town for summer break so that must mean you go to college out of state."

Mabel nods. "UMass. I used to go to Dartmouth but then I decided to aim for Amherst–and I got in." She answers, picking at a loose fabric on her shorts. Like she's embarrassed with what she says next. "Don't ask what I'm studying, though because I don't even know yet."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. "I wasn't going to ask. Honestly, when I first went, I had no idea what I wanted to study," you admit it, sitting up, dusting the sand off your hands. "Dropped out my second semester, though," you lift your hand to graze the necklace around your neck.

Mabel raises a brow. "Dropped out? What happened?"

"Got my heart broken, for starters," you begin, sighing as you remember the months before you joined the army. You miss the frown on Mabel's lips at your words, continuing. "And it was...all too easy. The classes and the homework, I mean. So, my grandfather, who had told me stories of his time in the Navy, said if education wasn't what I wanted to pursue, then to use the knowledge I had for something else."

Mabel remains quiet, allowing you to continue.

"I have a photographic memory," you confess, rubbing the pendant around your neck, feeling its familiar weight. You never shared that with anyone. Not even your ex. "It's been helpful in some ways, in high school when I learned how to really use it to my advantage," you finish, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability wash over you. "But after a while, it didn't feel like enough. Nothing really did."

Mabel tilts her head slightly, her eyes full of curiosity and something else—something softer. "That's a lot to carry," she says gently. "And I'm guessing the army helped distract you from all of that."

"Until it didn't," you shrug, recalling the times you returned home during leave, only to be greeted with indifference. No welcome party, no one even at the airport. You took a cab, and when you walked through the front door, your parents barely acknowledged your presence—like you hadn't just been in a war zone. Your sister, she wasn't any different.

"My parents didn't want me to join," you continue, sifting through the sand with your left hand. "Even shut out my grandpa because he managed to convince me. I had to hear from my captain that my grandfather passed–not from my family."

Mabel's expression hardens, a flicker of anger crossing her face. "That's fucked up," you glance at her at her firm tone, now aware of her demeanor. "I can't imagine how that felt; to find out like that."

You shrug, trying to downplay the weight of it. "I mean, it was what it was. I didn't expect much from them by that point anyway." The words feel hollow even as they leave your mouth, but it's easier to say that than to dwell on the hurt.

Mabel shakes her head, disbelief clear on her face. "Still... that's not something you should've had to go through alone. Your family's supposed to be there for you, especially with something like that."

You glance at her, surprised by the fire in her voice. There's a toughness in Mabel that matches the soft vulnerability she's shown tonight, and it intrigues you. She's been through her own battles, you can tell, and that makes her empathy feel real, not just empty words.

"Family's complicated," you murmur. "Sometimes, they're the ones who mess you up the most."

Mabel clenches her jaw, as if biting back a reply that hits too close to home. She exhales, shaking her head. "Yeah. But that doesn't make it okay. People think they can just push you around, try to control your life, and when you break away, they punish you for it."

Her words hang heavy between you two, the unspoken experiences she's not ready to share yet clear in her eyes. You look out at the horizon, the sky now dark, with only the faintest hint of twilight left.

The sun has fully hidden behind the horizon, the moon up in the sky with its toenail shape. You feel like a kid staring at it because with the discussion of your family, you vividly remember having trips to the beach with them and sitting here until the moon is in the sky.

That was when times were easy. You were innocent to everything going on in the world, in your family.

"I feel like this town only has pain," you find yourself saying, a flash of the dented "Welcome to Newbedford" sign coming to mind, the one you always passed when returning home. It seemed fitting, like the town itself was as broken as the people in it.

Mabel's gaze shifts to the moon, her expression softening just slightly. "Yeah." Her voice is low, almost a whisper. "Sometimes it feels like no matter where you go, the weight of this place follows you."

You glance at her, wondering just how much of herself she's trying to escape. She's resilient, strong-willed, but you can see now that there's a part of her tethered to this place just like you.

"It's like we're both trying to run from something," you say, not fully expecting her to respond.

Mabel nods slowly, as if she's been thinking the same thing. "But maybe... maybe we don't have to do it alone."

Her words hit you harder than you expected. For the first time in a long while, you feel understood, and in this small, fleeting moment, it's enough.

You hum, wiggling your toes and watch the dry sand fall off. You look at her and see it in her eyes, the pity in her eyes. She spoke with Rudy about more than just your trips to the beach and you know it.

"I'm a bad influence, Mabel," you say, shrugging to hide the hurt of how true the words are. "I'm a bad sister, bad daughter and I'll be a bad friend. Your best bet is to stay away. You look like you have it all figured out, or doing a good job of having it figured out. You shouldn't...waste your time on me. I'd just drag you into my mess, which is...dirty, for a lack of better word."

Mabel's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and concern. She leans closer, her voice firm yet gentle. "You don't get to decide how I handle my life or who I spend my time with. I see you trying, even if you don't."

You're stunned by how harsh her tone is. It's like this is a revelation for her—a breaking point where she's finally willing to stand her ground. You can't remember the last time someone pushed back against your self-deprecation like this, and it catches you off guard.

You look away, the weight of her words pressing against you. "I don't want to ruin your summer or make things worse for you. You deserve better than what I can offer."

"Maybe I don't want 'better,'" she shoots back, her tone almost teasing, though her eyes remain serious. You crack a small smile, the hint of a smile on her lips making you crack slightly. "Maybe I want real, and real is messy. We all have our battles. It doesn't make you a bad person; it makes you human."

You shake your head, feeling the ache of her honesty. "You don't know what you're getting into. I'm tangled up in things I can't just walk away from."

Or rather, don't want to, because you're scared of the consequences.

You want to tell her about your dad, how he ruined your family with his death. But it's not in you; because he may have been a stupid dumbass but he still raised you, taught you things you find valuable.

"I can't just let you in on all of that. It feels unfair to unload it on you when you have your own life to navigate," you admit, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of the truth you're holding back.

Mabel watches you intently, her expression softening. "You think I haven't been where you are? I've dealt with my share of darkness. I get it. I really do."

There's a silence that envelopes you both, and you notice her scoot over to brush her shoulder against yours.

"People deserve a chance to prove they are capable of more than what they are expected of," she whispers.

You shake your head, still defiant to this.

"Mabel, you don't even know me," you whisper, a whisk of wind blowing the silence away with your words.

Her gaze doesn't waver. "That's true, but I want to," she says, sighing quietly. "I've been in college for two semesters now and I feel like I've learned a thing or two about people. How to read them and how to understand the layers beneath the surface." She shifts closer, her shoulder brushing against yours once again as she continues, "You're not just a collection of mistakes or past choices. You're a person with history and dreams and everything in between."

You look at her, surprised by the depth of her insight. "Psychology," you say, raising a brow. She arches one back at you. "I remember reading something like that in my intro to psych class."

Mabel hums. "Photographic memory," she remembers and you can only nod. "Look, you're the girl who jumped into the ocean for some stranger's bag," she continues, her tone lightening with a hint of amusement. "That says something about your character."

You chuckle softly, brushing off her compliment. "It was just a bag. I couldn't let it drown."

"But it wasn't just a bag to me," Mabel insists, her voice firm yet playful. "It was my favorite bag! You saved it, and that speaks volumes. You're willing to go out of your way for others, even when you're struggling yourself."

You take a moment to absorb her words, the weight of them sinking in. You wrap your arms around your knees, the feeling to go back for a swim surfacing. You eye the waves, the darkness over them with the shimmer of the moon on the surface.

"Charlie didn't even jump in," Mabel says, bringing you out of your stupor. "And he's been trying to nonchalantly get us back together."

You whip your head to look at her. By your look, she laughs, nodding as she understands your silence.

"We used to date," Mabel shrugs, and you can't help but wonder what the idiot did to lose her. "We tried the long distance thing while he was here and I was in UMass–didn't work. I was too focused on wanting to get out, leave to never come back and he–well, he gave up a scholarship to stay in town with his brother to fish."

You quirk a brow, both impressed and bewildered by Charlie's decision. You didn't take the guy for someone to give up a scholarship. You actually saw him more as a fisherman than an Ivy League guy. Looks can be deceiving, you think.

"Wow, that's a big sacrifice," you say, trying to wrap your head around it. "I guess that explains why he's still here."

Mabel nods, her expression shifting slightly. "Yeah, he's a good guy, but... sometimes good isn't enough, you know? We just weren't on the same page. I needed to chase my dreams, and he was stuck here–or rather, choose this place over..."

You can hear it in her voice, see it on her face. He hurt her. He chose this place over her. The breakup may appear amicable but it hurt Mabel more than she cares to admit.

"I don't know," she admits, looking out at the ocean. "It's complicated. Part of me wants to see what's out there, but another part of me feels rooted here. It's a tug-of-war."

"Sounds familiar," you murmur, thinking about your own life and the choices you've made.

You feel sticky, icky even. The need for a swim is strong again, so you stand, surprising the girl beside you.

"I have a spare change of clothes," you start, stretching your back and cracking your neck. You're too lazy to stretch anymore so you extend your hand, the corner of your mouth tilting up into a small half smile. "Wanna go for a swim?"

Mabel stares up at you, her gaze flicking between your hand and your face, weighing the invitation. You can see the hesitation in her eyes, but there's also a spark of excitement.

"Are you serious?" she asks, her tone a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "You actually want to swim at night?"

"Why not?" you reply, a teasing grin spreading across your face. "The ocean is right there, and it's just us. Plus, it'll help wash away all the heavy stuff we've been talking about."

Mabel bites her lip, considering. You can tell she's torn between the comfort of staying on the beach and the thrill of diving into the unknown. Finally, she glances at the dark water, the moonlight dancing on its surface, and takes a deep breath.

She says something under her breath, you strain to hear it. You shake your head and kneel to ask her to repeat herself.

"I don't know how to swim."

You purse your lips, a laugh threatening to escape your lips. But the tint of color on her cheeks is noticeable thanks to the moon's light. So you inhale a breath and shrug.

A wave of empathy washes over you. "That's okay. We can just splash around in the shallow part, or I can help you if you want to go deeper."

She looks at you, like she's trying to read more into what you're saying or offering. You aren't sure how long it is you two just stare at each other; you do know you can spend however long she wants like this, because it feels right.

But then,

"Okay," she says, her voice steady now, determination shining through. She takes your hand, her grip surprisingly firm as she stands up beside you.

You turn your gaze back to the ocean, pretending to focus on the gentle lapping of the waves, though your heart races at the sight of her shedding layers. The cool night air contrasts with the warmth radiating from her skin, and you can't help but steal glances at her as she rolls her sweater up and over her head, revealing a simple tank top beneath.

As you reach the water's edge, the coolness envelops your feet, sending a shiver up your spine. You turn to Mabel, who's already stepping in, her laughter mingling with the sound of the crashing waves.

"How far out have you gone?" Mabel asks as you guys continue into the water, the waves hitting your thighs now.

You shrug, unsure of the furthest distance you've gone out. You never measure or pay attention. You usually pick your head up from under the water when you're out of breath, once you've caught your breath you go back to the shore then repeat the process. You once caught yourself floating on your back, you fell asleep and somehow wound up on the other end of the shoreline.

"Far enough to lose track of time," you reply with a grin, recalling that day you ended up at the other end of the beach. "I actually fell asleep once, just floating. Woke up way down the shoreline. Scared the hell out of me when I realized where I was."

Mabel's eyes widen in surprise. "You fell asleep? While floating in the ocean?"

You nod, feeling the cool waves brush against your legs. "It's peaceful out there, especially when you're alone with the water. Everything just... fades away."

She seems intrigued by your story, a curious gleam in her eyes. "That sounds terrifying and relaxing at the same time."

You laugh softly. "Yeah, it kinda is. But it's also freeing. It's like the ocean holds you up, lets you forget about everything weighing you down."

Mabel's gaze shifts to the dark horizon, her expression thoughtful. "I guess I could use a little of that," she murmurs, the weight of her own thoughts evident in her voice.

You watch her, as she dares to wander just a few inches ahead without you. She puts her hands in the water and lets a wave hit her arms. It's this scene before you, seeing her like this, that makes you decide.

"I can teach you," you speak up, earning her attention. "How to swim. I can teach you," you clarify.

Mabel nods, appearing grateful for the offer. "I'd like that," she laughs gently, a slightly bigger wave hitting her square in the face. She spits water out and stands straight, frowning at your chuckle. "Why didn't you warn me?"

You grin, unable to suppress your laughter as you watch her wipe the water from her face. "Hey, I thought you saw it coming!" you tease, shrugging innocently. "Besides, it's all part of the experience, right?"

Mabel rolls her eyes, but there's a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Sure, if getting slapped in the face by a wave is part of the lesson."

"Lesson one," you say, wading closer to her, "the ocean's unpredictable. You gotta stay on your toes. Literally."

She mimics you, lifting her toes just above the sand, her playful energy returning. "Got it. Stay on my toes and avoid surprise attacks from waves."

You nod in approval. "Exactly. Now, come on. Let's start with floating. It's the easiest way to feel like you're one with the water."

Mabel looks at you, unsure, but the trust is there. "Alright," she says, "show me how it's done."

You guide her a bit further into the water, positioning yourself beside her. The moonlight reflects off the waves, and for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you in the world. "Just lean back," you tell her softly. "I'll hold you up at first. Let the water do the rest."

She hesitates but then leans back into your hands, her body tense as she tries to relax. "You got me?" she asks, her voice a little shaky.

"I've got you," you assure her, your grip steady. "Now just...relax."

She struggles to actually relax. You laugh and grab her hands, softly calling her name.

"Mabel, you gotta relax," you say, and she sighs, the tension in her body more obvious than before. "Trust me. You trust me, right?"

There's no moment of hesitation.

Mabel takes a deep breath, her eyes searching yours in the moonlight. "I do," she says quietly, the sincerity of her words cutting through the gentle crash of the waves. She exhales, and you feel her start to let go, her body slowly surrendering to the water.

As she floats, the tension fades, leaving only the sound of the ocean and the steady rhythm of your breath. You release her gently, your hands hovering just beneath, ready to catch her if she falters. But she doesn't.

For a moment, it's perfect—just the two of you, suspended in the vastness of the ocean, under the stars.

You smile to yourself, feeling the weight of the past few days lift ever so slightly, as if the sea itself is helping to carry it.

And maybe, just maybe, you think, this is what it feels like to let someone in.

Once the first lesson is done, you both return to your towel. You may have had extra clothes but you didn't have an extra towel. So you bundle up together, wrapping the towel over your shoulders, squishing together under it.

"You're not such a bad influence after all," Mabel says, her head falling onto your shoulder. You can't control the smile that forms on your lips, looking down at her in silence.

