#he was the better its not open for discussion

[withjaejae]

Hole-in-one | JJK pt. 5

Parings: Jungkook x Reader

High society, richie rich type

Warnings: clothed sex, short smut, FLUFF, commando, office sex, semi-public sex.

A/N: happy new year! (Full note at the end)

Final chapter!

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“Happy 2nd Anniversary!” Jungkook flies into your office, that was right across his, holding a cake and some balloons.

You couldn’t help but grin. Two years and he still gives you the butterflies, you both still are head over heels, and he still finds ways to surprise you.

You round your table to kiss him, taking the balloons and snapping photos of him with the cake.

“Wanna have cake for breakfast?” You wiggle your eyebrow.

“But Miss LN, we just clocked in and you expect me to sit down with you to enjoy this delicious caramel cake?” He rants as he sets down the cake and grabe forks from your mini pantry. “Its not like your dad would fire us.”

You laugh as you join him at the table.

You’re both seniors at your dad’s firm now. Taking lead on some small projects, working on two together. Not only did you work well in life but even at work, your designs always match his plans despite not discussing things yet and he loves that.

None of your colleagues can complain about your sudden rise in positions because you both basically will be an executive one day and they don’t want to ruin their relationship with you.

“So I was thinking, we could go golfing tonight?” You ask and he grins.

“Yes, please. My clubs miss me.” He pouts despite going golfing the other day with some investors.

“I miss hitting hole-in-ones.” You wink and he chokes on the cake.

You haven’t had the chance to golf together and even if you were, there were no hole-in-ones, you still fucked (a lot) though.

The grin on his face says he’s thinking about it too.

A knock comes to your door. “Miss LN, Mr. Jeon.” The executive secretary nods. “A meeting in conference room B will be starting at 10.” He reminds, you hand him a paper plate with a slice of cake. “Thank you. Don’t be late.” He says directed to Jungkook.

“Once. I was late once.” He says again as the secretary left. “You know, I heard a rummour from finance…”

Jungkook is the office gossip, even your father was getting information from him. If you wanted a secret kept, keep it away from Jungkook. But you’re no better.

You both walk to the conference room, keeping it professional but you can’t help but tease the man by brushing your ass on his cock when in a packed elevator, or licking his lobe when you whispered something before the meeting began, you drew circles on this thigh as the meeting starts and despite keeping a straight face, you felt him hard when you brushed your hand over it.

He glares at you and you just wink. Your romance was no secret here too. But you both had the etiquette to avoid PDA within work.

Unbeknownst to everyone, you’ve both made a bucketlist on where to fuck. And every floor is a must. You’ve ticked off 8 floors out of 12 that the firm occupies.

The meeting was a tiny team, mostly your main team with Jungkook. Your father had joined you mid way, he barely joins meetings.

You take down notes, but as you did you felt a hand on your thigh. You froze for a second and decided to play along. You open your thighs wider, he inches higher.

Jungkooks head snaps towards you the moment he feels you have nothing underneath. You do your best to not indulge him but instead you even speak about the possible plans for the project.

He can feel you wet and warm, his own cock straining against his slacks. Fuck, he was sweating.

His fingers tease your core, rubbing up and down, collecting your juices. But he doesn’t dare put a finger in. This time, you’re the one sweating as he flicks your clit. Thankful that nobody else sat beside you two.

“Jungkook and YN can do the site visit tomorrow.” Your father speaks, startling you both. His hand retreats.

“Yes sir.” You both respond quickly. Having no idea where the site even is.

Once the meeting ajourns you both speed walk back to the elevator and to your offices. He shuts the blinds and puts his ‘in meeting’ sign outside his door. You quickly do the same with yours then cross to his office once the coast is clear.

As soon as the door is shut Jungkook pulls you by the wrist and makes you sit on his lap, the couch you were on was in a blind spot even if someone peeks through the door.

“You drive me crazy.” Jungkook kisses you. “I fucking love you.” His hand was on your cheek.

But his hand travels down to your throat, you smirk and bite his lower lip. You reach down to take care of his pants before you start dripping all over him.

You can’t make much noise and that makes it difficult because Jungkook loves your noises. You skip the foreplay and he rams himself up into you. Your lowerlip caught between your teeth but a squeak came out of you.

He places a hand over your mouth and start fucking into you. Your hands gripping his shoulders. Thank god he took his jacket off otherwise he would be walking around with a wrinkled shirt for the rest of the day.

The hand over your mouth becomes fingers stuck down your throat. Gasps and tiny moans echoing in the room. You shake your head telling him you can’t take it anymore. He speeds up and pull you in for a kiss, swallowing your moans as you both reach your highs.

He pumps the last of himself into you. Just in time for your phone to ring. Your father’s photo lighting up.

He hands it to you despite his cock still in you.

“Hey dad.” You try to sound normal despite trying to catch your breath.

“Hey darling, can you visit the site for the new project today?” He asks and you frown, Jungkook reaches over on the shelf nearby for the wet wipes he keeps.

“I thought we were scheduled to visit tomorrow?” You look at Jungkook as he starts wiping your thighs. Pulling out so he could properly clean you. You bite your lip as he teases you with his fingers.

“Yes, but I need you to take the right measurements.” You frown again, Jungkook lifts you up by the hips and sets you on the couch next to him.

“Then I need to bring Jungkook and a team with me.” Jungkook now has his attention on you.

“If he’s a available. Bye, I have to water my plants.” He ends the call and you’re completely puzzled.

“What was that about?” Jungkook asks as he hands you a glass of water.

“He wants me to visit the site today to get the right measurements, do you know if my dad has plants? Can you come?” You look up, there’s a look on his face that says he can’t come.

“I’ve got two more meetings with the Itaewon and the Samdong teams. I’m sorry baby.” He kisses your cheek. You sigh.

“Alright. I’ll see you later? For golf.” You smile at him as he helps you up. He fixes your skirt and you brush his shoulders.

“Okay, 6PM?” You nod. With the amount of work you do, you’ve moved afternoon golf to night golf.

One more kiss and you’re back in your office, sifting through the files for this project. You’ve been a full on contractor for the most of your stay at the firm, measurements should be done easily.

Or so you thought. The team that was supposed to join you seemed to have the addresses mixed up. They’re half an hour away from you.

You groan and stand in the empty lot. You breathe in the fresh air. It was beautiful, the house getting built here would have the best view, its close to the heart of the city but far enough to have solitude. The private road leading here was just enough distance to not make it creepy. You visualize a walk-through.

Imagining a huge door, glass windows, a porch facing the open, it was a hill top location, you can see the beach and the city. You smile, because in your vision you see Jungkook, coming up behind you to hand you your coffee as you both enjoy the view, tiny foot steps following.

You shake your head. A future with Jungkook would be perfect, he’s perfect. Mr. Gold Standard really lived up to his title.

You try to calculate the measurements usung your footsteps. You take photos with your phone to map out the view. You send a few selfies to Jungkook, but he doesn’t respond. He’s probably in a meeting.

The team finally arrives, apologetic for their mistake. You just smile and let them do their work. You order some snacks for them, standing witht them as you confirm the measurements.

In about an hour, you’re done mapping things out and eating. You check your watch, its 3PM. You’re planning to clock out at 4 so could prepare for your simple anniversary date.

During your first anniversary, Jungkook had taken you on a trip, but this year since you’re both swamped with work, he said you both should save your leave credits for a different date and you naturally agreed.

You drive back to the office but your mother calls you asking you to pick her up from her Yoga session, since she’s along the way it wasn’t much of a hassle.

Until you see her come out with her friends and asks you to drop them off at their houses. You fidget in your seat as you drop each one off, your mother the farthest since she asked you to drop her off at home rather then coming to the office with you.

It was 30 minutes before 5 when you finally arrived at your home. Decided, you message Jungkook saying you’re not coming back to the office and would meet him at the club house instead.

He still hasn’t responded to any of your texts. Weird. Usually, he would be on his phone even through meetings.

But you don’t overthink it. You take your time at home, shaving, scrubbing, waxing, you pick out your new golf outfit. You and Jungkook purchased a white set a month ago, today would be perfect to wear it

The white skirt paired with the white sleeveless top, it hugged you perfectly. You put on your best makeup. You glance at your phone, still no response. You huff.

You hope he isn’t late today. You open your dresser to find the silver box that held your anniversary gift, a Richard Mille watch. It suits Jungkook, only the best for your Golden boyfriend.

You glance at the clock. 5:15

You had agreed earlier to meet Jungkook at the clubhouse at 6PM. You sigh as you notice that he still has yet to respond to your messages.

You take the scenic route to kill some time before arriving at the club house at exactly 6. You aren’t surprised to find the place a bit empty for a wednesday evening. What’s odd is that the employees are greeting and smiling at you more than usual.

“Good day, YN!” Jean greets you. “Follow me.” She simply says, before you could argue, she’s walking away.

You follow her towards the carts, a caddie already in the driver’s seat. Smiling at you. Maybe Jungkook has something planned?

Jean sits next to you, you don’t question it.

Excitemet bubbles up within you. You have no idea what’s coming next.

But a mild panic sets in when Jean hands you a blindfold.

“Shit. What’s he up to?” You grin and take the blindfold. Putting it over your eyes.

The drive was a little over 5 minutes. You can’t tell where he’s going or if he’s just driving in circles.

The cart stops and Jean takes your hand. Guiding you to where you stand. You can’t hear anything too.

She takes your blind fold off and the golf course was filled with purple and white glowing glass flowers, a trail of petals leading up to a beautiful flower arch and your man beneath it.

Jungkook stood there, flowers in hand. Wearing the white matching outfit. You can’t help but have tears in your eyes. Somewhere, your favorites songs are playing.

You imagine yourself, walking down the aisle towards Jungkook, not in your golf outfit but in a white silk or tulle gown. Jungkook standing with a suit.

You finally reach him and he smiles at you.

“So this is why you haven’t been responding?” He nods and hands you the flowers.

“Happy anniversary, my love.” He kisses you. He steps back and clears his throat. Did he prepapre a speech?

“Happy Anniversary, baby.” You smile. He takes your left hand.

“YN, you’re the best part about my day, my sun when I feel down, my stars when I feel lost, my moon when I feel scared…” he takes a deep breath. “I’ve been crushing on you for most of my life and when our paths crossed on this golf course, I took my chance to take that step forward and you took it with me. From then on, we took steps together to what we have become today.” He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but cry at his sentiments. “I can’t even imagine life without you anymore.”

He takes a knee.

You gasp.

He takes out a violet velvet box.

You start crying.

He opens it to the most beautiful diamond ring you have ever laid eyes on, and you’ve seen a lot.

“YN, marry me?” You nod vigorously and with shaky hands he takes the ring and inserts it in your finger.

You both laugh nervously and he stands up to hug and kiss you deeply. Fireworks start to light up the sky and you both stood there to admire it.

But Jungkook thought nothing sparkled brighter than you, with his ring that promised forever.

Both your parents waited at the club house to hug their kids. Your mothers had manifested this for so long, its finally happening.

Jungkook had planned this for months. And he fed you the ideas for night golfing, buying the outfit and the project you both are going to work on is actually your parents’ gift to you both, a home.

Knocks come to your room door. You crack it open to peek and your husband-to-be stood there with a stupid grin on his face.

“Isn’t this bad luck?” You scold. You are to be wed tomorrow. “You have to stop sneaking around.”

“I just wanted to see you. You know I can’t go a day without seeing you.” He pouts again. “Besides, I don’t believe in bad luck.” He wraps his arms around you.

“Like that time your car won’t start because we fucked in it?” You raise your eyebrow.

“That was because there was an engine problem I ignored so it gave up.” He continues to smile and you can’t help but copy it.

He starts kissing your neck. This is where you draw the line.

“Baby, I just got completely pampered and I don’t want to sweat off all the things I just rubbed on me.” He pouts, you pout too. “Don’t make this harder.”

“Nothing is harder than I am right now.” His grin was back and playfully smack his shoulder. “But okay, I’m going, wifey.” You both cringe.

“See you at the altar tomorrow, hubby.” You give him one last kiss and he leaves you.

You spent a year planning this wedding, and decided to ‘hold back’ from fucking for three months before the wedding. You’re both so pent up but your nerves about the wedding preparations overpower your hunger for Jungkook until tonight where you almost lost it.

You stare at the white silk gown with a tulle trail and know that it will be worth the wait.

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Jungkook raises your veil and pulls you close by your hips, he dips you down and takes your first kiss as a married couple.

“I love you, wife.”

“I love you, husband.”

It was a rollercoaster ride with Jungkook. But it was the best ride of your life, and you’re never getting off.

Your romance started on the golf course, and you marry on the golf course.

You thank all your lucky stars that you practiced more than enough to hit a hole-in-one.

-fin-

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A/N: Thank you so much to all who, like me, fell in love with this fic. As much as I love to continue with this story. the moments beyond this is up to you. I can say Hole-in-one is, so far, my best work. Your love and support tells me so.

Happy New Year, ya filthy animals. 💜

[synestheticwanderings]

Maybe Next Year

He’s rehearsed it a dozen ways in the past two weeks, how he’ll act when she finally shows up on his doorstep, tail between her legs. In most scenarios, he’s magnanimous: she might cry a little, say how sorry she is for absconding in the middle of the night and making them all worry; he’ll pull her into his arms and tell her all is forgiven, that he’s just happy to have her home safe. Everything will be just like it was before—better, even, now that they can put all of the stuff from the past couple of months behind them. He’ll be more gratuitous with his praises and trust her more with her Talent, he vows. Maybe he’ll even try being more open with her. Yes, he’ll do just that.

But then his gaze falls on the necklace hanging on his dresser, its diamond twinkling in the lamplight. His jaw clenches and he gives into his lesser instincts. He imagines making her beg. “Let’s take a walk and discuss this,” he’ll say, before bringing her to the cafe for a do-over. He’ll keep a level head, listen coolly to her apologies before solemnly agreeing to let her come back. 

Bitterly, he tears his eyes away and looks at the ceiling. He’s replayed their argument over and over, trying to find where he misstepped. He knows he shouldn’t have gotten so angry, but she was being stubborn and obstinate in the way that always drives him mad and, well, he’s getting worked up again just thinking about it. He hates losing. Clenching his fists, he digs his nails into his palms, willing the feeling to subside. The truth is, if he knew where she was, he would be the one at her door apologising, begging her to come back and fill the hole in his chest that caved in when she left. 

He shakes his head. Hadn’t he basically tried that already? She had rolled her eyes when he tried to give her a raise, vehemently rejected the idea that he fire Holly. He already poured out his heart to her down in the basement of Aickmere’s. None of it mattered. She had rejected every single thing he offered. No, the next time he sees her, he needs to pull out all the stops, give her something she can’t refuse.

He loosens his tie and opens the drawer to fold it away. On top is the one she gave him the year before. Gently, he runs his fingers over the smooth, blue fabric, remembering the way her eyes always lit up when he’d wear it. Letting out a sigh, he shoves the tie down to the bottom of the box, along with the memory. He had been so sure she’d be home by Christmas.

Outside, the bells at St. James ring. It’s midnight. Lockwood looks out the window down Portland Row. There isn’t a soul on the street. “Happy New Year, Lucy,” he whispers. He clicks the light off.

[nadalffc]

gringos are pissing me off in a way I can't even describe the way they act like vini losing is just yeah rodri was better so what and not straight racism

[devotedlystrangewizard]

thinking gabriel thoughts (again)

[digirainebow]

i didn't think jacob would be arguing with olivia, wanting it almost as much as her. what the hell. i expected the self defeated, taking one for the team attitude but actively needing it like her? when he had been trying to stop her all night? i feel like i've been blasted by a buckshot

[julesnichols]

One day (when I've slept enough to both remember enough to make all of my points and be coherent) I'll explain what I meant when I joked about Sophie being worse

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here?

Summary: Things aren't going as smoothly as anyone would like. Maybe they can fix it. Maybe they can't.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,723 words

Warnings: Angst, discussion of nightmares, PTSD, discussion of death and killing people, emotions, so many emotions, angst, a little sliver of comfort

A/N: And it is back!! not super proud of this one but I'm starting out on a filler so...yeah. Really just setting up for the next part where some action starts again. You'll see. Anyway, glad to be back at it and I hope you enjoy!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

John stands at the door, gazing out at the yard. It’s pouring rain, dumping buckets on the roof. The water has pooled on the planks of the deck, splattering with every big drop that pours from the sky. The weather once again mirrors your mood, your sobs audible from your room over the pounding on the roof. 

John holds his mug in his hands, staring at the reflection in the window. Kyle and Johnny are sitting on the couch, both looking like kicked puppies. They’re itching to enter your room and go comfort you, but they’ve been kicked out for now. You’re not in the state of mind to be around any of them right now, no matter how badly your sobs tear at their heartstrings. 

You haven’t been in that state of mind for a few hours now. 

Whatever nightmare had plagued your mind last night, it was particularly awful. You’ve been up since the early hours, waking from a nightmare with a terrified scream that had continued until Kyle finally got you to stop and breathe. His ears are still ringing with it, his mind still pulsing with that fear. Something happened. Someone got in. Someone hurt you. 

Nothing happened. No one got in.  

The only threat was still just in your mind. 

Graves. 

He knows that’s at least part of your nightmares. Christine had disclosed that to him quietly on the side. Even she doesn’t know everything that plagues your dreams, but Graves seems to be a common specter in the darkness of your mind. 

It makes his blood boil, and not just out of anger for what Graves did to you. 

It boils with anger at himself too. 

It’s his fault you’re in this state in the first place. He should have known, he should have seen, he should have suspected. He should have never left you there. You should have been his priority over anything else. 

How badly he’s failed you. 

He lets out a sigh, turning away from the window to move over to the couches. He sinks down with a sigh, resting his elbows on his knees. The little progress you’ve made has regressed with this new string of nightmares, the fear pushing you further and further back into your mind. He’s resolved himself to only get worried when Christine is worried, and right now she’s beginning to look worried. If you regress back again, the chances of bringing you out of that are slim. Sure, there are plenty of options to help, but you have to want them to help. 

He knows exactly what will help, you just don’t want it. 

He runs a hand through his hair as your sobs begin to quiet. It’s longer than he’s let it get for a long time. They’re all a bit scraggly and ragged looking, worn down and lazy now that there’s no strict rules guiding their lives. None of them quite know what to do outside of the regulations they’ve spent the better parts of their lives living under. He’s been in the military longer now than he hasn’t, and he’s been finding himself itching for that structure again. He can never bring himself to relax and put the job aside even on leave. He only takes it when he has to and usually spends it training and keeping his skills sharp. 