The waves lap, and you're grateful for your photographic memory; having this moment etched into your brain forever.

~~~~

taglist: @nwestra

[carefulfears]

how do you see mulder leaving in season 9? scully giving up william? how do they deal with these things? (their guilt, resentment, futility, etc)

i know i have a realllllllly unpopular opinion on all of this but as i've said recently, i just don't think there's anything easier on earth to convince mulder of than "things are safer if you're not here."

i usually come back to doggett's confusion in the beginning, the way he keeps asking and arguing and scully just keeps saying "he's gone" and shutting it down, until the end of the premiere when he realizes: "oh my god. it was scully. scully made him go."

god, it's sad. it's hard to talk about. i teared up trying to write this, as much as i am fonder of the storyline than most. i don't find it unrealistic or out of character or unfitting of the narrative. it doesn't mean i don't feel it's heartbreaking. i have such a hard time thinking of mulder missing that baby. not even having the chance to put up a fight, walking back into empty rooms. the show as a tragedy, finding your burden again, etc. the x-files as the gap between teary smiles at baby kicks to screams in a jail cell. as what it was in the beginning: unknowable answers to insurmountable grief.

and i just think about mulder's dramatic emails, writing that he doesn't think he can survive being away from them. spender looking at the baby and telling scully he's heard "so much" about him. mulder being tortured by soldiers, saying he's just thinking about his son. keeping 1 baby photo for 15 years. "i just missed both of you so much."

scully's fertility treatments and her prayers and her tears and her "last chance" and her miracle. and how deeply unfair it is, what happened to her. i don't think a single one of us could say what we could do if people kept breaking into our homes to suffocate a child we were still nursing. she didn't ever want to do it alone, that was never the plan.

but scully desperately wants to keep everybody safe. she thinks she’s keeping everybody safe. it’s hard to be starbuck. it's this conflict i keep talking about recently where you really start to notice how controlled she is by fear, how difficult it is for her to balance it all. my favorite visual on this is the gate at the house in i want to believe: every day the way she pulls up to it, gets out, opens it, pulls through, stops, gets out, closes it. repeat in reverse. and then she comes home and she says "the truth is, i worry about you." and that he's too isolated. turns around and shuts the door, leaves the house and locks the gate.

i wrote a bit a few weeks ago about scully's protectiveness and it made me think about what a trap it can be, how defending lends to fear and fear lends to defeat. to standing in a church 25-years deep and saying "i failed." in the tags of that post i asked "could they ever recover from her exiling him from being with their child because she was afraid it would kill him?" and said i don't know. and i don't, i don't know.

but i think there's something so brave in saying: i did the best i could, and maybe that wasn't right. it's why ghouli is one of my favorite episodes. scully sobbing to her son that she's sorry. she's sorry he doesn't know them. she wanted him, they loved him. "i was trying to keep you safe. i hope you know that." and she thought she was being strong, but maybe she was wrong.

things don't always shake out the way you want them to. it was always mulder that called their son a miracle, and mulder doesn't believe in miracles. mulder believes in the world, and the search, and the after.

[orcelito]

There's also the impulse to be like "women ain't shit" but that's a lie I love our women. Not women as a whole's fault that one of them turned out a selfish bastard of a coward.

I just need to find a woman who doesn't treat me like That. Get me a good butch. I need me a good butch.

[skrunksthatwunk]

playing dmc1 with my earbuds in (but on low volume bc they're being weird) while my roommate and her shitty bf argue. i feel like i'm recreating the very specific experience of some child of divorce out there

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[luxaofhesperides]

the beginning - danny

0.

The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.

The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.

Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.

Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.

Did I get stabbed?

He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.

Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.

1. So.

Assassins.

Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.

And Danny, somehow, is a child again.

This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.

He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.

Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.

He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.

At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.

Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.

It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.

Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.

Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.

So, he needs a plan for this new life.

Step one: get out of dodge.

The rest he'll figure out on the way.

2.

Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.

No, that honor goes to superheroes.

Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!

To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.

Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.

It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.

Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.

At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.

When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.

It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.

Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.

He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.

His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.

Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.

That's all he really wants.

3.

Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.

If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.

But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.

And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.

Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.

"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.

"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"

"You can't stay here!"

"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"

His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.

Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.

The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.

"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.

"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."

He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.

Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.

When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.

At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.

4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.

No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.

It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.

His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.

He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.

Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.

If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.

He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.

But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.

He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.

The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.

If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.

It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.

"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."

"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."

They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.

He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.

The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.

5.

It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.

He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.

Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.

So.

Isolation sucks.

But at least they don't drug him anymore!

The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.

There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.

Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?

But no.

No one ever comes to save them.

So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.

He just needs to wait.

He just needs—

6.

When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.

He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.

…Huh.

The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.

There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.

He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.

But if it does work…

The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.

All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.

It's almost like coming back to life.

He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.

Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.

He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.

There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.

Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.

"Ellie?"

7.

Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.

No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.

Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."

She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.

Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.

This is Ellie.

She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.

She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.

She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.

Danny will never be able to give her that.

But maybe he can give her to someone who can.

8.

Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.

Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.

Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.

Danny's father, on the other hand…

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.

It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.

The most important thing being that he has kids.

Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.

Okay. Cool.

Danny has siblings.

Awesome.

He's… not looking forward to those conversations.

At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.

But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.

9.

Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.

A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.

She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.

Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.

The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.

On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.

"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.

Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.

"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.

"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."

"But it is," Danny whispers.

Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."

"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."

"What for?"

"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."

10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.

Then he takes off his mask.

Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.

"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."

"I did. Are you…?"

"Mother told me about you."

So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.

"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."

"I was born to replace you."

Just like Ellie.

So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.

"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"

Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"

"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."

Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.

"Wait, what about—?"

When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.

It's for the best.

(masterpost for all parts)

[berryz-writes]

Blue

Azriel x reader

Summary: There's a large contrast between the warm and gentle Az you get to enjoy versus the cold and quiet demeanour he reserves for others

Note: FIRST FULL WEEK I HAVE THINGS PLANNED OUT FOR. this isn't entirely my favourite but fuck it we ball <33 enjoy lovelies

@azrielappreciationweek day 1

The kitchen is a warm, flour-dusted haven, filled with the sweet scent of sugar and vanilla as Azriel leans over my shoulder, watching me whisk the batter with an amused glint in his eyes.

“You know,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my neck, “you could just let me do that.” He slips his arms around my waist, pulling me gently against him. “Your hands might get tired.”

I laugh, nudging him with my elbow. “I think I can handle a little whisking.” I turn to face him, catching the soft, rare smile that lights his face, the one that only appears when it’s just us. I lean up, brushing a light kiss to his lips, and feel him pull me closer, his fingers resting at the small of my back.

“Hmm,” he hums, deep and quiet, his lips lingering just a moment longer. “You taste like sugar.”

“You’re distracting me,” I say, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“Good,” he replies, his voice low. His gaze drops to the cupcakes cooling on the counter, and he raises an eyebrow. “They’re missing something.”

“Exactly,” I sigh, surveying the icing jars and realizing I’ve run out of the last colour I need. I hesitate, glancing at him, knowing he’s had a long week of missions and should probably be resting. But he just tilts his head, a patient smile on his face, like he already knows what I’m about to ask.

“Could you pick up more icing for me?” I ask, brushing a bit of flour off his cheek, unable to hide my smile. “Please?”

He chuckles softly, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “Anything for you.” There’s a gentle warmth in his eyes, a soft devotion that melts me from the inside out.

As he steps back, he squeezes my hand. “Save a few for me?”

“All of them,” I reply with a grin, watching as he heads to the door, wings stretching wide in the golden afternoon light. He gives me one last look before taking off, a dark silhouette against the sky.

Azriel's POV

Flying over the city, my mind lingers on her, the soft warmth of her laugh, the way her eyes light up when I walk into the room. She’s goddess incarnate, far too perfect for me.

The cold air rushes past as I fly, enjoying the time to stretch out my wings to their fullest.

But halfway through my journey, I feel Rhysand’s voice slip into my thoughts, quiet and laced with urgency.

Azriel, we have a guest in the dungeons. I need answers from him if you're available, it's urgent

I think about his words. Maybe if it had been a few months ago Rhys wouldn't have added the part of me being "available" knowing I was waiting at the chance to distract my mind. But ever since y/n walked into my life it was getting easier and easier to spend days doing nothing except enjoy her company. No torture sessions. No constant dagger sharpening. Just time spent with her.

Fine.

Was the simple reply I gave. It would only take a few minutes of my time.

The warmth I felt just minutes ago fades as I turn, heading down toward the underground jail, where shadows and silence reign. My shadows coil tighter around me, sharper, attuned to the work at hand as I descend into the dim halls of the dungeon.

The heavy door creaks open, and I step inside to find the prisoner chained to a chair, his gaze faltering as he meets mine. He tries to summon some defiance, but I can see the fear flicker beneath it, his breaths shallow as my shadows drift closer, surrounding him in darkness. This won’t take long.

I approach him slowly, letting each step echo off the stone walls. Leaning forward, I let my voice drop to a low, controlled murmur, knowing how much more effective a whisper can be. “Let's make this quick. Tell me everything you know"

I didn't have to elaborate on what I meant by everything. He knew what I was here for and I would get it one way or another.

He’s silent at first, eyes darting, and I can see him calculating his options. But there’s no fight in him, not against what he senses I’m capable of. My shadows close in, tightening like a noose around him, each word I speak dripping with cold intent.

After a slow drag of my dagger down the column of his neck the information begins to spill out, fast and frantic. I listen carefully, never blinking, absorbing each detail.

No need for lost blood; I extract every piece with surgical precision, each question laced with the promise of what could happen if he resists. Soon, he’s left shuddering, broken, and silent.

I silently thank the cauldron he didn't make this difficult otherwise I would have to clean up before getting to my wife and the thought of keeping her waiting was not something I enjoyed.

Before I leave, I pause, tilting my head as I look down at him with one last, almost casual question. “Pick a colour.”

His face twists in confusion, fear giving way to bewilderment. “Uh… blue,” he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

I give him a curt nod, acknowledging his choice before I turn and leave him to the shadows that linger. As I step into the fresh air aboveground, I make my way to a small shop, selecting a container of bright blue icing, a flash of colour that feels strange against the cold efficiency of what I’ve just done.

When I arrive home, I find her at the counter, surrounded by stacks of sweet heaven. She lights up as she sees me, her eyes crinkling with happiness. "Az! Thank you my love" she says, taking the container and pressing a warm kiss to my cheek.

I'd be lying if i said I didn't melt.

But then she pauses, glancing at me, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. “What took so long?”

I shake my head, not wanting her to worry “You don’t need to worry” I murmur, my voice gentle. “Rhys just needed something done”

She watches me closely, as if weighing my words, a knowing look in her eyes. But she doesn’t press. Instead, she smiles softly, letting her fingers brush over mine as she returns to her cupcakes.

I linger there, watching her work, feeling the lightness return to my chest as I settle back into the life we share. She doesn’t push, and I’m grateful.

With her I feel like life is worth living.

note: should have azriel year tbh

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun (Part III)

Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 10.1 K

Warnings: Whole lotta smut in the beginning, secret relationship, Aegon being an ass

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

~~

The two of them quickly became insatiable. 

Aemond soon forgot what his life was like before he had tasted her, before he had heard the sweet sounds of her pleasure, before he had felt the velvet perfection of her walls hugging his cock. 

He had thought he had bewitched him as children, but now, he knew he was truly under her spell. 

He spent every waking moment finding excuses to find her in any dark corner he could, spending every spare moment reveling in the bliss her open arms provided. 

Their afternoons together in the library were now spent with her bent over the table, his punishing hips leaving him to cover her mouth with his hand, his head buried in her shoulder to smother his own noises of ecstasy as they succumbed to their pleasure. 

Every feast was cut short as they slithered away from the prying eyes of the crowd, ending up in the secret halls to find solitude, her legs wrapped around his lithe waist as he pressed her against the hard stone wall behind her, her moans flowing freely as he fucked her hard. 

He was completely uninhibited, his own groans of pleasure filling the space, her name tumbling from his lips, his head spinning as he thrust inside her with an urgency unknown to him. He never thought he’d be this unhinged, this crazed, but it was what she did to him. 

He watched eagerly, as her eyes rolled back, her lips parted with each of her beautiful noises of bliss. He couldn’t believe that he was the one to do this to her. He watched, his eye wide with wonder as he brought her to a leg-shaking peak, his name yelled out into the empty halls, like she couldn't get enough.

He couldn't believe he was lucky enough to be with her like this, to hold her and touch her until she cried in the most beautiful way possible. 

He never wanted to stop, he never wanted his time with her to end. 

He was eager to take whatever time with her he could. 

His hours of training were cut short when he spotted her on the balcony, the sight of her playful smirk all he needed to be swayed, practically tossing his sword down as he gave Ser Criston a flimsy excuse before leaving abruptly. 

She’d be waiting for him in his chambers, the laces of her corset already undone. It would take little effort to rip the rest away. 

He learned to savor her, despite the fire that raged through him every time he touched her soft skin, he learned he loved taking his time with her. He loved to bury his face between her thighs, tasting her sweet nectar, feeling her writhe under him, her lovely cries echoing through his room as he brought her to climax over and over again. 

He loved the way her fingers tangled and pulled at his hair, he loved watching her back arch off his sheets, how her breasts heaved with each of her panting breaths and whining cries. 

But most of all, he loved when she moaned his name. 

Whether it was with his fingers, his tongue, or his hard cock that pounded into her relentlessly, he would do whatever it took to make her scream his name. 

But his love was an explorer, it was in her nature. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when she flipped the script on him. 

He had just brought her to a third, leg-quivering peak with his tongue, when her moans turned to laughs, the mischief twinkling in her eyes, stirring his desire even further, his cock so hard he was practically throbbing under her gaze. 

She flipped him to his back as if he weighed nothing. He had watched, entranced by the goddess in his bed as she climbed atop him. He let out a loud, keening cry as she sank down on him. 

She wasted no time, not one to deny her darling Aemond his pleasure, as she grinded against him rhythmically, her head falling back to her shoulders, her panting breaths growing louder as she rode him with fervor.

Though it was no match for the noises coming from her lover below her. 

She had never taken control like this and it was driving him insane. His hands clutched to her hips desperately, his eye glassy as he watched her divine body atop him, her hips moving with a fierceness that left him breathless.

Each slam of her hips against his choked a cry out of him, sounding more desperate with each brutal thrust of her punishing yet perfect hips. 

He had never experienced anything like it before. 

It was easy to lose control with her. Only a few moments later, his body stiffened, his head thrown back onto the pillow below him, a loud cry of ecstasy escaping him as his back arched, his body writhing beneath her. 

She laughed in delight, pride coursing through her at the pleasure she was able to pull from a dragon, a god amongst men. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- fuck.” He panted, throwing his arm over his eyes as he fought to catch his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears, stars bursting behind his closed eye. 

She giggled and leaned down, beginning to plant kisses across his heaving chest. 

“We’re doing that again.” She crooned, making him groan, both in delight and agony.

“I’ll need a minute before I can feel my legs.” He laughed. 

Neither one of them could fathom the bliss they found together. 

They couldn’t get enough.

A loud rumble of thunder woke her one morning, a soft moan sounding as she stretched, a smile coming to her lips as she felt a blissful ache between her legs. Her face twisted with sleepy confusion as her foot nudged against something solid under her sheets and she soon became aware of the arm that lay over her waist. 

She looked over her shoulder, both delight and fear coming to her in an instant.

While she was beyond happy to wake up beside her love, to have been wrapped in his arms the entire night, they were playing a dangerous game and they couldn’t give the maids any reason to spread gossip.

“Aemond.” She groaned tiredly, pushing at his shoulder to wake him. 

He let out a low noise of discontent as he was woken from his sleep. His arm tightened around her and he nuzzled in closer to her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, placing sweet kisses that made her insides flutter.

“You weren’t supposed to stay the night.” 

He would hold her as she fell into her slumber, but was always cautious enough to leave while it was still dark, ending up in his own bed before the sun rose and the members of the Keep woke. 

“I couldn’t help it.” He spoke, his voice raspy with sleep, stirring desire within her. “You looked so beautiful while you slept, I couldn’t bear to leave your side.”

She rolled her eyes as a soft laugh escaped her. 

“You’re still such a charmer.” 

“Only for you, my love.” He crooned and titled her chin towards him so he could kiss her properly. 

They both quickly lost themselves to their desires. No care was given to the fact that others would be awakening, that an entire world existed outside the bed, an outside world that could destroy them.

None of it seemed to matter to them.

Aemond had kissed her until they were breathless then turned her onto her stomach and hauled her to her hands and knees. Their shared moans as he sank into her were loud, much louder than he would’ve been comfortable with this time of day if had any sense left to give.

His hips moved with precision, thrusting his cock inside her with growing need, as if it wasn’t enough, as if he needed to be closer to her still. Even inside her, it wasn’t enough. 

He gripped her hips tightly, his eyes shut tightly as the pleasure overtook him. His panting breaths grew louder, his desire growing with each passing second, every one of her whining moans and pleas lighting his body with a fire that was becoming all too familiar with her. 

He growled as she bounced her hips back onto him, his blunt nails scratching at her skin, his jaw falling slack with a loud moan, their morning love making quickly turning into something much more animalistic and desperate than either had intended. 

It was so unlike what their usual early morning rendezvous were. There were no quiet, shared kisses or gentle wandering hands that carressed and worshiped every inch of each other. 

“Aemond!” She cried out, her head dropping between her arms, her voice growing raspy as her cries became louder, only encouraging his flaming lust. 

He grunted and quickened his pace, the headboard beginning to slam against the wall behind the bed, his moans becoming louder, suddenly thankful for the raging storm outside that provided cover for their noise. 

“That’s it, love, just like that.” He growled, his resolve slipping from him faster than he could recognize. 

Her moans became louder, sending goosebumps across his skin.

“Come for me, my love.” 

His growled words were all she needed to bring her close to her end. With only a few swipes of his fingers against his clit, his expert hands knowing exactly how to play her, like a musician with their treasured instrument, she was helpless against his touch.

She shuddered under him, a cry of his name ripped from her throat as he brought her to her peak. Her sweet sounding whines echoed throughout the room. 

Aemond grit his teeth, the tightening around his cock forcing him to lose all sense of control. He pounded into her relentlessly, cursing and grunting as he fucked her like an animal, as if she wasn’t the most precious thing to him. 

A string of Valyrian left him, cursing the power her body held over his own and praying to never lose her devotion all at once. A loud shout left him as he came, his body tingling with ecstasy as he practically collapsed against her, his limbs left feeling weak, his entire body spent, his mind spinning. 

“Fuck.” He whispered breathlessly, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “You are perfection, issa prūmia.”

They were both trembling and aching, reeling with bliss, pleasure ringing in their ears.

“You should go before my maids come.” She said, her voice still breathless and raspy from the cries he had pulled from her.

“One more minute.” He mumbled, moving with a groan to lay beside her and quickly gathering her into his arms. 

He kissed the top of her head, letting his eye fall closed, taking in the peaceful final moments he would get with her until the cover of night. 

They both found it difficult to hide what was between them. The smiles they shared as they passed each other would be subject to scrutiny now that they were no longer children. The time they spent together, while not unusual, was looked at with a cautious lens, the Lords and Ladies of the court whispering about their closeness.

It was hell to pretend they were still nothing more than childhood friends. 

The days spent in the garden, surrounded by curious eyes looking for gossip were torture for them both. Aemond longed to reach out to her, to brush the hair from her face the wind would carry. He longed to take her hand in his, he longed to sit closer, to feel her body against his. He longed to kiss her after each sweet nothing she cheekily dared to whisper in the broad daylight. 

But they would never risk what they had. 

Though there was nothing they could do about the rumors that spread about the way they looked at each other.

There was nothing they could do about the love that lingered in their gazes towards each other. 

Whispers of an impending betrothal were all the court could talk about. Even with the fierce scowls Aemond sent to the groups of whispering Ladies, it did little to stop the incessant gossiping.

It soon reached the ears of the Master of Coin. The Lord of Ixtal hadn’t exactly been shocked when he heard the rumors, he was only confused as to why his own daughter hadn’t disclosed anything to him. 

He knew about her friendship with Aemond, but she had never told him of any deeper feelings. He sought her out one night after dinner with the King. 

He was making his way to his daughter’s chambers when he caught sight of her roaming the halls just a few turns from her room. 

“Darling?” He called out to her, causing her to stop in her tracks, a brief look of horrified shock crossing her features before she quickly schooled her expression. “Where are you headed to at this hour?”

She panicked internally for a brief moment, as if her father could know with one mere look at her that she was headed to find her secret lover to do things their Septa’s from years past would have lashed them for. 

“I was going to say goodnight to Helaena’s twins. I promised I would read them a bedtime story.” The lie fell from her tongue too easily, her stomach twisting with nerves as her father eyed her carefully, as if catching onto her lie. 

He nodded slowly and she had to force herself not to breathe out dramatically in relief that her cover story had been solid enough.

“Why don’t we break our fast together tomorrow? I feel as though I’ve scarcely seen you as of late.” 

She nodded eagerly, desperate to be out from under his gaze, no matter how innocent it was. The guilt she felt along with the enormous secret she harbored was enough to drive her to insanity. 

“I’ll see tomorrow, Darling.”

“Goodnight.” She spoke swiftly, pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek and sidestepping him, continuing on her path down the hall, taking a sharp left towards Helaena’s chambers instead of the right turn that would’ve taken her to the library where Aemond was waiting for her. 

She entered the Princess’ chambers, giving her friend a warm smile.

“Hello.” Helaena greeted her happily. “I wasn’t expecting you here tonight.”

She shrugged, attempting to not let her anxieties show. 

“I haven’t seen you much today. I thought I should stop in to say goodnight.” She took a seat next to her friend, smiling softly at the children at her feet playing with their toys. 

“Was Aemond not available?”

She blanched, Helaena’s blunt words striking fear within her like an arrow. Her wide eyed stare met her friend’s unwaveringly calm smile. 

“We- Aemond and I-”

“You make him happy.” Helaena spoke warmly, her attention moving back to the embroidery in her hands, as if she hadn’t just shaken her friend to her core. “I’m glad he found you before it was too late.”

She gaped at the Princess. It wasn’t unusual for Helaena to speak things that made little sense to others or things so mysterious it left a chill down your spine, but this was something else entirely. 

She cleared her throat and turned her attention to the twins, asking if they would like to hear a bedtime story. She could at least follow through with her lie to her father. She spent the next twenty minutes corralling the quiet children to their beds, her heart bursting with love as they watched her eagerly, hanging onto her every word as she told them tales of her home, of the beautiful animals that lived in the jungles of Ixtal. 

She pictured herself, sometime in the future, telling tales to her own children who had heads of silver hair just as their father did. The thought made her heart leap excitedly. 

Once the children were tucked into bed, fully satisfied with her many stories, she felt Helaena’s hand on her shoulder, a touched twinkle in her eyes. 

“He’ll be waiting for you.” 

The Princess’ whispered words said much more than anyone else could comprehend. Her insinuated approval, that she knew just how much her brother meant to her, had a weight leaving her shoulders she didn’t even know had been holding her down. 

No matter what Helaena knew of what she had with Aemond, she approved and that was all that mattered. 

With a parting kiss to Helaena’s cheek, she left her chambers, heading back to her own, wondering what she’d tell Aemond of his sister’s strange words. 

She stepped into her chambers, her heart jumping at the sight of a figure by her window. She placed a hand over her chest, whispering a quiet curse as she quickly recognized the silver hair that gleamed in the moonlight.

“Gods, don’t do that. You scared me.” She spoke quietly, looking behind her to ensure the door was closed behind her. 

Aemond was stepping towards her in an instant, his face hardened slightly.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

She let out a long breath, holding onto his arms that wound around her waist. 

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t show, I thought…” He trailed off, his eye alight with uncertainty that made her chest ache. 

She reached out, her hand resting at his cheek, the affectionate gesture making his tense body relax. She didn’t understand how after so many years of friendship and weeks of making love he still could have doubts for what her heart longed for. 

“I ran into my father.” She explained to him. “I thought he might be suspicious, so I went to Helaena’s room. I didn’t want him to follow me straight to you. God’s if he had caught us-” She stopped abruptly, shivering at the thought. 

Aemond blew out a breath, a guise of laughter. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting or to make you worry.” 

He just shook his head, looking back at her with reverence, as if he could finally be at ease now he was gazing upon her. 

His arms tightened around her, his closeness making her smile, though it was strained. She thought of her father, the awkwardness their interaction held, something that had never existed with him. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Aemond asked, sensing the turmoil within her, looking at her with concern.

“I hate lying to him.” 

Aemond sighed, he didn’t exactly have the same reservations about lying to his family like she had, he certainly didn’t have the love and affection for his father that she had with her own, but he saw how it ate away at her. 

“I know, my love.” 

They both knew they couldn’t risk what they had getting ripped away from them. On a good day, the only thing the King seemed to remember was his first daughter. They couldn’t take a request to him, not while Otto pulled the strings. 

Aemond gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly as they both longed for a day where they didn’t have to hide.

~~

In an effort to keep up appearances, they decided to put some distance between them, at least while in public. At the feast for the Queen’s nameday, she didn’t sit next to him or his family, she didn’t dance with him, though that was not a common event now that they were no longer children. 

Aemond sat at the head table, a permanent scowl etched on his face. 

He watched with barely contained resentment the crowd that had gathered around her and her father. The Lord of Ixtal was too charismatic for his own good. Any Lord and their son that greeted the revered Master of coin soon turned their attention to his beloved daughter, offering well wishes and not so subtle inquiries into her eligibility for marriage.

Aemond couldn’t stand it. 

He was powerless to do anything but watch. He noticed the way she would shift uncomfortably in her seat under the compliments bestowed upon her. He wanted nothing more than to march straight to her, take her hand and whisk her away from it all. 

Proprietary be damned, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

His leg bounced beneath the table, every inch of him portraying how much he hated every part of the celebration. He took a long swig of his wine, wincing slightly at the taste. He thanked the Gods every day that he never achieved his brother’s proclivities for the drink, but he didn’t think he could endure the rest of the night without something to dull his senses. 

His eyes fell to her table once more and suddenly sat up straighter when his gaze locked onto hers. The small smile she sent him, the noticeable annoyance on her face that conveyed she hated this just as much as he did, made his lips twitch upwards. 

His entire demeanor changed. With just one look at her, the scowl on his face eased, no longer the look of pure dread and contempt. 

Though it did not last long. 

He surveyed the crowd of dancing couples, an inkling of shame creeping upon him as he thought of how long it had been since he had danced with his love. It had been years, surely. He had outgrown the childish act, but he couldn’t help but long for those nights of innocent twirling, remembering how he had never laughed as hard as when they were hand in hand, spinning around the room like the two care-free children they had been.

The good feeling in his heart crumbled instantly as he noticed her familiar head of hair among the crowd. A strange, clenching feeling unfurled in his stomach as he leaned forward, internally cursing the other couples that were in his line of sight.

As the couples twirled in their practiced steps, she was revealed, hand in hand with Jasper Wylde’s son, locked in an embrace as they danced. 

Something within Aemond sparked, a certain kind of rage he hadn’t felt in a long time. His fists clenched, his jaw tightening as his teeth grinded, growing angrier with each second he watched her dance with that fool. 

It didn’t matter that she had no beaming smile to give, that there was no affection within her eyes, that she moved stiffly and mechanically. Aemond didn’t seem to notice any of it, all he could comprehend was that his love was in another man’s arms, dancing with him the way he refused to, the way he couldn’t under the prying eyes of the court. 

It was the moment the Wylde son leaned in, whispering something in her ear, his lips so close to hers, that he knew he had reached his limit. He had to leave before he made an enemy of the Master of Law by murdering his son.

He stood from his chair and made his way out of the room with a determination that left many to give the feared Prince a wide berth. It wasn’t uncommon to see the one-eyed Prince stomp away in a fury, but it still struck fear into the hearts of those who were in his path. 

He made his way into his chambers, his body thrumming with an energy so volatile, so uncomfortable, he contemplated dragging Ser Criston out to the training yard so he could take a few whacks at him to unleash his anger.

He breathed deeply, his hands clenching onto the back of a chair, his head hanging as the blood in his veins sung with the desire to enact violence, to prove to everyone that they couldn’t take what was his, that they shouldn’t dare to try to take his love away from him. 

The sound of his door opening had him flinching, quickly turning on his heel, ready to strike at anyone who would be daft enough to disturb him. His shoulders slumped at the sight of her, the knowing look on her face forcing him to release a long breath, his fury brimming to a petty anger he wouldn’t be quick to part ways with.

“What are you doing here?”

She wanted to roll her eyes at his tone. “I saw you storm out.”

“I’m surprised you noticed. You looked rather busy with that Lord leeching off you.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised her night would turn to this. She knew what she was in for the second the man asked her for a dance. 

“He asked me to dance in front of his father and mine. I couldn’t very well say no.”

“No?”

“Aemond.” She admonished impatiently. “The entire reason we stayed apart tonight was to quiet the rumors. You know what would happen if I refused to dance with him, what everyone would say.”

“I think you’re giving the court too much credit.”

The words, one she had said to him all those weeks ago, when he was the one worried about appearances, now thrown back at her made her want to grab his arms and shake him until that complicated brain of his rattled around enough to find some sense. 

She breathed deeply, forcing herself to stay calm because it was clear the man before her would not be exercising the same caution. 

Stepping towards him, she took her hands in his, speaking his name softly when he refused to look at her. 

“After all this time, do you truly still not see it?” 

His eyes drifted to hers slowly, the gesture almost meek, so unlike the fierce dragon rider she knew him to be. She reached out, taking his face in her hands and leaned forward, placing a kiss to the patch that covered his sapphire eye. 

The gesture disarmed him completely, the anger pulled out of him as swiftly as a sword exits the body in a fateful final move. 

He let out a shuddering breath, his hands finding their home on her waist. He looked at her, his gaze now sheepish, embarrassed that he had directed his anger towards her, the only one who never deserved it. 

“You are the only man I want.” She assured him. “No matter who I dance with, no matter who engages me with petty conversations, they will never be the one who has my heart. I only think of you.”

“There are others you’ve danced with?”

The smirk on his face, the assurance the comment was made without anger and purely to poke at her in a way only he could, made her laugh, the sound making him smile. She pushed at his chest.

“You are insufferable.”

He wrapped his arms around her tighter, keeping her pressed against him as she weakly struggled against his embrace, her laughter constant. Her giggles soon turned to shrieks of delight as he began to press playful kisses down the length of her neck. 

He felt healed by the sound, with the feel of her in his arms, right where she should be. She was the only one he could be this way with, she was the only who accepted him as he was. 

He leaned into her, ceasing his teasing kisses, the look in his eye more serious as he gazed at her lovingly.

“I don’t think there are enough words in any language to tell you how much I love you.” He told her. 

“I know the feeling.” 

The admiration, the pure love in her eyes melted him from the inside out. He couldn’t waste another second and crashed his lips to hers, content to never leave the haven that was her kiss for the rest of the night.

He was still amazed by her ability to calm him, to soothe every negative feeling within him, even after all these years. 

His time spent with her was his only reprieve from the things in his life he despised. 

He had come to her chambers one afternoon, particularly eager, his emotions running high after a gathering with his family. She wasn’t sure if it had been his mother’s incessant ramblings of Rhaenyra’s negligence, his grandsire’s continued lectures about his duty and his need to marry soon, his father’s dismissiveness, or if it were Aegon’s general presence that put him in such a mood, she didn’t have time to ask before he was ravishing her thoroughly. 

It was only until their sweat-slicked bodies cooled, their limbs tangled together beneath her disarrayed sheets, her head rested on his chest as his hand ran gently through her hair, did she finally see him relaxed once more. 

“Do you ever think about leaving?” She asked suddenly, prompting Aemond to chuckle. 

“Was my performance not satisfactory, love? You wish to exile me?”

She laughed and looked up at him pointedly. 

“I think it was quite obvious what I thought of your performance.” 

The scratches down his back would certainly be proof of her enjoyment. 

“I meant leaving King’s Landing, exploring a new part of the world.”

Aemond remained quiet for a moment, contemplating her words. He didn’t know how to respond so he settled for a half-hearted shrug.

“Why do you ask?”

“You seem restrained here.” She answered quietly, worrying she was tiptoeing into dangerous territory. She didn’t want to push him but it killed her to see his light dim in the presence of his family.

Whenever they would pass each other in the halls of the Keep they had loving smiles to share, delighted by the secret they kept from the rest of the them, but whenever she crossed his path while he was with him mother or his grandsire, he didn’t spare her a look, his face drawn tightly with a coldness that, while characteristic around others, was so unfamiliar to her. 

Aemond didn’t like to talk about his family, he seemed to always steer the conversation in a different direction whenever she probed and tensed whenever they were brought up, changing the easy nature between them into something more complicated. 

He stayed quiet, taking in her words contemplatively, his mind swirling with waves of thoughts he couldn’t quite make sense of.

His feelings for his family were complicated. He was devoted to them, he would protect them when it came down to it, but he couldn’t exactly say he was happy with them or felt very loved by them.

“We should live in Ixtal.” 

She looked up at him curiously, not having expected those words. He looked down at her, a small smile growing, his arm around her tightening. 

“Once we’re married, we’ll abandon the delirious politics here and we’ll move to Ixtal where we’ll grow old and raise our children.”

She smiled, the fantasy he had created sounding more like a dream than any sort of reality they could manage for themselves. 

She couldn’t think that far ahead, not when they couldn’t even hold hands in front of others. 

“That sounds lovely.” She mused quietly, holding tightly to his words, praying they would one day come true. 

~~

“Do not be mad.” 

Her first words in greeting immediately had him on edge, the soft expression that had appeared at the sight of her twisting into one of derision in a swift moment. The moment she stepped into the library, a place that had now become an excuse for him to take her between the shelves, he perked up, but the hesitancy on her face had him pausing, suddenly fearing the worst. 

“Why would I be mad?” 

“I have something to tell you and you have to promise me you will not resort to bloodshed.” 

His look of confusion only grew, his nerves rising as he stood from his seat, walking towards her cautiously.

“Bloodshed?” He questioned, his voice becoming darker at the mere notion of a threat against her. “Has someone done something to you?”

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at his blatant protectiveness and reached out, taking his hand in hers in an effort to calm him.

“You have a tendency to rage before an explanation can be given so you must promise me you won’t draw your sword before I’ve finished my story.”

“My love, you know I can make no promises.”

With a heavy sigh, her hand remaining in his, her fingers gently tracing over his knuckles, as if her soothing touch could sate him while she gave him the news that would undoubtedly spring him into a furious temper. 

“Elric Wylde has requested my presence in the gardens. My father told me he wishes to start a courtship.” 

The scoff that left his lips made her wince. She had never before heard such derision from a simple sound.

“You are jesting, aren’t you?” 

“Aemond-”

“I know there is no possible way you would agree to court someone else.” He continued, his voice laced with jealous disdain. 

“Aemond-” She tried again but he continued to rant, pulling his hand from hers, his face now dark with dangerous intent.

“Where is the Wylde Lord? I’ll be sure to set him straight and tear his limbs from his body before he has the chance to put his hands on you again.”

“Stop.” She spoke sternly, grabbing onto his arm before he could leave her side and murder the poor boy who naively thinks he has a chance with her. “I am not going to let him court me.”

“No, you’ll just string him along so he thinks he had a chance.”

“I will meet with him once and then tell my father I don’t wish to continue, putting the matter to rest for good.”

“Tell your father now that you don’t wish to court him.”

“He’ll get suspicious if I keep refusing to meet with eligible Lords. He’ll begin to think I want to become a Septa if I continue to avoid any notion of marriage.”

Aemond’s grave expression didn’t waver. His eyes moved back to the door, as if conjuring ways he could butcher the clueless Wylde son. 

“Aemond…” She warned, the look on his face igniting her worry. She knew he would be thinking of anything but helpful suggestions.

“I’ll tell the prick myself. He’ll be sure to understand then.”

She gripped onto his arm tighter, stopping him from taking another step. 

“Don’t be daft.” She scolded. “You know the gossip that would ensue if you got involved.”

“You are not meeting with him.” Aemond said sternly to which she just rolled her eyes. 

“It will only be for a few minutes. I’ll immediately go to my father to refuse any further advances and we’ll be done with it.”

“Until the next one comes along to vie for your hand.”

“We’ll deal with it when it comes to that, if you haven’t already murdered the entire pool of eligible bachelors.”

Aemond’s brow perked up at the notion. It wasn’t a bad suggestion. She playfully smacked his chest.

“Stop that.”

His jaw clenched, his anger simmering within him. The thought of her arm in arm with another man, the poor fool that would be drooling over her, thinking he had a chance, made him furious. 

“When are you meeting with this imbecile?”

She gave him a pointed look at his insult. “In twenty minutes.”

Aemond smirked, the look in his eye darkening, though in a much different way than it had before. The lust that overtook his gaze made her shiver.

“He can wait.” 

With that, he crashed his lips to hers and dragged her to the back of the library, their hidden alcove they had desecrated many a time before. 

No less than forty minutes later, after Aemond had thoroughly fucked her like an animal and her desperate attempts to straighten her appearance, did she finally meet Lord Elric Wylde in the gardens. 

She hoped she wasn’t walking funny as a result of Aemond’s brutal thrusts that had rendered her a moaning, mindless fool.

“My Lady.” He greeted her politely, offering his arm to her, which she accepted, no matter how wrong it felt. 

As they began to walk, she steadily ignored the feeling of her lover’s seed that dripped down her thigh. 

She forced her mind to move on from the memory of his debauched touches and greedy lips that traveled across every inch of her body and looked to the man beside her, suddenly realizing he was looking at her questioningly.

Her eyes widened as she realized she hadn’t been listening to a word he had said.

“What?”

He laughed slightly. “I asked how your day was.”

“Oh.” She giggled, hoping he couldn’t tell how embarrassed she was. “It’s been fine.”

“I admit, my day is much brighter now that I am in your company.” 

She smiled stiffly. She couldn’t find it in herself to force anything more genuine. 

They continued to walk throughout the gardens and she was thankfully able to remain half-listening as the eager Lord mostly spoke about himself and didn’t bother to ask her any further questions. 

She settled for mindless hums in agreement to whatever he had been spouting on about. 

As they turned the corner, she suddenly stopped in her tracks as she met Aemond’s cool eye from across the path. 

He smirked at her, the sight causing a blooming heat to burn inside her. She was suddenly more aware of the seed that dripped down her leg. 

By the look in his eye and the devilish smirk across his lips it was obvious he was thinking about the same thing. 

“Is everything ok?”

She cleared her throat and forced herself to keep walking. 

“Yes, everything's fine.” She spoke slightly tersely, completely thrown off by Aemond’s presence. They continued on their way and she silently prayed her lover’s fierce jealousy wouldn’t rear its ugly head.

“My Lord.” 

She winced, silently cursing the man she loved and his petty nature. 

“Prince Aemond.” Elric greeted, his tone sounding slightly cautious as he came face to face with the feared Prince.

“I am terribly sorry to interrupt, but I heard your father had something urgent to discuss with you.” 

“My father?” Elric questioned.

“Yes, he needs to see you in the council room.”

The young Lord looked confused, only inciting Aemond’s frustration further.

“Quickly, my Lord. You mustn't keep your father waiting.” He added forcefully. 

The Lord swallowed, his face blanching at the abrupt tone and looked to the Lady beside him, too flustered to notice the scowl she was sending the Prince. 

“Of course.” He bowed to both of them respectfully and grabbed her hand, thankfully not noticing how Aemond twitched, having to stop himself from lunging forward and ripping his hand from her.

“I will find you again, my Lady, so we can continue.” 

“Of course.” She said stiffly, her smile terse. 

As the Lord scurried away, she moved her gaze to Aemond, the smug smirk on his face made her want to rage yet laugh all at once. 

“You have some nerve.” She muttered and turned on her heel, though Aemond was quick to follow, falling into step beside her. “You said you would leave it be.”

“I agreed to let you meet with him, I made no such promise about what I would do after.”

“Aemond, people will talk about us and your attempts at derailing a courtship.”

“Let them talk. I’ll gladly have them answer to Vhagar.” 

She rolled her eyes and subtly elbowed him in his side, delighting in the breathless wheeze that left his lips. 

He reached out, linking his arm through hers before she could leave his side. 

“I had to rescue you from such boredom, my love.” He spoke softly. 

She looked over at him plainly, knowing he would have found any excuse to ruin her time with any man that dared to think they had a chance with her. 

“And what will you do when the poor boy realizes his father did not summon him?”

“If he dares to call me a liar I’ll meet him with my sword.”

She shook her head, though she shouldn’t have been in much disbelief. This was Aemond, he was nothing if not possessive of what he cherished. 

Aemond smirked and leaned in closer so his lips brushed against her ear.

“Do you really think I would let another man touch what is mine?” He practically growled. “Tell me, do you think he could tell from your raspy voice that I just had you screaming for my cock?”

She felt a shiver race down her spine, her thighs clenching together at the memory of his devastating touch on her. She pulled her arm from his and turned to face him, delighting in the way his eye darkened with anticipation.

She smirked and took a step backwards, her gaze remaining on him as if keeping him locked into her trance as she walked away.

“Where are you going?” He asked breathlessly.

“To tell my father I don’t wish to court Elric Wylde.”

Aemond grinned triumphantly, his blood thrumming in his veins with blinding desire. 

“And then?”

“I think I’ll head back to the library. There’s a particular book I'd like to read again.” She crooned, the sultry smile on her lips stirring his lust, quickly feeling himself hardening at the insinuation of another round with her before the day was done. 

“I will see you there.” Aemond called back and tried with all his might not to sprint to the library to wait for her. 

~~

Aegon tripped over his own right foot, forcing himself to lean on the stone wall beside him as he drunkenly made his way through the hidden tunnels, hoping he was on the right path to Aemond’s room. 

He was in the mood for depravity and he wanted to drag his brother down with him. He just hoped he wasn’t with that Island bitch who was always attached at his hip. She ruined their last visit to the Silk Street. 

He smirked to himself triumphantly as he reached the hidden door to Aemond’s chambers. He dropped his wineskin to the ground and pushed it open slowly to avoid making much noise to alert his brother. 

He wanted to scare the little twat. 

He stepped inside, but froze instantly at the sound of a breathless moan. 

Confusion was the first thing he became aware of, but it soon turned to sheer delight as he recognized the sounds of panting and moaning. The sounds were unmistakable. 

“Fuck, don’t stop.” 

Aegon’s eyes widened at the sound of the breathless voice. He didn’t think his brother had it in him. 

He slinked into the room with slow, quiet steps. His eyes widened when he peered around the corner, his jaw falling slack. 

He knew that figure anywhere. 

He knew his brother was in love with the Ixtal girl, he just didn’t think he’d have the balls to do anything about it. But he was dead wrong. He bit his lip as he watched the beauty atop his brother, mesmerized by the movement of her hips. 

He watched, enthralled, feeling his cock twitch to life, as her head fell back, the pleasure on her face stirring something inside him. His eyes fell to her perky breasts that bounced tantalizingly with every one of her movements, forcing himself to bite his lip to stifle his own groan of pleasure. 

“Aemond.” She moaned, making Aegon cringe at the reminder of the beauty in front of him was currently fucking his brother and not him. 

He watched with jealousy as his brother’s hands roamed that perfect body, from her thighs up to her breasts. The sounds of his brother’s groans and pants of pleasure brought anger to bubble to the surface. Aegon’s eyes fell to his brother and he was startled to see the sparkling sapphire gem in place of his eye. 

He had never seen his brother without his eye patch on. 

The interest in his brother’s eye left swiftly as Aemond tightened his grip on the woman’s hips and thrust upwards, the loud moan she let out bringing him back to the present enticing sight. 

Gods, she sounded like a whore from the Silk Street. He wished he could grab her and take her for his own. His brother didn’t deserve that beauty. 

He watched the woman plant her hands on Aemond’s chest, her hips bouncing quicker, making him let out a loud, blissful moan. Her nails dug into his skin and it was the moment Aemond placed his hand atop hers, intertwining their fingers and leaning up to kiss her passionately that took Aegon out of the moment, the romantic gesture turning his delight into disgust.

He audibly scoffed, the noise reaching the couple. The woman looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening in horror as she yelped in fright. The second Aemond noticed his brother he swiftly turned them over, quickly covering her bare body with the sheets of his bed. He quickly stood from the bed, pulling his breeches up hastily, his deadly scowl locked onto his drunken wastrel of a brother.

“I had my suspicions brother, but now I know, you are truly pathetic.” Aegon slurred. 

“What are you doing here?” Aemond seethed, his voice low with deadly intention. 

“Enjoying the show.” He smiled viciously. His eyes moved past Aemond to the girl on the bed, but Aemond moved, blocking his line of sight from her. 

“Don’t look at her.”

Aegon scoffed. “It’s too late. I already saw every inch of that whor-” 

Aegon’s sentence abruptly ended as a gasping breath escaped him as his back hit the wall behind him, Aemond’s arm against his throat. 

“Aemond!” She called out worriedly, wrapping the sheet around her trembling body as she stood from the bed. 

He looked over his shoulder at her, the fury in his eye dimming as he noticed how scared she looked. 

He turned back to his brother, his face growing redder the longer he pressed against his throat. 

“You will never enter my chambers again. You will never speak of this and you will never look at her that way again.” He warned, his voice low, his intention clear. 

He lifted his arm, leaving Aegon to stumble to the ground, gasping coughs escaping him as he took in grateful gulps of air. His heaving breaths soon turned to laughs, the drunken idiot finding the situation hilarious. 

He unsteadily got to his feet, his eyes moving past his brother to land on the girl again, causing Aemond’s eye to darken, rage bubbling within him. 

“You want my silence? You think it comes for free?”

“What do you want?” Aemond seethed through gritted teeth. 

Aegon smirked, the sight making Aemond’s blood boil. He dreaded where this was going. His hand twitched, itching to wipe the smug look off his brother’s face. 

“I won’t tell our precious mother what you’ve been doing, I won’t tell the court how you’ve sullied this poor girl and ruin her reputation… if I can have a turn with her.”

Her face fell, the hungry look Aegon sent her making her want to crawl out of her skin. 

Aemond acted quickly, delivering a swift punch to his brother’s face. Aegon cursed and groaned, losing his footing, but Aemond was quick and wasn’t about to let him off the hook just yet. He grabbed a fistful of Aegon’s greasy hair and yanked him upwards, throwing him against the wall yet again. 

“Love, grab my dagger.” 

Aemond looked over his shoulder at the girl who was practically trembling in place, her hands clutched onto the sheet, her eyes watering. She gulped and reached for the dagger at his bedside, stepping forward on shaking legs to hand it over.

Aemond smirked darkly, feeling powerful as Aegon’s eyes widened in fear as he pressed the blade against his cheek. 

“If you ever look at her in a way that is anything but polite, if you speak any vile comments in her direction, I’ll know and I won’t be giving you a second chance.”

“Brother-” Aegon choked out, a strangled gasp escaping as Aemond pressed harder against his throat, his dagger making a small cut on his cheek. 

“You speak one word about her and I will take your tongue. I will cut off each of your limbs and feed them to Vhagar. You will be nothing but ash by the time I’m done with you.” Aemond spoke darkly, his voice steady and calm, fully honest in his threats. 

After a few long, tense seconds, Aegon subtly nodded and Aemond lifted his hand, taking the dagger away from his face, leaving a small, almost imperceptible cut on his cheek, leaving nothing but a drop of blood that beaded to the surface. 

“Get out.”

Aegon said nothing as he made his leave, not even sparing a glance back at her. 

She let out a heavy exhale, her shaking legs almost giving out beneath her as she slowly sat at the edge of the bed, her hands still clutching fistfulls of the sheet wrapped around her. 

“Are you alright?” Aemond asked, startling her slightly when she realized he was kneeled in front of her, his hands cradling her face gently, looking at her worriedly. 

“He’s going to tell.” She spoke monotonously, her anxious mind conjuring a thousand scenarios of how the next morning will turn out, all ending with her humiliated, flooded with insults and forced to leave the Capitol as nothing more than a ruined whore. 

“He won’t.”

“But if he-”

“He won’t do anything.” Aemond assured her, though he couldn’t deny how his own heart raced with equal parts adrenaline and fear of what Aegon could possibly do to ruin his life. 

He eyed her carefully, moving to sit next to her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her as he hauled her into his lap. He kissed the delicate slope of her neck softly, moving upwards until he captured her lips with his in a kiss so sweet she would have continued where they had left off if she wasn’t so shaken. 

“I will make it right.”

“How?”

He smiled slightly, the light in his eye so different to the fury she had seen just a minute ago. 

“By doing what I should have done a long time ago.” He answered softly, his eye searing into hers with nothing but devotion.

Her heart that had finally slowed began to race yet again, this time for a much different reason. The resolution on Aemond’s face brought tears to her eyes. His love for her had always been clear, but now, as she spiraled and he remained calm, her everlasting rock, her guidance back to herself, solidified everything she already knew. 

“I cannot go another day with you as my secret.” 

“Aemond-”

“You will be my wife.” He spoke seriously. “Even if my grandfather disagrees, we will be married. We’ll leave for Ixtal tomorrow if we have to. I care little for what it would take. All I know is that I will take no wife that is not you.”

Her lips curled upwards, her insides twisting delightfully. She leaned into him, letting her forehead rest against his.

“I love you.” She said, her voice no more than a whisper. 

Aemond’s hands tightened around her waist, wishing nothing existed outside of his room, outside of this moment. 

“I love you.” He whispered, his lips brushing against hers softly. “Issa prūmia.”

My heart. 

His name for her that was only whispered in the safety of his chambers, away from listening ears, could soon be said for all to hear. 

“I won’t ever let him hurt you.” He promised her, the dark edge of his voice returning at the mention of his debauched brother. 

She wound her arms around him and kissed him firmly, her trust completely his. She worried what Aegon could do to them, to her, having some leverage over them. She worried what Aemond’s mother and grandsire would think of their betrothal, if they would allow it. 

She worried about what their future would look like in a mere matter of hours. But she could do nothing about it, so she remained in his arms, letting him hold her as he continuously assured her, promised her nothing but a life of happiness between his sweet kisses. 

By the next morning, neither one of them having slept a wink, Aemond dressed and before he left he cradled her face in his hands, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“I’ll take care of this, I promise you.”

“What if-”

“Nothing is going to take you away from me. I swear it, my love.” He interrupted her tearful fears. He kissed her once more before leaving his chambers. 

The gentle and caring expression on his face fell the moment the door closed behind him. His body became rigid, his face dark with determination as he walked purposefully to his mother’s chambers. 

He recited the speech in his head yet again, he’d done nothing else all night, trying to find a way to convince his mother of a betrothal. 

Suddenly, as he came to his mother’s door, all words were gone from his head, leaving him standing tensely, his face pale and fear seeping through his veins. 

He prayed he had gotten to her before Aegon.

With a deep breath, he slammed the door open and stomped inside the room as if it were his own, startling his mother who placed a hand over her racing heart at the sudden intrusion. 

“I’d like to propose a marriage.” He spoke frantically and Alicent’s eyes widened in shock. 

“Aemond, now isn’t-”

He interrupted quickly, breathing out the name of the love of his life, effectively shutting up his mother. 

“I wish to marry her. I know it’s sudden and to be truthful, I don’t care if you do not agree, I’d take her across the sea to marry her if I had to. We are a fruitful match and I do not see any good reason to disagree.”

His mother was left to stare in disbelief. 

A chuckle across the room made Aemond stiffen and he looked over to the other person in the room he had failed to notice. He swallowed, his face growing even paler at the sight of the Lord of Ixtal moving to take a seat in the chair across from his mother. 

Embarrassment washed over him as he realized he had interrupted a meeting between his mother and the father of the woman he had just confessed his love for. 

“Well, I couldn’t agree more.”

Aemond’s eye widened and he stared at the man incredulously, as if he were merely jesting at his expense. 

“I think you two are a fine match.” The man continued. “You clearly hold much affection for my daughter, I could not think of a better person to be at her side.”

Alicent floundered, watching the events unfold before her with wide, horrified eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

“Aemond, we have invited Floris Baratheon to the Capitol. You two are supposed to begin a courtship.” She stuttered out, grasping at straws to stop this in its tracks. 

“There are plenty of suitors to take my place.” Aemond countered quickly. Nothing would derail him, nothing would take him away from his love. 

“He has practically been courting my daughter for years.” The Lord of Ixtal chimed in with a chuckle. He stood and reached his hand out for Aemond to shake. “You’re a fine man, Aemond. I would be happy for you to take my daughter’s hand.”

The praise, which was so seldom among his own family, made his throat tighten in a way he hadn’t expected and he swallowed thickly, clearing his throat as he shook the hand of the man who had just given him everything he could have ever wanted. 

“But-“

“I think we should take this to the King. He’ll be delighted.” The Lord interrupted Alicent before she could voice her displeasure, as if knowing what she was trying to do, prompting a look of resentment from the Queen.

Aemond smiled, overcome with happiness and relief. It clouded his mind enough to not notice how deeply shaken his mother looked. 

He was delirious, this was far from how he expected this morning to go. He always held a soft spot for the Lord of Ixtal, not only for creating the person he loved more than life itself, but for the kindness he always showed him, even as a young, ambitious child. 

He often found himself wishing his own father was more like the father of his love. 

His mind was spinning, barely able to keep track as his father’s dear friend, his soon to be father by law, spoke to his own delirious and decaying father, proposing a unity between their two houses. 

It was the first time in years he saw his father smile. 

Viserys reached a decrepit hand towards him, his smile revealing his missing and rotten teeth as he spoke his praises, most likely for the first time in his short life. Aemond didn’t care, the slight he thought would’ve plagued him was far from his brain. 

All he cared about, all his mind could comprehend, was the fact that his father agreed, that he would soon marry the woman he loved with all his heart. 

Once they left the King’s room, the Lord of Ixtal placed his strong hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m not naive enough to believe the future will be easy, but I expect you to remain at her side.” He spoke lowly, Aemond quickly understanding what he was subtly referring to. The state of his family was murky on a good day, he knew as his father decayed further, the state of their family would become more tenuous. “I trust you to protect her, no matter what happens.”

Aemond nodded, his determination hardening his features.

“You have my word.” He promised swiftly, determination in his voice. “I will protect her with my life.”

The man smiled and cupped Aemond’s face affectionately, the gesture that of a father, causing a lump to well in Aemond’s throat, wondering if his father had ever done the same. 

“You’re a good man, Aemond. You’re everything I could have hoped for my girl.”

Aemond cleared his throat, determined to not let himself become emotional at the affection he had seldom felt in his life, save for the one girl who remained steadily at his side. 

With the heavy lump remaining in his throat, his numb body moved him from his father’s chambers, making his way to Helaena’s room, knowing that was where his love usually spent her mornings. 

He let out a deep breath, his stomach swirling with nerves as if he was nothing more than that lovesick boy again as he thought of what he had just done, what he just accomplished. 

He got to marry the love of his life. They didn’t need to sneak around any longer, they didn’t have to hide just how much they meant to each other. 

He made it to Helaena’s chambers, his eyes immediately falling on her, taking a moment to watch her bright smile, her glorious laugh ringing out in the room, soothing every worry he had felt the night before. 