Now...now things have changed. 

They have no return now. There’s no clear, set time that they have to return to base. They can’t return to base. It would leave them too open to a possible retaliation from Shepherd. They were betrayed by one of their own already, who's to say someone else wouldn’t be just as eager to become a traitor for a chunk of cash? They’re not even truly safe here. 

How are they going to go back to base after this? Can he bring himself to take you back there, a place you never felt comfortable in the first place? 

Where do they go from here? 

He’s been trying not to think too much about it. That’s a dilemma for a different day. That’s thinking too far ahead. Day by day is as far as he dares to take it now. 

The door closes quietly, John’s head lifting to watch Christine as she approaches the couch. There’s a slump to her shoulders, something that’s been getting lower and lower as the days have progressed. She’s struggling with this just as much as they all are. 

She sinks down on the couch, letting out a long breath. Your sobs have quieted, no sound coming from the room now. The silence is almost eerie after days of constant sounds, good and bad, from your room. You were doing better. You were looking more alive and well. 

Then this happened. 

“She’s asleep.” Christine says, her voice strained. “Finally calmed down enough to nap.” She covers her eyes with a hand, sitting there still for a moment. 

“The nightmares?” John asks, glancing at Christine out of the corner of his eye. 

“Worse.” She says, her gaze far away. “She's remembering what happened.” 

John stares at Kyle and Johnny for a moment, the betas returning his worried gaze.

“Those shadows she killed...” Johnny says.

Christine nods. “She's, uh, not taking it well.” 

John runs a hand over his face. He knew it was possible you'd start to remember what happened during the time your omega took control. It wouldn't remain a dark spot forever, though he hoped it would. The things you were forced to do are coming to light now, the things you did to survive because they failed you. Taking the life of someone who deserves it is nothing to them. Taking the life of someone who would take yours just as quickly isn't so much as a second thought. 

You're not like them. 

You've never had to face that reality before, and you shouldn't have had to. 

“One of us should talk to her.” Kyle says.

“I don't think that's the best idea right now.” Christine shakes her head. “She's...regressed a bit. Pushing that on her, while well intentioned, might do more harm than good...” she trails off, her gaze still far away. 

The three of them sit there, waiting for what she’s going to say next. He’s not even sure Johnny or Kyle are breathing as they wait patiently for whatever solution Christine might be able to come up with, whatever move she thinks is the best one to take next. 

“I want to take her out.” Christine says. 

“What?” John asks in surprise. 

“She needs to get out of the house. It’s not doing any of us any good sitting in here all day.” She rubs her eyes. “She expressed interest in going for a walk a couple days ago. She needs to get up and moving, start regaining some of her strength.” 

John lets out a breath leaning back against the couch. He’s tempted to say no. His knee jerk reaction is to refuse. The world outside isn’t safe. If anyone is watching, if anyone sees them...

There’s always going to be that risk though, and Christine is right. Sitting in the house all day isn’t doing any of them any good. They’re at the mercy of the rain, but even then, he doubts it will keep any of them trapped inside for long. 

“When the rain clears up.” He finally says. “We'll discuss it more. But, I think that might be a good idea.” 

“What can we do?” Kyle asks, staring at Christine. 

She lets out a sigh, covering her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know. I’ve helped hundreds of omegas in crisis and yet I don’t know why this case is so hard.” 

“This has become more personal than those cases.” John says. 

Christine’s shoulders slump even more. “I know. I try so hard but she’s just so...different from other omegas.” 

“This entire situation is different from what you’ve done before.” Kyle says. 

“You’re right.” Christine sighs. “The best we can do is let her lead. Do what she needs, give her what she wants. The worst thing that can happen right now is regression. If she regresses too far, we might never get her back.” 

“What is it? Tell me what ye need.” 

“Can you make me forget?” 

“I wish I could.” 

“Hit me hard enough on the head I might forget everything. Then we can all just start over.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” 

“Kitten,” Johnny sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I wish I could make those thoughts go away. I wish I could make them mine.” 

“I killed people.” 

“I know.” He reaches out, touching your hand. “I wish ye didnae have to. Ye were just defending yerself. Those Shadows would have done worse to ye if ye hadn’t.” 

You curl up in your chair, turning away from him. “That’s not helpful.” 

“Sorry.” He says, letting out another sigh. “We just want to help ye.” 

You’re silent for a moment, sitting there listening to the waves. It’s cold this morning, not even the thick blanket draped over you offering much respite. It’s the first morning it hasn’t poured rain in days and you were determined to take full advantage of it despite the objections of your pack. 

“I know.” You finally say, staring out at the grey clouds looming on the horizon. The rain will return, just like the dark thoughts constantly swirling in your mind. They make you sick, nausea constantly churning in your stomach and threatening to rise. 

Johnny wraps his hand around yours, his palm warm against your cold skin. “Should head inside. Gonnae catch a cold.” 

“You know that’s a myth right?” You say, tilting your head to stare at him. 

“No it’s not.” He says, pulling your hand between his. “It’s not good for ye being out in the cold.” 

“I’ll live.” You say, trying to pull your hand from his, but he holds you firm. He’s stubborn, but so are you. 

“Kitten...” He says, almost whining at you. “Go inside please.” 

You let out a sigh, staring out at the horizon again. The clouds promise more rain soon, another downpour on its way. You hate it, how much it’s been raining. You just want to be outside, down at the beach, going on walks. Your pack won’t let you though, not while it’s raining, even though they often leave no matter the weather. 

It’s not fair. 

You’re not a fragile flower and you’re tired of being treated that way. Even though your brain feels like it’s in a blender constantly. Even though the pain of what happened still drives into you like a knife, you just want to be treated like a normal human being again. 

“Fine.” You sigh, pushing yourself up to stand. “I’ll go inside.” 

Johnny grabs your arm before you can head back in the door. “Ye know we just want the best for you.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, emotions swirling in your mind. They are trying. You’ll give them that credit. They’re trying, but not hard enough. “What you think is best and what’s actually best isn’t always the same.” 

He looks like a kicked puppy as he lets you go. You turn away before you can feel guilty, heading back inside the cottage. 

You pull the blanket tighter around you as you stare at the flickering flames in the hearth. The heat is intense so close, but it’s warming the chill under your skin. It’s getting colder at night, foretelling the upcoming winter. All the blankets in the world couldn’t fight off the chill that’s settled in you at night. You know what might help, but you’re not brave enough to approach that solution. 

The footsteps on the stairs don’t startle you in the otherwise silent house, the creak of them audible over the crackle of the logs in the fire. 

“I’d add another one.” A voice says from behind you. 

“I’m going to.” You say, reaching for the stack next to the fireplace. 

“Careful. Put it on the side.” 

“I know how to make a fire, thank you.” You snap, shoving the log in before moving it into place with the poker. “I’m not useless.” 

“Didn’t mean to imply you were.” It’s silent for a moment as you settle back into place. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I’m cold.” You answer simply, not feeling up to giving an entire expose on your current state of mind to the person you want to speak to the least right now. 

“We can turn the heat up more.” John says. “Whatever you want to be more comfortable.” 

I want you to leave. You bite your lip, suddenly not brave enough to say it out loud. 

They are trying. 

“Why are you down here?” You ask instead. 

“Couldn’t sleep so I came to get a snack.” He says. “You want anything?” 

“No.” You say quickly, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. “I’m alright.” 

“You sure?” He presses, standing off to your right. 

You hesitate for a moment, curling your toes under the blanket as one of the logs snaps. It’s not food you need from him. Your appetite has decreased again with this new wave of horrible things plaguing your mind. You want answers. 

“I want to know why you decided to leave, why you went on that mission and left me when you knew things were not right.” 

John shifts on his feet behind you, the wood floor creaking just slightly. He’s silent for a long moment, so long you almost think he’s walked away. 

“I was too trusting. I got caught up in the mindset of a soldier and chose to trust my superiors when I knew I shouldn’t have. I wanted to send you somewhere else, to stay with Kate, but things didn’t work fast enough to make that possible. I shouldn’t have just left you there, even with Johnny and Simon. It’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you stare into the fire. At least he knows he made a mistake. At least he thought up other plans, but that doesn’t excuse the fact he did nothing and just left you there so easily. 

Another question burns at the forefront of your mind. You think back to that conversation with Dr. Keller just a few days ago. You want to trust her, you know you can trust her. She’s given you no reason not to. She wouldn’t lie, even if the rest of your pack did. 

“You really didn’t leave me with Graves?” The words slip out before you can stop them, spilling forth from your lips, revealing part of those inner thoughts that have plagued you for the last few hours. 

“I would never have left you with him.” John says, the floorboards creaking as he takes a couple steps forward. “As soon as we found out we turned around and went to Kate’s safehouse. She was already looking for you. We did everything in our power to find you as quickly as we possibly could.” 

The tears start sliding down your cheeks as you sit there, taking in his words. They’re spoken with such conviction and match what Dr. Keller had told you. Some deep, dark part of your brain wants to think it’s all a lie that they’ve conjured to try and make you feel better about everything, to try and jumpstart the healing process. Yet, at the same time you want to believe they are telling the truth. 

Your other option is to trust Phil and what he said to you. For all you know, everything he said was a lie. Some sick justification to torture you as some kind of revenge towards your pack. Maybe it was all about revenge. 

Who can you trust more? Phil, or your alpha. 

Maybe if you had just held on a little bit longer. Maybe if you hadn’t believed Phil’s lie, you could have saved yourself the terror of letting your omega take over. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to take that risk and corrupt yourself with blood-stained hands. From what you can remember and have managed to weasel out of Dr. Keller, they were right behind you. A few more minutes and maybe none of it would have had to happen. 

Maybe you did do the right thing in the end. Phil might have ordered his men to kill you as soon as they arrived. Maybe they would have done it as soon as Simon and Johnny entered the room. Saving yourself might have been your only option. 

Those men would have killed you or worse. You did what you had to do. 

You’re shaking. The tears are cascading down your cheeks, warmed by the heat of the fire. You’re crying, your breaths nearly hyperventilating as you sob quietly. 

“Talk to me.” John says as he kneels down beside you. 

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, your knuckles white where they’re gripping the edges of the blanket. The words are coming out and you can’t stop them. Maybe it’s because deep down you remember the better times, when he was a comfort. Someone you could trust to catch you when you fall. “I keep seeing them, seeing what I did, what happened. I killed people.” 

“People that would have killed you without a second thought.” He says. “You were defending yourself in a situation where that was unavoidable. It’s not your fault. None of it is.” 

“She scares me, my omega.” Your inhale stutters. “She’s angry. She won’t settle. I’m scared I’m going to lose control and she’ll come out again.” 

“You’re not going to lose control.” John says. Despite the heat of the fire you’re not much warmer, a cold chill shooting through your veins. “If it were to happen, we’re right here. We’ll get you through it.” 

You stare into the flickering flames, your breaths slowly coming back down to normal. John sits there, as still as a tree. You don’t want him so close to you, yet you can’t deny how comforting his presence is. For the first time in a while you don’t feel quite so out of control.

“Can we ever move past this?” You ask, your voice quiet and broken.  

“I like to think we can.” John says. “It won’t be easy, but if that’s what you want, we sure as hell will work to make it happen. Things won’t go back to the way they were, and they shouldn’t. You deserve better than what we gave you.” 

You don’t respond because you can’t. His words float around in your mind, replaying over and over. You want to believe him. You desperately want to believe him, but a deep part of you can’t. He’s made promises before and then broke them. How can you trust this time will be different? 

The creak of the stairs wakes you. It’s jarring, pulling you out of a sleep you didn’t know you were in. You’re on the couch in the living room, bundled under a blanket with a decorative pillow under your head. You don’t remember moving to the couch. The fire is nothing more than embers now, but it feels warmer in the house. It’s dawn, the grey light streaming in through the window, chasing away the shadows of night. 

“What are you doing out here?” A gruff voice asks you. 

You groan, rubbing your eyes. “Fell asleep.” 

“On the couch?” 

“Think I was on the floor first.” You yawn, pressing your face back into the pillow. “Don’t remember getting to the couch.” 

“Why?” 

“Got cold.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you pull the blanket up higher. 

Simon lets out a sigh before moving around the couch to the fireplace. He adds a couple logs in before lighting it again, the fire crackling back to life. You’re half asleep already as another blanket is draped over you, tucked up around your neck. There’s a feeling of a hand brushing over your head, but that may have just been your imagination as you drift off back to sleep. 

You don’t get to sleep long, more footsteps coming down the stairs waking you. A hand does brush over your head this time, the scent of the beach filling your nose. You let out a groan, trying to snuggle deeper into the blankets. 

“Sleeping out here this morning?” Kyle’s soft voice reaches your ears. 

You grunt, chasing the quickly fading edges of sleep in your brain. 

“Breakfast is ready, if you want to get up.” 

You are hungry. There’s a quiet rumble of your stomach as you begin to register the smells coming from the kitchen: bacon and eggs and coffee. Johnny is making the coffee most likely. Maybe you’ll have some this morning. You might need it with how groggy you feel. 

You stretch out on the couch, trying to breathe some life into your limbs. It’s not the most comfortable couch, definitely not for sleeping, but it’s better than the floor. It was likely John that moved you. You’re not quite sure how that makes you feel. 

You don’t remember falling asleep after your little talk last night. You’re not sure how that moment of vulnerability makes you feel either. There was a time when you wouldn’t have thought twice about going to your alpha with such concerns and tumultuous feelings. There was a time when you would have sought him out for the comfort and stability you need right now. 

Things are different, though. Things have changed. 

You run a hand over your face, thinking back to the groggy conversation with Simon this morning. You’re not quite sure it even happened, or if you dreamed it. There’s two blankets on you, however, and you distinctly remember feeling the second one being draped over you. 

It’s a touching gesture from the specter in your life. Once again he’s been reduced to a shadow, a figure lingering only because he has to. The distance that had once been so close to closing has widened into an impossibly wide canyon. You’re not sure it’ll ever fully close again. Too much has transpired in such a short amount of time between the two of you. He’ll never forgive himself, and you’ll never be brave enough to force it again. 

You push yourself up to sit, joints cracking from being stuck in one position for so long. You blink slowly as you sit there for a moment. It’s warm in the house, almost too warm now with your body warmed from sleep. Dr. Keller is sitting at the table, a steaming mug in front of her. Tea, most likely. Maybe coffee. You’re not quite sure. She gives you a soft smile as you rub a hand across your face again. 

You feel groggy as you push yourself up to stand, letting your stomach and feet guide you towards the smells coming from the kitchen. Kyle guides you to the table with a promise of making you a plate and you take your usual seat at the end of the table facing the kitchen. Dr. Keller is to your left this time, coffee in her mug judging by the smell. 

“How did you sleep?” She asks, her hands wrapped around the mug. 

“Fine. Got cold.” You say, resting your head in your hand.

“John turned the heat up a bit. We can get you more blankets if you need them.” Dr. Keller says. 

You hum, letting your eyes close for a moment. You won’t complain about more blankets, more soft things to lay with. There is one thing you wish you had, though. You’re not quite sure how to ask for it, or that it would even be possible to get. 

You jump when a hand touches your back, not realizing you had even dozed off sitting there. 

“Sorry.” Kyle says, setting a plate on the table in front of you. “Food’s hot. You want coffee or tea.” 

“Coffee.” You say instantly, earning a wide grin from Johnny as he takes his own seat at the table. 

“Even split this morning.” He says cheekily, setting his own mug down. “Three against three.” 

“Tea is still the superior choice.” Kyle says from the kitchen. “Better for you anyway.” 

“Coffee has a lot of health benefits as well.” Dr. Keller says. “So long as you don’t add too much sugar into it.” 

“See.” Johnny says, giving them a victorious grin. 

“She said so long as you don’t put too much sugar in it.” Kyle says, carrying over your mug of coffee. “You’ll get diabetes from how much you add in.” 

“Two spoonfuls isnae too much.” He turns to look at Dr. Keller. “Is it?” 

Dr. Keller gives him a worried look. “You might be pushing it there.” 

Johnny’s grin turns into a pout. “What do ye mean?” 

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips as you quickly shovel a forkful of eggs into your mouth. As much as the deep pain of trauma and their decisions ache in your chest, you have to admit you missed this. It’s the least tense you’ve seen all of them in the last few weeks. Even Dr. Keller’s shoulders don’t seem quite so squared as they have been. 

A part of you feels guilty about it. It is your fault deep down. You’re the one keeping them all on edge, driving that wedge between them over and over again. Deep down you’re the one causing the heavy weight that’s settled over the house. You wish you could just go back to normal, you wish you could just wave a wand and make yourself okay again. You wish you could ease their pain just a little bit. 

The eggs suddenly don’t taste quite so good anymore. 

You force them down regardless in favor of causing another scene, in favor of dragging the mood down. They deserve a little lighthearted moment after everything. They don’t need to know the inner turmoil plaguing your mind. 

Simon shifts next to you, his eyes darting to glance at your face. You can feel them, the intensity of his gaze just as sharp as it had been back in the beginning, back before he looked at you with fondness. He’s stiff as he sits there, almost as if he can sense the storm raging inside of you as you force yourself to pretend that you’re fine in favor of keeping the bright mood that’s settled over the table. 

Maybe he can sense it. He is an alpha after all. It’s his job to know, to understand. You glance across the table at John, his eyes on his phone as he sips his tea. 

Your gaze drops down to your plate as you pick up a piece of bacon, your heart shattering just a little bit more. 

“‘S too early.” You whine as hands pull the blanket off of you. Cold air nips at your skin, making you curl up in a ball. 

“It’s noon. Come on.” A hand closes around your arm, gently shaking you. “You want to get up.” 

You let out a whine, pinching your face up. “No.” 

“Trust me. It’ll be worth it.” Kyle says, brushing the hair back from your face. 

“Why.” You say, letting out a huff. 

“We’re going on a little trip.” Kyle pulls you up, forcing you into a seated position. “Dress warm.” 

You’re alone in the room again, the door left open. Light streams in, making you squint against the harsh intrusion. A quick glance at the clock reveals it is, in fact, a little past noon. You took a nap to make up for a night of tumultuous sleep, one of the few things you have to do here in this prison. Nap and read. It’s a lot like your life before the cottage, before everything that happened, except now you’re stuck with your pack around you at all times. 

You almost miss the times they were away. 