He stepped into the room, catching Helaena’s attention who perked up and smiled at him warmly.

“Good morning, brother.” 

The woman at her side tensed slightly and turned her head, her wide, inquisitive eyes locking onto him, the question in her gaze clear, her worry seeping out from every inch of her. 

The slight upturn of his lips was all she needed to answer her silent question and no more than a second later did her entire body sag in relief, a breathless exhale leaving her as she grinned, allowing every ounce of worry and doubt to roll off her, leaving nothing but pure delight. 

Helaena watched the two, not needing much context to understand what they shared, their happiness enough of an explanation for what she knew was soon to come. 

She stayed seated as she watched her dear friend stand and wrap her brother in a tight hug. She noticed how tightly Aemond held her, how his lone eye closed in content as he held the girl, his usually tense body sagging against her, as if he no longer had any reservations while he was in her arms. 

She smiled in relief, feeling nothing but happiness that two people she held so dear would soon start their lives together. 

“It is done?” She whispered as she held tightly to the man of her affection.

“It is done. My father agreed to a betrothal.” 

A breathless laugh escaped her, her grip tightening on Aemond, though she no longer had any reason to fear he would be taken from her. 

Behind them, Helaena’s smile slowly fell, her bright eyes becoming glassy as she stared off into space, the embroidery in her hands falling to her lap as her grip became slack. 

“The light of the sun dims under clouds of green and black.” 

The lovers were too caught up in their embrace, they did not hear her mumbled warning.

~~

Tags:

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[hazbinwhoree]

ADAM WITH A HEAVY BREEDING KINK WHEN???

Come Inside

Part 1/2 Part 2

A/N: This shit is absolutely sinful.

Adam’s breeding kink, much like his virginity kink, was rooted in his abandonment issues.

Normally, (Name) would feel a need to address that (therapy friend), but she couldn’t really care when he was inside of her, fucking her like he hated her.

Adam’s sex drive never failed to impress her. They’d already had sex that morning, and they were just watching a movie when suddenly he was on her again.

“Adam,” she giggled as he sucked on her neck. “We literally had sex two hours ago.”

“Not my fault you’re so fuckin’ sexy, babe,” Adam said against her neck. He continued marking her, one hand slipping under her shirt and fondling her breast, and one hand travelling down to rub between her legs over her sweatpants.

(Name) moaned. Adam removed his face from her neck and connected their lips in a passionate kiss. (Name) slipped her fingers under the base of Adam’s mask and pulled back. She looked at him, the question in her eyes. Can I? Adam nodded after a moment.

(Name) pulled his mask up and over his head, discarding it on the floor. (Name) smiled, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling his head forward to kiss him again. Adam kissed back with vigor, forcing his tongue into her mouth.

The hand fondling her breast pinched her nipple, and the hand that was rubbing between her legs suddenly slipped under her sweatpants and panties.

(Name) gasped, throwing her head back. Adam licked down the column of her neck. He slid two slender fingers into her, and (Name)’s breathing became heavier. He scissored his fingers experimentally before adding a third.

(Name) sighed, her head falling forward and resting her forehead against Adam’s.

Adam didn’t spend long loosening her up before shedding his own pants and boxers. (Name) began to tug her sweatpants down until Adam got impatient and yanked both her sweatpants and panties down to her ankles. (Name) kicked them off.

Adam sat down on the couch, manspreading and showing off his dick. “Come here, baby,” he patted his lap. (Name) crawled over and into his lap, his erection pressing against her pussy. She briefly realized they both still had their shirts on.

Adam seemed to realize it too. “We’re fucking like Winnie the Pooh.”

(Name) giggled, but it quickly became a quiet moan when Adam squeezed her tits, swiping his thumbs over her nipples. She ground down against his dick and they both moaned. She raised herself on her knees to allow Adam to line himself up with her opening.

Once he did, she sank down, letting out a gasp as he stretched her once again. “Ride it,” Adam demands, grabbing her ass. (Name) did, for about a minute, before her pace slowed down as her legs got tired. Adam got impatient, squeezing her ass and thrusting up into her, fast and hard.

It caught (Name) off guard, who cried out. She held onto his shoulders like her life depended on it, as Adam fucked her like he was mad at her.

So was his pace usually.

Tears brimmed at the corners of (Name)’s eyes. “Fuck,” she hissed. Adam stared at her intently. “Yeah? Does this feel good, babygirl?” (Name) whined. She loved when Adam talked during sex, he was always so dirty.

“Is my cock filling your pussy just right? God you’re so hot, you make me want to put a baby in you.” (Name) gasped, nearly reaching her peak. “Gonna cum so deep inside you.”

(Name) came, clenching around Adam’s dick. His thrusts slowed as she squeezed him, the tightness pushing him over the edge. He snapped his hips upwards, burying himself to the hilt, and came inside of her.

(Name)’s stomach grew warm. She panted, moving to get off of Adam, but he grabbed her hips and pushed her back down on his dick. (Name) let out a strangled moan, overstimulated. Adam held her in his lap, keeping her plugged with his cock.

“Can’t waste any of my cum,” he told her, smirking. “I was serious. I’m gonna put a fucking baby in you.”

[readsaboutreid]

Everything To Me | S.R.

summary: Spencer is in love with his coworker and best friend and goes all out to celebrate her birthday on the day after when she catches her boyfriend in bed with another woman when they arrive home from a case.

this is 100% season 1 spencer

warning: cheating, making out, angst/comfort

“(Y/N)! Wait up!” Spencer stumbled, tripping over his feet as he hurried to catch the elevator with his friend. He covered the distance from his desk to the elevator doors in record time as (Y/N) hit the button to presumably hold open the doors for him. He slid in and stood next to her while panting lightly. He really needed to do some cardio, he noted to himself.

“Wow, with speed like that I should start calling you Barry Allen,” she giggled, making Spencer's heart flutter in the best and most terrifying way and drawing a laugh out of his throat (even though he didn’t really get the reference). He couldn't help it when all he could think about was how much he wanted to hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life.

“Sorry,” he flashed a sheepish smile at her and ducked his head a little bit as he felt his cheeks heat up slightly.

“Hey, uh, I was wondering if you had any, uh, any plans for the evening? There’s a Star Trek: The Next Generation marathon and I know that’s your favorite Star Trek series so I was thinking maybe we could hang out and maybe get some takeout?"

"That sounds like it would be a hell of a time," she began. Spencer could already feel the incoming, "but I promised Warren I'd spend the evening with him since it's my birthday and all." Spencer had to keep himself from making a face at the mention of her asshole of a boyfriend, not wanting to upset her, and so instead he opted to skip over that and react to the next part of her statement.

"Wait it's your birthday? Why didn't you say anything? We all would have done something to celebrate before going home today," Spencer started kicking himself internally. How could he not have known today was her birthday? The two of them had become attached at the hip pretty much since she started at the BAU 4 months ago. She had even celebrated his own birthday with him and the rest of the team.

“Hey, it’s okay! You don’t need to feel bad or anything, I tend to just treat my birthday like it’s any other day so I often just don't even tell anyone when it is,” she shot him a sweet smile in an attempt to assure him that it was okay but it didn't make him feel any less guilty.

Spencer's heart sank a bit at the thought of not being able to celebrate (Y/N)'s birthday with her, but he knew Warren was important to her regardless of how much Spencer and the team disliked him. He mustered a smile and nodded, "No worries, spending time with Warren sounds great. Happy birthday, (Y/N). I hope your day is as wonderful as you are."

(Y/N) blushed at the compliment, waving it off modestly. The elevator dinged softly, indicating they had reached the ground floor. As the doors slid open, they stepped out into the bustling lobby of the FBI building. Spencer glanced at his watch and realized it was already late in the evening.

"Well, I should let you get going. Have a fantastic birthday night with Warren," Spencer said, trying to hide his disappointment behind a cheerful facade.

"Thank you, Spencer. I really appreciate it. We should definitely catch that Star Trek marathon another time," she replied with a warm smile before turning to head towards the exit.

Later in the evening, Spencer found himself sitting on his worn-out couch, a container of lukewarm Chinese takeout resting in his lap as he absentmindedly watched reruns of Star Trek. His mind kept wandering back to the encounter in the elevator with (Y/N) earlier that day. The missed opportunity to spend her birthday with her weighed heavily on his heart.

Just as Captain Picard was about to make a diplomatic decision that could change the course of an entire star system, Spencer's phone rang, jolting him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen to see (Y/N)'s name flashing brightly.

With a mixture of confusion and worry, he answered the call. "Hey, (Y/N), is everything okay?" His heart clenched at the sound of her quiet sobs on the other end of the line.

"Spencer," her voice cracked, "can you... can you come pick me up?"

Without another word, Spencer sprang into action. "Of course, (Y/N). I'll be right there. Where are you?" Spencer's voice was filled with concern as he quickly grabbed his keys and rushed out the door, leaving behind the half-eaten container of Chinese takeout and the flickering TV screen showing Star Trek.

As he drove through the quiet streets towards (Y/N)'s location, thoughts raced through Spencer's mind. Why was she crying? What had happened? He couldn't bear the thought of her in distress, especially on her birthday.

Finally reaching the spot where she said she would be, Spencer spotted (Y/N) sitting on a bench outside of a sketchy looking apartment complex, her head buried in her hands. He parked the car and hurried over to her, his heart breaking at the sight of her tear-streaked face.

"(Y/N), what's wrong?" Spencer knelt down beside her, gently placing a hand on her back. She looked up at him with red, puffy eyes, and he felt a crack in his chest

as her trembling voice filled the cool night air.

"I... I waited for Warren at my apartment, but he never showed up or called. I got worried and went to his place," she paused, taking a shuddering breath before continuing, "I let myself in with my key, and... and I found him in bed with another woman."

Shock rippled through Spencer as he struggled to process her words. The image of (Y/N) standing in the doorway of Warren's apartment, witnessing such a betrayal, tore at his heart. Anger flared within him, directed not only at Warren but at the unfairness of it all. How could someone as kind and genuine as (Y/N) be treated so callously?

Without hesitation, Spencer pulled (Y/N) into a tight embrace, offering her solace in the warmth of his arms. He felt her tears soak into his shirt as she clung to him, seeking comfort amidst the storm of emotions raging within her.

As she sobbed into his chest he felt tears pricking his own eyes. He gently cupped her head and started stroking her hair in an attempt to soothe her before saying, “let’s get you into the car, okay?”

As Spencer led (Y/N) to his car, he couldn't shake the image of her devastated face from his mind. The weight of her heartbreak hung heavy in the air, suffocating him with a sense of helplessness. He opened the car door for her, watching as she settled into the passenger seat with a heavy sigh.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N)," Spencer murmured softly as he started the engine, casting a sympathetic glance her way. "You deserve so much better than this."

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. "I should have known better than to get my hopes up. This is why I never celebrate my birthday. It’s more trouble than it’s worth," she confessed, her voice laced with resignation and nothing more than a whisper by the very end. Spencer's heart clenched at her words. He wanted nothing more than to ease her pain, to show her that she deserved all the love and happiness in the world.

"You deserve to be celebrated, (Y/N)," Spencer said with conviction, his eyes meeting hers in the dim light of the car. "No one has the right to make you feel otherwise. You are kind, beautiful, and deserving of all the love and joy that life has to offer."

Spencer's words echoed in (Y/N)'s mind as they drove through the quiet streets of the city, the soft glow of streetlights casting a serene ambiance over the car. The heaviness of her heart began to lift ever so slightly, buoyed by the sincerity in Spencer's eyes and the comfort of his presence beside her.

As they reached a stoplight, Spencer turned to (Y/N) with a tentative smile. "How about we make a detour?" he suggested gently. "There's this little ice cream shop a few blocks away. Maybe some ice cream might help lift your spirits."

(Y/N) managed a small smile in return, touched by Spencer's thoughtfulness. The simple gesture felt like a ray of sunshine breaking through the storm clouds that had gathered around her heart. "That sounds nice," she replied softly, her voice still tinged with sadness but with a glimmer of gratitude shining through.

They parked near the ice cream shop, its cheerful neon sign beckoning them inside. The bell above the door jingled as they stepped in, greeted by the sweet scent of freshly made waffle cones and a colorful display of ice cream flavors. Spencer guided (Y/N) to a cozy booth by the window, where they could watch the world pass by as they indulged in their frozen treats.

As they savored their ice cream, the heaviness in (Y/N)'s heart began to thaw, melting away with each spoonful of creamy sweetness. Spencer listened attentively as she shared snippets of her favorite childhood memories, her voice soft and wistful against the backdrop of cheerful chatter from other customers.

Once they had finished their ice cream, Spencer suggested another detour. "There's this little vintage store down the street that always has some classic movies on sale. How about we pick up one of your favorites and head back to my place to watch it?”

(Y/N) hesitated before saying, “I don’t know about picking up anything from a store but is that Star Trek marathon still on?” The slight amount of hope in her voice made Spencer’s heart flutter with a mix of relief and warmth. He had been longing for a chance to make her smile, to see a glimmer of happiness light up her eyes once more.

Nodding enthusiastically, he replied, "Absolutely! We can swing by the store another time. For now, let's head straight to my place for that Star Trek marathon." The anticipation in (Y/N)'s eyes was palpable as they made their way to Spencer's cozy apartment. The familiar scent of old books and fresh laundry greeted them as they stepped inside, the soft glow of string lights casting a warm ambiance over the living room.

Spencer turned the TV back on, dimming the lights to create a cozy home-theater atmosphere. They settled on the couch, surrounded by plush pillows and soft blankets, basking in the nostalgic thrill of the sci-fi classic unfolding on the screen.

As the episode played on, Spencer got up and reheated the Chinese food from earlier and putting it on plates for each of them. He grabbed himself a fork and got one of the sets of chopsticks from the restaurant for (Y/N). As he made his way back to the living room he saw (Y/N) happily rocking back and forth as she watched Data and Geordi share another one of their intriguing engineering discussions. Spencer couldn't help but smile at the sight, a flicker of contentment lighting up his own heart as he handed (Y/N) the plate with her food and settled back onto the couch beside her.

Between bites of General Tso's chicken and sips of hot tea, Spencer couldn't help but feel a sense of peace settle over him. The soft glow of the TV cast shadows across the room, creating a cocoon of warmth and familiarity around them. The gentle hum of the spaceship's engines on screen seemed to lull them both into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional chuckle or comment about the characters.

After a few episodes, Spencer found himself stealing glances at (Y/N) out of the corner of his eye, admiring the soft curve of her profile as she watched intently. He could see a spark of joy in her eyes, a fleeting moment of escape from the weight of unspoken emotions that lingered between them. Sensing a rare moment of vulnerability, Spencer cleared his throat softly before turning to (Y/N) with a gentle smile.

"Hey, (Y/N)," he began, his voice soft and tentative. "I was wondering... If you could have done anything for your birthday today, what would it have been?"

(Y/N) paused, her gaze shifting from the screen to Spencer. Her expression softened as she considered the question, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. "You know, I've always wanted to visit the Smithsonian," she murmured, her eyes distant with longing. "And maybe the Botanic Gardens too... It's on my list of things to do someday."

Spencer nodded, committing her words to memory as he filed away the simple desires she shared. He made a mental note to himself, silently vowing to make those dreams a reality for her someday.

As they finished the last episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, Spencer noticed the clock on the wall ticking closer to midnight. With a sense of reluctance, he turned to (Y/N) and said, "I hate to cut this short, but it's getting late. I should call a cab for you."

(Y/N) looked up at him, a mixture of disappointment and understanding in her eyes. She nodded quietly, gathering her things and slipping on her coat. As Spencer dialed for a cab, he couldn't shake off the feeling of missed opportunities hanging heavy in the air.

The subdued sound of the approaching cab echoed through the quiet street outside. Spencer opened the door for (Y/N), his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "I'll be picking you up at 11 am tomorrow so be dressed and ready," he said, surprising both himself and (Y/N) with his sudden declaration.

Confusion flashed across her face as she stammered, "But... why? Where are we going?"

"Just make sure you’re ready,” he smiled, ideas blossoming in his mind as he decided he was going to show her what her birthday meant to him. He closed the cab door behind her and waved as the car drove off before turning on his heel and heading back inside, preparing to show his best friend the time of her life tomorrow.

Spencer woke up at 8 am the next morning to the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains, illuminating his room in a golden hue. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stretched his arms above his head and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Today was going to be special; he was determined to make it a day that (Y/N) would never forget.

Remembering her mention once that morning glories were her favorite flower, Spencer decided to start by weaving a delicate flower crown out of the vibrant blooms he had picked from his backyard garden. As he carefully intertwined the petals and vines into a crown fit for a queen, he couldn't help but smile at the thought of seeing (Y/N) wear it.

After finishing the flower crown, Spencer's thoughts drifted to a memory she had shared with him long ago. Before her parents had passed away, they used to build her a pillow fort and hang fairy lights in it on special occasions. Determined to recreate that sense of childhood magic for her, Spencer set about constructing a fort in his living room. He gathered every pillow and blanket he could find, stacking them strategically to form the walls of the fort. With a bit of effort and creativity, he managed to fashion an elaborate yet cozy hideaway filled with soft cushions and twinkling fairy lights. His PhD in Engineering was finally seeing some use.

As he stepped back to admire his handiwork, Spencer's heart swelled with a mix of emotions. The soft glow of the lights cast a warm, inviting aura over the fort, creating an atmosphere of whimsy and nostalgia. He could almost picture the look of wonder on (Y/N)'s face when she saw it, and the thought filled him with a sense of anticipation.

With the fort completed, Spencer glanced at the clock and realized it was almost time to pick up (Y/N). Quickly changing into a clean shirt and vest and grabbing the flower crown he had made earlier, he made his way out the door, excitement bubbling in his chest.

As he drove to (Y/N)'s apartment, Spencer's mind was a whirlwind of nerves and anticipation. He parked the car a few blocks away, wanting to give himself a moment to compose himself before their day together began. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the sidewalk and started the short walk to her building.

The street was alive with the sounds of the city waking up - the distant hum of traffic, the chatter of early risers going about their day. But in Spencer's mind, all he could focus on was the image of (Y/N) in his mind, wearing the flower crown he had made for her.

Finally reaching her apartment building, he climbed the steps to her floor, his heart pounding in his chest. Standing in front of her door, he took one last deep breath before lifting his hand to knock.

The sound echoed through the hallway, reverberating in Spencer's ears as he waited with bated breath. After what felt like an eternity, he heard footsteps approaching from inside the apartment. The soft shuffling of footsteps grew louder, and Spencer's pulse quickened in anticipation. Suddenly, the gentle click of the door being unlocked filled the air, and it slowly swung open to reveal (Y/N) standing before him.

She looked breathtaking. (Y/N) was wearing a simple yet elegant dress with cute buttons lining the front and a delicate peter pan collar. Her chin length bob was slightly curved under her chin and her bangs fell across her forehead in such a perfect way and Spencer looked away quickly, his cheeks burning when he realized he was staring. For a moment, they stood there in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.

Then, Spencer slowly brought forward the flower crown he had hidden behind his back, holding it out towards (Y/N) with a shaky hand. “Happy birthday," he finally whispered, his voice barely above a breath as he nervously offered her the crown. The soft petals of the flowers brushed against her fingertips, and (Y/N)'s eyes widened in surprise and delight as she took the flower crown from Spencer's hand. A small gasp escaped her lips as she held the delicate creation, a mix of awe and gratitude shining in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"Spencer, it's beautiful," she murmured as she gently placed it atop her head, her voice soft with emotion. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a golden glow that illuminated her features, making her look even more ethereal. In that moment, caught in the gentle morning light, Spencer felt a swell of affection for her that threatened to overwhelm him.

After a beat of silence filled with unspoken words hanging in the air between them, Spencer cleared his throat and offered a hesitant smile. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, his heart beating a little faster at the prospect of spending the day with her.

(Y/N) returned his smile with a nod, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she looped her arm through his, the flower crown perched delicately on her head. They strolled down the bustling street, the city waking up around them with a cacophony of sounds and scents. Spencer couldn't help but steal glances at (Y/N), her presence beside him filling him with a warmth he hadn't felt before.

Their first stop was a cozy bookshop just across the street from her apartment building. The bell above the door chimed softly as they entered, and the scent of aged paper and ink enveloped them in a comforting embrace. Rows upon rows of books lined the shelves, each one whispering promises of new worlds and adventures.

"Pick out as many as you'd like," Spencer said, gesturing to the endless array of titles surrounding them. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in delight, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she wandered through the aisles, her fingers trailing over spines in search of stories. He watched as she made her way through the shelves until she reached the SciFi/Fantasy and Horror section and begin removing books from the shelves, reading the backs and either adding them to the stack in her arms or placing them back on the shelves.

Spencer couldn't help but admire the way (Y/N) immersed herself in the world of books, her eyes alight with a passion that made her even more enchanting. She moved with purpose, carefully selecting each book as if it held a piece of her soul within its pages. His heart swelled with fondness for her, her love for literature reflecting a depth to her character that he found endlessly captivating.

As (Y/N) returned back to him, her arms filled with a stack of books that seemed to reach towards the sky, she gave him a sheepish smile. "I might have gotten a bit carried away," she admitted, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “Could you help me narrow things down a little bit?”

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. "No need to apologize. Let's see what treasures you've found," he said, reaching out to take a few books from her arms. Together, they perused the titles she had chosen, discussing the plots and themes. After they had no luck in narrowing down the pile, Spencer scooped them all up into his arms in a stack and began making his way to the checkout stand.

"Why bother narrowing it down?" Spencer's voice was filled with a playful lilt as he carried the stack of books towards the checkout counter, (Y/N) trailing behind him with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Impressive selection," the bookstore clerk commented as he rung up the stack of books, each title a window into (Y/N)'s interests and desires. (Y/N) beamed at the compliment, her eyes shining with confusion and gratitude as Spencer pulled out his wallet and paid before she could even reach for her own from her bag.

As they left the bookshop, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the crowded streets. The sounds of the city swirled around them—honking cars, lively chatter, and the distant rumble of a passing train. Spencer glanced over at (Y/N) walking beside him, her face illuminated by a soft radiance.

(Y/N) quickly unlocked the door and placed the bags of books onto her dining room table before they walked back outside. Spencer patiently waited as she locked her door before holding his arm out again for her to grab on to as he lead her to his car.

As they arrived at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, Spencer's steps were light with anticipation. The air was alive with the promise of discovery, and he couldn't wait to share this world of wonders with (Y/N). The museum loomed before them like a giant treasure trove, its grand architecture a testament to human ingenuity and ambition.

Stepping inside, they were greeted by a vast hall filled with aircraft suspended from the ceiling like metallic birds frozen in flight. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in awe, her gaze flitting from one exhibit to another as Spencer led her through the maze of history and innovation.

"This is the Wright Flyer," Spencer said, pointing towards the iconic biplane that started it all. "It's incredible to think that this simple machine paved the way for all modern aviation."

As they moved deeper into the museum, Spencer's voice became a gentle murmur of knowledge and passion. He regaled (Y/N) with stories of astronauts who dared to venture beyond Earth's atmosphere and the technological advancements that made it all possible. (Y/N) listened with rapt attention, her eyes shimmering with wonder and admiration for both the exhibits and the man beside her.

Each artifact held a story, a piece of history waiting to be unraveled. Spencer's explanations brought life to the static displays, turning them into vibrant tales of human courage and scientific progress. He pointed out the intricate details of each spacecraft, each spacesuit, each photograph, as if they were sacred relics in a grand temple of human achievement.

As they entered the lunar module exhibit, (Y/N) gasped in awe at the sight of the actual spacecraft that had touched the surface of the moon as well as a piece of rock from the moon that was free for visitors to touch. She reached out a hand as if to touch it, but stopped herself, as if afraid to disturb the fragile connection between past and present.

Spencer noticed her hesitation and smiled softly. "It's okay, you can touch it," he encouraged. "Feel the history in your fingers."

(Y/N) tentatively reached out and brushed her fingertips against the cool, pitted surface of the moon rock. A jolt of electricity seemed to pass through her as she made contact, connecting her to a distant world that had once seemed so unreachable. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the weight of history and the magnitude of human achievement.

Spencer watched her with a mix of admiration and fondness, his heart swelling with a bittersweet ache at the sight of her emotional response. He longed to reach out and comfort her, to share in this moment of vulnerability and connection, but he held back, knowing that some experiences were meant to be felt in solitude.

As they moved on to the space shuttle exhibit, Spencer's voice took on a reverent tone as he explained the intricacies of space travel and the courage of those who dared to venture into the unknown. (Y/N) listened intently, hanging onto his every word as if they were precious treasures. The stories of the astronauts and their daring adventures resonated with her in a way she couldn't quite explain. It was as if each tale of exploration and discovery tugged at something deep within her, awakening a yearning for the stars that had long been dormant.

After exploring the wonders of the cosmos in the Air and Space Museum, Spencer suggested they visit the Museum of Natural History next. (Y/N) eagerly agreed, her curiosity piqued by the promise of delving into the mysteries of the natural world.

The moment they stepped into the museum, a wave of earthy scents enveloped them—the musty aroma of ancient fossils, the fresh green fragrance of preserved plants, and the tangy scent of minerals. (Y/N) took a deep breath, savoring the rich tapestry of odors that surrounded her as they ventured deeper into the exhibits.

Spencer guided her through halls filled with towering skeletons of dinosaurs, exotic taxidermy specimens, and sparkling gemstones that seemed to whisper tales of ancient worlds and forgotten creatures. His voice, now a gentle hum of fascination, wove intricate stories of the natural wonders before them, each exhibit a chapter in the never-ending book of Earth's history.

With every step, (Y/N) felt herself being transported back in time, her senses overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and scents of a world long gone yet preserved within the walls of the museum. She marveled at the sheer diversity of life that had once inhabited the planet, from the majestic bones of a towering T-Rex to the delicate wings of a butterfly frozen in time.

As they reached the Butterfly Pavilion, (Y/N)'s eyes lit up with childlike excitement. She walked among the lush greenery, her fingers gently trailing over velvety leaves and vibrant petals as she inspected each plant with keen interest. Spencer watched her with a soft smile, his admiration for her knowledge and passion shining in his eyes.

"It’s like stepping into a living kaleidoscope," (Y/N) breathed, her voice hushed with wonder. "Each butterfly and moth, every plant here tells a story of adaptation and survival. Look at this one," she gestured to a plump monarch butterfly sipping nectar from a bright orange bloom, "did you know they migrate for thousands of miles to escape the cold?"

Spencer was happy to listen intently to her spout knowledge that he already held, captivated by the gleam in her eyes and the animated gestures that accompanied each explanation. He found himself falling even more deeply under her spell as she shared her wealth of knowledge, her voice growing more animated with each tidbit of information.

As they wandered through the pavilion, (Y/N) pointed out the intricate patterns on the butterflies' wings, explaining their purpose and significance with a mix of scientific precision and unbridled enthusiasm. Spencer couldn't help but be swept up in her passion, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest at the sight of her so fully immersed in her element. Her rarely used PhDs in Botany and Microbiology shone brightly through her words and actions as she explained the importance of every living thing within the enclosure down to the network of fungal mycelium in the dirt, making Spencer see her in a whole new light. The way she spoke about each species of butterfly or moth, each plant or fungus they saw, showcased not only her expertise but also her deep love and respect for the natural world.

Spencer found himself hanging onto her every word, just as she had done with his tales of space exploration earlier. He admired the way her eyes sparkled with excitement, the way her hands gestured animatedly as if conducting a symphony of knowledge and wonder.

As they reached a secluded corner of the pavilion, (Y/N) knelt down beside a cluster of milkweed plants, her voice soft and reverent as she explained their importance to the monarch butterflies. Spencer watched her intently, a sense of peace settling over him as he observed her in her element. He then checked his watch, his eyes widening in realization as he saw the time. They were going to be late for the dinner reservation he had managed to secure at the new Italian restaurant (Y/N) had been longing to try for months. With a gentle touch on her shoulder, Spencer interrupted her explanation about the symbiotic relationship between the milkweed plants and monarch butterflies.

"(Y/N), as much as I hate to interrupt your fascinating lesson, we should start heading out. We have a dinner reservation," Spencer said apologetically, a hint of regret in his tone.

Startled by the mention of dinner, (Y/N) straightened up, her eyes widening in surprise before a sheepish smile crossed her face. "Oh gosh, I completely lost track of time! I'm so sorry, Spencer. Let's go."

They hurried through the Butterfly Pavilion, their steps quickening as they made their way to the exit. Spencer opened the passenger door for her as they approached his car, and they soon found themselves seated inside as Spencer started the engine. The warmth of the setting sun bathed the interior in a golden glow, casting long shadows across (Y/N)'s face as she fastened her seatbelt. She glanced over at Spencer, her eyes shining with a mix of excitement and anticipation for the evening ahead.

The drive to the Italian restaurant was filled with comfortable silence, the only sound the soft hum of the radio playing a mellow jazz tune in the background. Spencer stole glances at (Y/N) from time to time, admiring how the fading light accentuated her features, casting her in a soft, ethereal glow.

Arriving at the restaurant, they were greeted by the tantalizing aroma of garlic and tomato sauce wafting through the air. The cozy ambiance of the place enveloped them as they were led to their table, nestled in a corner with a flickering candle casting dancing shadows on their faces.

As they perused the menu, (Y/N)'s eyes widened in delight as she scanned the offerings, her excitement palpable. Spencer couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the romantic candlelight surrounding them. This moment, this simple act of sharing a meal with her, felt like a glimpse into the life he had always wanted but never dared to reach for.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter and shared stories. (Y/N)'s eyes sparkled with joy as she recounted a hilarious mishap at work, and Spencer found himself hanging onto her every word once again. It was moments like these that made him forget about his own worries and fears, immersing himself in the present moment.

As the waiter brought out their food, the table was soon filled with plates of steaming pasta and fragrant sauces. The first bite sent a burst of flavors dancing on (Y/N)'s tongue, and she couldn't help but close her eyes in bliss. Spencer watched her savor each mouthful, her expression a symphony of delight and contentment. The flickering candlelight played on her face, accentuating the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

Spencer's gaze lingered on her, a sense of longing tugging at his heart. He wanted to freeze this moment in time, to etch it into his memory forever. The warmth of the restaurant, the soft glow of the candle, the sound of (Y/N)'s laughter – all of it wove together into a tapestry of perfect happiness.

But beneath the surface of their shared joy, Spencer felt a pang of bittersweet realization. This was just a moment, a fleeting interlude in their lives. Tomorrow, they would return to their separate paths, their separate dreams.

As (Y/N) reached for her glass of wine, her hand brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through him. Their eyes met, and in that brief moment of connection, Spencer felt a surge of courage wash over him. As they finished their meals, the waiter returned to their table with a flourish, presenting a tray of decadent desserts that Spencer had secretly ordered while (Y/N) was in the bathroom. A smile played on his lips as he watched her eyes widen in surprise and delight at the unexpected treat.

"Spencer, you didn't have to do this," she murmured, her voice soft with gratitude.

"It's my pleasure," he replied, his tone gentle yet tinged with a hint of nervousness. "Would you like to enjoy it here or take it to go and eat it while watching something?"

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering between the cozy restaurant ambiance and the promise of a quiet moment elsewhere. After a brief pause, she decided, "Let's take it to go."

Spencer nodded in agreement and politely requested the bill. As he settled the payment, a sense of resolve settled in him, guiding his actions as they left the restaurant. The cool night air caressed their skin as they walked towards Spencer's car parked just around the corner. He opened the passenger door for her, a gesture that was both chivalrous and intimate.

As they drove through the city streets, (Y/N) couldn't shake off the feeling of curiosity that gnawed at her mind. Why were they headed to Spencer's apartment instead of hers, as she had anticipated? Her thoughts raced, trying to find an explanation for this unexpected turn of events.

Upon arriving at his apartment building, Spencer handed her the to-go boxes with their desserts before unlocking the door. A sense of bewilderment washed over (Y/N) as she followed him inside. Before she could voice her confusion, Spencer moved behind her and gently covered her eyes with his hands, guiding her further into his apartment.

The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air as (Y/N) let herself be led by Spencer through the dimly lit hallway. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and curiosity, her trust in him unwavering as he guided her with careful steps. The soft shuffle of their feet echoed in the corridor, creating a rhythm that seemed to match the beat of her own pulse.

After what felt like an eternity of darkness behind her closed eyelids, Spencer's hands finally left (Y/N)'s eyes, revealing a mesmerizing sight before her. As she blinked away the temporary blindness, a gasp escaped her lips at the magical scene that unfolded in front of her.

The room was transformed into a whimsical wonderland – an elaborate pillow fort stretched across the space, twinkling with fairy lights that cast a warm, inviting glow. Soft blankets cascaded down like waterfalls, creating nooks and crannies that held the promise of cozy comfort. The air was scented with old books, eucalyptus, and lavender, adding to the ethereal atmosphere that surrounded them.

Spencer watched (Y/N) with bated breath as she took in the sight before her. The flickering lights danced across her face, illuminating the awe and wonder reflected in her eyes. It was a moment frozen in time, suspended between reality and a dream.

"Happy birthday, (Y/N)," Spencer's voice was barely a whisper, filled with a vulnerability that he had never dared to show before.

Tears welled up in (Y/N)'s eyes, moved by the effort and thoughtfulness he had put into creating this enchanting surprise. She turned to face him, her heart overflowing with emotions she struggled to put into words.

"Spencer, this is... it's perfect," she finally managed to say, her voice trembling with emotion. She reached out to grasp his hand, holding onto it as though afraid this magical moment would slip away if she let go.

As they settled into the cocoon of blankets and pillows, Spencer grabbed his laptop from his desk and popped a DVD into the disc player. The opening to a movie he had never seen but had heard her talk about multiple times, Clueless, played in the background but all he could do was look at her. Under the twinkling of the fairy lights he could almost swear she had to be a fairy herself. That’s the only thing he could think of that would explain her beauty.

As the movie played on (Y/N) explained to Spencer that it was actually an adaptation of her favorite novel by Jane Austen, Emma, which did little to make him feel the main character was more likeable but watching her happily chatter about the movie filled him with a sense of comfort and affection. This is how it should always be, he thought to himself, wrapping his arms around her as she settled against his chest.

They sat and cuddled in a comfortable silence until it was broken by her voice, soft and timid as she said, “hey Spence?”

“Hm?” He hummed into her hair, his eyes closed.

“Why did you do all of this?” She queried, sounding like she was on the verge of tears, which immediately pulled Spencer from his half asleep haze.

Spencer thought about his next words carefully, taking so long that (Y/N) was about to ask if he had fallen asleep before he finally responded. “After seeing you so heartbroken last night and seeing how Warren just tossed you aside like you didn’t matter I just felt like I should show you how much it means to me that you exist." His voice was gentle, barely a whisper as he confessed the depth of his feelings for her.

(Y/N) felt her breath catch in her throat at his words. The vulnerability in his voice touched her heart in a way she had never experienced before. She turned to look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and care reflected back at her.

Tears glistened in her eyes as she reflexively leaned into his hand as he reached to cup her cheek, caressing it with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "Spencer," she murmured, her voice filled with emotion, "you didn’t have to—I’m not worth all this—I-I don’t—"

He placed a finger on her lips, silencing her words. "That’s what I’ve spent all day trying to show you, (Y/N). You are worth it. You are worth everything to me," he whispered, his gaze unwavering.

In that moment, (Y/N) felt a rush of emotions swell within her, a mix of disbelief and overwhelming gratitude. Her heart pounded in her chest as she gazed into Spencer's eyes, seeing a depth of love and sincerity that she had never expected to find. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

As they sat there, suspended in time, (Y/N) felt a gentle tug at her heart urging her to lean forward. She hesitated for a moment, uncertainty clouding her mind as she debated the implications of such a gesture. Could she allow herself to be vulnerable again after everything she had been through? Was it worth risking her heart for the possibility of something more?

But before she could overthink it any further, Spencer's gaze softened even more as he leaned in towards her. In the briefest moment of hesitation, his lips hovered centimeters away from hers, silently asking for permission. And just as he began to pull back, (Y/N) plunged forward, closing the distance between them as she pressed her lips against Spencer's. It was a tender, tentative kiss filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that had lingered between them for so long. The world seemed to stand still as they shared this intimate moment, their hearts beating in harmony.

Spencer was momentarily stunned by the sudden turn of events, but as he felt (Y/N)'s warmth against his lips, all doubts and insecurities melted away. When they finally pulled away, they were both met with flushed cheeks and wide eyes. There was a charged energy in the air, a newfound connection that sparked between them like a flame igniting in the darkness.

"(Y/N)," Spencer whispered, his voice barely above a breath as he searched her eyes for confirmation.

(Y/N) simply smiled, a radiant expression that lit up her face with joy and relief. “I love you, Spencer,” falls from her lips before she crashes them back against his.

[tojikai]

SUNDERED

Pairing: Gojo x reader

• Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Alt. Ending

Sundered+ (COMMISSION)

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments

word count: 3.2k

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo intentionally runs into you when you’re buying groceries just to show you his girlfriend. The woman was your classmate from high school. At the first meeting, she was shy and tried avoiding your gaze but Satoru just had to call you and ask something about your daughter. Completely unnecessary but he’s just that much of a jerk. Once was considered an accident. But when it happened two, then three times, you already know that you have to change your shopping schedule.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo picks up his daughter from your house an hour late, rubbing on your face that he overslept because he spent “some time” with his girlfriend last night. Distasteful and disrespectful, but you let it slide cause he seems happy. You don’t want to be a killjoy, right? You were never his girlfriend, to begin with. Just someone he got pregnant from a one-night stand. 

❧ babydaddy!Gojo posts pictures of his day out with his daughter online. His girlfriend carrying your kid as the three of them wear matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse headbands. You could only scroll past and continue your work to busy yourself. Maybe you should stop lurking around social media and just use your phone for important messages. Maybe you should also lose feelings for someone who never harbored genuine ones for you in the first place.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo always lets his girlfriend open the door for you when you’re picking up your daughter from his house on weekends. He leans back on the couch, watching you grab your daughter’s things, opening his arms to cuddle with his girlfriend before you even get to walk out the door. It made you feel pathetic and small but what can you do? There’s simply no place for you in that house.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo insists that you spend more time together for the sake of your daughter. You agreed to it and now, you had to sit in the back of the car with your daughter as he drives his girlfriend to work. It made you feel sick and nauseous that you were only able to spend half a day with them before you decided to go home and sleep the day away. Maybe when you wake up, you’ll find it in you to hate him.

“Mommy? Call her, love.” Gojo used a higher voice to encourage his daughter to call you. He knows that he was foul for what happened earlier. But what is he gonna do? He can’t reject his girlfriend’s request, plus it was only a ride. It’s not like she was with you for the whole day. Still, he doesn’t think it’s the reason why you left early. You might be feeling…tired. Even if it was Saturday yesterday and you have no work. You might still feel fatigued on Sunday, right?

“Mama!” The little girl mimicked pointing upstairs. Satoru sighed placing her little bag on a nearby chair as he made his way upstairs. He figured that if you’re still asleep, he could just wait for you to wake up and just look after his daughter here. You’re a single mother for 4 days a week, and on top of that, you also have work. You literally don’t have time to rest. He told himself that he needs to stop messing around just to get a reaction from you. 

Reaching your room, Satoru knocked on the door three times, calling out your name when you didn’t answer. “Wait a second.” You voiced out from the other side, “I’m just gonna call my mom, can you wait for her?” You suppressed a cough at the end of the sentence but it didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. “Are you sick? I could take her back to my house, we’ll look after her until you feel better. ” The suggestion made your stomach churn. They get to play house with your kid and here you are, being miserable.

You shook your head, realizing how bitter you sounded. She wasn’t unkind in any way to your baby but something in you hurts when you think of them giving your daughter the family experience that you cannot provide. You and Satoru tried to work things out but you just can’t get on the same page. Instead of trying to be better for you and your daughter, he decided to fuck around and date someone else instead. 

You wouldn’t say that your name was clean. What with a couple of threats such as finding someone who could act right. You just didn’t think that he’d really leave. It hurt but now you’re getting yourself used to the feeling. Maybe he just couldn’t act right with you. Because why is he so good with his girlfriend now? She tamed him, as he once boasted to you during a fight.

“I’m stuck with a child that I have with you, but not with you.” He pointed out, leaving a searing pain in your chest. “There’s no way I’m letting that happen.” Tears were starting to form in your eyes as the words come out of his mouth. How could he say something so cruel to you, the mother of his child? All you did was tell him that his girlfriend was getting kind of too much after she told you what to do with your child. And now he’s making you the villain.

“I just told her that—” You tried to explain, voice starting to shake. “If that’s all you did, she wouldn’t come to me crying, Y/N.” You just can’t believe that you’re fighting over this. You already have so much to think about and now this, you also have to be cautious about his girl. “She told you herself, I just didn’t want her telling me how to raise my child!” 

“Of course, she wouldn’t tell me that you’re being harsh to her. Unlike you, she’s actually kind and considerate of other people’s feelings.” You looked down, letting out a strangled sob escape your throat before quickly wiping away the forming tears in your eyes as you turn away from him. Why was he never this defensive of you? He didn’t even try to fight for you when his girlfriend convinced him to take your daughter with them on a trip. Without your permission.

And now he’s talking as if you’ve been nothing but a disturbance in his relationship with her. Everything's just unfair. Yet, you just let it slide because you wanted nothing but peace for your baby. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you anymore, Satoru. You’ve said enough.” You sniffed, walking to your daughter’s room to check if the noises woke her up. Satoru was left standing there, processing all the things that he said.

He watched you disappear into the dark hallway of your apartment, shoulders shaking with your head hung low. Even if he can’t see your face, he can tell that you’re crying and it made him feel like shit. He went overboard, didn’t he? “Fuck.” He threw his keys on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to apologize but at the same time, he wanted to prove his point. His girlfriend was only trying to help and you took it the wrong way.

At that time, Satoru thought that maybe she was right. You’re just getting kinda jealous that she could spend time with your daughter and Satoru more and now you’re being too sensitive, letting out your irritation on her. She said that it was a natural feeling for a mother to feel that way but Satoru can’t let you treat his girlfriend like shit just because of your pettiness and jealousy. You have to learn to adjust and accept that some things are gonna be the way they are because of your setup. 

As for you, you felt hurt. Neglected even when you know that you’re not supposed to receive as much attention, much less protection from him. His priority is your child, but not you. You have no choice but to talk and work everything out with them for the sake of your daughter. You know that you could start dating someone of your choice but you wished that it would be that easy. You just want to focus on your daughter and if you’re gonna find someone, you want them to love her as much as you do. 

You wonder what you lacked that couldn’t soften him the way he did to her. You started to think that you’re the problem and that is why you couldn’t fix him as easily as she did. 

You stood up, opening the door for him seeing your two-year-old reach out to you. “Mama’s sick, love, sorry.” You covered your mouth, blinking away the heaviness in your eyes. Satoru watched you pack your daughter’s things. “If you’re gonna be busy, just tell me. I’ll just contact Mom. She can be with you for a few days, just until my cold is gone.” You murmured, counting the diapers to put in her baby bag. 

You don’t want to be away from her, but letting her stay with you when you’re like this puts her at risk and that’s the last thing you want. You can’t stand seeing your daughter through pain and you’re pretty sure it’s the same for his dad. Begrudgingly, you placed the bag in front of Satoru before reaching over for her favorite toy. You smiled at how she squealed when she saw it.

“You know we’re never too busy to take care of her. Just rest, so you’ll get better soon.” You swallowed, nodding your head slowly as you thought of what else they should take. “Yeah, I’ll be picking her up.” You kept your distance from her, sitting down as you felt your head spinning a bit. “Do you...do you have medicine, though? I could get some if you want,” Satoru can tell that you’re really sick and despite his situation with you, he can’t just let you be when you’re like this. You’re still the mother of his child. 

“No, it’s fine. I have some here. Just take care of her.” Your voice was hoarse and your daughter was starting to reach out for you again as if sensing that something was wrong so you urged Satoru to get going. “Be good, okay?” You waved as she watched you with her curious eyes but waved back, nonetheless. You wouldn’t admit it but you feel envious that they could be happy together with her. You’re afraid that one day she’ll prefer being with them over you.

As for your feelings for Satoru, you hated thinking or talking about it. You’re obviously in love with him, but you wouldn’t acknowledge that yourself, either. You fought too much, you hurt each other too much. Other than that, there’s no point for your feelings now that he has someone he really loves and truly cares about. 

You never experienced the boyfriend-girlfriend stage with Satoru. It’s like one day, you just woke up and you’re already parents. You can’t blame him for not having real feelings for you. You do your best to be as civil to them as you can be but sometimes his girlfriend’s just out of bounds. And after a couple of painful fights with Satoru regarding her, it just became too much for you. 

You’re just tired of feeling like a wedge to someone’s healthy relationship. That’s how Satoru makes you feel and you just can’t take any ache from that. 

Another thing that you deny to yourself is the hope that you might fix this all. There are always what-ifs in your mind, and you would never tell Satoru about them. He’ll probably laugh at you and your threats that you’re gonna be with someone who truly makes you happy. You would never destroy his relationship just because yours didn’t work. If you have to cover your eyes, look away and pretend to be deaf every time they’re around you, you would. 

You often think about what it would be like if he settled down with his girl; if they decided to get married and have a family of their own. You don’t want your daughter to feel left out. You don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have her own family in the middle of them. You also wondered if you’d have moved on by then. You hope so. You don’t want to be this pitiful and heartbroken forever.

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

After a couple of days, you’re finally feeling well. You got up early and sent Satoru a text that you’ll be picking up your baby in a few hours. You missed her and her giggles so much. The house was clean during the past days but you very much prefer it to be messy, as long a she’s there. You’ll never mind getting up in the middle of the night or waking up extra early for her. 

Arriving at Satoru’s residence, you rang the doorbell as you waited patiently for someone to open the gate for you. You were hoping that it would be your baby girl, extending her short, chubby arms to you but instead, it was Satoru’s girlfriend. “Come in, she’s still playing inside.” She smiled at you, opening the metal door wider. “Thanks, I messaged Satoru that I was coming to pick her up. Is she ready?” You asked her as you walked to their front door.

“She is, but she’s kinda fussy about it. Satoru bought her a huge playpen and she just wouldn’t get out of it. She’s enjoying a lot.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and you can’t help but feel conscious of how you look. Opening the door, you were welcomed by the sight of Satoru lying down with his daughter in the said enclosure. She was fiddling with a toy as they watched on the big screen. 

Her favorite toy was at the corner, and for some reason, it left a pang in your chest.

“Sweetie, someone’s here for you.” You hated the way she phrased it but you know that she doesn’t mean for it to be offensive or rude to you. The little girl looked up with her binky in her mouth, blinking before smiling at you. “Oh, you’re already here. She wouldn’t let me out of the playpen.” Satoru explained, probably thinking that you didn’t appreciate that it had to be his girlfriend opening the door for you. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” This place always made you feel like you’re an outsider. Probably because you are and it didn’t help that they’re making you feel like it. “Mama!” She waved at you, pointing at the screen as she sat down. “That’s a nice show, love. Maybe we could just continue watching it at home?” You know that she doesn’t have a big playpen there. The screen isn’t that big, either. She suddenly lied back down, whimpering as she kicked her tiny feet. You felt like telling her that you’d work hard to buy her that too.

She doesn’t want to go home yet and that’s what you feared. 

“Baby, mom’s here. She missed you.” Satoru called out but to no avail. He came to lift her up, trying to see if she was just being too lazy to get up. Her eyes were glued to the television as she sucked on her pacifier. She was too into it, pointing the show to everyone before smiling at you. Oh, how you missed that smile. “Let’s go, now.” You cooed at her, softly clapping your hands.

When you tried to reach for her as Satoru leans her close to you, she started wiggling around. “Down, Mama! Wait.” Her cute language never ceases to make your heart swell with joy despite the fact that she’s trying to get away from you. She runs away, stopping to look around before going to Satoru’s girlfriend and hugging her leg. She was in awe when she picked up your daughter. 

So… she’s who your daughter’s referring to by…Mama. You could almost hear your heart shatter at the realization. Since when did she start calling her Mama?

“You don’t wanna go home yet? But Mom’s here.” She talked in her baby voice and you don’t know if you’re gonna be happy that she treats your daughter really well or jealous that she came running to her when she don’t want to do something. Satoru went up to them, leaving you standing a few meters away. You don’t like what you’re seeing aside from your daughter.

“It’s not good to ignore Mama.” Satoru tapped her nose with his finger which she cutely swatted away, eliciting a chuckle from him. “Y/N, I was thinking… maybe I could just, uh, take her home later in the day. This playpen just arrived yesterday and you know how kids are…” He laughed nervously, struggling to find a nice way to say that your daughter won’t be coming home yet.

“Yesterday, I was joking about giving her playmates and she was so excited, she was running around.” His girlfriend giggled as she shared. It was a simple story yet it was a thorn to your heart. Why does it seem like your every nightmare is coming to life? You just smiled at her, understanding that she was talking about giving your daughter siblings. Satoru was silent, but you didn’t dare look at his face. You know that it’s in their future plans and you don’t have to see him smiling about it too. 

“That’s adorable..” You don’t know what else to say, so you just nodded your head slowly, blinking quickly so as to bring yourself back to reality. His place was huge compared to your apartment. The playpen looks so much more comfortable than the crib she has at your place. She has new toys and a mom and dad by her side. So, now she doesn’t want to leave. Suddenly, you can feel the weakness in your knees from when you were sick starting to come back. You cleared your throat as you straightened yourself.

“J-just take her home later. I, uh, bought something for her.” You lied, knowing that you still have to go looking for something you can buy for your lovely child. You wanted to snatch her away from Satoru’s girlfriend, her other mom, but the giggle flowing out of her lips are too precious for you to ruin; the smile on her face as she tickled her tummy was too priceless. Look at them, you told yourself as you started to feel farther and farther away from their little world. They’re a picture of a happy family. 

“I’ll see you later, honey…” You whispered, giving her head a pat as she looked up at you with her big, cerulean eyes. You didn’t wait for any of them to walk you out, you just let your feet take you out of their home, not daring to look back for the fear of breaking down. Your fingers tremble along with your lips and the tiny droplets of rain felt like acid on your skin. Maybe what they say was true. We experience people differently.

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

NEXT

[d3stinyist1red]

GIRLIE, YANDERE OLDER MAFIA BOSS!!(TAKE YOUR TIME IF YOU HAVE OTHER REQUESTSSSS!!💗)

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ʙᴏss x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

yan mafia boss who you work under, with him being your boss and your his right hand woman

yan mafia boss who treats you like you own him, following with whatever you say

yan mafia boss who doesnt like any medics touching him, wanting you to be one treating him

The medic was standing in front of him, clearly fearful for her life bc the man in front of her could kill her if she did the slight mistake. She tried to pat and help the wounds of the Mafia boss who smacked her hand away and huffed.

"Bring me my n/n, now." He said glaring at her as she quickly nodded, basically running to you. She told you about how he refused to let her help and touch him as you sighed. You rubbed your temple before nodding and smiling at her.

"Don't worry, Ill deal with him." You said politely, nodding at her before walking past her, going to the room where he was at. You opened the door and you saw the way his eyes lit up, and a grin landed on his usually nonchalant face. "Love!" He said, as you walked up to him.

"Why are always acting so stubborn to the medics? You know that they're there to help you, idiot." You said clearly irritated, making him pout and tilt his head. "But, I want you to help me!!...and have your hands all over my body..." He whined, grabbing your hand and resting it on his cheek, looking up at you with hearts in his eyes.

yan mafia boss who has to always be in constant contact with you

ʏ/ɴsᴅ𝟷ᴅɪᴄᴋʀɪᴅᴇʀ!

n/nnn

where are uuuuu

n/nnnnn

n/nnnn

...?

...

...

no reply?

Have other hoes?

YOU DO DONT YOU?!!!?!?!!?

i hate u.

You getting blocked.

dont talk to me. I know you hate me.

Okay, im going to kill my self.

...?

....

...

This is (yans name, yall could make sum up) cat, he just shot himself

do you love him

...

...?

baby you know that was all a prank

i love u

pls let me eat ur ass

i wanna slurp ur kitty so good that the only thing i could taste is u mami

(seen 1 min ago)

ʏ/ɴsᴅ𝟷ᴅɪᴄᴋʀɪᴅᴇʀ!

ur rlly gonna leave me on seen?

ur lucky i dont come and cream all over ur face rn

pls touch me

yan mafia boss who has his bodyguards protect you no matter where you go

"Okat sigma 1, hawk tuah, ohio go protect n/n, you better fucking protect her with your life, ya hear?!" He said to his bodygaurds aggressively, scowling them down as they shook in fear,....i think one of them peed their pants...erm!

yan mafia boss who is madly jealous, putting a bullet into anyone's head he sees as threat for your love.

yan mafia boss who when you arent around, he struggles to sleep. He tosses and turns, his mind racing with scenarios about what they might be doing or who they’re with. "is she with that ugly bitch from work again?! Is she with one of my bodyguards?! Is she cheating on me?!" He hiccuped through his sobs, biting on his nails, hair all messy from tossing and turning throughout his sleep

He often wakes up in a cold sweat, feeling empty without them next to him. If you spends the night somewhere else, he'll start spamming you on everything even roblox.. If you dont answer within 5 mins, he immediately sends his men to try to find you, and paces around his house, restless waiting for your reply. bruh u were js buying sum takis...

yan mafia boss who is your boss who favors you a little too much!!! <333

IM PROB GONNA UPDATE SOME MORE ON TUMBLR BUT IM STILL ON BREAK ON WATTPAD CUZ I LOST MY GOD DAMN PHONEEE

SORRY IF THIS IS SHORT I DIDNT RLLY KNOW WHAT TO DO FOR MAFIA BOSS YAN

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Part 1;

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware 

A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.

A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know. 

Love you all madly.

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

Part 1;

The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized that there is someone sitting at the back of the room who smells… strange. 

More brown than purple—an ugly color. There’s something about it that fascinates him.

The woman that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. She’s been doing it for weeks, and they all know it well by now. Older, omega, the woman, and at the latter and less comely stage of life. Most of them here can say the same. They usually give their names, those that get up to share—although it’s never a requirement when you attend, it is highly encouraged—the sharing, he means—but he never pays much mind to them—the names, that is. That’s not what he’s here for after all—to make friends. Although, he does see how that’d be the initial assumption. 

Joel Miller is here for something more specific.

Six weeks he’s been showing up to these things now, and he’s yet to take a turn. He tells himself he’s working up to it. 

What that specific thing is…he hasn’t quite figured out. He’s listening for it, though, and intently, even if he does skip over the names. It’s the details of what they’re telling that matter to him. The hows and intricate whys of what it is that brought them here today.  

Her youth had been spent on a drunk, the woman is saying—her husband—and he’d been cruel to her in those days when there was still currency to spend in the form of her vitality. Joel nods at the puce—yes, he thinks, that’s usually the way of it. But later, there’s more to the story she reminds her audience, he drank himself into a fit, and had never been right since. The cruelty had been taken away from the marriage after that, and she’d been put in charge. 

“But I wonder,” she says, “If sometimes I don’t miss it, the way he’d been,” —if the reason she was here now, with all of the rest of them that were just like her in their own unique ways, was that she’d been left lonely after her cruel husband had been exchanged for a sick one. 

Joel nods again and wonders what sort of face the woman wears as she confesses but doesn’t bother to check. No matter, he knows they’re the same. If not in designation, then in heart. 

It’s easy, that thing, he does it too, to wish for the bad. To want to hold on to it, the thing that hurts. Addictive, even, in some cases. Missing it is easy. 

It’s why he’s here. 

And it’s what they promise you. In their flyers and pamphlets, when they stand on the corners of streets talking people up wearing that look in their eye and that slouch in their step, when they smell it on you—or in the lack there of—a mate or a purpose.

Welcome to our meeting. We’re here to find the cure for loneliness. 

That’s what they promise you when you come here. 

It’d been that word: loneliness, actually, that had caught him. L-O-N-E-liness. There was something attractive about it to him. Not a label but a state. 

You see, it was like this: Joel had seen a therapist once, several years ago, against his will and at the behest of another, who’d said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways. 

“You sound depressed, Joel,” the therapist had told him. 

He’d worn horn rimmed glasses and had a shiny bald head he could see the reflection of the overhead lights in. And worse—the non-scent of a beta which told him they’d never understand each other in the ways Joel longed to be understood. He’d—not hated him, necessarily—but felt an immense apathy for the man; more so than the regular apathy he felt for most things in his life. 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“Very, very sad,” was the official diagnosis.

Joel hadn’t liked the sound of the word. The label. He did not like that a word so succinct could be ascribed to him and all that had happened to him in his life. There was no word for it. It just was. 

But there was something different about a state of aloneness, which if attributed to himself, he could accept. He had been left alone, in ways. It was a tangible thing he could look around a room inside of himself and recognize. 

They’re meetings, is what this place is—encounter groups this coalition offers where lonely demi humans can come to congregate, discuss their aloneness, what had led them to such a state; their lack of attachments, connections, mates—alpha, omega. Held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church on Newbury street, right between his shop and house, although they never talk about religion which he likes because he doesn’t believe in religion. 

God is still under review. 

He wonders if the Catholics wouldn’t have them. 

Sitting forward in his seat, the metal folding chair that always leaves his back aching something fierce, he presses his elbows into his knees to distract with alternative pressure. Focusing on his fingers woven together between his spread legs, he tries to pay attention to the man who’s stood up to speak now. Older than himself, late sixties, no children, no family, no nothin’; he’d run them all off. 

But Joel is distracted. 

The smell is stronger now. Stranger too. Something full bodied, but metallic like rust, astringent bleach, built in a way that forces saliva to pool heavy between his suddenly aching gums. A mask that sits atop something of a much different chemical architecture—that’s the strange part. 

Or—no. The back of his neck itches, and Joel lifts a palm to cup his nape, quell the sting, feel the tender mark. No. The strange part is not the illusion of the smell. What it is, actually, is that he’s fairly certain what he’s smelling is someone else's blockers. Something which he’s positive he’s never consciously noticed on another person in the thirty plus years since he’d presented as an alpha. 