You’re half tempted to go back to sleep, but you’re too awake now, and the light streaming in the doorway is making it hard. It was done on purpose, left that way to prevent you from falling asleep again. 

You let out a huff as you maneuver yourself so your legs dangle over the edge of the bed. You try to blink the drowsiness away, no matter how much your brain is trying to chase the last lingering threads of sleep quickly receding. The nap hadn’t been nearly long enough, but judging by Kyle’s eagerness, they let you sleep a bit longer than they wanted. 

You let out a sigh before pushing yourself off the bed, moving to the dresser. You pull out warm clothes, quickly changing. You have no idea what they have planned, what’s going on. There was no frantic rush, Kyle’s energy more excited than anything. It makes you a bit worried as you step out of the room into the living area. 

They’re all waiting by the door, watching you as you approach them, rubbing your eyes. 

“Come on,” John says, setting a pair of shoes on the floor. “Boots on.” 

“What are we doing?” You ask, moving forward automatically. 

“We’re taking a little trip.” Kyle answers, repeating what he told you in the room. 

You look at him cautiously as you step into the boots, pulling them on. You haven’t been away from the cottage since you arrived two weeks ago. You’ve barely been let outside, weather permitting. It’s an overcast day today, the world grey outside, but grey is better than rain. 

“Ready?” John asks as you stare at him. 

“I guess.” You say, still a bit hesitant. 

They make no effort to ease your discomfort and nerves. 

You’re led out the door and towards the cars by Dr. Keller. Her face is brighter than it has been lately which doesn’t help your nervous energy. She’s excited too, just like the rest of them. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous. Maybe it’s the anxiety of leaving after being trapped inside for so long. You just want to know where you’re going, what it is you’re going to be doing. 

Dr. Keller ushers you into the back seat of one of the cars, getting in the other side. Kyle and John climb into the front while Johnny and Simon get into the other car. 

You watch the green pass by as they drive, taking in the new landscape. You don’t remember arriving at the cottage. You don’t remember most of the trip at all. It’s all a blur in your memory, much like the events that transpired after your omega took over had been. You wish you could remember the trip over those events. You’d take green rolling hills over your own hands taking lives. 

It had been jarring waking in the cottage for the first time. A new place, the lack of memories getting there. You’re beginning to get tired of the pattern. You half expect to fall asleep and wake up somewhere new again most nights. You wouldn’t know any better. A slip of a pill into some food and you’d wake up somewhere halfway across the world. 

You like to think they’d at least warn you beforehand. 

John pulls the car into a parking lot, parking near a line of trees. Johnny pulls into the parking lot behind John, parking near the entrance. It’s on purpose, you know that much. Everything is about safety and making things look as inconspicuous as possible. Anyone could be a rat. Anyone could be watching. 

It’s windier here as you step out of the car, even though you haven't gone far from the cottage. Walking distance, if you were up for a hike. You’re not. 

“Come on, kitten.” Johnny says, guiding you through the parking lot and towards a path. 

You still don’t know what’s happening as you follow them, Johnny holding your hand as you step onto the rocky path. He leads the way, the others following. John is behind you, hovering in case you slip in the gravel. You do your best not to, despite how quickly Johnny is leading you. He’s more eager than Kyle had been, and you’re sure he’d be running if you could keep up. 

You begin to figure out what’s happening as the sound of waves crashing on the shore gets louder and louder. Your chest starts to constrict with emotion as the trees start to get sparser and sparser, a cliff edge visible over Johnny’s shoulder. You want to run now, you want to break ahead and race your way to the edge of the cliff. Johnny, even in his excited state, would catch you before you could take off and potentially hurt yourself. 

You might hurt yourself just trying to run. 

You hate it. 

The land opens before you as you reach the edge of the cliff. The expanse of the sea seems daunting so close, grey and choppy from the wind. Salty air blasts you in the face, rustling your jacket as you stand there above a small beach. It’s empty, but that’s expected for late fall. All the tourists have gone home, those with vacation homes back in better weather for the winter. 

You’re glad you’re alone. You wouldn’t want anyone else ruining this moment. 

Kyle’s fingers wrap around yours as you stand there, staring down at the beach below. “Come on.” 

The gravel turns to dirt as it winds down the side of the cliff, getting steeper as you near the beach. You do nearly slip as you follow Johnny and Kyle down to the sand, your boots quickly getting muddy. You’re glad for them, understanding why John chose boots over more comfortable shoes. 

You pause as your feet sink into sand. You stare out at the water, at the white crests of waves crashing onto the shore. It’s real. It’s not just some mirage, some painting in the background of your life. It’s really here. You’re really here. 

No one says anything as you take a few steps forward before squatting down. You scoop up a handful of sand, letting it slip through your fingers. It’s coarse against your cold skin, thicker and rockier than the sand you’re used to, but it’s still sand. It’s still a beach. 

You’re at the beach. 

You scoop up another handful of sand, letting it run through your fingers again. You want to put some of it in a jar and set it on the nightstand at the cottage. You want to stare at it and remind yourself you’re really at the coast, you’re really just a short drive away from the sea. You want the sand to sink into your skin and flow through your veins and fill every crack that’s formed in your mind.  

You’re really here. 

You stand up straight, staring out at the water again. Your pack is still behind you, silently watching you. You shuffle forward a couple steps, waiting for one of them to stop you, to grab you and keep you from getting closer, but none of them move. You widen your steps, treading through the soft sand until you reach the edge of the wetter sand where the water was earlier. It’s easier to walk on as you continue to approach the water, the sound of your pack treading through the soft sand disappearing behind you as you get closer and closer to the water. The waves flow up the beach, your feet getting closer and closer to where that water stops. 

You half expect them to stop you as you step forward, letting the waves hit your feet. The salty water washes away the mud and sand clinging to your rubber boots, rushing up over the tops of your feet. You stare down at the water, watching it surge upward and around your ankles. You’d keep walking if you were brave enough, let it get higher and higher until it soaked your clothes, but you know they’d stop you. It’s far too cold to risk getting wet. You can feel the chill of the water through your boots as it flows over your feet. 

You’re not sure how long you stand there, watching the water rush back and forth, feeling the pressure of it against your boots as you stand in the waves. You’re really here. You’re really standing in the sea. 

You finally turn after what seems like an eternity, making your way back up to the softer sand. All of them are standing in a line, watching you. You wonder what’s going through their heads, what they feel standing here. Relief? Happiness? Guilt? Shame? The wind whips at your back, coming right off the water, blowing their scents away from you. What you wouldn’t give to be able to smell them right now. 

Tears burn your eyes as you make your way up towards John, trudging through the sand. His cheeks and nose are pink from the cold wind, his beard longer than you’ve ever seen it. You don’t remember the last time you’ve really looked at him up close. His gaze is uncertain as he stares down at you, trying to gauge your next move. He can’t. You know he can’t and it makes you feel powerful. 

It shouldn’t, but it does. 

“Thank you.” You say finally, a tear sliding down your cheek. “Thank you.” 

You can hear them. They don’t know it, but you can. They think they’re speaking quietly, but in the silence of the morning, you can hear almost every word. Dr. Keller’s protests, John's quiet insistence. 

Leaving. 

That’s the word that caught your attention. Leaving. Someone is leaving. Someone is separating themselves from the pack again, and not just for a trip to town to go to the store. This meaning is different, it hangs differently in the air. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea right now.” Dr. Keller says, her voice just barely audible through the open sliding glass door. It’s open just a crack, just enough to hear what’s transpiring inside. 

“We won’t have another chance.” John says, his voice insistent. “We have to do this. She deserves it.” 

She. You. Whatever it is, it involves you. It always does. You can’t remember a time over the last few weeks when it hasn’t been about you. It’s always about you and you hate it. You almost wish things would go back to the way they were before, when you were a second thought, the one left behind.

You’re going to be left behind again. 

“John-” 

“I know.” John’s voice is louder again. “We have to do what’s best for our pack, and right now this is it.” 

The sliding door opens, the conversation over. Your stomach is churning, nausea eating its way up your esophagus as John crosses the deck towards where you’re seated. His steps are slow and quiet, almost like he’s approaching a wild animal. He might be, depending on how this conversation is going to go. 

How are you going to react? You expected it eventually. They’ll always leave, they’ll always put you last and think about themselves first. Are you upset? Are you angry? Is it a relief? 

You wish you could feel something right now. Instead you feel numb. Another promise broken, another lie told. 

“You’re leaving again.” You say, staring out at the horizon as John takes a seat next to you. You need to get it out first, say what you know before he can say it and break your heart again. 

He lets out a quiet sigh, leaning back in the chair. “We are, but you’re coming with us.” 

You turn to glance at him, taken aback by his words. You’re leaving too? You hadn’t considered this. The cottage is your prison. You are Rapunzel trapped by the Mother Gothel that is your pack, stuck in the tower for the rest of time. 

Leaving? 

“There’s something we need to take care of back in the states.” John explains. “You’re coming with us.” 

Back in the states? What could possibly be there that is left for you, for your pack? 

You don’t like the sound of that. You don’t like the sound of that one bit. 

NEXT ->

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[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　DRESS TO IMPRESS IN REAL LIFE

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N, Matt's secret girlfriend, participates in the 'Dress to Impress in real life' video.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by an anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: I added and changed some dialogs that didn't happen on the video, so the fic ended being more complete.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The triplets were buzzing with energy, their house a hive of activity as they set up for their newest video; Dress to Impress, real-life edition. Each round had its own theme, and the first one was Summer Vacation. Y/N had been roped into joining as a surprise guest, and secretly, Matt couldn't have been more thrilled.

The boys had already pulled out all the stops with their outfits. Chris sported a chaotic ensemble: a bucket hat with panels of clashing colors, lime green slides, and denim cargo shorts.

Matt was rocking a relaxed, dad-on-vacation vibe, complete with an oversized straw hat, patterned swim trunks, and a shirt that screamed, 'I don’t care, I’m on island time'.

Nick had gone full beach prep with a striped tank top, sunglasses that were almost too tiny for his face, and a retro cooler box tucked under his arm like an accessory.

As the camera rolled, Y/N was still getting ready in Matt’s bathroom, leaving the boy's to discuss who went better between the three of them.

"Alright." Chris said, pointing a finger at Nick’s cooler. "I’m just saying, if you don’t actually have anything in there, that’s a waste of a prop."

"It’s called committing to the bit, Chris." Nick shot back, adjusting the towel draped over his shoulder. "The cooler is the vibe."

Matt, who was adjusting his sunglasses, glanced toward the bathroom door, his face lighting up as if he could sense Y/N’s presence through the walls.

"Y/N better bring it. I know she’s got something amazing up her sleeve."

Nick rolled his eyes, looking at Matt with a boring expression.

"Why do I feel like you’re already planning to give her every win, no matter what she’s wearing?"

"Because I am." Matt replied bluntly, grinning like the lovesick puppy he was.

The door finally creaked open, and all three boys turned as Y/N emerged. She had nailed the summer vacation aesthetic, wearing a flowy, tropical-patterned sundress, bikini top below it, oversized black Prada sunglasses perched on her nose, and sandals that matched her outfit perfectly. She’d even added a straw beach bag for good measure.

"Okay, Y/N, I see you!" Chris exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

Y/N laughed, grinning widely before twirling to show off her look.

"Alright, that’s tough competition. You actually look like you're ready to spend the day at your beach house." Nick gave a low whistle, his blue eyes traveling from her face to her feet and back again. "But I'd say you're in fourth place. You're ready for the beach, not for any summer vacation."

"Fair." Y/N shrugged, take a quick peak at her outfit again before looking at Matt. "What do you think?"

Matt's eyes seemed to be shining like the whole cadence of stars, wandering through every detail of her choice of clothes.

"Are you kidding? That’s... that’s so good. You look like you stepped out of a summer vacation catalog or something." His voice sounded slightly high-pitched with excitement. "Nick's just jealous."

"What? No, I'm not!"

Chris rolled his eyes, already sensing where this was going.

"Oh, here we go."

"Like, if I saw you on the beach." Matt continued, ignoring his brothers entirely. "I’d probably just pass out. That’s how good you look."

"Okay, Matt." Nick said, holding up a hand. "We get it. Obsessive fucker."

The room filled with laughter, Y/N shaking her head but unable to hide the grin spreading across her face, her cheeks heating up.

"Right, first round? I'm second." Matt declared, gesturing toward himself. "Obviously, Y/N was first because, you know, she's Y/N." He gave her a little smile. "Then Nick was third, and Chris was fourth. That’s the average."

"Yeah, unfortunately." Nick muttered, throwing his hands up.

"Well." Chris turned dramatically to the camera and pointed. "They can vote."

Nick, not missing a beat, leaned closer to the camera, his voice dripping with mock confidence.

"Oh, I already know they’re gonna vote for me. Mine’s obviously the best. Unless..." He paused for dramatic effect, raising an eyebrow. "These girls wanna sleep with Matt and vote for him."

"What?!" Matt’s eyes widened in pure shock as he whipped his head toward the camera, looking utterly scandalized.

Y/N’s eyes flicked between Nick and Matt, her lips tightening slightly trying to suppress a laugh. It was impossible not to be amused by Nick’s antics.

She knew Nick wasn’t wrong, Matt’s popularity with their audience also had to do with his charm and, let’s face it, how good he looked on camera. There probably were plenty of girls who’d vote for Matt purely because of his looks, even if one of the other boys dressed better.

Nick continued without missing a beat.

"It’s the straight man advantage! You guys..." He gestured wildly at the camera. "Are gonna discriminate against me because I’m gay, and I don't like 'yall back."

At that, Y/N couldn’t help but burst into laughter, shaking her head.

Matt, still recovering from Nick’s bold accusation, raised a hand defensively.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a second." He looked straight into the camera with that intense, sincere gaze that Y/N loved. "Just for the record, I’m completely off-limits. Completely."

The way he said it, firm and definitive, sent a wave of confidence through Y/N. Her lips twitched into a small smile as she crossed her arms, clearing her throat to contain her reactions, trying to play it cool.

Nick, however, wasn’t done.

"Oh, yeah? You really think they care about that?" He teased, smirking as Matt shook his head in disbelief.

Chris rolled his eyes, still laughing.

"Nick, stop trying to guilt-trip them into voting for you."

"I'm not doing anything." Nick replied with a wink, sending the group into another fit of laughter.

"Now, bring the runway on, boys!"

The camera cut to Chris, who had appointed himself the first to strut down their makeshift runway that started from the stairs.

He walked in quick steps before stopping in the center of their camera lens, dramatically fanning himself with an imaginary hand fan.

"Where did you even get the idea of the imaginary fan?" Y/N teased, laughing with the others.

"Shh, it’s part of the vibe." Chris replied, flipping his bucket hat backward with flair. He strolled toward the camera with exaggerated confidence, striking a series of ridiculous poses. "Yeah, you’re welcome." He said as he walked off-camera, leaving the other three in stitches.

Nick went next, cooler in hand.

"Get ready to witness greatness." He said, lifting the retro cooler above his head like it was the Holy Grail, showing it off.

"You go, queen!" Y/N cheered, nodding her head while watching him.

Nick smiled brightly, placing it down carefully and reached for the towel draped over his shoulder, unfolding it with slow, deliberate movements. Too slow.

"This is taking forever." Matt groaned, crossing his arms.

"Nick, it’s been 30 seconds. Just lay the towel down!" Chris yelled.

Nick ignored them, carefully smoothing out the towel on the floor, his face the picture of focus. Once he was satisfied, he walked down the "runway", throwing some expressions to the camera before almost gluing his face to the lens, taking his glasses off.

"Iconic." Y/N said between laughs.

"Thank you, thank you." Nick replied, bowing before dramatically kicking the towel aside as if to signal the end of his performance, his right hand fanning himself as the last act.

Matt was up next.

"Alright, let me show you how it’s done." He said confidently. Grabbing his sunscreen, he opened the cap and squeezed a dollop onto his fingers, dabbing it on his cheeks like football player stripes.

"Well, you gotta stay protected, I guess." Y/N muttered, smiling with how Chris was rooting like crazy.

Laughter escaped her lips as Matt sauntered toward the camera, showing off the sunscreen like it was a designer handbag. He struck a confident pose, holding the product up, before walking back off the camera with an over-the-top smile.

Finally, it was Y/N’s turn.

"Your move, Y/N." Nick said, gesturing grandly toward the imaginary runway.

"Alright, alright, give me a second." She said, thinking fast.

She reached into her straw bag, pulling out the pair of oversized sunglasses that she had thrown there at some point, dramatically placing it on her face. Then, grabbing a small beach towel she had tucked inside the bag, she draped it over one arm like a sash.

"What’s happening here?" Matt asked, intrigued.

Y/N strolled onto the "runway" with slow, exaggerated movements like a madame arriving at a five-star resort. Halfway down, she pretended to feel the heat, pulling an actual bottle of water from her bag and taking a sip before fanning herself with her hand.

"It has to have the fan move!" Nick applauded, grinning to the scene before being interrupted by Chris’s comment.

"Of course, I created it."

At the end of the runway, Y/N stopped, tossed her sunglasses off dramatically at the ground, and struck a ridiculous pose with one hand on her hip and the other shielding her eyes as if she was shielding her face from the sun.

"That was solid!" Chris exclaimed, clapping.

Matt, meanwhile, was in awe, hands on his head.

"Are you kidding? That was really good. A thousand points. Game over. Y/N wins. Everyone go home."

Nick scoffed.

"Matt, stop simping for two seconds so we can keep this contest going."

"I’m not simping." Matt argued, clearly lying. "I'm just stating facts."

"Shut up, Matt."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

For the Mix-Matched Madness theme, the camera panned to the boys standing in a line, proudly displaying their chaotic ensembles.

Chris was clad in a bright red varsity jacket over a striped shirt, camo pink shorts, and mismatched knee-high socks with chunky boots.

Matt decided for plaid shorts layered over one plaid pant leg, a pastel blue and yellow sweater vest, and a floppy dog-ear cap.

Nick went to a plaid jacket layered over a striped shirt with a perfectly coordinated tie, and matching sweatpants and sneakers.

"Guys, I’m clearly superior." Nick started, raising his eyebrows as he adjusted his glasses. "My outfit is actually intentional, look at this synergy! It screams fashion-forward."

Matt groaned, rolling his eyes and looking at Chris with a 'is he serious?' expression.

"Nick, you’re wearing matchy-matchy plaid in a mix-matched challenge. You’ve missed the assignment!"