He has, suddenly, the quite intense urge to peek over his shoulder, certain that he’ll be caught smelling things he has no business smelling. That there will be someone just there, breathing down the nape of his neck with accusation on their tongue—boo!

Silly. But he’d known today would not be a good day. 

It’d started off wrong. The milk had gone sour overnight, the check engine light had come on in his truck, all his socks were suddenly mismatched with not a single pair to be found, and his usual route to work had been waylaid by some freak accident. A tree split in half, one side into a house, the other into the road. Not a sign of lightning in the sky all night long. 

Perhaps he might be compelled to believe in God after all. 

Joel does not like it when things are out of order or out of the ordinary. His life was organized in a way that never caused him strife or excess. And it was not that he was stuck in his ways, only that he enjoyed his routine and disliked when things were not as they should be. And this—whatever it is he’s smelling, whoever—is not as it should be. 

The older gentleman, an Alpha too, is still speaking. He had a daughter, has, who no longer speaks to him. Won’t even take his money. He’d had a long career in government that’d filled him with greed and paranoia and a radical view of life that refused to align with the way young people saw the world now. Perhaps he’d tried to change at certain times, but he was old and set in his ways. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change as badly as he should have when he still had the chance to. Happily stuck in the past. His wife had died, and his daughter had gone away from him. Too tired of his mediocrity as a father to give him another chance. 

The man sounds like he feels sorry for himself. Like he thinks himself the victim, and this one, Joel does look up at. He looks old and worn down, heavy beer pouch and thinning hair and sagging jowls. A sad and lonely man. Joel wonders if that’s how he looks to the other people in this room, as well. 

“No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.” Joel blinks, looks at him more closely, tries very hard to find similarities between themselves. But no—not quite right, not the thing he’s looking for. Their plight is different. This man is not alone, he’s got his weakness to keep him company. 

The one thing Joel had fought like hell to keep out of his repertoire of issues. He’d run from even the possibility of it as soon as she was dead, left Texas straight for the Northeast and from thereafter, everything he’d done, he’d done with a staunchness of character. If at the end of it, that staunchness was made up of apathy or numbness or dissociative fury, well, then at least he wasn’t still that man who’d been too weak to save his daughter. 

That counted very much in Joel’s book. 

An overabundance of cold numbness, little anger, everything a static haze—an abstinent winter. That was his whole life. But then, look at him now, he was here, wasn’t he? He’d taken that brochure handed to him on that last warm Tuesday weeks ago as he’d headed back to the shop from lunch. 

Hello, sir. Could I interest you in a cure for loneliness? The young omega had said. 

It’d started like anything—an experiment or a desperate ploy. The monotony had been steady going the past few years, getting older, colder. He’d grown hard and solitary around his wound, loneliness spread like a fungus, and he’d longed for any sort of change. 

“A cure…how?” The terrible shrink had come to mind.

“Oh, nothing to fret over.” The young man had a nice smile, Joel remembers. Kind and straight toothed. Honest in the way that a stranger knocking on your door to sell you a Bible seems honest. “We call it an encounter group. People come, share, tell the tales of their designation and their lives. In the end, the result is different for different people. Some move on to a second step if they need more. Others find what they’re looking for just through the connection of sharing. But no matter the result, you’ll see, you’ll be cured. Promise.” He’d winked, smile deepening, giving him an appreciative once over at the end of his spiel. Joel had blinked back, surprised, confused, but curiosity peaked enough he’d obsessed over it for three short days before he’d found himself stepping into the molted incense smell of the belly of a church so dimly lit he was sure not even God peaked in this sad space any longer.

“It’s that easy?” Joel had asked, childlike in his throat-strangled hope.

“That easy.”

It seemed the smile had been honest enough to sell him the Bible. 

The scent insists upon itself as the older gentleman finishes up, and Joel’s nose tickles with whatever it is it’s whispering at him. He wants to get up and walk out, run away, but suddenly his gut is tight and hot, and he isn’t sure he can actually stand up without disgracing himself in front of all these people. A wash of agonized heat moves through him, confused at what’s suddenly happening to his body. 

“We have a newcomer today sharing for the first time,” Maria, the woman who leads the group, says at the front of the room. “Everyone give her a warm welcome, it’s her first day and already she’s brave enough to jump on up here.”

There’s the shuffling of bodies in their seats, a cleared throat, the man sitting behind Joel breathes so loudly he thinks he’s gotta have some sort of medical condition, the puce turns more hideous by the second, and his own heart is beating so hard in his ears the rush of blood is dizzying. He feels each thump of the thing against his breast bone in some sick imitation of a fist begging to be let out. 

The new voice begins as nothing but a murmur. 

An introduction—he misses the name. His breathing goes shallow, he’d tip over in his seat if he didn’t have both boots planted firmly against the puce. The voice gains strength and with it, Joel wishes he’d been paying attention from the start. He didn’t get to hear her name. 

It’s a girl.

She’d run away from home in the spring of her sixteenth year to join the opera, she tells them. Had come upon the city in roaring spring and thought the rest of her life would be exactly like that, pure novelty in bloom, nothing like what she’d left behind. And was deeply disappointed when the reality was nothing such. 

And Joel hears it, that disappointment in her voice at what she’d not been able to find after searching for it so religiously. This is what makes him look up at her. This, unlike all the others, he thinks he can relate to—just by the sound of her voice. The search for a thing lost which can never again be found. The fruitlessness of it all. 

At that first vulnerable, terrified glance, she’s already staring at him, eyes catching like hooks. 

He blinks once, twice—color—is sure he can hear the movement of his eyelashes passing through the air, the stick of his lids meeting—color—bright. This is it.

That wash of heat turns into a blaze, every single bead of sweat blooming on his brow is a tell evaporating into the ether. This is what he’d sensed from the start of the evening. Maybe even from the moment he’d seen that split maple. 

“My mother always said I needed to be stronger, bolder, not so sensitive.” She looks away from him now. “I grew up in an angry house where you had to fight tooth and nail not to be overrun. Because of this, I left it at a very young age, and it was the greatest fight I could muster, abandoning that house of anger. I found myself something to bring me what I thought would be joy, a job and a city, and for a time, it was enough. But starting your lonely life so young…it’s hard.” After a pause of breath, “It’s been hard.”

“And it’s made me never want to have to—exert myself,” she says, searching for the right words, smiling when she finds them, and Joel has the urgency to smile back. “Now, I never want to have to be strong. I never want to have to try. I want to only be the way that I am. If that’s weak or sensitive or whatever it might be at any given moment, I don’t care. I don’t want to have to fight. I never want to be in an angry house again. I want someone who’ll see this in me and understand and never make me work for it, that they would give it to me willingly, easily, without me having to ask. Do you understand?” She looks about the room, and he hopes her eyes will land on him again, and even though they don’t, he feels she’s speaking directly to him. He nods, the hook of her temptation cast beneath his chin. “This is a fantasy. And it makes for a lonely existence. This idea of how I need it to be for it to be right—love.” She looks down at her hands folded atop the podium where they go to stand at the front of the group and share, and he wills her gaze to find him amidst the crowd again. “It’s so difficult. And this might seem very bad to you, weak willed, but it’s not. It’s only very honest. Which can never be a bad way to be.” That’s why she’s here, she tells them.

Finally, she looks back at him, and it’s that loneliness of two people amidst a crowd, facing one another, knowing themselves mirrored against the other and yet still disparate. There’s something indecent about the way she looks at him in front of all these people, the way he, in turn, looks back. A little bit like finding your own face on a stranger's body in a crowded room. Color rises to his face, and she gives him that same elusive smile from before. 

He’s the one to look away this time. 

As the crowd disperses for coffee and pastries after the last of the speakers, he searches for her. He needs to ask her name, feels as if he’s some blighted creature without it, swears he’ll never forgo attention during a meeting again if he can fish it out of her.

He finds her at the dessert table, Maria at her side and a hand at her shoulder. Something of a thank you is being imparted between the two women. The girl is saying she’s grateful for the welcome, grateful that they’d found each other. 

Joel has things to be grateful to Maria for, too. His brother, mainly. It’d been pure chance that Joel had met her here, that she knew Tommy also. She’d met his brother on a summer trek to Wyoming where they’d become friends and had kept in touch afterwards. The woman has a thing about her that ingratiates people by sheer force of will. Perhaps it’s that she’s an alpha, too. Perhaps it’s just the charisma and wide smile. The fact that she has a countenance that takes no shit from anyone, that makes demands of a person whether they’ve got any give or not. But whatever the case, they’d realize their connection through Tommy, and she kept Joel updated on his brother whom he’d not spoken with in many years. 

Watching the two women stand together and share that easy thanks that Joel so urgently owes, and yet which he cannot voice, he feels, suddenly, so angry. So awkward. So humiliatingly inexperienced. So unable to grapple with the pain of human contact, the fascination of it, the humiliating necessity. 

That decade old anchor weighing him in place and the guilt of even thinking of it as such. 

I feel decrepitly alone and odd, he thinks. And how strange, no? He was a normal man. He has a normal job. He lives in a normal house. Unexceptional in every sense. Everything in his life had been ordinary up until that one great tragedy. And then, as if none of the before had ever existed, it was as if everything afterwards was one great landslide of wrongness. The filth of it slinging mud all over his life so that nothing had ever been right after her. 

So that now he cannot even approach this girl whose name he needs to know, and Maria, to whom he owes the last surviving connection to his brother. 

As Maria turns to go, she gives him an encouraging nod, sending him into an agony of shyness. She’d sensed him hovering. 

The girl remains at the dessert table, perusing the pastries. He can see her fingertips dancing over the golden, sugared confections, before she settles on a plain, glazed donut. He watches the bend of her elbow, bringing it to her mouth and thirty seconds later, the empty hand reaching for a napkin. He can’t help the huff of laughter it draws from him. 

Watching the unknown creature with her back turned, he peers down the length of himself. Wood stain marred t-shirt, old work jeans and scuffed boots, he’d come straight from the shop. Looking back at her, she seems perfectly packaged and pristine. The two of them, different as chalk and cheese. He tells himself he shouldn’t do it, turn around and go, leave her alone, as he steps up beside her at the table. 

Immediately, there’s the heat of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, and he realizes, and it’s silly because it should’ve been obvious from the get go, she’s an omega. The epiphany, not that she is one, but that he’d been too stupid and oblivious to notice, leaves him feeling vulnerable and angry. 

Any sort of hello that’d been coming alive on his tongue immediately dies. And he’s about to make a run for it once again when she speaks up from beside him, “Would you like a donut?” Her small fingers are dancing over the pastries, searching once again. “I haven’t had one yet,” she lies, “I can’t decide which looks best.” 

The dancing hand pauses over a golden brown puff pastry, seemingly coming to a decision, when she turns to look up at him. The scent of her isn’t just shampoo, not just the blockers he’d shockingly picked up on before, sharp, burning his nose. It’s her skin now, too. The dry sweat from hustling under her coat to make it to her first meeting on time salted along her limbs. Hot, sweet almonds. The shocking vermillion of the morning’s split maple comes to mind. He can smell her.

“A puff pastry?” She presses, quizzical crook to her brow at his silence and glower. “I think you really need something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.”

He wants to agree, to say he also thinks he needs something sweet. All he can manage is a short grunt because she smells…indescribable. Honeyed musk, something heady, like she herself had just got done baking, straight out of the oven and full of sugar into his waiting mouth. 

That earlier anger, it kicks up a notch. Why isn’t he fucking saying anything? 

She shrugs, as she lifts the puff pastry to her mouth he finally manages sound. 

“You stink.”

He doesn’t know when he became such a liar.

A pause, mouth open, straight, white teeth ready to bite into the fluffy sweet bread. He can see her small, pink tongue, and it makes him go a little woozy.

He might be losing his mind. 

She’s got elegant eyebrows that shoot straight up her smooth forehead. The look of her skin is glorious. “Excuse me?”

Now, there seem to be too many words spilling out of his mouth. “You need better meds or somethin’. Need to sort your shit out. Can’t go gallivanting about the world smellin’ like that.” Oh god, shut up. 

“Excuse me!” She takes a huge bite of the pastry. “I do not gallivant,” she shoots back, mouth full of sugar and Joel goes hot everywhere. “What is wrong with you?” she demands, the pursing of a prim little mouth as she chews, eyeing him maliciously. 

He hasn’t the damndest clue. 

She is not wary of him in the slightest, which in turn tells him he needs to be wary of her.

Another large bite, inexplicably she extends her free hand towards him—potentially going into shock and entirely out of his depth when he takes it, the vulnerability of tendon and muscle soft beneath his strength—offering him a firm shake. She gives him her name. 

In that moment, she has a look about her that tells him she’ll bite back if he isn’t careful, even if she hurts herself in the process. 

And now he knows you. 

-

“We might as well acquaint ourselves if you’re going to insult me. Don’t you think?” Peering up at him, he’s tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Older, distinguished, but in a rough way, hewn oak, gray. “Are you typically this rude? Or is this a special occasion?”

Incredibly handsome. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I do not stink. No one has ever said that to me, and my blockers are quality. It must be a you problem.” The puff pastry really is very good. And this man really is very handsome. Coming here today was a good idea. 

One of the girls from the theater had suggested it, handing you a pamphlet with Looking for the Cure for Loneliness? emblazoned across the top, and even though she’d done it kindly, any other person would’ve taken the implication as an insult. Hey girl! No offense, but we all in the company think you’re super weird and have you heard about this support group for losers? Kind of like Omegas Anonymous!

Those hadn’t been her exact words, and you hadn’t taken offense. After the initial agony of embarrassment, you’d warmed to the idea. You’d heard of groups like these before. Congregations of demi humans where one could come to find community or connection. Be it socializing or support for people struggling with their designations and all that they implied, they served their purpose. And anyways, you weren’t in a position to be nitpicky. 

It’s true, you’re alone. 

So alone, in fact, that even the people around you could tell. Strangers, coworkers, your roommate and her girlfriend. Like some noxious cloud of loneliness following you around virtue signaling the desperate need for love and companionship and understanding you’re so in need of. 

You increasingly saw yourself as a dancer on her toes, trembling delicately all over, vying desperately to survive to the end of the song. A monster with too many heads. A Cerberus of the richest caliber. 

Two or three would’ve been acceptable—heads—but you'd long surpassed that and moved on to something unrecognizable and unpleasant. Desperately in need of a solution. 

“Maybe you’re the one that stinks. Maybe it’s your upper lip.” And voila, the monster makes her debut. 

“My—” The rude alpha, obvious, that one, lets out a choked sound, a deeper wash of color immediately flooding his cheeks. You dip your head sideways, appraising him as you polish off your second pastry. He has pretty bone structure, masculine, and after he’s done choking and spluttering, he can’t help but laugh a little bit. You see it. 

Beneath a mouth that looks forbidding, perhaps even a little cruel, you can sense that he is not an unkind man. 

Yet you’re not so green that you can’t recognize the gnawing hunger of loneliness in others. There’s always a reason people find themselves in places like these. His face, edged with the weariness of age, makes this obvious. He has good reason for subjecting himself to this. 

Reaching for the lovely eclair you’d been deciding between earlier, you take a large bite of it. Almond cream and a thick layer of icing on top, humming happily as you chew while he stares at you like the three headed dog. 

You hold the dessert out towards him, offering. Palm up, he shakes his head no, slightly disgusted look on his face. 

“So. You come here often?”

He blinks. “Really?” Patronizing look on his face now. 

“Why not? I am actually interested to know if this is worth my time.”

He rolls his eyes. Oh, he’s fun. “Yes, I come here often. Every Friday, for the past two months just about.”

“And you like it?”

“Is this the sort of place one likes?”

“Oh, come on. You never know what you might find.” He watches your mouth as you finish the eclair, swallowing hard. “Anyways, I think the world is kind of over out there. Don’t you? Might as well make the best of it in here.” 

Thumb pressed against the edge of the table, he looks down, suddenly awash with shyness once again. A shy alpha, who’d of thought. 

“What did you used to do?” He asks, motioning at the crowded room full of chatting alphas and omegas. You wonder how many of them will go home together for a fuck after this. 

“When?” You ask, sure he means in lieu of this group, if you’d ever had another form of demi human community. 

“Before this.”

“Before this? Nothing.” Smiling at him, certain he isn’t picking up on your teasing. 

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I’ve always been here.”

“But— Don’t you…I thought...” He’s cute, shaking his head like you’re just too confusing to sustain. “You sing, right?” He pivots. 

“Sing? Me? Whatever made you think such a thing?” The sly look on your face goes completely over his head and slides to the rest of the sweets. If he wasn’t watching, you’d have another. 

“You said. You said you’re in the opera,” he gruffs back, looking visibly aggravated now. 

Such fun. 

“I’m a supernumerary,” you concede as you turn, making your way to an old relic of a pew along the far wall, tragically abandoning the desserts. 

He follows as you go, sitting a respectful distance beside you. 

“I don’t know what that is.”

“We’re the actors that fill the stage at the opera.”

“No singing?”

You shake your head, flirting with him. “I’m a wench, I’m a courtesan,” You bat your lashes, fingertips pressed coquettishly beneath your chin, “Part of a harem. I’m every woman you’ve never known. It depends on the opera.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I started as a stagehand when I first got to Boston. Worked my way up.”

“How’s it work? Lines or somethin’?”

“No lines. No anything. I’m a background actor—an extra, basically. If anything, I’m given some simple choreography direction, laugh, sigh, show fear, horror, shock. Whatever. I’m playing pretend without actually having to do anything.”

“No working for it.”

Your smile melts to blandness. So he’d been listening, then. 

“Did you want to sing?”

“No. I wanted to be a supernumerary.”

“Strange. I’ve never heard of that,” he repeats.

“You did say, yes.” Now, the smile turns auspicious. Everyone’s here for something. “What do you do?” Perhaps this is it for him. 

You eye the rest of the congregation, at the far exit, there’s a large alpha helping an omega into his coat. 

“Got a shop, furniture, woodworking and such.”

“You make things?” He nods. “Ah, a man of creation.” 

Sitting back to take him in, he’s got the beginning insinuations of silver speckling the dark hair at his temples, a well groomed beard, and large, intimidating hands. 

His small huff of laughter is bashful, tinged with something disappointed. “No, nothin’ that grand.” And he’s got an accent heavy at the ends of his words, not Bostonian. Southern.

“But you know, I wanted to say…”

“Yes?” You press when he loses his courage, leaning towards him, inhaling deeply. 

“Well, that I know what you meant earlier. Sometimes I can be the angry house.”

You blink once. Sit back. “I see.” 

“It’s hard work. I have to try every day at it.” 

Hard work being the house, or not? Two opposite sides of the same coin. 

“How do you stop yourself?” You cast a line, fishing for his character.

“Don’t know. Keep myself cold, I think.”

“That’s no way to be.”

“No. It’s not.” He sounds amused. You want to bite him.

Everyone’s here for a reason. 

“Ah, well. Perhaps that’s what’s brought you here then,” you say, twisting the toe of your sneaker against a scuff on the old hardwood, leaning forward on your palms wrapped around the edge of the pew. 

“Maybe,” he says, but a sort of pained, exasperated sound follows it. Your hung head turns to peer at the handsome face, and he’s already looking at you. 

There’s something animal afoot. Perhaps in terms of designation, sure, of course, like the rest of the alphas and omegas here. Your designations weigh heavily in the air. But also intrinsic to your two personalities. You feel you know him. That the two of you might have the same sorts of problems, desires. And as you stare at him, you think you may be equally measuring each other’s character, finding that similarity in one another. 

His eyes move quickly between yours, over your face, and you can tell that prolonged eye contact isn’t his norm.

He has the most surprising set of bright hazel eyes like river stones. 

Suddenly, you feel desperate to pull out a flicker of sexuality in the man, hear it in his voice. Sure, that with him, the experience would be entirely different, exhilarating. Perhaps a challenge. He seems to be more quiet and more patient than any other man you’d ever come across, but also more stern—taking in that soft mouth held so firmly. Far more remote too, by the far away look in his gaze. You want to see how he could be moved and what the sight of it would look like. 

“Maybe not,” he finally continues. “I’m looking for something, I think.” 

“Something like what?”

“Someone like me.”

“An alpha?”

“No,” he looks away, cringing. The word out loud seems a shock to him. “Did you listen to the woman at the start—missing the bad thing? I struggle…with that. Holding on, not letting go even when I know I should.”

You’re at an age now which sometimes makes it hard to realize or accept that what you’re living is your life. That it’s been time to grow up. That you have to remember to move forward when it’s your turn in line. 

Which is to say, that you understand him—the difficulties of knowing when to hold on and when to give up.

“Sometimes you hurt yourself because you don’t have anything else to do. Sometimes, because the alternative is much worse.”

“Holding on ‘cause there’s nothing else to do?”

“Sure. Or you’re used to it.” You’ll be gentle with him, you decide. He’s in need of gentle handling despite the stern face; not a puzzle so arbitrarily solved. And those eyes are still so bright, he doesn’t seem like he needs any more hardship.

“Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he says, accent heavy. 

“Well you did come here for a reason. Didn’t you?” Discreetly, you slide closer to his side, but he doesn’t notice. Apparently lost in the realization that perhaps this was what he’d come here for, to talk to someone, to have someone listen and relate. You’re almost positive he’s never gotten up to share with the group before in all his time coming to the meetings; doesn’t look like the type.

“I came here because I’m going to take better care of myself,” you tell him. “I’m going to try harder.”

“Harder at what?” He blinks as if attempting to come out of a dream.

“Everything. I don’t want to end up like my parents; drunk, angry, alone. I’m scared of it. I’ve avoided at least two of them.”

“I’m afraid of getting older,” the dream moves in his eyes. “That I’ll forget,” he says, but you don’t ask what.

All of a sudden, he seems very real. The swells of grief and loneliness moving through him so similarly, so close to the surface. 

Springing up, you turn to face him and he follows to stand too. You can hear the crack of his knees unfolding, and when he lifts his left palm to stifle a gruff cough, the band of gold around his finger is paralyzing. 

All of a sudden, he’d seemed like what you’d been looking for here too. There’s laughter coming from the church rafters. 

“You’re a widower?” He wants to forget, he’d said he wants to let go. 

Hadn’t he?

But instead, “What? No.” You stare pointedly at the ring, and he looks down at it also. “No,” he repeats. 

“So’re you looking for a fuck, or what?” You try and hold back the bite it comes with, but you can’t.

“No. No. That’s not what I’m looking for.” 

You don’t understand, impaired by your youth, you forget you’d chosen to be gentle with him. “Maybe it’s what you need,” you tell him, turning towards the exit before you can watch him cringe.

He follows at your heels, grabbing his coat from the hook by the doors before he’s stepping out after you into the fall blister. It’s cold and wet and glorious out. 

“Don’t you have a coat?” He demands.

“Nope.” You start walking towards Arlington Street and the park. 

“Did you walk here? It’s freezing out.”

“I did,” you turn back towards him, still moving, and he starts to follow. 

“From where?”

“Downtown.”

“Where?” He scowls at your uncooperation, the married man. Alpha. The truth was that he’d smelt strange to you too. Like no one ever had before. As glorious and shocking as the cold. Like if snow had a scent. Disappointment churns in your gut alongside the excitement at the sight of him stalking after you. 

“I don’t think you know it.” Your backward walk is interrupted as a hurrying stranger bumps into you, sending you staggering. Watch it, the Boston snark spits. The alpha turns to scowl, heavy boot forward like he’s half a mind to follow after the person you’ve just inadvertently assaulted. 

And it occurs to you, “You didn’t tell me your name.” How silly of you. You’d been so distracted you’d forgotten to ask, and what if you never see him again after this? What if you can’t muster the courage to come back again next week? What if he can’t?

“It’s Joel.” 

You think it sounds right. 

“I might—know it.” Where you’re headed to. You smile at the dog with a bone. The disappointment pulses. “Is it far?” He presses. You shrug, looking over your shoulder. You’re going to lose yourself in the garden for a few hours, forget about him. “Why don’t you drive?”

“I like to walk,” you tell him, turning back. 

He looks at you like he doesn’t like the things you say much less the way you say them much less the way you’re grinning at him. Perhaps he can see the disappointment and is disturbed by the sight of it, but the possibility seems too altruistic. 

“You should try it sometime, Joel. You might like it too.”

His huge body seems to be shivering in the cold. 

“I think…” The look on his face has turned suspicious now. He takes a step towards you. “You’re very strange. And you’re very young. I don’t think we should be friends.”

Your heart gives a demanding thump. “We’re not going to be friends.” When you’d first spotted him in the crowd, the strangest feeling had come over you. A tug behind your belly button, a scalding heat at the back of your neck, at your wrists. Perhaps it’s merely imagination, the look of disappointment you think you see on his face right before you turn away from him to continue on walking. “And I’m not that young anymore.”

You’d known today was going to be a good day. Extra cinnamon in your latte, a late start to your morning, warm in bed, no rain in the sky despite the cloud cover. And your director, late for rehearsals after some freak accident had befallen the roof of his house.

“That’s what all young people say.”

Part 2;

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[bokunoheros]

TAGS/WARNINGS: gn reader but afab with descriptions of feminine clothing (also katsuki calls you princess like once or twice idk), alcohol consumption, everyone is 24+, shouto is bisexual asf, katsuki and reader are married, reader did not go pro, some mlm action (todobaku content scattered throughout bc i am a god and can make them do whatever i want!!), shouto cucks a little bit, also shouto is a nasty closet perv lol, overstimulation, inappropriate quirk usage, oral (reader receiving), spit roasting, backshots, idk what else i could possibly mention other than this is nothing but filth GENRE: SMUTTTT MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI 18+ ONLY SUMMARY: after a party celebrating their top spot as heroes, shoto gets a little too drunk and has to stay the night with you and your husband, dynamight. shenanigans ensue. a new boyfriend is acquired? WORD COUNT: one million billion (jk it’s 10.4K) 🦊’s A/N: god help me. shoutout XENOVA for the celebration party idea. uhm pt2 maybe if this blows up idk. also this was not proofread bc i’m running out of time and it’s too long. and uhm its not exactly manga-canon bc i think deku deserves to be the no.1 hero idgaf. horikoshi when i catch you. // anyway enjoy lol

     it was mina’s idea to hold the party originally, and you who offered to host, since you were the one dating the number two pro hero, dynamight, and had enough space to accompany the old class 1-A. it took a little persuasion from your end to get katsuki on board, but he eventually agreed, despite his bitching about how you two needed to whip this place into shape before anyone dared to set foot into your shared home. 

     this, of course, meant more work for you in the end since your husband was so terribly busy with work. ….that’s not to say he wasn’t helpful, though; of course not! whenever he wasn’t bone tired from whatever villain attack or whatever there was that day, he was more than happy to help you pick up (well…… that’s how the phrase goes, at least; bakugou himself didn’t mind cleaning with you and helping out around the house, per se, it’s just that he always came off as aggressive in the everything that he did) and really start getting the house ready for the upcoming party this weekend. 

     when it was all said and done, everything had been dusted and all the floors swept and vacuumed; the pillows on the living room couch had been fluffed and the kitchen counters were wiped down and had been bleached in preparation for the day you were about to spend in the kitchen cooking for this party. at least katsuki was there to help you with this the most out of all the other chores — and it was really the most time consuming one, too, so his help here was greater than he realized. him being an actually good cook just so happened to be an extra, heaven-sent bonus. 

     despite this, you had actually gone out of your way to prepare three main courses: (cold) soba, katsudon, and then something on the spicier side for your husband for the top three heroes you were celebrating tonight, along with some appetizers and snacks, of course.

     finally, the day of the party was upon you, and you finished running your last couple of errands (namely stocking up on alcohol) right as ashido and the rest of the girls arrived in a limo. …..guess yaomomo went all out, huh? well, it's not like you could exactly blame her—it had been years since you had All been together due to everyone being busy with their own work, even now there were a few who couldn't make it, like satou and koji, or mezou and fumikage, due to circumstances out of their control. it was a shame really, you would have loved to have some of rikido’s sweets since he was such a good baker. ah, must not have been meant to be then. no use in dwelling on it. especially when everyone was beginning to pull up!

     “eeee, my pookie! how have you been!? how’s life with baku—no, dynamight?!” mina eagerly squeals as she runs towards you, arms extended and ready to grip you in a crushing hug. 

     “ackgh–! too tight, too tight–!” you choke out as she squeezes you half to death. 

     “oh, sorry!” she apologizes, letting go and backing up slightly as the rest of the old 1-A girls come up behind her and the limo driver drives back to yaoyorozu’s manor until it was time to come pick the ladies back up. “now. spill all the tea,” she says, giving you a serious look all of a sudden, and you feel a smile stretch across your face. it’s nice to know she’s just the same as she was in high school.

     “well—why don’t you come in and see for yourself?” you gesture to your shared home, to which the girls gawked at in awe. it wasn’t an estate or anything like yaomomo’s place of residence, but it was certainly large enough to accompany everyone attending and then some.

     leading them inside, you open the already unlocked door (katsuki was busy in the kitchen aggressively finishing up the fruit platters and charcuterie boards, making sure they were up to his standards before serving them) and led them all in.

     “kats, ‘m home! n’ all the girls are here!” you shout loud enough from him to hear you from the foyer. 

     your husband swears and grumbles under his breath, eyes darting to look at the clock just as it struck 17:00 (that’s 5pm for those of you who don’t use the 24hr format). goddammit, they were perfectly on time. whatever, he was done arranging the meats and cheeses of the charcuteries anyway. 

     moving to set the trays on the coffee table in the living room for everyone to enjoy, he greets you at the door with the softest little smile ever, one mina just barely catches sight off, which she immediately teases him for and his usual scowl makes a re-appearance in record time as he becomes prickly and sharp again, huffing out a gruff make yourselves at home or whatever. 

     after that, it was another twenty-ish minutes before nearly everyone else arrived. 

     shouto, however, was the last to get there due to him getting into an argument with his father prior to leaving. it was a surprise to even himself that he decided to come anyway, but he had grown to be more sociable than he was back in high school, and also he was one of the three people the party was actually being thrown for, so…. it would just be incomplete without him there, and he recognized that. 

     soon, the party kicked into full swing and the alcohol was excitedly opened and everyone could feel themselves relaxing as it grew closer to dinnertime—which you happily (and tipsily) served to everyone around half past seven. 

     once everyone had eaten and had time to let their food settle, people began saying their goodbyes as the night grew later and later. all except shouto, that was, who was actively still drinking, sitting on your couch with a bottle of sake in his left hand as he watches everyone else clears out. 