"It’s ironic." Nick shot back, crossing his arms. "I’m doing intentional matching. If I were in a real runway right now, people would actually like my outfit."

Chris scratched his head, looking between them.

"Isn’t that kind of cheating, though?"

Before the debate could escalate further, Y/N stepped into the frame, causing all three boys to give her their attention.

Her outfit was next level: a bright purple sequined crop top paired with one lime green legging on her right leg and a fluffy, neon orange sock on the other. She wore a skirt made of layered, clashing floral patterns that didn’t quite match the fuzzy checkered cardigan she threw on top. To finish it off, her accessories included a leopard-print beanie - the one she stole from Matt's closet -, oversized sunglasses, and two entirely different shoes, a silver stiletto on one foot and a Croc on the other.

The boys gawked.

"Okay, now that’s mix-matched madness." Chris said, pointing at her.

"Girl, you look like you fell into a thrift store... and it worked." Nick added, looking both impressed and slightly annoyed.

"How can you still look so good while wearing... that?" Matt asked, pointing at her outfit with his hand while shaking his head in disbelief.

Y/N twirled dramatically, holding out her skirt as she grinned at the camera.

"Thank you, boys. I like to call this 'chaos with confidence'." She invented the random name, throwing a quick kiss to the lens.

Chris threw his hands up.

"Alright, I’m officially placing second now."

Nick groaned, shaking his head dramatically.

"No way. She’s great, but I’m still winning. Look at this tie!"

Matt laughed.

"Nick, your tie doesn’t save you from breaking the theme. You’re disqualified."

The scene cut to the "runway", where each of them showcased their chaotic outfits with an equally chaotic performance.

First up was Nick. He confidently strutted forward, reaching for the end of his tie. With exaggerated flair, he lifted it as if someone were pulling him forward, his face a picture of mock shock and drama, stumbling forward.

"Ey, keep going!" Chris hollered, nodding enthusiastically.

The moment he reached the end of the runway, he grinned mischievously, running his hand dramatically through his hair and tossing a sultry look at the camera before taking off his pink glasses.

"Work it, Nick!" Y/N chimed in, her laughter mixing with the chaos.

Nick turned on his heel with a laugh, sauntering back to the start and throwing a praying gesture, ignoring how Matt laughed, mockingly imitating his act.

Next, Matt stepped up, adjusting his floppy dog-ear cap before suddenly spinning it backward.

"Showtime." He muttered under his breath, earning immediate chuckles from the others. He walked to the camera with a cocky stride, crossing his arms and bending slightly to the side.

For the final move, he pivoted and moonwalked his way back to the start, nearly slipping on his mismatched shoes but recovering with a grin.

"Did you see that? Effortless." Matt declared, earning boos and laughs from the rest.

"You almost ate it, Matt." Y/N teased, shaking her head.

Chris stepped up next. And, of course, he brought drama.

"Hold my jacket." He said, then immediately shook his head. "Actually, no. The floor will."

With exaggerated aggression, he ripped off one of his red lobster gloves, throwing it to the ground with flair. The glove was followed by his belt, which he unbuckled and tossed with equal energy.

"Oh my God." Y/N looked at the camera with wide eyes.

"What is happening?" Nick cackled, practically doubling over, slapping Y/N's arm.

Chris wasn’t done. He walked up to the camera with an intense expression, holding his hands out and touching the screen, acting as if zooming in.

"Enhance." He said, squinting into the lens. Then, as if the camera wasn’t worthy, he spun dramatically on his heel, walked back, and threw off his varsity jacket mid-stride before striking one final pose.

"Now that’s how you do it." Y/N joked, looking at the camera. "Like and subscribe if you want Chris to make a strip tea-"

"Y/N!"

For Y/N's turn, she adjusted her oversized leopard beanie with a dramatic flair and tilted her sunglasses low on her nose, revealing a dead-serious expression underneath. She strutted forward slowly, dragging her stiletto along the ground for added effect. When she reached the camera, she whipped her head to the side, making her orange fluffy sock the star of the moment.

But it didn’t end there. Y/N suddenly crouched down into a deep squat, raising one hand in the air and striking a pose like she was ready to pounce. The boys immediately broke into cheers and laughter.

"Yes, queen!" Nick shouted, jumping in the place and clapping, laughing loudly.

"She nailed it." Matt said with a proud grin, nodding his head.

Y/N slowly stood, turning to the side as if the camera had disappeared, and walked off like nothing had happened.

"Thank you." She said nonchalantly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as the others applauded.

"Alright, I officially retire." Nick said, throwing his arms to the air in a surrender gesture.

"Same." Chris picked up his lobster glove from the floor, grinning.

Matt sighed, smiling at Y/N's figure.

"She’s unbeatable. Let’s not do these challenges anymore if she’s in them."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The scene cut to the next category: Rock Concert. The boys had gathered in front of the camera, each flaunting their edgy outfits.

Chris leaned casually against the wall, dressed in all black with his bandana tied around his head. His sunglasses were perfectly placed, and a Bluetooth speaker hung over his shoulder like a statement piece.

"Clearly, I’m the embodiment of rock concert aesthetic." He said confidently, adjusting his speaker strap.

Nick crossed his arms, giving Chris a side-eye. He was sporting his long-sleeved shirt adorned with skulls and intricate spiderweb patterns paired with black cargo pants and chunky boots.

"Please." Nick retorted. "I’ve got literal death on my shirt. That’s as metal as it gets."

Matt, standing in the middle, smirked. He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt, complete with a silver skull belt buckle and leather pants that practically screamed rockstar.

"Yeah, but have you seen my belt?" He argued, lifting his white shirt slightly to show it off. "This is peak rock concert material. I even coordinated it with my jacket."

"Okay, but who do you think the crowd would look at first?" Chris challenged. "The guy with the bandana, all black, and sunglasses? Obviously me. The speaker only makes it better."

Nick rolled his eyes.

"You look like you’re trying to be a cool dad sneaking into a concert." He teased.

"Alright, alright." Y/N interrupted from off-screen, stepping into the camera frame and effectively stealing the show.

Y/N’s outfit was on another level. She wore a black 'Bon Jovi' cropped top with silver detailing that matched the chains on her leather mini skirt. Fishnet tights peeked out from under the skirt, leading down to a pair of knee-high combat boots that added an extra edge to the look. To top it off, she wore a cropped leather jacket with studs on the shoulders and accessorized with chunky silver jewelry and a black choker.

The boys fell silent for a second, staring.

Y/N smiled brightly at them before turning to the camera, raising her right arm and making the 'rock and roll' gesture by raising her pinky and index fingers and lowering the others.

"'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars and live in hilltop houses driving 15 cars..."

"Girl, what the fuck?" Nick widened his eyes, looking from Y/N to the camera with a look that screamed 'are you guys seeing this?'

Matt laughed loudly, recognizing the song from one of the TikTok trends that Y/N had been obsessing over the past few weeks, being quick in imitating her position, and starting singing with her.

"... the girls come easy and the drugs come cheap, we'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat-"

"Okay, that's enough of that." Chris interrupted the pair, gesturing to them while shaking his head in disbelief. "So, Y/N wins."

Nick groaned dramatically.

"Let's take her out right now. I don't wanna play with her anymore."

Matt couldn’t stop smiling.

"Can we just talk about how she’s nailing this? Like, can we get her to join the band we don’t have?"

Y/N laughed, giving a mock bow.

"Thank you, thank you. Now, let's just be clear, I already won." Y/N said with a sly grin, stepping forward. "You'll all lose time if you keep discussing who's the best between you three."

"How can you be so sure?" Chris crossed his arms, carrying a superior instance.

"Because I actually listen to rock." She said, shrugging like it was obvious. "AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Kansas, Asia... should I keep going?"

Nick groaned.

"Okay, that’s true, but it doesn’t count!"

"Doesn’t count?" Y/N repeated, feigning offense. "I think you’ll find that the fact I actually know rock makes me the winner by default." She turned to Chris. "Tell me. Have 'yall even listened to ‘Highway to Hell’ all the way through?"

Chris hesitated, playing with his earphones.

"Uh... I mean." He looked at Nick. "Probably?"

Y/N laughed, shaking her head.

"Thought so." She crossed her arms. "So, I don’t need a skull belt, all-black everything, or death on my chest. I’ve got the actual music taste. Rock is in my veins, boys."

Nick groaned dramatically, throwing his head back.

"She wins. I hate it, but she wins."

"Alright, fine." Chris muttered. "But we still look better."

"Not a chance." Y/N teased, spinning in place again and winking at the camera. "This outfit screams rock goddess."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The boys were now proudly sporting their "Zoom Meeting" outfits. Chris held up his MacBook, Matt adjusted his glasses with a goofy smile, and Nick tugged at his black tie, looking down at his bright heart-shaped boxer shorts with fake professionalism.

"Alright." Chris started, addressing the imaginary Zoom meeting in front of him. "Gentlemen, let’s get to business. As you can see, we’re all clearly dressed to impress."

"Except for Nick." Matt teased, nodding toward his brother's boxer shorts. "The hearts? A little too much, don’t you think?"

Nick scoffed, feigning offense.

"Excuse me, at least I have this tie that says I’m both professional and emotionally available. A winning combo."

Matt rolled his eyes and gestured to his own look.

"Meanwhile, I’ve got balance. Business on top, relaxation on the bottom."

"That’s literally the whole theme." Chris pointed out with a smirk. "You’re not special, Matt."

Y/N watched from her spot leaning against Matt's bathroom door, her legs crossed as she sipped from her mug of coffee that she made while waiting for them to get ready. She was dressed comfortably yet stylishly, rocking an oversized beige knit sweater that draped perfectly off one shoulder, paired with black leggings and fluffy white socks. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, with a few strands framing her face. Despite the boys' chaotic energy, she was nailing the whole "effortlessly cool" vibe.

"Y/N, you’re way too cozy for a Zoom meeting." Chris said, pointing at her as he adjusted his loose white shirt.

"Well." Y/N said with a playful grin. "Unlike you guys, I know how to mix comfy with class. You all just look ridiculous."

Nick gasped, dramatically clutching the box in his hands.

"Ridiculous? Ridiculous?! Look at this tie! I’m the epitome of professionalism!"

Chris leaned toward Y/N, pointing at Matt.

"What about him? He’s literally in boxer shorts."

Y/N rolled her eyes, sipping from her mug to hide her smile.

"You're all wearing it, dumbass." Her eyes lingered on Matt's red boxer shorts for a moment too long. "It’s really interesting that someone would think boxer shorts are appropriate for a Zoom meeting, actually."

Matt smirked, striking a random pose.

"Are you jealous?"

"No?" She said quickly, shaking her head. "I mean, it’s not like anyone else on the Zoom would see them, right?"

The other two brothers caught on instantly, grinning like Cheshire cats.

"Y/N." Nick teased. "Are you saying you wouldn’t let your Zoom co-workers see your boxers?"

"Nick!" She exclaimed, throwing an exasperated look at him. "That’s not the point!"

Chris chimed in, laughing.

"Yeah, Matt. She’s definitely jealous. She wishes she could wear boxers to a meeting."

"I do not!" Y/N huffed, crossing her arms, though a smile tugged at her lips. "I just... don’t understand why he’d even bother wearing the shirt if he’s just going to go full casual anyway."

"It’s called commitment to the aesthetic." Matt said, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder, discretely squeezing the exposed skin. "Something you clearly wouldn’t understand."

"Oh, I understand commitment." Y/N shot back with a smirk, meeting his eyes momentarily. "But let’s be honest, none of you are winning any awards for those outfits."

"Excuse me?" Nick said, pretending to be outraged. "I’m clearly the winner here."

"Winner?" Chris scoffed. "You’re wearing socks pulled up to your knees, bro. That’s not even close to a win."

Y/N chuckled as she watched them descend into a full argument over who had the best Zoom look, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from flickering back to Matt’s outfit. Something about the casual confidence he exuded - boxers and glasses - had her feeling just a little possessive and turned on.

"Alright." She announced, clapping her hands to get their attention. "If you’re all done arguing, let’s see who can really sell their look with a runway walk."

The boys' faces lit up, and they quickly got into character.

Nick was up first, confidently sliding across the wooden floor in his socks, arms spread wide like a figure skater. As he came to a stop, he reached for his boxer shorts and dramatically lowered them until they hit the ground, shouting a little "Oh!".

Matt immediately yelped.

"Nick!" He yelled before lunging forward to cover Y/N's eyes with both hands.

"Matt! What are you doing?!" Y/N laughed, trying to swat his hands away while Chris doubled over in hysterics.

"Protecting your innocence!" Matt declared, keeping his hands firmly over her face.

Nick, unfazed, quickly pulled his boxers back up and began walking toward the camera with exaggerated confidence, tugging at his tie and making ridiculous faces as though he were a real model.

"You’re unbelievable!" Chris murmured through his laughter, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Well, we've got 2 strippers now-"

"Y/N!"

Nick turned dramatically to face her and winked.

"You’re welcome for the show."

Next, it was Matt’s turn. He walked to the middle of the floor, cracking his knuckles with a sly grin before suddenly dropping to his hands and knees.

"Uh, Matt?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What...?" Nick added, genuinely confused.

Then, without warning, Matt lifted his left leg to the side like a dog at a fire hydrant.

The realization hit everyone at once, recognizing the movement from one of the rounds of DTI that Matt and Chris played, and the room erupted into cheers and laughter.

"That was perfect!" Chris shouted, clapping his hands.

Matt stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off his shirt with a smirk, and walked toward the camera with crossed arms, striking a serious pose like a model in a high-fashion commercial.

"Okay, that was actually cool." Y/N admitted, giggling as he walked back to join them.

When it was Chris’s turn, he shook his head with a grin.

"I’m sitting this one out." He said.

"What? Why?" Nick asked, incredulous.

Chris shrugged.

"I’m already the main event. I’ll let Y/N steal the spotlight this time."

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, so now I have to go?"

"You got this!" Matt encouraged, nudging her toward the runway.

"Fine." She said, standing up and straightening her oversized sweater dramatically.

Y/N walked off the camera and took the book she'd been reading the past few days from the coffee table, walking back to the frame before delicately putting it on her head like a balancing act. She strutted confidently toward the camera, balancing it all the way, then stopped to pull out her mug, striking a victorious pose before taking a slow, exaggerated sip. The boys erupted in applause.

"You can call me Barbie now." She started, turning to the boys while opening a wide smile before pretending that her hand was a microphone. "On top of the world where I can see everything before me reaching up to touch the sky-"

"Okay, singer girl, pipe down a bit." Nick raised his right hand, exchanging perplexed looks with Chris, who was laughing.

"Okay, she wins." The youngest admitted, shrugging in defeat.

"Unreal." Matt said, looking at her with obvious pride. "You’re way too good at this, Y/N."

"Okay, okay, she wins. No one can top that." Nick nodded at Y/N. "But I think Chris gets second place in this one."

"No, I give you number one." Chris insisted, pointing to Nick while Matt just observed.

"I can't accept that. I'm just happy Matt's wearing his blue light glasses again." Nick's voice turned dramatically high-pitched, clearly imitating the fandom.

Before anyone could react to him, Matt ripped his glasses off of his face, bending it backward until it snapped, small pieces flying everywhere.

"Matt, why would you do that?" Y/N yelled, looking at him with wide eyes and open mouth - just like the other two - before pouting, looking miserably at the shattered pieces. "I liked that one."

"I don't like those stupid jokes." Matt simply replied, looking unfazed at his brothers and Y/N.

Nick and Chris kept looking from Matt to the camera and back, their expressions full of shock.

"You're going to buy another one just like that one, I don't even care." Y/N ordered, crossing her arms and looking directly at Matt, raising her eyebrows as if to say 'dare disobey me.

"Fine." He sighed. "Sorry."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Extra - comments:

"okay but can we talk about matt literally saying ‘I’m off limits’? someone tell me what’s going on here 🤡"

"nick casually calling out matt girls for voting on matt only bc they want to sleep with him had me SCREAMING 😭"

"why was Y/N blushing when matt said he was off limits? I SEE YOU, GIRL!!!!"

"the dynamic between Y/N and matt is giving major dating vibes"

"wait, why does matt always seem to hype Y/N up just a little more than chris and nick? like, we get it, dude. she’s awesome. but tone it down, or we’ll all start connecting dots 🤨"

"as a fellow rock fan, I have to say Y/N listening to AC/DC and bon jovi automatically makes her my fave"

"not Y/N convincing matt with zero effort to do the rockstar trend with her 🤧"

"I’m not saying I ship Y/N and matt... but I also kind of ship Y/N and matt. the way he looked at her with that dress??? man, I know that look"

"matt breaking his glasses and then Y/N ordering him to buy another one and him ACCEPTING IT???? and saying sorry???? omg that's just girl boss right there 🙏🏻"

[strawberrymochin]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐚' 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐬!

synopsis- dared by nobara, Yuji decides to pull a prank on their physics professor— gojo satoru, infamous for his wickedly handsome face and his notorious mouth. He spikes gojo’s coffee with a few pills of viagra, suppressing the jolts of illegal excitement bubbling up his veins— which soon dies when gojo offers the cup of coffee to you instead.

warnings- college!au, SMUT, physics professor gojo with huge d, you having a hopeless crush on gojo, nobamaki as your sidekick, age gap(6yrs), use of APHRODISIACS, oral male receiving, mutual masturbation, SQUIRTING, CHOKING, unprotected sex(sort of), VOYEURISM, I feel sorry for Yuji, cursing, dirty talk, some great latin words.

w.c- 4.8k

a/n's note- Yuji will always be remembered as my brave soldier! Next will be nanami in the series!! i hope you like it. comments and reblogs are much appreciated!! Taglist is open!

“Professor gojo is always a hot topic for the girls” nobara stated blandly to her senior maki, sitting opposite to her at their regular corner cafeteria table. 

Maki rolls her eyes at the statement, unable to pinpoint what exactly girls like about their professor. Even you— her best friend has an insatiable crush on him. She unwrapped her chicken cheese burger taking a huge bite before muffling “yeah, nothing new…”.

Gojo Satoru, your physics professor, has been a topic of constant gossip ever since he joined the university. He was surprisingly young, menacingly handsome and had a notorious way with his tongue. His carefree attitude and indelible impression caused students to mark him as the— infamous professor among the trio of young havocs. 

Girls swarmed around him sprawling new tattles each day. And another one that randomly popped out at the chatter page of your university was— professor gojo having an extremely high sex drive. 

An anon posted it in the forum and disappeared and it blew up overnight. People agreed over online, some simping, some getting disgusted or jealous(mainly boys), and some concocting new scandals having seen him going out with two different women in one day. 

Today was no different. The chatter forums have been buzzing with news and rumors and among them the trending one was professor gojo’s libido discussions. 

Nobara dragged her finger down the screen of her phone, refreshing the page hoping to see something new. “I can't believe they don't have any better discussions other than this.” Her disappointment was clearly visible as ‘gojolibido’ thingy still remained at its position on the top. 

she placed her phone down on the table, sipping up the last of her drink. 

Yuji leaned back in his armchair, his head resting against the cool metal frame, his body partially slouched. His crumpled paper wraps of sandwich sat messy on the table, “come to think of it, professor gojo never declines any of the stuff…” 

The college rumors spread like gasoline set ablaze. There was little to no chance of him not being aware of the sizzling situation. 

Maki dropped her half eaten burger, placing her elbows on the table top leaning in a bit. “He probably enjoys it.” 

And maybe he does. There are sure subtle hints. The slight curve of the corner of his lips when students gawk at him as he walks past them, hearing them fawning over him. Or the smug side eye he gives to his male students— almost satirical. Or the infamous way of his wicked tongue, it's as if he was mocking them. 

No one can say for sure. 

“If that's the case I'm sure he wouldn't mind some pranks too…” Yuji straightens up half joking. “What do you mean?” asks maki. 

“Like some pulling up a bold act…” he suggested, stretching his arms out before letting them fall on his thighs, rubbing his palms over the rough fabric.

“Woah!” Nobara almost jumped up in excitement, looking at Yuji as if he finally had some sense knocked in his head, “And here I thought Itadori never grew a brain,” she sprinted her head to maki who was gnawing on her burger. 

“How ‘bout we get y/n pull something on gojo sensei?” 

“Bruh—” maki leaned back in her seat, narrowing her eyes as a little smirk crawled up her face. 

You've had a crush on professor gojo. And this was no secret from your friend group. Plus they already had enough of you sighing dramatically at the mere sight of him. They can only wonder how you even manage to behave normal when you're assigned to help him sort out some paperwork after class. 

“This is gonna be awful. And fun to watch.” Maki turned her head to spot you in the cafeteria line, currently buying lunch for yuta and inumaki. 

They have a paper due the next day so they requested you to buy them lunch to save time. 

As you leave the cafeteria with lunch boxes in your hand, heading towards the classroom yuta and inumaki might be stressing over work, maki, nobara and Yuji join you. 

“Done buying the idiots lunch?” Maki came up wrapping a hand over your shoulder. “Woa— yeah! On my way delivering it as you can see…” 

“Sure thing.” Nobara said. 

“Well you know we're playing truth and dare.” Maki continues dragging out the ‘dare’ part. 

“Yeah lame shit…” 

“So, we’ve got a dare for you.” She announces outright. 

“Bitch i wasn't even playin—” 

“Yuji wants to pass his dare to you.” Yuji looked baffled at nobara, but decided to play along anyway. “Ah yeah y/n senior, can you please take the dare my stead.” 

Aww, you pitied the pink haired boy, one year junior than you. You nodded you head in sympathy, feeling sorry for what ridiculous of a dare maki and nobara might have imposed on him, not caring what they might impose on you. 

“It's really simple okay….” maki says comforting you with her grip on your shoulder. “You just need to go and pull up a bold act on professor gojo.” 

Your nodding halts as her word registers in your mind. You look up questionably at her with one eye twitching, face cringing.

“You want me to do what?” 

“Chill, I'm not asking you to get naked or edge play with him. Just a little flirting will do…” nobara nods aggressively at maki’s words, eyes sparkling to convince you. 

The lunch boxes stayed in your hand, before giving it away to the stressed duo who found it strange for maki, nobara and Yuji swarming around you, looking this excited considering your freaked out expression. You eventually agreed to them, unable to resist their sparkling eyes and it wouldn't be a lie to say you yourself were itching to try it out. 

You sort of had a head start when things came to professor gojo. Atleast that's what your friends thought, though you tried to convince yourself the opposite. You were just an average student. Not too good not too bad. 

It was a coincidence that he out of all the students ‘randomly’ chose you to sort out paperworks. 

You even wondered if he knew your name. Not once has he addressed you with your name from the previous two paperwork sessions. Not being able to ask, you decide for yourself that he doesn't. After all, why would he even try to remember you? Bet he doesn't even glance twice at your face. 

“Go!” Maki whispers at your ear, pushing you at your back, urging you. 

Professor Gojo was standing outside his office. A rare scene indeed, he seemed immersed in his phone screen typing something. 

You gulp once before looking back at your friends— whom you definitely cursed in your mind. Nobara pulled yuji’s collar down to her level, whispering something, which made him suppress his bubbling laugh. 

Your face twists bitterly, feeling a burn of anger, which soon dies as they push you off causing you to stumble mid corridor. 

Awkwardly you try regaining your balance as a string of curses slip past your mouth. You should have never agreed to this in the first place. Why did it matter anyway? You'd be graduating in a few months and will barely see the pink haired guy again. 

Gojo’s gaze shifts in your direction as you try to maintain a straight posture. Your best friend and the juniors hid themselves behind the small alcove, eavesdropping eagerly. 

“Yes?” Professor gojo stuffs his phone back in his pockets, one hand coming up to slide his rimmed sunglasses up his nose bridge. 

You suck in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of each hair in your body and every single sensation coursing through your body causing them to stand in attention. “Eh—”

Gojo eyes you up and down, a discreet smile tugging off his lips, as he comes forward closing the distance between you two. His towering body blocked the sun rays pooling over your body from the huge glass window. “Have a doubt about the previous lecture?” 

Maki and others sigh face palming themselves. Your frozen stance grows their doubt even stronger, questioning how you even manage to stay after class for the paper sorting sessions. 

“Yea— i mean I want to ask you something— ” you fiddled with your fingers, looking the other direction as gojo leans down to your level. A familiar embarrassing burn creeps up your cheeks, soon spreading up to your ears. 

“Um—” 

Gojo hums encouraging you to speak up, his sunglasses slipping down a bit as one sapphire eye peeks at you. 

You could feel maki and the other's gaze piercing through your back, suddenly wondering how come your professor hasn't noticed them gawking yet. 

Gojo looks at you expectantly. 

Okay, you've got this— you only need to pull a little bold stuff like flirting as nobara suggested. You can go with some pick up line, even related to physics for highlighting the pun intended, for example you can say ‘i know the spring constant of my mattress, wanna take some data?’

Okay, that was shit. What if you ask him to expand your polynomial? That's even more weird. 

“You oka—” 

“Cubitum eamus?” 

“ -what?” Gojo straightens up, scrunching his nose, resting one hand at his hip. 

Red spreads down to your collarbone, seemingly flushed yet relieved when gojo doesn't gets the hint. “Nothing.” You say before sprinting away downstairs, your friends following you down from the alcove. 

“Y/n wait-” maki huffs catching up to you, the juniors following behind huffed out. “What the heck did you say?” 

Her further inquiry made you even more flushed, eyes shutting as you take in another deep breath grabbing maki before shaking her by her shoulders. “I. Said. Nothing. You get it. NOTHING!!” 

Maki showed you a thumbs up, as Yuji halts your action, saving her spinning head from your ass. 

You calm yourself before making up and excuse and running away, still flustered, while the entire gang had no idea what the heck was wrong with you, coming to the conclusion that you were probably high. 

“Bruh what did she even say? A curse or something?” Nobara cracks up as Yuji was still trying to rescue maki from her brain shaken plight.

“I swear,” Yuji agrees holding a eye- spiralling maki from her arm, “i could have done better than her.”

“Better?” Nobara lends a hand to Yuji.

“Yeah…much better.” 

“Itadoriiii,” her eyes narrowed, a wicked grin blooming on her face, “I bet you're a man of your words.” 

And this is how Itadori Yuji, was dared-convinced that a he could ofcourse pull a better prank than his senior, such as spiking professor gojo’s coffee with aphrodisiacs. ‘i mean it wouldn't hurt to see him ache a bit.’— was what nobara had said yesterday. ‘We've got so many rumours about professor gojo atleast someone have to confirm them.’ she shrugged sliding the ziplock of crushed pills in his shirts pocket, before slamming on his back. 

Yuji checked once again at the front door of the office, his hands stirring the spoon on the hot coffee to let the powder dissolve. He somehow managed to sneak into gojo's office from the back door when professor geto called him out for a bit. The classes are over, and now would be the perfect time to get a look over the amusing scenario about to unfold. 

Yuji gets alert when he hears footsteps coming near, abandoning the cup before scurrying to the back door in order to slip out before anyone notices him. He intends to hide in the men's washroom before coming back near the back of the gojo’s office peeking from the small gap in the door he'd left open. 

As you enter professor gojo’s office with the bundle of written assignments the juniors had submitted, you see Yuji rushing out from the back door. 

Confused, you tilt your head. “What the heck was he doing here?” You mumble to yourself. The embarrassing moment of the last encounter you had with professor gojo flashed through your mind, face cringing red as you shook your head to forget those thoughts. 

Fortunately professor gojo didn't mention about the last encounter, he just asked you to collect the assignments from the juniors and bring it to his office. As usual he'd need your help evaluating the credits. 

You did feel a bit awkward after what you'd done but you tried to feign indifference, which didn't actually work, your palms were sweating wet. However you nodded as usual and went on with your work. 

You place the bundle of papers on his table, when your eyes travel to the cup of coffee, slow tendrils of warm stream rising upwards. However it was slightly displaced from its previous position, and— even the spoon in the coffee sat opposite from what you've seen before. There were slight sprinkles of white dust surrounding the saucer.

Your mouth forms a small astonished ‘o’, head turning back to look at the back door, with the small open gap. You weren't sure whoever you saw was Yuji or not, but you did spot a hint of pink. 

Your brows knitted together.

Did he spike the coffee? You thought.

But why would he do that? Yuji wouldn't go and do something like this. As you try to connect the dots with the situation, the creak of the door draws your attention back from it. 

Gojo entered back, his gaze briefly met yours, acknowledging you before turning back swiftly and sliding the door shut. 

He slipped back into his directorial chair, hand gesturing to the chair across his table. “Have a seat.”  

“—yes.” 

He ran a hand up his hair, getting hold of the first assignment among the bunch of papers, “take my laptop and register the credits.” He flipped through the pages, scrutinizing some parts longer than the others as you obeyed him. 

The excel sheet was already on screen as you opened his laptop, ready to type in the credits as he dictates. 

“Y/n,” you raise your head, eyes wide at him. This is the first time he said your name, even more shocked that he did remember it. 

“Yes.” 

“Have the coffee.” 

“—i'm sorry.” 

Minutes of silence pass, before gojo flips through the last page of the first assignment, separating it from the others. “I said. Have. The. Coffee.” 

You gulped at his persistent nature, did he spotted the white dust laying around? 

“I— I'm not very fond of it.” 

“Of coffee? Or of me?” you almost choked on your spit as he raised a cocky eyebrow, halting his hand midway from another assignment before picking up the metal spoon and stirring the lukewarm coffee once again. 

“Coffee. I m-mean.” 

“You seem nervous,” he placed both of his elbows on the table between you two, “I'm sure it will help you calm your nerves.” 

“T-thank you but I rea—” 

“You know you shouldn't reject your professor’s kindness.” your mouth felt dry, never have you ever seen professor gojo being this intimidating and hot, and if your brain already wasn't a freak, it was sort of turning you on. “Why are you adamant about it? Try it once.” he slid the saucer to you, as he let his face fall on the palm of his one hand, eyes watching your every movement with an orphic gleam. 

Unwillingly, you raised your hand, getting hold of the cup before bringing it to your lips. 

You gulped thickly not wanting to drink. You weren't sure if it was Yuji who spiked the drink or not, but it was sure spiked. You couldn't even bring yourself to tell gojo about it since you didn't want to blame Yuji for nothing but—

“drink.” 

You sip it. And— it tasted normal. Maybe you were just overthinking. 

Half an hour passed and you kept typing the credit scores on his laptop, as he continued checking the assignments. 

Everything was fine except you felt hot- like extremely hot. Your shirt stuck too tight to your skin and you wanted to take it off, your chest was heaving, sweat beads were forming on your temple even though the ac was on. 

“you okay?” gojo asks when you don't answer him. “Yes, I'm sorry, what was the score again?” 

“You seem to sweat awfully? Is something wrong?” Gojo rose from his seat, pushing the chair back slightly as he did so. He moved away from the table and approached you till he was in front of you. 

He extended one arm to you as his fingers touched your burning temple. You suck in a breath, his cold fingertips in contrast to your burning temple sent shivers down your spine. Heat pooled down your lower stomach as you felt the urge to clench around nothing. 

Was the coffee spiked with—

Gojo narrowed his gaze when you didn't answer him, retreating back to the almost finished cup of coffee, pouring out the rest of the remains into the saucer as the white powdery residue became visible. 

He swiped two fingers on it before rubbing and speculating it, sniffing it from his fingers. “tch, so you drugged it with aphrodisiacs.” 

“Huh?” you gawk at his accusation. 

“First you ask me to sleep with you, second you drug my coffee, do you really want me that bad?” 

You wanted to deny his accusations, you wanted to tell him that you didn't drugged his coffee but the way his words were laced with a hint of mockery, especially the fact the he knew what you said to him the last day, increased the dull ache of your core even more, thighs squeezing with each other to get some relief. 

You take a deep breath, calming your mind and open your mouth to deny him when he inserts his fingers in your mouth, the one with the white residue. 

“Suck.” your eyes widen once again, you shouldn't be doing this, you didn't drug his drink, so you should be telling him the truth. But what if you played along, what if you sucked his fingers as he said. 

What if—

Your tongue lapped the residue off his two fingers, sucking it clean, as he pulled his fingers out. He leaned down, hands on your arm rests caging you. 

“Such a good girl.” His breath tickled your burning skin, “I was going to wait till you graduate but since you're so impatient…strip.” 

It was an order. Unable to resist, you give in, if there was this mere possibility of him fucking you why not let it happen. You've had a crush on him since the very beginning and after all, this was the golden opportunity for you to confirm all the rumors about professor gojo you'd read in the forums. 

You let out a shaky breath, setting his laptop aside before hands come up to undo your shirt. Gojo straightens up, watching you shamelessly strip out of your shirt without blinking, gaze predatory even as if he wanted to devour you whole. 

You rise from your seat, letting your shirt fall on the chair you occupied before unzipping your skirt, its fabric pooling around your legs. 

You were now almost naked, only in your lace bras and your drenched panties. 

“Was the aphrodisiacs strong? You are pooling wet down there, it's almost dripping down your thighs.” And as if you weren't flushed enough, his mocking yet firm tone sent sparks dancing around your body. 

He didn't waste any more time before yanking you against his table and ripping off your panties. 

You hissed out a breath, which gojo swallowed with a bruising kiss. His one hand snaked his way to the hook of your bra while the other drifted down to your pulsating core. 

Oh god. He murmurs against your lips.

He barely even touched you and you're so achingly wet. Not that he expected any less with the uncertain amount of aphrodisiacs you swallowed. 

With one click, your bra loosened, before falling to the floor joining your torn laces. 

There you were completely naked, whimpering, withering mess under him as he kissed and suckled your lips. 

The infamous professor gojo satoru was kissing you, his hand down your pulsating core sent jolts circling the rough pad of his thumb on your red clit brutally.  

Gojo pulls away from the kiss, letting you feed chunks of oxygen to your lungs. A slim string of drool attaching both of your lips. “Open my shirt.” He says guiding your hand to his shirt, before latching onto your neck, marking you. 

You fumble with his shirt buttons hastily opening them before discarding his shirt on the floor. The way he was kissing his way down from your neck to your chest didn't allow you to take a look at his bare body, but you could feel it, muscles —defined, carved and chiseled. His hand reaches out, capturing yours, and he guides it across his chest, till it reaches the edge of his trousers. 

“Woa—” you gasp at his pent up fabric when gojo eased himself, grinding on your hands. 

A rumor confirmed: gojo had a big dick.

“Go on, do what you want with it.” He raised his head from your chest, now covered with red marks. He signals down with the corner of his lips curving sassily as he slips two of his fingers inside you. 

You suck in a breath. 

He draws back his free hand, cupping one of your breasts, caressing the neglected peaks of your arousal, while the other slowly fingers in and out of you, curling in so sweetly that it has your mind going dizzy. His fingers have you so full, that you feel you might just orgasm right now. The feeling of his rough fingers inside you was so different from yours, the way it pressed on different spots causing you to jolt of sensitivity, the way his thumb stimulated your clit, soothing the hot desire bubbling on your bunch of nerves, was otherworldly. You tried holding back your orgasm for this heaven to last longer, for him to lick on your nipples a little longer, for him to plunge his fingers in and out a little longer.

You heave out whimpers, trying to focus on something else other than your building hot white pleasure, unbuckling his belt as you unzip his trousers, letting it fall. 

His cock sprang out in full bloom as you pulled down his boxers, taking it in your grip causing him to hiss.

It was thick and angry, already leaking precum. Your breath came out in harsh raps as you started jerking him, trying to match his rhythm. “Mmhh fuck” he lets out a growl before withdrawing you of your pleasure, leaving you empty and dripping sticky. 

You suddenly regret holding back your orgasm. Will he stop? Will he say it's not right to do what you are doing now? Leave you unsatisfied, denied from your release, embarrassed and insulted. 

He pushed you down to your knees, as your grip on his cock loses which is soon replaced by his hand. Jerking rough and slow. 

“Open your mouth.” 

You couldn't react when his hand closed around your neck, squeezing it tighter and harder until darkness surrounds the edges of your vision and you gasp your mouth open barely managing to drag in a chunk of air when he shoved his cock in. 

“Yeah, now suck” he releases his hand from your neck only to tangle his fingers in your hair, forcing you down to gag on his thick cock. 

“Mphfh.” drool leaked from the corners of your lips and dripped down your chin.

Gojo tugged your head back until only the tip of his cock remained in your mouth as he looked down at your tear filled eyes. “isn’t this what you wanted?” He plunged back down your head again with a sharp thrust. His tip was touching the back of your throat that you could feel it twitching slowly in your mouth and if this wasn't too much, the urge to relieve your throbbing clit intensified. You slide a hand down to your core, rubbing circles as he pulls back your head again. “Tch. Tch. Y/n. You're so needy for me. Cubitum eamus?” he says gently wiping off a tear from your cheek.