     “fuck’s he doin’? just sittin’ there,” bakugou grumbles, coming up to stand next to you after seeing eijirou and denki to the door (uptight as he could be, even your husband was capable of relaxing after a drink or two…. or several). he wasn’t… erm, upset with shouto’s prolonged visit, per se, but he was definitely tired and wanted some alone time with his spouse for fuck’s sake. 

     “be nice, ‘tsuki,” you scold him lightly, moving to walk towards shouto, who had a sleepy look in his eyes, to stand in front of him. “hey, todo, y’okay?” you ask, waving a hand in front of his tired face.

     “mmh? ‘m fine.” his words slur together slightly as he refocuses his blurry gaze on you, and for a moment, the number 3 pro hero thinks you look like an angel sent from heaven to take care of him—until katsuki ruins the moment by walking over and saying;

     “great, then you can obviously get yourself home!”

     “katsuki!” you hiss, looking over to where he stood next to you. “you can stay the night if you need to, shouto,” you tell him softly, squatting down in front of him and placing a hand on each knee to look up at him from almost between his legs — something your husband absolutely did not appreciate. 

     “hey—” he tries to interject, but the young todoroki had already accepted your kind offer, knowing better than to walk or drive home in his current state. 

     “relax, kats, he can sleep on the couch if you don’t want him in a guest bedroom—even though that’s what they’re for,” you suggest/remind him. 

     “i guess,” he huffs, crossing his arms as you finally stand back up.

     shouto, meanwhile, moves to stand up from where he sat, swaying a bit before you put both hands on his broad shoulders and force him to sit back down.

     “nuh-uh, you sit right there, sir,” you say playfully. “is there something you need?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as katsuki grits his teeth while you tend to that drunk icyhot cunt. (as if he himself wasn’t also wasted).

     shouto pauses to think for a moment, thinking about his words carefully before opening his mouth. 

     “do you have any—” he lags and forgets the word he’s looking for mid-sentence. “uhm. ….unfrozen ice?” he asks, tilting his head partially to the side like a confused creature might. 

     “oh my god,” bakugou groans at his request as you break out into a fit of giggles. “you fucking mean water?” he asks his fellow pro-hero. god. what a sorry fuckin’ sight he was — can’t-stand-up-drunk on katsuki’s couch, while he forgot a word as basic as water. jesus christ, he cannot believe you offered to let this fool stay here without even asking him if it was okay first. whatever. he’d just have to fuck you so good that that walking peppermint couldn’t sleep at all. yeah, he could totally do that.

     “water, yes,��� shouto follows up as you have to wipe the tears from your eyes at his drunken words. standing up straight, having doubled over from laughter, you nod and tell him yeah, we have unfrozen ice, and that you’ll get him some.

     after you had left the room, though, katsuki huffs loudly and stares down at shouto, who was still seated on the plush sofa. 

     “listen, todoroki,” he spits out, one hand splaying out in an aggressive manner as his quirk popped off quietly. despite the alcohol in his system, katsuki was still just as…. well, just as aggressive and competitive as always despite the way he had grown more outwardly affectionate (towards you specifically) over the course of the evening.

     “i dunno, or care, what you’re trying but just know—” an embarrassing hic cuts him off and his face flushes from more than just the alcohol. suddenly, his big tough guy act drops as his blush reaches the tips of his ears and you come back into the room with two cups of water, handing one off to shouto and the other to your husband.

     both men silently and gratefully take the glasses from you, gulping it down before they even realized just how thirsty they were until the cups were empty and they were looking at you, causing you to suddenly feel small under their intense gazes.

     “‘ll go—get s’more,” you slur, taking the now empty glasses back from the two men, and also this moment alone to calm your racing heart, and maybe pour yourself another shot. or two. or three. calm down, you’re only alone with the two finest men in the world — one of which you’re married to!! you think to yourself as you begin pouring them another glass from the nice water pitcher you had specifically set out for tonight. 

     taking the bottle of vodka from its spot on the counter, you look at how much is left and simply decide on drinking straight from the bottle and polishing it off. little did you know, you’d need that liquid courage for later on tonight. before bringing the two well-built men their water, you dispose of the vodka bottle, putting it in the recycling and heading back into the living room.

     after a comment from katsuki about how it was getting late, you escort shouto upstairs to a guest bedroom and show him where the bathroom is before excusing yourself to your shared bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind you, just for katsuki to barge in seconds later as you move to the master bathroom to start brushing your teeth.

     he joins you shortly after, having discarded his nicer dress shirt and pants in the bedroom’s laundry basket, leaving him far more comfortable in his unfairly flattering black boxer briefs.

     “jesus—kats, how are you so fuckin’ fine?” you ask after spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste, and he only chuckles and lets a small smile stretch across his lips.

     “dunno—could ask you the same thing, though,” he quips back, grabbing his own toothbrush from the little cup it sat in, running it under the water before putting the toothpaste on it and bringing it up to his already white teeth and scrubbing the night’s grime away.

     you giggle at his words, running your toothbrush under the water and giving your teeth a final once over with the brush and scrape your tongue, rinsing it one final time, and then tapping it against the sink’s edge to get some of the excess water out. 

     finally, you made your way to the bed, sitting on the edge of it as you watch your husband finish up in the bathroom before he stalks over to you, an almost predatory look in his eye as he comes to tower over you and you can feel a chill run down your spine as he sizes you up from your spot on the king sized bed. 

     “katsuki..? what’re you—”

     your question is almost immediately cut off as his slightly chapped lips come crashing down against yours as he knocks you back onto the bed and stands between your now spread legs—which quickly wrap around his narrow waist as his large and calloused hands find purchase on your hips. 

     “mmmfgh,” your hum turns into a moan as you focus on the feeling of your husband’s lips against yours, melting into him as he leans over you, teeth clacking slightly as he tilts his head for a better angle to kiss you at.

     “was getting tired of that icyhot bastard,” he grumbles, eyebrows furrowing together as the grip on your hips tighten possessively at the mention of shouto, as if your husband wasn’t the one to bring him up? 

     his words make you chuckle nonetheless as a smile spreads over your pretty, soon to be kiss-swollen, lips as you lean back on your palms, the bed sinking beneath your weight.

     “‘m sorry, tsuki,” you mumble softly before you feel his tongue run over your lower lip, silently begging for entrance to your hot mouth — to which you eagerly granted access to, moaning quietly when he licks into your mouth. he tastes like tequila and spicy udon, and it’s utterly intoxicating (or maybe that was the last of the vodka you’d downed earlier taking effect). “didn’ mean t’invite him withou’ askin’ you,” you slur out, rolling your hips up against his growing erection.

     “‘s okay, i guess,” he pants, pulling away only slightly in order to look you in the eyes, letting you know that he really didn’t mind. sure, shouto was quiet and didn’t actually interfere with what he had planned tonight (or so he thought), so he was only mildly annoyed instead of genuinely bothered. besides….. he had left the door partially open after barging into the bedroom on purpose… just in case that walking candy cane happened to overhear and wanted a peak at the show he wouldn’t be allowed to join.

     and just like that, your husband’s lips come crashing down against yours yet again, tongue easily seeking out your own and swirling around yours before sucking it into his mouth, humming pleasantly around the wet muscle (he was in a shockingly good mood, actually…. guess he enjoyed the party more than he let on—that and the alcohol was a large factor, too) before pulling off of it with a nasty, wet pop! noise. 

     “mmh, glad you’re not mad,” you mutter, eyes fluttering open to take a peek at him. and what you saw was downright angelic — a harsh contrast from his usual demeanor and appearance.

     “why would i be?” he asks, and you straight up laugh, ruining the moment entirely. “hey–!”

     “sorry, ‘m sorry—it’s just—” you wipe a tear from your eye. “you’re usually not so— what’s the word? calm? something like that,” you try explaining to him, a smile gracing your features.

     “i’m calm! i’m always calm!” he spits out, raising his voice, sending you into another round of laughter. 

     “god—i love ya s’much, kats,” you tell him after composing yourself, shifting on the bed so you were leaning against the plush pillows lining the headboard and bakugou eagerly follows after you, moving between your legs, which easily wrapped back around his hips, pulling him closer against you, and he shifted so that he was propping himself up on a forearm, his other hand coming to press against the small of your back, arching it for you as his lips found their way to your neck, where he began to nip at the sensitive skin there.

      “you’re pretty great too, i s'pose,” he grins against your flesh before beginning to suck at the junction of your neck and shoulder, determined to leave a mark dark enough to last a week, at least. 

     “yeah? ‘s good t’hear,” you giggle breathily as he assaults your neck, and one hand comes to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his mysteriously spiky hair (you’ve never once seen him use hair gel—hell, you’ve even searched his entire side of the bathroom because you didn’t believe him when he told you it’s just like that).

     it doesn’t take long for bakugou to get fed up with the clothes separating your bare skin from his, desperate to physically feel you against him, and in record time, he has the skirt of your dress bunched up around your hips, you’re sitting up slightly, and he’s tugging the fabric the rest of the way off, carelessly throwing it onto the floor.

     shouto, meanwhile, lay awake staring at the ceiling in your comfortable guest’s bed, drunkenly reminiscing back to high school, and the crush he didn’t know was a crush he had on you. had he known, he probably would have asked you out sometime in your senior year—instead, he misinterpreted his affections as an intimate friendship with admiration for you and your quirk. what always baffled him, though, is why you would pick katsuki bakugou to love out of all people (not like you really had a choice in the matter…… one day you woke up and realized your supposed hatred for him was, in fact, a bone-deep love that consumed you whole).

     with an achy sigh, todoroki sits up and gets up to use the bathroom. after washing his hands and splashing his face with some cool water to sober up at least a little, his ears perk up on the way back to his temporary room. on his way back, however, he happened to catch the faintest echo of a feminine moan, and before he can stop himself, he’s silently stalking down the hall to the master bedroom, where he found the door to be cracked open wide enough for him to get a surprising view of dynamight with his head between your legs and your underwear and dress strewn across the otherwise neat floor.

     immediately, his dick twitches to life in his nice dress pants and he nearly groans at the way you moan katsuki’s name so sweetly. god…. that should be me, he thinks to himself enviously as your husband focuses solely on eating you out.

     “aa-ahh! mmm, katsuki!” you cry out, both hands coming down in attempt to push his face away from your messy cunt, but to no avail. katsuki offered you no respite as his hot tongue explored your puffy folds as he began to suck on your clit. “katsu—fuck!”

     you’re ignorant to the feeling of another pair of eyes on you, too caught up in the feeling of being eaten out, but katsuki isn’t — he feels shouto’s burning gaze, and he can’t help but smirk to himself. so he was right: icyhot couldn’t resist a good show, and boy, was katsuki about to perform.

     “hmm?” he hums, one hand resting on your thigh while he uses the forearm of his other arm to keep you from bucking your hips up. he doesn’t exactly care about what it is you’re whining about; he knows you’re fine and he intends to make you cum at least thrice tonight to show off to shouto, who was apparently a giant closeted pervert.

     and it was true. shouto was nasty without even realizing it — and that’s not to say he slept around, god no (he was 24 and still a virgin….), he just had fantasies. many of which involved you, and shamefully, on occasion, you and katsuki. it made his cheeks burn to even think about, but he would be a liar if he said he’d never gotten off to the idea of a threesome with you and your husband. jesus, and now, here the opportunity was laid right there in front of him, and what was he doing? slowly starting to palm at his erection and bite his bottom lip as he watches the scene in front of him unfold.

     “i— shit–!” you squeeze your eyes shut and arch your back as you tug at his hair. “god, just—! slow down!” you whine, and katsuki’s eye twitches. 

     like in every other aspect in his life, bakugou tended to be rough and aggressive in the bedroom; put simply, you turned him into a feral man—brought out the inner animal in him. he was, as surprising as it may seem to some, a generous lover, however, due to his have to be the best at everything mentality, so, by extension, this included his ability to give and inflict pleasure (mixed with a healthy amount of pain, because, well.. it’s katsuki). 

     “nah.” blatantly ignoring your request, he pulls his head away from your drooling pussy, the lower half of his face covered in your slick, and blows a cold puff of air against your throbbing slit, causing you to whine out his name as he nips at the fatty skin of your inner thigh—dangerously close to your cunt—sucking and biting until a dark purple mark begins to form. a smirk stretches over his somewhat thin, although plump, lips knowing shouto would never get to litter your body in bruises and hickeys the same way he does. 

     “mmh—jesus, kats–!” it’s all you can do to whimper as he resumes the disgustingly messy way he was tongue fucking your pussy.

     shouto almost groans as he gets harder and harder, almost painfully so, as he watches katsuki fervently eat you out, and suddenly, he wishes it was him between your legs with bakugou watching instead. 

     as silently as he possibly can, todoroki begins to unbuckle his belt in order to slip a hand past the waistband of both his pants to feel himself through the fabric of his sickeningly tight boxers. he’s careful to bite back what would be any whimpers or quiet moans, knowing it’s so shotover for him if he gets caught.

     “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, swallowing thickly as he watches as you’re eaten out until you’re cumming with a loud cry of your husband’s name (shouto pretended it was his name you were calling out), and he goes to turn around to hide in the bedroom you’d so kindly allowed him to stay in to jerk off until he hears—

     “y’gonna come out, icyhot, or are ya just gonna stand there like a loser cuck all night?” katsuki lifts his head from between your legs to look at the half-and-half bastard peeping on him and his spouse…… what a fucking freak.

     “sh–shouto!?” you squeak, not having noticed his presence until the man you’d married had pointed him out. “wh–what’re you—!” you can’t even think of what to say before he’s trying to apologize and katsuki’s cussing him out—telling him to get his ass in here before he really makes him sorry. 

     just how drunk was your husband? or shouto for that matter? truthfully, you were probably the most sober person in the room.

     slowly, silently, and shamefully, shouto makes his way into your bedroom, where he comes to stand at the foot of the bed with a horribly noticeable tent in his pants. he wants to look down at the floor, but he’s physically incapable of taking his eyes off your naked, sweaty form—and katsuki’s toned back, for that matter. he gulps anxiously as he waits for the perpetually angry blond to inevitably break the ice. 

     much to his surprise, however, it was you to speak up first, admitting that you didn’t mind shouto’s presence—followed by katsuki sarcastically asking if you wanted him to join, to which your body stiffened and cheeks flushed at the thought. 

     “what? don’t tell me you like the idea of that half n’ half idiot joinin’ the fun?” a wicked grin stretches over his slick lips as he quirks a brow up at you before shrugging and saying; “fine, just remember: you asked for this.”

     “you heard ‘em, todoroki, get the hell over here,” he spits out, and shouto complies immediately—he could not believe what was about to happen and neither could (nor katsuki for that matter).

     as he closes the gap between you three, he fumbles with the buttons of his dress shirt before ultimately just ripping it open and shrugging it onto the floor. repeating the same action with his pants, he struggles slightly with the zipper before tugging it down and quickly stepping out of them, nearly tripping in the process—to which katsuki has to stifle a laugh.

     shouto feels dizzy and light-headed from how hard he is, and he bites his thick bottom lip as he nervously crawls onto the oversized bed, sitting adjacent to you as he awaits further instructions from the ever-demanding bakugou. 

     “katsu—”

     “shut up,” he says gruffly, one large hand coming up to cover your mouth—he was about to dictate everything that was about to go down. “you—todoroki—listen real fuckin’ closely, because i’m not repeating myself. you can look, but ‘m still deciding if you’re allowed to touch yet—” katsuki directs his attention from him to you and asks; “whaddya think, princess? would y’like that? both of us touchin’ you?” and it’s all you can do to nod, cheeks physically heating up in shame and embarrassment. 

     “i guess i’ll allow it, then,” he says, moving his hand away from your face so he can manhandle you into a sitting up position, making you straddle his lap and telling shouto to move behind you.

     you feel your heartbeat quicken significantly now that you’re naked and sandwiched between two of the hottest men you’ve ever been blessed with the chance to encounter. dear god. take a breath, you’ve got this. …..and that’s why your pussy’s all but drooling right now? you can’t help but roll your bare cunt over your husband’s erection, letting out a delicious little moan in the process, and shouto’s equally large hands hesitantly find purchase on your hips, and you look back over your shoulder as he leans in attempt to kiss you—just to be blocked by katsuki’s hand against his pouty lips.

     “i didn’t fuckin’ say you could kiss them,” he hisses. shouto, however, mentally shrugs this off, grabs the angry blond’s wrist to move his hand, and leans in over your shoulder, pressing his chest firmly against your back, in order to—kiss your husband instead????!

     holy shit—this is so much hotter than it should be, jesus christ. you’re genuinely ashamed of the way shouto moving to kiss katsuki rather than you turns you on, and you even let a little oh my god slip in awe and horny amazement. 

     “what the actual fuck, icyhot!?” your husband explodes, trying to shove shouto away from him, but causing you to fall back fully into his lap, where you can feel his boner pressing up against your ass.

     “n–no,” you speak up. “d–do it again.” you try your best not to mutter the request, looking between the man who had crushed on you all through high school and the one you’d ended up marrying. 

     “huh!? have you both lost your fucking minds?!” 

     “please..? do it for me, ‘tsuki?” you beg as sweetly as you can, a pout tugging at your lips as you did your best kicked puppy eyes. as tough as bakugou acted, deep down, he did, in fact, have a soft spot for you, and would do nearly anything for you—and this, unfortunately, was about to be one of the things he was willing to do. maybe he had the whiskey to thank for his… bravery, but for some reason, the idea of making out with that peppermint bastard really didn’t seem so bad. ….jesus, what is he thinking?

     “tch, fine,” he clicks his tongue before he’s suddenly snatching you out of shouto’s lap and bringing you back onto his, where he shifts so his back’s against the headboard and says; “‘f y’can ride me, then sure, ‘ll do whatever you want, sweetheart.”

     nodding eagerly, you tug the waistband of his boxers down just enough to free his aching cock, where it hits his lower tummy and you impatiently use one hand to line up the angry red tip with your slick entrance before sinking down to the base with ease. you both moan at the feeling and katsuki beckons shouto over after pressing a quick kiss to your shiny lips to remind himself why he was doing this.

     shouto’s dick aches enviously, desperately wishing he could feel your heat, but quickly gets over it as his chest presses against your back once again and his lips land against katsuki’s. actually, todoroki was not an experienced kisser—at all, really; he was only copying what he had seen in movies, so he’s a little surprised when the blond’s tongue runs over the seam of his lips and his heterochromatic eyes fly open at the feeling. 

     katsuki, however, reaches around you to grab shouto’s cheeks, forcing him to part his pretty lips, and he easily slips his tongue past his kiss-swollen lips. meanwhile, shouto’s strong arms wrap around your waist while he allows your husband to explore the inside of his mouth, his face heating up despite the way a chill runs down his spine. 

     “mmh,” he hums quietly, freezing his tongue in order to give your husband a little surprise—which works very well, seeing as how katsuki pulls away with a heaving gasp.

     “what the fuck?” he pants, rolling his hips up into dripping cunt, and you let out a little moan, grinding down against him at the same time, allowing him to brush up against your g-spot while shouto moves to kiss katsuki again, large hands coming up to cup his flushed, tanned cheeks, trying to tilt his head for a better angle as he mimics the way the blond’s tongue had run over the seam of his lips, and is pleasantly surprised when he reluctantly parts his slightly thinner lips for the much calmer man. 

     jesus christ, you think to yourself, trying to bounce against your husband’s dick to the best of you ability, but groaning in frustration when his absurdly calloused hands come down against your hips to hold you in place.

     “mm—’tsuki,” you whine as he wholly focuses on kissing shouto (who was currently living out his wet dream). it’s all you can do to wiggle in place, trying to grind your clit against his neatly trimmed pubic hair, desperate for any kind of friction. meanwhile, shouto’s freezing hand comes up to grope your chest, causing you to let out a quiet yelp at the feeling of him tweaking roughly with your nipple.

     poor, poor inexperienced shouto had no gauge or concept of what exactly he was doing, relying on instinct and everything he’d seen in the little porn he had watched; he silently prays he’s acting accordingly and soon his heated left hand is coming up to grab at your other tit.

     “sh–shouto!” you moan, almost causing katsuki to pause in his action as a growl leaves his throat—now this just simply would not do, no, no, no. !!!! fuck! his dick twitches inside you as he ruts his hips upwards while holding firmly onto your hips. “je–jesus! katsuki!” 

     that’s better, he thinks to himself, a smug, self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his plump lips as he tries not to overthink his kiss with todoroki. god. as fucking  embarrassing, humiliating, and shameful as it was, …..katsuki absolutley could not deny the fact that he was feeling so, so, so many things right now, things he never would have considered sober, let alone acted on, and now….. now, he was rock fucking hard as he feels the inside of shouto’s mouth, tracing his tongue along the grooves of his blindingly white teeth and inner cheeks before swirling it around his own heated muscle. 

     he wants to tell shouto he’s not half bad at this when he begins to suck on his tongue—taking him violently by surprise—but can’t bring himself to dole out the praise, not wanting him to get an ego about how well he was managing to keep up. 

     you can feel your stomach doing flips and your pussy creaming around your husband’s cock as the two men you’re sandwiched between really go at it, and suddenly your mouth feels dry as you let out a low, drawn out whine.

     “fuck,” is all you’re able to say as you dig your nails into katsuki’s back while arching your own, with shouto still pinching and tweaking with your poor, erect nipples—his hands were almost at extreme temperatures, and you choke out something about how good it feels, offering the number three hero the praise he needed—something bakugou wasn’t a huge fan of. 

     half n’ half wants to use his quirk? that’s fine—he can, too!

     the next thing you know, your hips feel scorchingly hot and you’re hearing the sound of a very small-scale explosion, and you yelp out your husband’s name, pussy fluttering around his achy length, and you have to bite your lower lip when you feel tears welling up in your eyes from all the stimulation. had you known inviting a drunk shouto to stay the night would lead to this, you would have done it years ago! …because honestly, you were crushing hard on him your freshman year of highschool together—but unfortunately for you, that’s when he had first begun to actually explore his emotions for the first time in his life, leading you to believe you never stood a chance with him.

     katsuki, however, while his primary emotion was anger, you could tell something was up with him and his feelings towards you when he stopped yelling at you as much compared to the others. don’t get one wrong, he definitely still shouted at you, because that’s just who he was, but….. it was enough for you and the girls of 1-A to pick up on—something they teased you relentlessly about behind closed doors because nobody ever dared to mention anything in front of bakugou in fear of ruining your chances together (as you see, mina and a few others were die hard shippers while the rest enabled this behavior). 

      “christ’s sake, katsuki,” you hiss as his quirk repeatedly pops off against your reddening skin and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep yourself grounded enough to scold him. …try to, anyway. “thi— this isn’t a—ahh! fuck!—a compe–titon! jesus!” you moan.

     a competition. 

     that word ring in katsuki’s ears as he pulls away from his kiss with shouto, admittedly a little breathlessly, a smirk stretching over his glossy lips.

     “now that’s an idea,” he muses out loud, causing shouto to tilt his head and your eyes to widen. goddammit, you just had to go and open your bigass mouth, didn’t you?

     “n–no; whatever you— you’re planning, forget about it,” you say as firmly as you can despite the way your pussy flutters around him.

     bakugou clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes at the way you whine out such a ridiculous request. 

     “mmh, nah,” he grins, hands holding you firmly in place against him, preventing you from even rolling your hips—something you’re quick to bitch about. 

     “god–dammit!” sometimes you wish your husband wasn’t so goddamn strong—it made it that much easier for him to manhandle you into any position he wanted. 

     “y’up for a little challenge, icyhot?” katsuki ignores you entirely, focusing his intense gaze onto the slightly younger man.

     “...sure,” he nods, albeit a little reluctantly, unsure of what exactly he was agreeing to. he hopes he’ll get a chance to steal a kiss from you, but for now, he figures it best to go along with whatever bakugou was about to suggest. 

     “whoever can make princess here cum the most in five minutes each can fuck their cunt,” he begins, just for shouto to interrupt him. 

     “and what of the loser?”

    “i was getting there—impatient sonuva bitch….” he mutters the last part under his breath like he wasn’t also an impatient sonuva bitch. “anyway, the loser—in this case, i’m sure it’ll be you, y’fuckin’ virgin cuck—can…. fuck right off and watch,” he finishes, cock twitching deep inside you at his own words. he was absolutely positive he’d win the little proposition he’d struck up, which is why the punishment for the loser was so harsh. when in all reality, if he was feeling kind enough, he’d let you suck shouto off as a consolation prize. ….maybe.

     “sounds good to me,” todoroki agrees to bakugou’s conditions, feeling his own dick twitch as he steels his nerves—he was so fucked. in this moment, shouto’s never been more grateful for being a fast learner, as that was his only chance at possibly succeeding in such a task. he wasn’t particularly familiar with the afab body, and so he has to actively recall all the porn he had seen—mind you, he was incredibly picky about what exactly he’s watching—when suddenly an idea strikes him and he’s asking katsuki to move his hands so he can pull you off his cock and reposition you so your back was against the bed.

     you and your husband are both confused until shouto’s pushing your thighs apart and nestling between them, icy lips kissing down your body until he reaches the mound of your dripping cunt, and you can’t help but get shy—not because you weren’t used to being eaten out, no (katsuki often ate you out until you couldn’t see straight), it was because you just simply were not expecting that from the inexperienced shouto todoroki! but it’s okay, just take a deep breath and—

     “aa–aah! fuck! shouto!” you cry out, caught off guard by the way his full lips wrap around your erect clit and begin suckling on it, his freezing tongue moving to swirl around it as he does. he doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing and is more or less figuring it out as he goes based on your reactions and moans. 

     katsuki is just as taken aback as you were, but for totally different reasons; this was probably one of the last things he had expected todoroki to do, but, but, but…!!! fuck! he couldn’t even be mad about it either because he was the one who had decided to turn it into a competition. shit. okay, whatever, he’d just work around this.

     “nngh–!” one of your hands comes to run through shouto’s split hair, tugging the soft locks gently. “wh–where the fuck did you—aah! hhngh!—learn h–how to do this?” you ask breathlessly, looking down at the man between your legs, and you feel a chill run down your spine and goosebumps erupt over your skin when you realize he’s looking right back at you—staring at you intently, doing his best to gauge all your little reactions, both verbal and physical.

     katsuki can’t help but agree with your question, because seriously, where the fuck had he learned this shit!? 

     all he’s able to do, though, is watch with awe as shouto focuses wholly on his attempt to eat you out — which he was seemingly doing a good job at — as one large and calloused hand subconsciously comes down to jerk himself off slowly, thumb swiping over his bright red, leaky tip, and he hisses out a quiet fuck while your back arches off the bed.

     shouto, however, doesn’t answer, in favor of bringing a heated finger down to your slick entrance — gently prodding at it before slipping it in with ease. 

     “mmmffgh,” you whine as he curls it up slowly, all while sucking on your throbbing clit, and it doesn’t take long for a knot to build up in your lower stomach. “nngh– sh–shouto!” 

     he simply ignores you as he begins to slip a second finger in—gradually heating them up as he did—and you moan pathetically as your husband watches on in awe, his mouth horribly dry and dick achingly hard, and for a moment, he’s scared he might cum to the sight of another man eating his spouse out—so he intentionally slows his pace to something almost painfully slow to make sure he doesn’t prematurely ejaculate, wanti—no, Needing to cum inside you. 

     starting to scissor you apart now, you clench around shouto’s burning fingers desperately, whining as his freezing right hand comes up to pinch one of your already stiff nipples. 

     “nngh–!” it’s not long before you’re cumming with a loud cry of shouto’s name while pulling at his soft hair, back arching deeply off the mattress as katsuki lets out a growl at the sight, already seething with envy….. whatever; he takes in a deep breath to calm himself down and slowly starts to increase the pace at which he’s jerking himself off, groaning softly as he does. 

     todoroki doesn’t relent in his pace, however, messily eating you out throughout the duration of your orgasm, resulting in you cumming a second time not long after.

     “nnngh—’s too much, shouto—” you choke out, pulling at his hair while trying to push him away at the same time. “f–fuck!” it had maybe been two minutes, meaning you had to endure for another three. but how exactly were you meant to do that? with the way he was all but making out with your cunt, you turn your attention to katsuki, pathetically mewling for help—just for him to shut you down! reminding you that you agreed to this and that he knows you can take it.

     the most your husband had ever made you cum in one night was four times—a record he was gunning to beat tonight. 

     by the time shouto’s time was up, he had managed to make you cum three times, on his way to working you up to a fourth, before katsuki’s letting go of his dick and burying his thick fingers in todoroki’s hair, yanking him away from your pulsing heat. 

     “hey—” shouto pants breathlessly, lower face covered in your slick.

     “time’s up, icyhot,” your husband rasps out before asking you how many times you’d cum.

     “th– three, but— i need a break before we keep goin’,” you tell him, panting heavily with flushed cheeks and teary eyes. 

     katsuki simply nods in acknowledgement, untangling his fingers from shouto’s hair as all three of you take this moment to catch your breath. then, after a brief three or so minutes of rest, bakugou’s crawling on top of you as shouto watches on this time, cock leaky and painfully hard as he palms himself through his horribly tight boxers while katsuki kisses you.

     “love ya, kats,” you’re able to pant out, and shouto feels his heart break a little; he wishes he could be on the receiving end of those words some day... but for now, he shifts so he’s kneeling on the bed, legs tucked neatly under him with his thighs spread wide enough for his heated left hand to sneak past the waistband of his boxers in order to grope himself.

     bakugou smiles against your lips at your words rather than returning them, and his tongue slides out to poke its way into your already open mouth, easily licking over the insides of your cheeks and grooves of your teeth. 

     as he watches the two of you makeout, todoroki begins to reflect on his kiss with katsuki earlier, and he finds himself yearning to hear those three little words from him, too, or to be able to kiss you as well….. maybe when this is all said and done… maybe he can work up the courage to ask to join your relationship..? or maybe he’d leave early in the morning full of shame…. he isn’t quite sure yet.

     “mmngh—” you moan softly as one of katsuki’s large and calloused hands trails down your side, moving to cup your puffy cunt, before two thick fingers easily insert themselves into you without much of a warning—fortunately, you were still soaked from your slick and shouto’s spit from where he’d eaten you out so good, so your husband didn’t meet any resistance when scissoring you apart. “k–katsu–!”