Fuck. 

Before you could answer he starts fucking himself mercilessly into your mouth, his low grunts mixed with the obscene sound of your gagging caused another sensation of heat coiling down your stomach. This time he didn't even touch you yet you were this close to your orgasm. You were sure to release this time with his cock throbbing inside your mouth, fucking furiously, and tears clouding your gaze when he pulls out. 

“Mmhh—” your protests die down as quick as they arise when he pulls you up and lifts you to his table, jerking aside the bundle of papers you brought. 

He adjusted your hips, before spreading your legs wide open with his knees, yanking you closer, letting your back fall on his table, “so eager ain't ya’,” his voice was raspy with lust, as you pushed yourself up with your elbows to look at him when he thrusts himself in, nails digging on the plush of your hips. He slides in without much resistance as he grows a smile, “so horny that ya’ drugged ma’ coffee. Don't worry your professor’s gonna get you riling nuts.” He slides out before slamming in with one sharp thrust. Driving deep and hard with every single thrust. The table was shaking at the intensity of him pounding into you. 

You cried out, mind getting blank, unable to process any coherent thoughts other than the sensation of his skin sliding with yours. His veins became more prominent with each thrust, flush getting deeper and deeper as his cock buried into you inch by inch till it touched the hilt of your ecstasy, which came down so sudden and so erratic, spilling down his cock onto his table till it dripped down the floor. 

The table banged with each thrust yet you were too numb to even care for things to fall and shatter down on the floor as if the second wave of your ecstasy wasn't arriving, building up hot and raging along with the thrusts of your professor. 

You clamped hard around his cock taking it all in, being so good for him that he hissed out his moans, more ravenous than he'd ever been. Your pussy clenched and stretched so good that he felt his blood running erratic, thrust getting more sloppy as your second high crashed down, cunt rippling with juices over his cock drilling into you, incoherent chants of his name spilling out your mouth. His head fell back, mouth opening in a breathy moan, as his eyes roll back, he knew he was close and might cum inside you if he didn't suppress his clawing desire. 

With his muscles tensing each fucking second, he painfully let go of the warm sleeve of your cunt, the air feathering cool at his red cherry tip, before spurting out strings of cum on your stomach. 

You barely could get hold of your consciousness, fucked feral by gojo satoru, laying naked on his desk with your stream of orgasm dripping down and marks of his arousal sticky on your stomach. Your hair was messy, skin marked from his iron grip and you looked dumb, wincing from the sudden emptiness— yet you were the most beautiful sight to him.

Yuji stood behind the door peeking from the gap he left open, you— his senior lays fucked on the table, his grip over his aching cock had the white of his cum slicking down from his knuckles. Oh what a scene it was, to let you have the blame for his misconduct and see you getting bullied by their professor, and to jerk off watching the entire scene unfold. 

He felt bad for what he did, and yet he kept looking at the way you gagged around gojo’s cock, the way gojo sucked your nipples, and the way you squirted for him. He knows he shouldn't feel like this yet he was turned on, even though he came twice he was still turned on. 

You don't remember much of what happened later. You only heard the rustling of papers, fixing of chairs and the only blurry sight you can regain was papers collected next to you, the mess of both of your arousals clean and the slight press of his lips on your temple. 

Professor Gojo was fully dressed and calm. And you were in his car, wearing back your clothes except for your panties which were torn. You don't remember how you even got there. 

“Where are we going?” You manage to ask, your voice hoarse from all the shouting. 

“Home.”

Who knows you might be able to confirm the truth of the other rumors from the forums, however you were too spent to think any of that, slumping back into your slumber.

© strawberrymochin 24 | plagiarism won't be tolerated | taglist is open | tags: @secretfankoala @moonchhu

[rememberwren]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Easy breezy beautiful premature ejaculation. Hypersexual!Simon/fem!reader. Discussion of edging. Cumming untouched.

-

“If we do this,” he says around his cigarette, “then we do it my way.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you admit cautiously, turning your hands palm up as if to show you have no weapons, no tricks up your sleeve. I’m innocuous, your posture says. His own says: I’m still deciding, with his tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. “This weird, femdom thing. So I appreciate your guidance. Because I know fuck all—“

“You’re no femdom—Jesus, fuck, I can’t talk about it anymore,” he grits out. He takes a step back and away, creating distance, exhaling a plume of smoke that makes him look strangely ethereal in the evening light. Against your will, your eyes flicker down to just below his belt buckle and oh god. He’s hard. 

“Just from talking about it?”

The look he gives you could melt ice. It could sublimate it. You cringe, knowing you were in the wrong, wishing you could reach out and snatch the words right out of the air. He’s trusting you with this. The last thing he needs is to feel like a joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have—you’re not a, a science experiment or something—“

“Wouldn’t mind that so much. Might figure out what the fuck’s wrong with me. Less interested in being treated like I’m part of a circus troupe,” he grumbles. He drops the cigarette and grinds it to ash beneath his boot. He asks: “Inside?” 

-

Gingerly, so gingerly, he undoes the button of his jeans and unzips them. He holds his breath as he works the denim down his thick thighs. God, is he built: muscles made for more than just show. His history is inscribed on his body in its strength and in its scars, scars of white and pale pinks that darken to purple in the lamplight. He’s wearing boxer briefs, straining at the front from his erection, and they are soaked. You’re surprised that he hasn’t soaked straight through to his jeans. 

“Don’t look,” he grits out through his teeth. You look away, unsure where to cast your eyes to, and settle for shutting them. He explains: “Can’t take the way you’re looking at me.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling your face flush hot. 

“Just—let me—” you hear the sound of fabric rustling. He kicks off his jeans—you can tell by the soft sound of them landing against the floor off the side of the bed. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenching in your lap. 

“Nothing just—fuck. No way I’m going to last.” He sounds bitterly disappointed. 

“That’s the point of this, right? To get better at lasting?” 

He sighs, a long-suffering sound, like this discussion is well worn and frustrating to him. Something in you shrivels, and it takes your body with it as best as it can, sending your shoulders hunching inwards, your head ducking down. You pick at one of your nails by feel alone, eyes still closed, and nearly jump when his fingers brush your knee. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You’re right. That’s what this is for. Might as well get used to embarrassing myself.” 

“That’s the spirit." 

He snorts. More fabric rustles, and at length he says: “Alright. You can look. Just…you can look.” 

You open your eyes hesitantly. His cock is right there—and Jesus. It makes sense, proportionally, but it is frightening in a very real sense. You’re already doing the math, measuring in your head and comparing to your past precedents. Ghost would have them all beat, quite comfortably, in length and girth. He’s cut, which surprises you, but isn’t a turnoff. He keeps himself landscaped nicely, which you appreciate, even if it isn’t necessary. 

He is flushed a ruddy pink, the head darker than the rest. As you stare, it jerks, a bead of precum welling at the tip. Suddenly one of his large, scarred hands reaches down and grips the base of his cock in a painful hold, hissing in a breath through his teeth. 

“Can’t look at me like that,” he admonishes again. 

“Like what?” you ask, a little defensive. You’re just looking! You have to look, right? 

“Like you want it,” he mutters. 

God, does he really have no idea? No inkling of how badly you want to sit on that monster in his hands? No notion of how wet you’ve been since your conversation in the parking lot? Sure you aren't like him, not about to spring off if the breeze was just right, but you are anything but unaffected. Still, it seems like the wrong moment to educate him on your attraction to him and his cock, so you do your best to morph your expression into one of unimpressed ambivalence and hoped it helps. 

“I’m ready when you are,” you say, interrupting his deep breathing exercises. He nods but doesn’t give you the go-ahead, not for another minute or two, until his chest stops heaving and he can remove his hand from the vice grip he has around his balls. His cock has a near purple tinge, and you wonder if maybe he should have rubbed one out in the bathroom beforehand just to take the edge off. Oh well, it’s a thought for next time. 

“Go ahead,” he says, like he’s giving you permission to pull the trigger on him during a game of Russian Roulette. 

You reach out—his cock twitches, a nice warm welcome if you’ve ever seen one, but you hesitate. Your hand is dry. Should you ask for lube? How does he usually jerk off? Dry? You have a feeling he doesn’t mind the discomfort; he seems like he has a self-destructive streak a mile wide. His eyes are fixed at a point on the ceiling, his chest unmoving as he holds his breath. You decide that some sort of lubrication is better than none—so you lick a broad stripe up your palm. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, a little punched-out sound. Sometime between opening your mouth and licking your palm, his eyes had transferred from the ceiling to your face, to the flash of your tongue and your wet palm. His eyes widen, irises swallowed up by the pupils, and he says again, more urgently: “Oh fuck.” 

He reaches down to grip the base of his cock again, but it is too late: he cums. His abs are thrown into sharp relief as he tenses with each pulse, cock jerking against his brutal grip. He doesn’t even jerk himself off—just ruins it as you stare with your mouth open and your hand wet, watching him splatter seed against the coarse line of hair that runs from his belly button to his cock all because he watched you lick your hand. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, throwing one arm across his eyes, breathing heavily. His mouth is flushed a pretty red, like he has been kissing. His hand clenches into a fist as he says: “I’m sorry. I tried not to.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, your nearly brain blue-screening from how turned on you are. You lower your hand and wipe it dry on your leggings. “That’s what this practice is for—so you don’t do it when it really counts. We can try again tomorrow or something.” 

He snorts. “Tomorrow? Give me five fucking minutes.” 

[controld3vil]

the one

pairing: aegon ii targaryen x targ!reader

synopsis: thrown into madness, not one person can comfort the king of his thoughts. his sister wife left to deal with her grief. his mother for chooses not to heed his needs. his brother, gone in silver of the night. yet you, left forgotten stand in front of him, teary eyed.

notes: i gasped loud this episode!!

content warning: spoilers obvi for s2ep2, themes of grief and inferiority, targcest; if you are uncomfortable, please do not interact.

The death of Jaehearys exhausted you.

Nothing prepared you for the shock and emotional consequences. It felt as though a giant sea storm had swept away your emotions and feelings of sense. Because in a way, you felt numb and unable to comprehend what you were feeling. It was either too strong or your denial in it that made you feel out of it. In the confidence of your home, the grand kingdom of your father and his grandsire before, suddenly you feel apprehensive about where you resided and the castle itself. Who to trust and not as a moment noticed in your head as your mind spirals down a rabbit hole. 

Your nephew, a kin of your own, was dead. 

He was murdered in cold blood. In the sanctum of your home, in the privacy of the royal rooms. It was your fault you were not by Helaena’s side. Oh, your poor sister, the turmoil she must’ve endured in the small moments last with her son. A small piece of purity and semblance he brought into your little life and a beacon of what you strived for every day. Yet now, it has all turned to blood and dust. Used and tossed away like the sacs of bodies they would throw off dead soldiers in the aftermath of a tiring battle. 

There you sat with a half cup of wine, undrank. You dared not step out of the chambers of your comfort. Not for long, your presence would be reminded of the council. You insist on every meeting that your presence would bestow better acquisition. In most eyes, the men divert their gaze from you.

In contrast, your wretched mother opens her mouth agape with hardly any words being supported. Your grandsire contrasts, always with an excuse that you should be needed elsewhere other than the higher discussion. How benign of you, dear granddaughter. But you are unfit for a position at court.

Otto Hightower would never speak those words directly. But you know in your heart and his intuition, the words are nearly there. You don’t need an interpreter to translate what is said by the councilmen. Even if they are unaware, you understand all that is said. A tragic incident, Your Grace. The Kingsguard are doing their best to inspect all the members in the castle as we speak.

“I will have it! They will pay for this!”

The dried tears that swept down your cheeks felt sticky and annoyingly guilt-ridden of the events that had happened. You would not allow them to witness them. They were not worthy of your sadness. In grace, you hiked your dress over your feet to climb up to the doors. From where you were, you could discern the murmurs of Aegon and his hysterical yelling, absolutely mad with anger and rage. Respectfully so, the loss of his child was an unexpected and stressful one. 

When the chambers open, the rest of the councilmen stop for a moment. Before you begrudgingly make your way to the center. “Gentlemen,” You are at fault in giving away your tearful expression, the candlelight's of the chandeliers do your angelic features justice. And no noble would dare to speak upon its beauty and sorrow. All while, your lady in waiting, trails timidly behind you, head pointed down in respect. “Your Grace,” You address, and finally for a blind second, a glint of relief flashes on Aegon’s face. Finally, he must think, someone he trusts abides in the room.

“Princess,” The Hand levels his chin, leaving a steady foot of your unforeseen appearance. Beside him, your mother lays agape in both deary and fortification. 

The Queen stumbles on the syllables of your name, quietly. As if she was citing a wrongful plea of desperation. “Is- Is Helaena?” Of course, the last she saw you was in her bed chambers, coming in to console your sweet sister and her child. Alicent was running amuck, pulling on the fabric of her dress to prevent you from witnessing her privacies before. Luckily you didn't have to witness that. 

“She is with Ser Arryk and Jaeheara.” You breathed out, soft and mellow. You can tell by the exhale of your mother and grandsire's shoulders that deflating meant that their worries were at least accomplished. And a slight corner of your eye, your brother too relaxes in caution, aware of his wife and daughter’s whereabouts. 

“Good good,” Alicent frantically nods as if trying to reassure herself that her child and granddaughter were safe. Ser Arryk was a noble knight, one who betrayed his twin to stay beside the king’s side. That alone was enough to prove his loyalty and servitude. “Thank you, my daughter.” You swallow with a gaping hole in your throat. The whole room felt the compacting of the many eyes directed at you and the Queen Mother. 

“And what might be the reason for your intrusion on this council meeting, princess?” Otto’s voice somewhat triggers a fight or flight response in you. You’ve dealt with similar situations before, wanting to be included in the war business. However this was different, the council was discussing matters of potential betrayal and the killing of your kin. You suddenly felt targeted for the offense of interrupting something crucial and overriding. 

However, you know you should have a say in this matter. “Shouldn’t I be present when the death of my nephew has been informed to me merely hours ago?” There was a snap in your voice that many of them knew. Though some such as your mother and brother were accustomed to that sound more often. 

“Perhaps it is best if the princess were with the Queen to rest away comfort and grief,” Maester Orwyle suggests only to infuse your temper. 

In a quick turn, your lilac orbs strike an alarming resemblance to vexation and hostility. “Why?” Your tone was sharp and accusing just as it was. The Queen Regent could only watch and stare mutely at your grueling pettiness. Lord Tyland and Ser Criston Cole dare not to look at you but at the maester. While Aegon, all the more slightly frustrated at Maester Orwyle’s comments, stops and waits for your dreadful retaliation like a venomous viper. Otto couldn’t look more disappointed in you. 

“The death of your nephew is a tearful one, princess. And maybe you should stay within the quarters with the Queen for safety.” The maester does not falter in his reasoning, knowing how quick and ill-tempered you are similar to your brother was to retaliation. But his expression flickers in doubt shortly after you are seen to lay your palms on the edge of the end of the table. It’s hard wooden material, clenched tightly around your hands as you glance up at the councilman with fury in your eyes. 

“I am more capable than you think of me, Maester Orwyle. And I would be damned to sit in silence and pity for this horrendous murder!” You snarl, a frown forming at the edges of your lips. You were livid beyond this. Only when you want to be present in the decisions regarding your kin, did the council decline your way. It’s insulting. “My nephew should be avenged! To whoever ordered the murder!” 

“I wholeheartedly agree,” The Hand’s inclusion is an attempt to bring a truce between the others who felt your presence as much of a disturbance. “But we should not be hasty and leave every opportunity out in the open.” 

“This is my son we are talking about,” Aegon’s hand came down with a thump on the table. He’s since calmed down but you know there is still rage in his heart. The fuel of it burning and churning for the desire to find and kill whoever brought out the murder. “We must search the grounds for traitors, find anyone who leaves the Red Keep, and capture them immediately!”

“Of course, Your Grace but we should consider what this would be for Rhaenyra,” Alicent reminds the room when she scans everyone’s thoughts and faces. On the other hand, you stand uncomfortably, with the sense of your legs growing numb. 

“That bitch queen of bastards will pay!” The King screams, pointing with an accusative finger. “She is on her throne, laughing at me for this! For the death of my son, I want her dead!” It’s like a fire has been lit in your brother’s mind. It flashes and flickers rapidly as he manages to strike and spit out outrage of his growing vengeance on the Black Queen. However quick his temper simmers and rises.

The coming morning of Jaehaerys funeral drags his body to the Sept to be burnt in Targaryen tradition. More importantly, it is to sway the people’s opinion of Aegon’s claim and blame Rhaenyra for the tragic death. Spurs of propaganda flourish in the crowds as the chariot drags the casket of the fresh body, followed by the Queen and her Regent. What felt like discomfort and suffocation for Helaena only her no semblance through the entire morning. She is grieving and mourning in her own way. No one can understand the loss of a mother of her children. It is the tragedy she has felt for the first time and it stings her to her stomach. For most of the ride, Helaena could not breathe or look at the folk people, afraid of what they might do. She’d never left the Keep like this before, presented all fragile and glorious as the new Queen officially. 

Even so, she knows you are more suited for the role. Helaena has thought of it many times where you should’ve been wife to Aegon instead of her. She knows why her mother and grandsire chose her. It was because she was compliant and willing to do her duty as a lady wife. While you had no sense of duty. More or less, so did Aegon but at least she would elevate his image as King with her kind personality. 

“Helaena,” You spoke, interrupting her thoughts amid her sewing. Your sister pauses and then looks at the piece she has been working on. It was a picture of purple lily flowers, something you had mentioned wanting to see from the grounds of the Highgarden. She thinks of you and subconsciously starts to sew a new patch of thread. She’s sweet to you like that, and you forever cherished that side of her. And it's a shame her softened voice always now came with a stutter and droop of a sob. 

Helaena wakes up from her daze and greets you with a warm yet sombreros smile. “You are well?” The question itself leaves bitterness off of your tongue because you should be asking her that. You know Helaena isn’t one to openly express her emotions and thoughts proudly. As her sister, you honor that but also can become the maternal figure she needs within seconds. 

“I should be asking you the same,” You smile, looking smug and all. And your sister’s droopy eyes slowly lighten with glee. Her small frown turns upside down and suddenly you feel your heart fill with warmth and joy. “What has the Queen been sewing all this time?” 