     “yeah?” he pants as his cock drools uncomfortably. it’s okay. he’d just have to make you cum four times in five minutes, and—the idea that shouto might beat him at a challenge he proposed due to your fatigue from allowing that icyhot cunt to go first suddenly flashes in his mind, and he’s hardened over with a certain resolve he’d allowed to slip in his overwhelmingly horny state of mind.

     “i— ah! hnnngh— ‘m still se–sensitive,” you whine out, arching your back off the bed at the stimulation, and it’s all you can do to pull at his hair when you feel the calloused pad of his thumb press against your swollen, oversensitive clit. as the fingers almost knuckle-deep inside you press into your g-spot, you go crosseyed from the combined feeling of being finger-fucked and having your tongue sucked on (when’d he start doing that!?).

     katsuki, however, ignores your weak mewls in favor of kissing you so hard your teeth clack together briefly before he’s tilting his head for a better angle and nipping softly at your tongue, causing you to squeak in surprise. 

     rolling your hips up and grinding down against his hand, desperate for more fiction, shouto watches on in awe and horny amazement, taking notes on how your body reacted to katsuki, hoping he could imitate his actions, or develop them into his own, next time he got the chance. 

     soon, though, katsuki’s five minutes come to an end, with you only having cum twice by his doing—something that makes his eye twitch as he realizes that meant icyhot would get to fuck your cunt. ….goddammit! he’d gotten too caught up in the feeling of your lips against his to focus fully on fingering you! sure, he was just about to bring you to your third orgasm–but! oh, this so wasn’t fair! if only he’d gone first! then you wouldn’t have been so worn out!

     shit. with a sigh, he pulls away from your body as his eye begins twitching and he looks over to shouto—who currently had his hand wrapped around his cock—and lets out a huff.

     “there’s no way i’m letting him fuck you,” he grunts out, crossing his muscular arms.

     “kats, that’s not— ‘s’not fair,” you chide him, panting heavily and sitting up on your forearms. “you said— said the winner—” your cheeks flush as you remember the words he’d used and you shake your head to clear the thought from your mind. “...could fuck me—you wouldn’t wanna go back on your word, would you?” 

     shouto’s heart rate increases as you stick up for him, and he feels the extra blood circulating throughout his body go straight to his throbbing dick as his eyes light up with hope—never in a million years would he think he’d get the chance to have sex with you!

     “mm, …fine,” katsuki agrees, salty he’d lost at his own competition, but willing to do whatever to make you happy, so… he almost retches a little at the thought and he feels his heart break in his chest ever so slightly, but… if staying true to his word and letting that half n’ half bastard fuck you would make you happy, then…. he guesses he can let it slide…

     with that, shouto’s shifting onto his knees a little more in order to slide his boxers down his well-toned thighs so his pretty cock can slap against his lower tummy and he’s quick to grab you by the hips, pulling you towards him before katsuki’s words cause him to pause.

     “not so fast, icyhot, if you’re gonna fuck ‘em, then they can at least suck me off while you do,” he growls, moving so that he’s behind you and then manhandling out of shouto’s grasp so that you were facing him. “get on all fours, sweetheart,” he instructs you, and you obey with a nod, presenting shouto with your ass and drooling cunt and he swallows thickly at the sight. 

     his hands plant themselves on your hips once more and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips—you were glad shouto would at least get a chance to enjoy himself, as you’re sure he probably doesn’t have many good stress relievers, if any at all… 

     with that in mind, you make sure to arch your back nicely for the man on his knees behind you as you take your husband’s dick in one hand while supporting your weight with the other and press a little kiss to the bright red tip before slowly taking it into your hot mouth.

     katsuki hisses out a groan at the feeling of you hollowing your cheeks as you gradually take him down to almost the base, your hand wrapped around what doesn’t currently fit in your mouth, and swallow thickly around him.

     “shit—” a hand is quick to bury itself in your hair to guide your pace as shouto’s jaw slackens in the slightest before he gets a grip and starts to align his swollen and leaky tip with your creamy pussy, moaning much louder than he was expecting to at the feeling of your warm, gummy walls wrapped around his virgin cock. suddenly, whatever metaphorical grip he did have immediately slips away from him as his physical grip tightens to an almost painful extent, and you’re sure he’ll leave bruises in the shapes of his fingertips—similar to the way your husband so often does.

     “aa–aah! fuck!” todoroki whines as he takes his time bottoming out—biting his tongue as he pushes into you almost agonizingly slow, causing you to moan around your husband’s dick, resulting in him pushing your head down further against him and your pussy to flutter around the poor, overwhelmed shouto.

     you nearly gag as his mushroom-headed tip hits the back of your throat, but are able to suppress your reflex to do so well enough to remove your hand from around him while you focus on breathing through your nose as you take him down to the base, until your face is flush against his pelvis, light blond pubes tickling your nostrils slightly. 

     you try to stay that way for as long as possible, swallowing around him continuously to fight your own gag reflex rather than out of consideration of his pleasure, but it’s only been a few seconds when you’re fighting against his strong palm to come up for air.

     after pulling off him with a disgustingly wet pop! and panting heavily, you make the suggestion that the two should kiss again — arguing that if your husband is just gonna offer your pussy to be fucked without asking you, then the least he could do was makeout with the man balls deep inside you.

     “what?” katsuki barks out, looking down at you, with your head between his thighs. 

     “please, ‘tsuki?” you ask nicely, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

     shouto wants to join in with your pleading—to ask katsuki for a kiss, too, but he knows better, knows your husband will begrudgingly cave to your demands and that he’ll ultimately receive another kiss.

     “tsk… fine—c’mere, icyhot,” he grunts, one hand pushing your head back down onto his dick as the other reaches for shouto. both men lean over you in order to lock lips, and the younger one can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips as he gets what he wants. 

     todoroki’s hips press flush against your ass as he leans over your sweaty, overstimulated body to makeout with your husband. god, you weren’t, like, …a fujoshi or anything, but…. something about the idea of katsuki and shouto going at it in particular had your stomach in knots and cunt clamping down snugly around shouto’s girth. 

     “jesus—” the half and half man pants at the feeling of your pussy, and he honestly doesn’t know how he’s managed to go this long without it. ….or if he’ll be able to live without yours specifically from here on out…… okay, it’s decided. he’d ask to join your relationship, somehow, when this was all said and done, but for now he isn’t sure whether to focus on his kiss with katsuki or the feeling of his dick throbbing almost painfully inside you. 

     ultimately, his attention is drawn to the way bakugou nips harshly at his lower lip—enough to draw a small amount of blood—and a moan gets caught in shouto’s throat, coming out as something more akin to a whimper instead; something that certainly makes katsuki’s ears perk up. had todoroki just fuckin’ whimpered from something he had done? for a reason other than getting pussy for the first time in his stupid virgin life? needless to say, it quickly goes to bakugou’s ego as he begins sucking on shouto’s lower lip, tongue swiping over it quickly at first, and then a second time that was considerably slower and more teasing in nature.

     poor shouto can feel himself going cross-eyed as he ruts into you sloppily, heavy balls smacking against your clit, and he knows he won’t last long like this at all. he’s kinda bummed he can’t …make love to you the way he would prefer, but right now, he doesn’t find himself picky at all—just grateful to be a part of this entire thing, even if he may not get the chance again in the future. that’s why it was critical for him to be present in the moment, literally drooling from how good he feels, as he uses his quirk on his tongue while swirling it around katsuki’s, the now freezing muscle licking over the insides of his cheeks and grooves of his teeth, sending a chill down your husband’s spine. 

    the saliva being exchanged between the two begins to dribble out from the corners of their mouths and drip down their chins and onto your arched back. holy shit. you nearly choke on katsuki’s dick at the feeling of their spit rolling down your spine and you moan in both disgust and twisted pleasure. 

    “nnmgh,” you moan, tongue pressed flat against the underside of his dick as shouto drills into you. now it’s you who finds themselves drooling profusely, your spit running down katsuki’s cock, soaking his balls. 

     the blond can feel himself throbbing down your throat and he groans from the combined stimulation of you blowing him and shouto’s icy tongue—he’s close and he knows it. …meaning that half and half whore was definitely about to cum, with the way your pussy is surely milking him for all he’s worth. 

     “shouto,” he grunts out, pulling away just enough to tell him that if he’s gonna cum, then he has to pull out—that katsuki was the only one allowed to cum inside you. 

     todoroki was more taken aback by the usage of his first name from bakugou of all people, and it’s all he can do to nod and mumble a quiet yeah. 

     it’s not much longer before both mean reach their climax around the same time—with shouto pulling out to jerk himself off for a few more seconds and he’s cumming all over your back with a loud cry as your husband cums in your mouth, thick cum spilling down your throat, past your tongue, not even giving you a chance to taste him.

     after both men catch their breath, katsuki slowly pulls you off of him as he gazes down at you with a particularly soft look in his eye—or maybe it’s satisfaction, you’re too fucked out to really tell. 

     “y’okay, princess?” your husband rasps out, grinning to himself at your teary eyes, one hand cupping your cheek, and you blindly lean into his warm touch.

     “mmhm,” is all you can hum in response, borderline brain dead from how many times you’d cum tonight—clit still throbbing from the earlier stimulation. 

     “good….” he directs his attention to shouto, but doesn’t ask him anything, instead looking him up and down, eyes lingering on his dick for a moment longer than he’d like to admit. he quickly redirects his gaze to shouto’s heterochromatic one, and the softest, barely there smile tugs at the corners of his lips. it was so small and brief, one might think they were hallucinating had they seen it, but todoroki catches sight of it, and he wants to say something, but finds himself speechless; so instead, he leans in to kiss your husband again, and, very much to his surprise, he doesn’t immediately recoil. given, he doesn’t lean in to meet him either, but he does kiss him back as you shift to the side, panting heavily while you watch the two muscular and domineering men go at it for the nth time tonight, and you can hardly believe your eyes.

     one hand slips down in between your legs as they kiss, rubbing gently at your sensitive bundle of nerves while shouto takes the initiative this time, running his now heated tongue over the seam of katsuki’s lips before licking into his mouth, but moans quietly when the usually angry, but now somewhat calm, blond begins sucking on the hot muscle, one hand coming up to almost cradle the back of shouto’s head as he buries in fingers in his two-toned hair, pulling at it roughly.

     “y’know icyhot, you’re really not that bad at this,” he tells him, which is the closest to doling out praise he’ll ever get. 

     shouto, however, takes this to heart as a soft smile pulls at his lips and suddenly he finds himself cupping katsuki’s face and knocking him onto the bed, clumsily clamoring on top of him, and your jaw genuinely drops at the scene in front of you. holy shit.

     “yeah?” shouto breathes from on top of katsuki, who was just as shocked as you were, if not moreso. what the fuck? how the fuck? what was he meant to do? he looks over to you for an idea of where to go with this, and his eyes widen when he sees you touching yourself to the sight of them. …alright, he supposes he can get behind this.

     looking back over to shouto, he replies: “sure, ..but i’m better,” and easily manages to flip the pair so that he was on top instead.

     “nngh–” you moan as softly, your free hand coming to grope one of your tits, pinching and tweaking with your already erect nipples. you don’t know if you can handle another orgasm, but the sight of the pair in front of each other is simply too hot to not jerk to.

     shouto, meanwhile, wraps his arms around katsuki’s neck as he pulls him in for a disgustingly sloppy and heated kiss, lips parting by themselves as he cranes his neck upwards. similarly, he moans as well, tongue already seeking out katsuki’s while you fondle yourself and slowly work yourself up to one final orgasm.

     nipping at his lower lip the same way he’d done to shouto earlier, katsuki retaliates by pulling away from the kiss to bite at his neck — even going as far as to suck against a few particular spots, leaving hickeys to bloom in the place of his mouth. for a moment, the idea of jerking shouto off crosses his mind, but that would be going too far for bakugou. 

     you, however, encourage this behavior, telling them to put on a show for you as you try not to cringe at the feeling of shouto’s cum drying on your bare back.

     so, it’s shouto who finds himself reaching for katsuki’s dick without a second thought, and he heats up his hand a bit to tease the poor blond (there is nothing poor about that man…), causing him to hiss in a mix of surprise and pleasure. 

     “shit—you’d think you would ask someone before just grabbing their dick,” he grunts out, making shouto chuckle a bit at his words.

     “sorry,” he says simply, thumb running over the leaky slit of his mushroom-headed tip, and he really, really wishes he could suck him off…… christ. maybe… maybe he should ask? you were the one who told them to put on a show after all..!

     shouto ultimately decides against it, though, too embarrassed to do so, and instead settles for jerking katsuki off slowly and with intent. 

     “nngh–” bakugou nearly whimpers—not that he’d ever actually do something like that, obviously—and he pulls at shouto’s hair, dick still sensitive from the way you’d sucked him off so good a few moments prior.

     it doesn’t take too long before katsuki finds himself cumming sooner than he’d like to admit, biting down on shouto’s neck in order to cope with the stimulation from his former classmate and fellow pro-hero. 

    you, too, find yourself cumming rather quickly, back arching off the mattress as shouto slows his pace to a halt, pulling his hand away and licking katsuki’s cum off it while making full eye contact with him—something that, shamefully, turned both you and the blond on. 

     you two would have to have a very serious discussion after this about how to move on from here, but for now, the two men turn their focus back to you, finally worn out for the night. katsuki easily shifts to lay next to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as shouto moves to get off the bed and go back to his guest room where he’d lay awake for the rest of the night—until he hears you call out for him softly, inviting him to sleep in your bed for the night; something katsuki doesn’t protest against, too tired to do so—and even if he did, his heart wouldn’t be in it. unfortunately, he very much enjoyed his time with the two of you tonight, and might seriously have to entertain your future request of letting shouto join your relationship.

     in the meantime, however, shouto abides and comes to lay on the other side of you, flushed and sweaty body pressing against your back as your chest smushes against katsuki’s significantly warmer one, and you’re quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of his heartbeat and shouto’s steady breathing.

return to KINKTOBER | K. BAKUGOU M.LIST | S. TODOROKI M.LIST

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

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When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time. 

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.  

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.  

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago. 

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile. 

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

But why was he remembering all of that now? 

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision. 

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines. 

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door. 

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles. 

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once. 

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on. 

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings. 

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you. 

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter. 

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time. 

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him. 

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either. 

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid. 

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.” 

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside. 

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass. 

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away. 

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment. 

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high. 

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him. 

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime. 

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game. 

3-2. UTokyo’s win. 

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink. 

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again. 

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe. 

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Angst (obvi)

a/n: It's about to reallyyyy get started in the next part (I promise there will be fluff in this fic eventually). Thank you so much for reading and interacting with this series ❤️❤️ I love writing it!!

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 4 ☼

Series Masterlist

~~

Mor’s fingers slid along book spines as she circled the room. A fire crackled and popped beneath the mantle, providing ambiance as the blonde retold another story of your life. You, unsure how to move about the space, remained seated in a rather large chair with an uncomfortably low back. 

“Gods, you wouldn’t talk to Rhys for a week. He was beside himself,” she laughed, shaking her head in faint fondness. “You refused to stay at the House out of pure spite. That’s when you and Azriel decided—” 

She cut herself off, nearly tripping on the ornate rug under your chair.  

“When Azriel and I decided what?” you probed. 

Mor bit into her lip, taking a large breath. “That story is for another time.” 

You hummed, hiding your frustration beneath a close-lipped grin. 

A story for another time.

This was your story, and yet, there were so many pieces that weren’t making sense. There was so much being kept from you—you could feel it—but why? Why did Mor omit some things and freely speak of others? Why was the topic of Azriel so… taboo? 

Your thoughts traveled back to the lunch yesterday, the way Azriel had abruptly vanished. He hadn’t been able to spend even an hour in your presence. The rest of the meal had been tense, with Cassian attempting to save your feelings by sending subtle jabs Azriel’s way and Mor shooting daggers at the swinging door. 

Maybe you and Azriel were enemies? It certainly didn’t feel that way whenever he was around. Granted, you’d only seen him twice since waking up, but those two times weren’t filled with hostility or ire, were they? 

Mor moved over to the window. You clenched the cushion of your chair between tense fingers. 

Did Azriel not like you? 

The thought sent daggers through your chest, which was odd, considering the man had only spoken about four words to you. But… he had to like you, didn’t he? When Mor spoke of your family, of your place in this court, she always included Azriel. He was always some part of the stories of your life. 

But that didn’t mean the two of you were friends. 

That didn’t mean he liked being around you. 

Perhaps the Inner Circle was attempting to rewrite history—reform a bond between friends that had long been burned. Maybe the two of you had constant disagreements and fights and the rest of them were sick of it, using your lack of memories to drive you back together. That would certainly explain Azriel’s disappearance yesterday. 

The conclusion ate away at you. It ate and ate until you were left feeling hollow. How could one person—a person you didn’t even know—be affecting you so much? There was a vast array of other problems you should be dwelling on. 

“He doesn't like me very much, does he?” 

You hadn’t meant to ask the question; the words had spilled out without permission. 

Mor’s head jutted back in confusion, her mouth opening in the shape of a scoff. “Who?”

“Azriel,” you clarified, suddenly feeling so small in the large, confusing chair you sat in. “I know I lost my memory, but I still grasp context clues, Mor. You’re always hesitant to speak of him and he didn’t exactly seem overjoyed to be spending time with me yesterday. Listen—” you held your hand up, stopping Mor from giving you the excuses you could see welling up “—I don’t care, okay? I don’t care how bad it all sounds. I just want to know the truth. I can’t… I can’t even begin to figure this all out without the complete truth.” 

The conflicted twist of Mor’s brow was glaringly apparent. She brought her fingers together at her waistline, fidgeting with them in what you assumed to be a nervous habit.

A lick of sympathy made you add, “Come on, it can’t be that bad, right? Whatever it is?” 

A pause.

“I don’t know if I should be the one to explain this all to you,” Mor said, struggling over each word. 

“It seems like no one else will.” You stood from your chair, ignoring the strange sense of loss from your departure. Did the rest of this room smell so much of cedar and night-kissed air? “Please, Mor. I’m so confused. I know more about myself, about you and I—you’ve done a wonderful job at that—but… I need to know everything. There’s a chance that I… a chance that I don’t get my memories back. I need to know who I am. Every part.” 

You brought your hands up to grasp at Mor’s, pleading with her through your gaze. Your friend—she had become your friend—stared back at you with so much disparaged hope. 

“You could still—” 

“Please, Mor.” 

You squeezed her fingers. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. 

“Y/n, Azriel—” 

Something crashed, causing Mor to yank your hands back until you were secure behind her, her body acting as a shield between you and the door. There was another bang, a panicked voice, and then heavy footsteps. Your back pressed against the glass window, a chill sinking into your bones. 

“—in her and Az’s reading room.”

The door slammed open not a moment later, Cassian bursting through in a frazzled state. He quickly scanned the room before landing on you and Mor. He locked eyes with the blonde, gave a quick nod, almost indistinguishable, and then turned his gaze to you. 

“You want to meet our High Lord?” 

~~

You could feel the tension the moment you stepped into the room. 

Shadows battled for purchase around Azriel, his fists clenched at his sides as he stood opposite Rhysand. A desk separated them, filled with papers and books and notes. Neither made any indication that they had heard your group enter the office until Rhysand shot his eyes to the corner of his vision.

Azriel sighed, deep and menacing, as if Rhysand had insulted him gravely. 

But he hadn’t said anything. 

Rhysand’s jaw shifted to the side. 

Cassian spoke, and it was then you realized his arm was pressing you back into the doorway. “Everything good in here?” 

Mor stood ground behind you, keeping a firm hand on your back. 

“Everything is fine,” Rhysand replied, steady voice matching his steady gaze on the male in front of him.

“You both sure? Because you told me to get her and I don’t know if having two Illyrians—” 

“Everything is fine, Cassian,” Rhysand repeated. Some of the tension left him. With a sharp look in Azriel’s direction, he turned his attention toward you, craning his head to the side to catch you behind Cassian’s broad shoulders. “Hello, y/n.” 

A nervous breath left you; whether it was from the hostility in the room or the greeting from the High Lord, you didn’t know. When Cassian nodded to Azriel and moved to the side, allowing you a full entrance, you glanced around quickly and caught the eyes of each person once, and then twice. 

You licked your drying lips. “High Lord,” you responded, bending at the knee and lowering your gaze. 

You had no recollection as to how long a bow was supposed to last. There was just some intrinsic part of you that knew the gesture was needed. Rhysand was a High Lord and you were… well, you weren’t sure what your title was—if you even had one. What your place was within this court. 

No one had deigned to tell you. 

When you rose after a seemingly acceptable amount of time, you were met with a still silence. All of the previous tension in the room melted away to create space for the stifling pause that permeated the air. Rhysand blinked at you, and then blinked again. 

And then he had to cover his mouth because he began laughing. 

A new emotion you could not remember experiencing invaded every inch of your body. It took you several seconds of enduring Rhysand’s muffled laugh before you recognized it as mortification. Pure, unadulterated mortification. 

You clasped your hands together in front of your waist and took a harrowing breath in, trying to fight back the sudden burn in your nose. 

Azriel, who had been watching you with careful grace since you stepped out from behind Cassian, turned his head with a sharp snap and growled at his High Lord. The leather around his fingers, placed there to keep his blazing siphons in place, groaned as his fists constricted once more. 

Rhysand banished the argument before it began, attempting to wipe away the laugh with his fingers. “I’m—I’m sorry, y/n,” he chuckled, collecting himself further, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I know this is not funny for you, but… but I have never seen you do that a day in your life. And you have met several High Lords.” 

You glanced around to gauge the reactions of the others in the room, finding Cassian with his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek to fight a smile and Mor staring up at the ceiling, in the midst of that same battle. Some of the embarrassment fled, but it was only replaced with confusion. 

“I.. I’m sorry, I just assumed—because you’re a High Lord, I assumed your station required—” 

Rhysand shook his head and gently corrected your rambling. “In a public space, perhaps. Maybe not in Velaris. And certainly not from someone I consider to be a sister.”

A sister. 

Your family. 

Right.

“I’m sure Helion would welcome the greeting,” Cassian huffed out from beside you, his words laced with an unrealized laugh. “Especially since the last time you greeted the High Lord of Day you told him to never again try baking in his entire immortal life. Not even a hello.” 

Whatever discussion was occurring prior to your entrance was long forgotten. Even Azriel cracked a smile at that, and the room was filled with more than Rhysand’s laughs. The sounds, although new for you, had a smile tugging at your own lips. It was the first time since you woke up that no one was frowning at you, or fighting off tears, or storming away in bouts of shadows. 

In fact, the feeling was so jarring you found yourself laughing as well—a tentative laugh, but one of the first that felt real. 

It was a few more moments of joyous forgetting before silence took over again, but it was a lighter silence this time. Rhysand motioned to the chair facing his desk, and you took the seat, Cassian standing tall behind you, Mor positioning herself on the arm. 

Azriel remained standing just a step away. 

His face was void of a smile once again. 

Rhysand cleared his throat. “It seems wrong to introduce myself now, but I must ask that you call me Rhys—or Rhysand, if I’ve really done something to piss you off. But not High Lord.” When you only nodded in agreement, he looked down at his desk, something lost in his eye. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around for you sooner. I’ve been researching—trying to figure this out.” 

“I know. Thank you, Hi—Rhys,” you corrected. Cassian squeezed your shoulder from behind. A shadow followed the movement, slinking down from the Illyrian’s hand to loop around your neck. 

“There isn’t much literature on witches, unfortunately. Not here. I’ve had Amren, another member of our court, looking through what she knows. She—well, she knows a great deal about many things that we don’t understand.” Rhysand sighed. Humor left him. “The consensus so far is that anything done by a witch can only be undone by that witch. Meaning—” 

“Meaning there’s no hope unless we can find her,” you finished for him. “But—” your brows furrowed “—I’m the only one who saw her. Mor’s told me about that day. No one else saw the witch but me and now I…” 

The burning in your nose was back, this time accompanied by the pounding in your head and the pressure in your chest. Both had become constants in your life. A sickening sort of panic twisted its way through you, leaving your breath unsteady even as Cassian ran a comforting hand over your shoulders and Mor offered silent encouragement at your side. 

The only thing keeping your tears at bay were the shadows that had sought you out, their presence tickling your skin and serving as a distraction. That, and the azure glow continuously catching the corner of your eye as Azriel clenched and unclenched his fist. 

“There are two avenues we can take,” Rhys offered with a kind, calm smile. “I am able to see into minds, oftentimes past what even you might be cognizant of. If you allow me to, I can enter your memories and take a look… maybe see the witch or something useful.”  

You could make it worse.

You remembered bits and pieces from the day you were attacked, but some things were clearer than others. You had no idea who said what, but you knew someone had warned Rhys against this—someone had wrapped themselves around you and kept him far, far away. 

“Would that hurt?” you asked. 

A trembling exhale fell from the shadowsinger’s lips. You turned to look at him, but he kept his eyes forward. 

“I would do my best to ensure that it didn’t,” Rhys comforted, his own eyes darting from Azriel and back to you. “At any sign of discomfort, I would stop. The goal would just be to see where your memories lay, if they were accessible at all. And to see if there was anything hidden about the witch.” 

You nodded, trying to reconvene privately as you stared down at your fingers.

He would just take a look. Maybe it would somehow stop this incessant pounding in your head or maybe he would be able to see the memory of the witch. Maybe your memories were there, and you just didn’t have access to them yourself. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

“If you aren’t comfortable with that—” Azriel’s low voice cut through your rampage of thoughts. “—we still have several people looking for information. As spymaster, I can assure you that all personnel available are on the hunt in Spring Court.” 

You looked up, and Azriel met your eye for the first time since that disastrous lunch. Something felt like it fractured within you, a desolation so sharp it stung, but just as abruptly, that feeling washed away. It felt as if it seeped through some crack only to be reined in and slammed behind several locked doors.

You rubbed at your chest in an attempt to soothe the ache the feeling left. Azriel flickered his gaze down to watch your hand, clenched his jaw, and then looked back up. Softer this time—an apology you couldn’t comprehend. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. “It means a lot that you are spending so much time on this. I—I can’t begin to thank you fully.” 

Some of the conviction you had grown so used to seeing on Azriel’s face crumbled. He took a half-step towards you, a seemingly unconscious movement. 

“Anything.” His voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. “Y/n, anything.” 

It wasn't until Rhys spoke again that you were snapped out of the trance Azriel had locked you in. “I cannot guarantee I will see anything, if you choose to allow me in,” the High Lord explained. When you looked over at him, a sad smile lingered. “Which is why an alternative may be needed.” 

“Of course,” you nodded, an encouragement for him to continue. 

Rhys pushed his fingers together as they sat atop his desk. “We would take you to Day Court. Helion—the High Lord Cassian mentioned—is skilled in spell-cleaving. He may be able to undo some of what the witch did, if that’s possible. Or just give us a better read on the situation.” 

Mor startled from beside you, “Rhys—” 

“It wouldn’t be like last time,” Rhys placated, once again glancing toward the shadowsinger. “It wouldn’t.” 

“Couldn’t Feyre—” 

“She doesn’t have that much control over each of the court powers yet. We—we tried.” 

“Feyre?” you asked, but the question was directed to no one and no one answered it. 

“It’s a brilliant plan, isn’t it?” Azriel spit out, vitrole tainting each syllable. The heat rose in the room.

Cassian cut in this time, his voice a vibration at the back of your head. “Azriel, maybe—” 

You couldn’t focus on anything they were saying as each line spoken left you with more questions, more pieces you couldn’t connect. Azriel was mad, Mor was concerned, Cassian was attempting to play the mediator. You had no idea what role Rhys filled, but you assumed it was the level-headed High Lord who only wanted the best for his court. 

But Azriel was too livid and that emotion drowned out all the rest. 

It wouldn’t be like last time. 

What happened last time? 

“I can’t go through that again,” Azriel stressed, his palm now flat on the wood of Rhys’s desk. “We can’t put her through that again.” 

But it had sounded like the Night Court was friendly with Day; Cassian made it seem like you were close enough with Helion to make jabs at his cooking. 

Put you through what? 

“Maybe,” Cassian gritted out, his fingers kneading comfort into your arm. “This isn’t the best discussion to be having. Maybe we start with the first plan and if Rhys can’t find anything, we talk about it.” 

Azriel leaned away from the desk, a sharp breath leaving his nose. The shadows that had swarmed around him calmed and flowed along the floor, stopping at your feet. A link between the two of you, it looked like—like a thread or a river or a bridge. 

You expected Azriel to leave again, to storm off and avoid this entire situation. You wouldn’t exactly blame him; even with Cassian’s negotiation, there were still so many contingencies and unknowns. This wasn’t simple or clear cut, and it would take a lot of time—time perhaps not so willingly given. 

But he didn’t. 

Azriel bit back a snarl and pushed back into the shadows, but he didn’t leave. 

You felt his eyes on you from the corner of the room, and something within you calmed while something else chafed. 

Amidst a soft ringing in your ears, you caught Mor’s low grumble. “At least now we know why they were at each other’s throats when we walked in.” 

Cassian scoffed out a disbelieving sound. 

And you… you gave in to a few of the tears that had been burning behind your eyes, completely missing that the crack in your chest had returned. Completely missing that it was the cause—emotions that weren't entirely yours influencing the dampness on your cheeks.

Part 4 ☼