“Purple lilies,” She gently shows you her work and focuses on your excitement. What she appreciates is your fascination with her skill with a thread and needle. You had no talent in it, much to your mother’s display. But you would gladly watch your sister sew for hours for the fun of it. “I remember you mentioning them a while ago. And I thought it would be pretty to make for you,” 

“How thoughtful of you,” You plead with your gentle eyes, resting a hand on her thigh. You looked like you were going to burst into tears out of happiness for her nonsensical act. You act differently around her and the children, sometimes Helaena thinks you have two personalities. One with her family minus Aegon and another with everyone else. You were mushy and caring, nothing like yourself hours earlier in the morrow in the councilroom. She had heard you burst into a meeting, enraged by them claiming you as a disturbance to their discussion. Like the stubborn person you were, she knew you would rather stay and argue with them for hours. And that you, for her boy. 

The Queen hums, delighted by your soothing presence in her slightly dimmed room. The room had been cleared of children's beds and toys. Now it lies barren with little to no furniture. The curtains did not change, they were arranged simply to allow some light into the chambers to let the children wake. But now, there would be none and it is left abandoned. 

“How is Jaeheara?” The whisper of your voice is the only thing she’s heard after minutes of silence. Helaena does not reply immediately, knowing her thoughts are too invasive and terrifying to think about. The black gown she still has on feels tight and makes her uncomfortable. She doesn't want to remember the funeral. It was too much for her to reminisce about despite being hours earlier. 

She makes another loop with bright purple stringing onto her needle. “She is well and is accompanied by a Kingsguard during her lessons,” She makes sure to include the Kingsguard, knowing you have been adamant about the protection and security around King’s Landing. As of late, it felt as though the castle did not feel like home anymore. It became somewhat of a hollow skeleton of a dungeon. With many escape routes and corridors, people would walk in and out without notice. It terrifies her and knowing you, you would rather be killed than have another child murdered. 

Her response pleases you however Helaena is aware of something else on your mind. She can feel it without looking at your face to know. It’s your inseparable bond as a sister that you sometimes were astounded by. Helaena calls it a bond and maybe she is right. Your eyes are focussed on somewhere else and it gives her a moment to look at you. Your brows furrowed with a subtle curve of a scowl makes her believe you were having negative thoughts. Were you feeling guilty about Jaehearys death?

“What’s wrong sister?” Despite her knowing the reason, Helaena wants you to admit your remorseful thoughts. The veil that covered her face was no longer present and she could face you without barriers. Her lilac eyes look at you, softening at you. 

“I can’t help but think I am guilty of Jaehearys death,” You sound vulnerable, no other person would witness this side of you. Because you shielded this side of you. Your display of weakness was only meant for people like Helaena, close to you, unjudging and caring in your coping. Yet sometimes you think of your sinful thoughts of guilt to be an act of punishment. You sometimes felt you were meant to feel this way for not being present with the Queen and her children when it happened. Why couldn’t you be a good sister and protect the ones you loved?

“You should not be,” Her small palm cradles the side of your jaw, making your stare connect with her. Helaena is quiet and gentle in her expression of words. What she says always has an impact. She is a woman of few words and it makes her speech inspirational. “I- For anything, it was my part as a mother, for letting my child be murdered in cold blood-”

“No of course not!” You were quick to retaliate to her pleas. She could not be responsible for such a horrific act taken against the crown. “Helaena, you did your best to protect your children.”

“Yet I was asked to choose,” The bottom of her lips quivered, and eventually hot tears filled her waterline. “And I had no other choice!”

“You were held at knifepoint,” You grasped the hand that held your jaw. Gently and slowly to make sure and emphasize her attention to you. “I would’ve bursted into the room and offered myself if I could’ve. But you did the best you did as a mother to protect your children.” You gave her another tight squeeze. 

“I had no other choice,” Her sobs slowly brewing. And the tears flowed and there was nothing you wanted to do other than comfort your dear sister. She was grieving like any mother. You would be present for her and give Helaena all of the world, to give away her sorrow. However, it is inevitable and you best offer her your condolences and feelings of heartbreak. Because you did love her children, Jaehearys and Jaeheara. The light and beacon of Helaena and Aegon's marriage. 

Helaena’s figure dwindled as she scrunched herself forward into a curling ball. The weight of her thoughts was too much. As a parent, she believed she failed the role she was meant to play. Her cries did not stop or steady in a rapid heartbeat. Any further, Helaena believes she would’ve acted impulsively if not for you, holding onto her shoulders. You were gentle against her tragic and frail body when you allowed her head and shoulders to rest against your chest. You’re silent in the comfort you gave. Because no words could pursue more than your actions. Being the more responsible and maternal figure, you became a weeping shoulder for Helaena to spout the rest of her worries and anguish. 

You wonder what Aegon and his sorrows are. 

Criston Cole was in a predicament. He failed as a Kingsguard to protect the royal family. And because of his absence, a dead prince was left at the doorstep of the king. He’s ashamed in silence because he could not make any reason for where he was during the intrusion of the castle. His affair with Alicent was more than a passionate one. It consoled him and eased for the upcoming days of Aegon’s coronation and Rhaenyra’s horrific deeds. The knight was stuck in a situation he wished would not bring to the public eye. No one can know of his relations with the Queen Regent. Not when times were suspenseful and dire as to who to trust in the castle. 

And so, after he challenges Ser Arryk to do the impossible and slay the Black Queen within her quarters of Dragonstone, he desires to focus on his plans with the king. The afternoon following the prince’s funeral, Ser Criston smoothes out the ends of his locks, recomposing his hysterical manner against the twin knight. Of, the accusations of treason against the king and the knight’s code. He should be honoring the Kingsguard words at the back of his sleeves by now. For all that has occurred to him, Criston wants to prove to the king he is capable of being essential. 

The summer breeze is faint and noticeable to those in the Red Keep. It’s open corridors and windows, it is the perfect spot for sunlight. The Kingsguard makes his way to Aegon’s chambers, where he plans to inform his schemes of sending Ser Arryk away to Dragonstone. In hopes, it would please His Majesty of the constant restless nights he has experienced. 

But he nearly misses you. It takes a second for Ser Criston to take a step back and look back at what you have been doing. You, the princess, looking out of place in the training area of the stables. Where knights and stable boys fight and practice their combat. It was a place you’re likely forbidden to be, however, it has never stopped you. The knight knows of your ambitions to fight like your brothers. You’re eager, more confident than your siblings to practice. He had suggested once to the Queen that she should allow you use of the sword. For self-defense and hobbies. 

You practically begged Alicent to hold a sword in your hands. Your cute chubby cheeks as a small child were something he remembered sometimes. You were so eager then. He could still see it occasionally when you ventured to the training area, staring at the knights practicing their moves and defenses. 

“Are you alright, princess?” Ser Criston appears behind you and you’re suddenly aware he must’ve been standing behind you for some time. He knows you come here to think and be reminded of the past. “The morrow has been rather bleak has it not?”

“Rather too bleak,” You groan, crossing your arms and rubbing your forehead in weariness. You’re aware the Kingsguard is not allowed to probe your troubles further but you rather indulge. “The day grows weary for the wavering support of the other Houses.” A quiet nod of endearment is seen from the knight as he reminisces about why they had exhibited the funeral exactly. To spread rumors and weaken the queen bastards' claim.

“It will help us in the long run, princess,” He steps forward as you turn to stare at his gentle Dornish features. Maybe in another lifetime, you would’ve fallen for him if he wasn’t a knight.

“Is that what the Queen Regent said?” A switch and it was like your tone turned to bitterness the moment you mentioned your mother. Ser Criston feels his heartache at your sentiments to the Queen. She was your mother and loved you very much. Something you can’t seem to appreciate whenever you open your mouth in front of the council. While she has complained and spouted worries of your deterring interactions, you’ve taken glory in the distance between you and your mother. Ser Criston hopes one day you will reprimand that relationship. 

“No,” 

“Tell me, why do you value her opinion so much?” He eyes at you shaking your head with a heavy scowl of disgust. Your hatred towards your mother ran cold and poisonous, under the depths of your hard-spoken shell of a heart. Maybe some part of you did care about the Queen. If there was, Criston had never been able to witness it, you’re too stubborn. And you know Alicent cherishes him deeply. 

“She has a kind heart,” The Dornish man cannot more than understand why you probe his opinion of your mother. Were you suspicious? He’s served your mother for nearly a decade and gained her trust as her right-hand protector. Yet where was he when an intruder entered the castle grounds and left Helaena traumatized and crying? 

You snarl a mocking laugh, “A kind heart?” You’re staring at the Queen’s protector with discontent and failure. “She plots and schemes to gain the people's trust over my brother’s claim. What more is she than the Hand’s right-hand puppet.” This is an alarming accusation because Ser Criston knows Alicent does not trust her father with her boys and daughters. You were an example of that. Whoever she plots with, he knows she takes into consideration who is affected the most. She was the Queen of course. Dainty and considerate of her subjects. 

“Another advantage we have over Rhaenyra, princess,” He reminds you of the whole reason why the council decided such a thing. It’s grueling yet would sway the people in their favor towards the crown than that false liar of a ruler across the land. “Understand that everything she and the council decide is to gain more allies,” 

“By simply lying to the public and creating more web of lies for us to be stuck in,” You probe and your lilac orbs glow in a dark tone. You could not stand the ploy they had used for Jaehaerys funeral. You think it was anything but honorable, to use your nephew as a cause and leeway to denounce your half-sister. Ser Criston gives you a look, only a parent would hold when their child does something to disappoint them. And even though he was not your father, he still felt utterly responsible and devoted to you as one. He has seen you grow from a child to a woman. He’s aware of your struggle in your place at court. He was there when you desperately wanted to hold a bow and arrow, practically crying to your mother on your knees. He was also there to comfort you when you accidentally drove your dragon into a terrible accident. Criston Cole felt some kind of platonic love over you, despite you never feeling the same way. ‘

Yet he couldn’t help but agree with you. “You’re right, princess. But it is the only way to convince the townsfolk of our cause. We need their support to win this coming war.” He sees your shoulders slumped, most likely growing tired of talking back and forth of their intention to false news. You hated how everyone agreed to it wholeheartedly. 

“We need more than the support of the townsfolk to win a war,” Your lips turn to a thin line, contemplating all the reasons why you had to be on the wrong side of justice. “We have dragons, that is how we win a war.” 

Nightfall was as unanticipated as it was wanted. The funeral and rumors from the council made it unbearable to walk past servants and nobles without being reminded of it. There were many times you wished to stop in front of the people and shout in their faces. There would be no denying it all. However, you were done with it. You were tired of receiving the same piece of news and rumors. It made you hereditarily furious and petty like a child. But no violence has been spilled. Instead, you could only clench your palms, aggressively and move on with a faint scowl. A puff or two would break your cover. 

Moreover, the servant girls and maids knew what made you tick. The type of gossip you hate to talk and listen about. Since you’ve lived in the castle for the entirety of your life span. So regardless of whether they spoke of today’s events or not, people knew you were not in a great mood. More or less you were agitated, imitating, and not to be consoled.

You made it your routine to visit Helaena before going to bed. When you were younger, you and your sister often paid visits to your mother and sometimes your father if present. Queen Alicent would soothe your worries and nightmares while Viserys sat in silence, unable to speak due to the pain. Yet now, that was before you and Helaena slept in the same room. She was Queen now and had a separate room with her children. It was you who made it customary to ease her worries at night and say goodnight to her children. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, her beautiful children. Even now, after everything had happened, you wanted to honor your promise to visit the new Queen. 

The granite tiles were cold. You could feel it despite wearing soft padded shoes. Your garments were loose and free from the restraints and pains you’d worn for the day. But somehow it made you feel anxious and oddly vulnerable out in the open. Of course, it was natural to feel this way after what happened. But everything, even the times you felt the most safe was now invaded by thoughts of fear and concern. You swallowed whatever security you had and moved along the balcony inside King’s Landing. The royal rooms were all the same, but you knew which belonged to whose. You knew which rooms were your mother’s, your sister’s, which had the best hiding spots, and which had the quickest way out of the city. 

Although whose room brought you the most curiosity was the one in front of you. In the distance, where you stood, a figure of green exits out of the room and disappears into the darkness. Your mother. Alicent did not seem to be in a rush to have exited Aegon’s chambers nor did she look content coming out of it. It looked as though she had mistaken his room for another. 

Hastily your paused movements began to quicken. As you tip-toed towards the doors of your king, you twist the knob and a soft creak makes you curse out of anonymity. The bed chamber was dimly lit and the fireplace illuminated a gorgeous orange dew that covered half the room in warmth. The drapes of the windows were slightly closed, making the silhouette of Aegon, hunched over more evident. He leans in a cushioned chair by the fire and you can see his unsecured locks, shape the sides of his face. 

You quickly realize your brother’s sobbing, saddening and heartbreaking. For all the things he was, Aegon did not deserve to lose a child. You understood very much as him that Alicent had planned his coronation for a long time. Yet now that it has happened, tragedies come down like dominoes in a panic. Lucerys has died on dragonback. And now Jaehearys was murdered in cold blood. Both are innocents from the result of this pretentious battle for power between Rhaenyra. It is when you shut the door behind you with a faint click, you make yourself known to the king. 

“Aegon,” It’s a whisper with no silence. Covering his face to shield his tears, Aegon does not dare to look at you. He looks ashamed and can only stare down, lost and in failure.  You understand his dismissal of your presence. No one should see their king as weak like this. Not even his closest kin and mother. Only that his mother has witnessed this scene a multitude of times over the years of watching over her son. Still, you were not the type to witness Aegon at such a low point like this. 

Nothing. You wanted nothing from him, seconds ago only curious about his profound discussion with your mother, who did not seem to speak to him at all. Something about that makes your heart churn at the Queen Regent. You walk slowly and only when you finally face him, his gaze is still on the floor, unable to lift his head to say anything. Go away! You’re making a fool out of yourself. 

Instead, you closed the gap that separated the two of you. You clasped his neck and held it firmly in a consoling manner. His weeping only grew louder the moment he felt your touch, so comforting and soft. His hands eventually wrap themselves around your waist and he rests the side of his head against your stomach.

Only you can soothe him like this. It’s discovered to be the most effective way for Aegon to calm down, your touch perhaps was the solution to it. It was never touched upon, this consolation you had with him, there were rare occasions when the prince had become too drunk to return to his quarters to have gone to yours instead. There were times when your brother wanted to hide and be away from your conniving mother and her insults. Sometimes he’d cry, drink, or rant about her inconsolable expectations of him. Because truly you are the closest to understanding that feeling. The feeling of being unwanted and as though you were not doing enough of your duty to care. Of course, you cared, you did everything for your family. Still, it could never be enough to put a smile on your mother’s face. And more evidently that of your grandsire. 

“I’m sorry,” You let out a dreary breath, rubbing Aegon’s hair. He sniffles, allowing his forehead against your stomach. He closes his eyes and lets out a sad laugh that turns into a cry. He’s lost so much in a matter of days. No one to comfort him, and his wife silently grieving in her own time. His mother forever abandoned her efforts. And his brother disappears with no explanation. Now here you were, the one he found relying on.

“I tried so hard,” He cries out, snot and tears making his speech muffled and disproportionate. “Yet everything has backhanded and slapped me in my face!” You feel a quiver on your lips when he speaks those words. Your heart burns and aches and maybe finally, you can put away your pride and be gentle. You reach behind where his hands are secured by your waist. Sliding them down to allow you to kneel to his level. With his red-shot eyes and puffy cheeks, Aegon looks like he wants to give up everything now and then. He’s never looked so weak and tiresome. 

“I know,” You shaped his face with your palms, sliding your thumbs over his cheeks. They are dried of momentary tears when he looks so desperate to cling onto anything to save him. “And as king, it is a heavy toll. Jaehearys will know you did everything you could to avenge his death.”

“It has gone to madness,” His lilac orbs staring at you with such intensity and possibly love. Torn and twisted, you know this is a wife’s duty to be her husband. Though under Helaena and Aegon’s relationship, they have never loved each other. They were husband and wife, yes but only under law. Helaena held no love but did genuinely care for his well-being. And you had shown more devotion towards his feelings than anyone had done within days. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“You can start by figuring who and who not to trust at court,” You exhale, heart beating like a bass drum when you feel his hands circle yours. “Know who your trusted allies are and destroy Rhaenyra’s support.” 

“Then I need you,” He leans forward, his silver locks tangled in between yours. His gaze was wild and desperate for any kind of refusal you might have. “I need you at court. By my side, you are as essential as any of us there.” It felt as though nothing in the world mattered next only the two of you at this moment. At this important moment, you felt a surge of adrenaline and an urge to comply with his heeds. Your eyes momentarily trail to his lips before discerning back to his eyes. 

“Because I have a dragon,”

“Because you are my blood, you are a strategist and the smartest woman I know in the Seven Kingdoms,” His dried tears make him even more angelic. Perhaps in another lifetime, you two would’ve married instead and dealt with it more easily. Your mother knew it. Your gransdire did too. Despite it all, they all disapproved of you for your lack of devotion to duty. What more can you offer than your service directly to the crown? To the council? It makes you grin in pride for his acknowledgment of you. 

“Of course, my king,” And with those words, he closes the gap between your lips. Sorrowful no way but profound in a new kind of serge to overcome the tragic delay. You were right in front of his eyes all along. You, the second-born princess of Alicent and Viserys' marriage. Quip with a sharp tongue and tactics for how long you’ve studied the art of it. You were no ordinary princess. You were a fighter, a warrior who well enough wanted bloodshed as much as him.

[spottedbread]

sitting through my brother's opinion on trans people saying he doesnt hate them but theres something wrong with them and to not make permanent decisions at a young age and just tying my tongue and nodding along

[wonderjanga]

Billy’s Homelessness

Being a homeless kid has its perks, Billy supposes. He’s picked up tips and tricks from other kids and even adults during his time. It’s practically second nature to him at this point. Only thing is, the fact that it’s second nature in the first place is what can come back to bite him in the future.

Like lock picking. He’s good at it, and it’s not something he’s particularly proud of, but it’s helped him when he’s needed it most. He’s gotten shelter from blizzards, sleet, and rain with this skill. That’s why when Billy, Flash, GL, and Supes got locked in an all yellow room with red sun lamps and a locked door.

Supes, GL, and Flash: *all discussing how to get out* Marvel: *leans down in front of the keyhole of the door*

Supes: “Alright Flash, vibrate through the door-”

Marvel: “Done!” *opens door*

*silence*

GL: “How’d you do that?”

Marvel: “I picked the lock.” *walks out and immediately gets shot in the face by one of the guards*

Then there’s pickpocketing. He’s also unfortunately good at this. Freddy says he’s better though. Billy isn’t about to make a contest out of it. Batman found out about this particular talent when both him and Billy went undercover for a mission to uncover the scheme of some foreign politician.

Batman: *as Bruce Wayne* “That’s the man.” *subtly gestures to him*

Marvel: “Him? Okay… What do you wanna do?”

Batman: “First, we need to properly identify-”

Marvel: “Oh, okay.” *walks over to the man, passes him, then comes back to Bruce* “Here.” *places the man’s wallet in Bruce’s hand*

Batman: “…that he was involved in the crimes.”

Marvel: “Oh.”

*silence*

Batman: *opens the wallet anyways and starts looking through it*

Marvel: “Do you want me to put it back?”

Batman: *puts one finger up to Marvel’s face while he continues looking through the wallet*

Marvel: *deflates slightly* “Oh, okay.”

Batman: *pulls out a clue from the wallet* “Put this back, chum.”

Marvel: *scurries off to put the wallet back*

Bruce then heavily lamented how Marvel knew how to pickpocket so well. Cause the thing is, Marvel’s like six feet tall. (Had to make him a little shorter guys. My bad.) A man like that had no business doing that so well in a bright red sweater and yellow hat.

Then, there’s the avoiding cops. He rarely sticks around for them. He does not mess with them. He’s had too many bad experiences as Billy for it to translate well to Marvel. Whenever one tries to talk to him, he’ll say the bare minimum as politely as he can and fly off. Sometimes, if he knows it’s a cop who’s harsher on the homeless than most, he’ll act polite(passive aggressive) and then give them a nice, firm(crushing) handshake. One such incident was when a cop asked for a photo:

Cop A and Marvel: *posing for a photo by shaking hands*

Marvel: *smiling at the camera, his grip tightening on the hand*

Cop A: *awkward laugh* “That’s a tight grip you got there, Captain.”

Marvel: *lightens his grip, looking down to Cop A’s name tag: Richard* (This isn’t Nightwing guys) “My bad, dick.”

Cop A: “Excuse me?”

Marvel: “Oh no no no, not like “dick,” Dick.” *grip tightens again* “Not like some spineless, lowlife piece of shit from the bottom of my boot that gets scraped off onto a bigger pile of shit, kind of dick.” *smiles the whole time as he speaks* “No, like your name, officer, Dick.”

Cop A: “I prefer Richard.”

Cop B: *takes photo*

Also, anybody who gets that reference gets a kiss. Man or woman. It doesn’t matter. I don’t make the rules. By the way, someone definitely recorded that entire interaction and #passiveaggressivecap ended up trending on twitter.

Then, there’s the time Supes came over to Fawcett to hang out. They were chilling on a rooftop talking when down below they both saw a teenager steal food from a seller.

Supes: *doesn’t see Marvel move* “Aren’t you gonna stop that kid?”

Marvel: “Uh… no. He’s homeless. He clearly needs it more than we do.”

Supes: *blinks rapidly but then remembers he’s not in Metropolis and can’t really tell Marvel how to run his city* “Okay then.”

[yanderenightmare]

Mahito x darling

TW: NSFW, noncon, psychological torture, Mahito in and of himself

fem reader

Mahito is so scary because you're the only one who sees him. 

You can't tell your friends, you can't call the cops, you can't even discuss it with your therapist for fear of being committed. 

You're all alone with him – half the time convinced you’re going insane.

He doesn't even need to kidnap you. Why would he? He likes your cozy apartment. To see you in your natural habitat with all your personal trinkets. Your books, your decorations, the contents of your fridge, your makeup, your clothes, not to mention the soft warmth of your bed…

Sure, his sewer has its charm, but you probably wouldn’t like it there very much. Not that it would stop him, but he’s sure you’d be boring if all you did was stay cooped up there all day. 

This is much more interesting. To be there when you come home from work, having trifled through all your belongings, dragged everything out – made a mess like a new puppy would. To watch you try to cling to your sanity, going about life, trying to live it normally even when he’s right there on your sofa wanting to dish about how much you loath your pissy boss or that loud neighbor and what fun it might be to kill them.

You brush him off as intrusive thoughts – a manifestation within your mind. That’s the only explanation that allows you to keep your wits with you.

But it’s become hard to bring anyone home. Even though others can't see him, he’ll walk about your friends and the odd date and comment on all the things they do, ridiculing them when they say something cheesy, feigning puking before giving it away with a snicker, then asking you why you bother hanging out with them at all. And you wonder if that’s what you really think… why else would a figment of your imagination say something like that?

No. You decide. He doesn’t represent your thoughts. He’s just… a roommate who knows no boundaries. 

Funny enough, you don’t really recognize that he’s any dangerous before you’re getting dressed after a shower, opening a drawer on your dresser you rarely look in – only to find it overfilled with dozens of tiny shrunken heads.

You scurry back on the floor with your hand clasped over your mouth until your back meets your bed – skin crawling. There’s no air left in your lungs from the shock to produce any such thing as a scream – so instead, you start heaving – then crying.

“Oh – I was wondering when you’d find them!” A cheer is heard from your bedroom threshold.

Your eyes pan to look at him – or it. Mahito, with a big grin on his face – clapping as though impressed by your performance.

“Wh-what – what is this?” You splutter, trying not to throw up – casting shifty glances over at the lump that had fallen to the floor – its face twisted with agony, unrecognizable, but you think you still knew… “What have you done?”

It doesn’t smell of rot, but something else – like unwashed clothing – sweat and piss and shit – you don’t understand how you hadn’t smelled it before. You don’t understand how you hadn’t heard it before – the moaning, though only in hoarse weak voices, still there, in a chorus, crying in pain.

“I’ve been studying them.” He says – casually, padding across the floor before bending down to pick the one up.

He looked at it with disappointment, throwing it up and catching it like one would a baseball – then clicked his tongue. 

“But I must say you’ve got boring taste… I don’t feel like I learned much of use from any of them at all.” 

He drops it to the floor in a fleshy splat, and you cringed anew – wanting to crawl away, wanting to get out, to call the police – maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to be committed – maybe there was something genuinely wrong with you…

Mahito doesn't share your concerns, though. He’s got his mind on other things. 

“I think I’ll learn better through practice.”

You don’t realize what he’s talking about before you’re being lifted up on the bed and then pushed down against it.

His lean but muscular frame has you dwarfed as he crawls after you – caging you between his arms and legs.

“I wouldn’t mind the floor, but I’m sure you’d prefer the bed. That’s how you humans usually like it, right?” He smiles – as though he’s doing you a favor. 

He’s taken off his usual tunic – showcasing a pale grey chest patchworked together in crude stitches – and you don’t really understand why you’d ever conjure something that looked like it. So human, yet still… so not. 

“I didn’t know what size you’d want – they were all so different – but I think bigger is better, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t register before you feel the weight of it on your stomach. 

Fat and warm, ridged with veins and hard against you. 

Looking down, feeling the situation settle on your skin like the raw cold – you realize, though you don’t understand it – Mahito isn’t just some imaginary friend. 

Whatever he is – he’s no such thing as a friend at all.

Your chest flares. “Mahito, no – ”

Your hands fly to try and push him off, but they’re easily caught. His fingers stretch inhumanly like playdough, using only one hand to reign in both wrists, pinning them to the pillow above you.

“No? Still too small?” He asks, as though your uproar had been a cry for more – his voice in a playful lilt. “I can make it bigger if you like~”

You squirm when the thing between your thighs grows an inch – swelling up into something fatter than your wrist – weighty and twitching atop you. 

It alone churns your guts, but the sight of his face gleaming so innocently makes it all so much worse. 

You whimper as he drags a rude finger through your folds – bluntly poking at your hole.

“You’re supposed to be wet, no?” He posed, keen eyes watching your face grimace in discomfort – drilling his digit inside you despite it. 

When knuckle-deep, he curled it, nail scraping into the gummy of your tender walls – making your whole body twist with an ache, shaking your head while sinking your teeth into your lip.

“Stop-” You croaked pitifully, still trying to wring your wrists free – but the hand keeping them jailed had hardened into something that was no longer skin.

He just yawned at your struggle. “So noisy...” Bored while looking down at you and the ugly way your lips curled at his crude fingering – but then his eyes widened. “Wait – oh! I get it now! So, this is what kissing is for…”

He didn’t give you much time to turn away before his mouth locked on yours – more in an attempt to swallow than to kiss, feeding you his tongue – which felt so much longer than it should be – winding through you until it licked your gag-reflex and made you choke.

You tensed in response, clenching the finger prodding you – and he took it as an invitation to squeeze another in – making you squeal out a sob in his mouth. 

But though it was a cruel ministration, it was enough to tickle the instinct – dragging wet out from within you, bathing the digits that now slid with greater ease in and out.

“See~ I told you I’d learn better through practice...” He mumbled against your lips – having felt the change – also noticing the quiet that befell you… looking so cute beneath him. 

He chuckled – the taste of your kiss still warm and wet on his lips.

“That really did shut you up, hm~ you humans are so funny.”

That thing resting heavily on your belly does a little jump, and you flinch with it. Left panting after being throat-fucked by a tongue – you’re really only able to shake your head as he slips the beastly thing down between your thighs – its fat head licking your clit on its way until kissing your entrance.

Two fingers haven't done you any justice – nothing could – to prep you for something of that size.

“I think this is correct…” He muses, nudging himself against the slim coin-sized hole – looking a little confused while he did so – though not exactly unsure of himself… more as though it was the whole procedure in and of itself that was at fault and not him. He was just following instructions, after all.

Sucking his teeth at the tautness, he continued to press the tip through you. 

A whine was ripped from your chest as it arched off the bed – thighs quaking on each side of his hips, kept spread despite wanting to force themselves shut.

“It’s better if you relax.” He offered then, though without much sympathy. Sounding almost jaded – as though you were keeping him waiting. 

But then a thumb pressed down on your clit, forcing another jolt to rush through you. 

“Women like to be touched here, right?” He rubbed crass circles into it – worse than amateurishly – rough patterns that bore no real intention of making you feel good. 

Then his mouth slid from your mouth, down your neck – only to sink teeth in your tit.

“And here~” He giggled while nomming your nipple, rolling the little nib between his teeth before flicking over it with his tongue again and again, sucking on it harshly.

None of it made you relax like he’d suggested. Either way, he continued to sink his length one thick chub at a time as fast as your hole allowed. And soon enough, he reached your end before your hole could reach his. But that was no issue…

The hand on your clit, cupped your mound instead – and beneath it, where warmth pooled, you felt inner things alter – change, rearrange, allowing the giant member inside you to sink deeper even though you knew there couldn’t possibly be any deeper to go.

“Wow~ look at that…” He awed when his pelvis smushed against your mound – kneading into your clit as he pressed a curious hand down on the bulge he was making in your belly.

Strings of drool stuck from his lips to your chest – and a sick look pooled in his eyes.

Thicker and thicker breaths left him. He swallowed thickly. Barely blinking.

“I think I get it now…” His voice had shed its humorous tone, now sounding soft with something you didn’t want to have the attention of. “It’s like our souls are playing together…” 

His hand stroked your stomach – like he was petting something.

“Feels good.”

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (again, if you look extra closely), a lot of cussing (are we still surprised)

masterlist | part 1 (although ig this makes sense on its own), part 3 (i didn't plan this), part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

“What.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement—a statement sputtered in the typically demanding way characteristic of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

The Bakugou Katsuki who happens to be your boss for a good (debatable) three and a half years now, who you also have to spend overtime with until who knows what time to discuss what’s become rocky employee relations in the Ground Riot agency.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion or irrational annoyance—both, really—before you quickly school your expression into a neutral one. You riffle through the documents rather absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze before shooting back with: “What do you mean what?”

“I meant,” he leans back on his office chair that you know he singlehandedly picked out for its superior ergonomic design because he’s meticulous like that, “what the fuck is wrong with your face.”

“Excuse me?”

Your retort is laced with more indignant anger than intended, but at this point in the night, you cannot for the life of you bring yourself to care about your tone. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t about to let your stupid boss make fun of your appearance, of all things.

Bakugou probably senses the significant change in your demeanor, because his eyes widen in surprise ever so slightly before he sits up and opens his mouth to explain himself.

“You’ve been looking like you accidentally drank spoiled milk for the past hour and the shit aftertaste isn’t going away.” He haughtily shakes his head, and it takes everything in you not to jump him and choke your boss.

To your disdain, however, he continues.

“It’s either you spit it out or I’m going to have to force you to tell me what’s wrong.”

You gape at him. Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

As quickly as you can, however, you attempt to regain your bearings and at least try to seem nonchalant, clearing your throat as unbothered as possible to top it all off. “Well, working overtime to iron out office squabbles isn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing Friday night, thank you very much.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You almost get whiplash from how quickly you look at him. His brazen rudeness—which, right now, is worse than usual which is saying something, mind you—renders you incapable of saying anything aside from another winded: “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Miss me with that bullshit, dumbass.”

You feel yourself heat up in irritation. “I thought I told you to stop calling me dumbass.”

“You’d rather I call you princess?”

At that, you break eye contact despite yourself, choosing to stare at his forehead instead. It’s still unnerving—looking at any part of his body, really—but it’s better than looking at him squarely and witnessing the smirk you know has taken over his unfairly handsome features.

Your voice is small, to your chagrin, when you reply. “That’s actually a lot worse.”

The man dares to bark out a laugh.

You continue to metaphorically choke him in your head.

“Okay then, dumbass,” he emphasizes the nickname and you are about 99% sure a pained expression is dancing across your face because Bakugou is observing you with even more amusement before his features settle into a look of seriousness.

“As I was saying before you missed the point entirely—I highly doubt you’re this bothered because of fucking overtime,” he eyes you cautiously before pressing on. “Something’s wrong.”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion of the week filled with workplace conflict, or the crushing news you received this morning in the mail, or the very fact that Bakugou, despite his roughness and the annoyingly persistent way he’s been poking at your mood like it’s an itchy scab, is looking at you with genuine concern—but you end up doing it.

You give in.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you even get the chance to deny them permission to, and at the sight of them Bakugou sits up even straighter in alarm—and you don’t know what comes over you because you start laughing so hard, your hand shoots up to your stomach in an attempt to keep it from cramping.

“Oi.”

The expression on his face is so unbelievably baffled that you only end up cackling to yourself more.

It takes a few more minutes before the sillies are fully flushed out of your system and really, it only took you a glance at Bakugou to realize you probably looked demented just now.

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes and muster enough courage to flash him a genuine smile.

To your delight, he flashes you one right back, albeit tentatively—one that is boyish and charming under the rather dim lights of his corner office.

Although he seemingly reboots to his default state because it’s immediately replaced by a frown and followed by: “You’re so weird, you know that?”

You snort and, before you can stop yourself: “Not as weird as my ex.”

At that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes—he visibly stiffens in his seat and his eyebrows furrow in what you believe is confusion at the sudden mention of your past lover.

Bakugou says nothing, however, and so you take that as a sign to continue.

“Remember that meeting we had last March with Chef Asahi about our collaboration with his restaurant where I was late and you gave me shit for it? And when you asked I told you it was because I just got dumped over the phone?”

He gives you a curt nod, lips tight.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed at your upcoming revelation, “I just found out that that ex is getting married in two months, and I’m invited.”

Neither of you says anything for the next—what feels like—hour.

Until Bakugou takes a sharp inhale, leans forward on his desk, and stares you down straight in the eyes: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

He scowls at you like you’ve got a pea for a brain. “Don’t make me say it twice, dumbass.”

You frown at his hostility, your own bewilderment chipping away at your already thinning patience. “You’re not saying anything.”

Bakugou sighs, and he looks like what he is about to say next physically pains him.

“I’ll be your fucking date to the wedding.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik

special shoutout to @he3v4n for reading the prequel to this and following thereafter--inadvertently making me check out past writing and get inspired to write this <3

[nxtaliaistyping]

Jason Todd fingering you in front of the mirror, i'm dreamily sighing

Authors note: ignore the fact I already wrote this exact same scenario for another character, i just want to be fingered in a mirror okay? Is that too much for a girl to ask?

18+ nsfw, choking

“Shhh, gonna wake the fuckin’ neighbours with all your whining”.

Jason knew the condescending tone he used would just make you whine more, but it didn’t matter. The view he got in the mirror of your face contorting in pleasure and embarrassment gives him a thrill only the feeling of his guns firing in his hands can otherwise give him.

You gasp out his name when he finally pushes two fingers into your dripping cunt, his pace still slow but the feeling overwhelming. You look down at where he's penetrating you before a sharp slap to your thigh makes you look up; his face in the mirror looking at yours with almost gleeful sadism.

“Come on doll you know the rules, eyes on the mirror” he drawls next to your ear, your eyes fixed on yourself sat on his lap, his chest against your back and his fingers quickening their pace. Truly, you look pathetic. Sweat shines on your naked skin as you rock into his touch, the contrast of your naked and trembling body next to his fully clothed frame made the situation more intense. He’d barely come back from patrol before he had you against the wall, his kisses searing as he damn near ripped your clothes off. You knew better then to ask what happened when he was in a mood like this, the best option usually was to let him fuck you within an inch of your life and then discuss his emotional state. Although this time he seemed to be in a torturous state of mind.

“So fuckin pretty doll, I’m so lucky aren’t I?”

You whine again as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. His hand not preoccupied with bringing you toe-curling pleasure traces its way up your waist, toying with your tits roughly. As you buck into the touch, he laughs softly at your reactions. Despite how mean he could be to your poor body, one look at his face would tell you how much he truly cares for you, how his gaze held so much adoration for every way that you move and writhe against him.

He thrusts his fingers faster now, his thumb rubbing clumsy circles on your clit as you gasp, grabbing on to his toned denim-clad thighs as you struggle to keep your eyes open and focused on the mirror. Your heart racing as you feel your high building, Jason’s hand moves from your tits up to your neck. Immediately you know what he's going to do, you manage to gasp in a breath before he grasps your neck.

“Want you to cum for me, think you can do that pretty?”

You mutter out an obedient 'mhm' as your gaze is trained on the way his thick fingers bully your pussy, your juices squelching with every thrust. At least he'd had the courtesy to take his gloves off before he stuck his digits inside you, your hips almost riding them as your own grip tightens on his thighs.

When you cum, he pulls his fingers out and rubs your clit roughly, making sure the pleasure is all consuming as he chokes you harder to ensure your eyes are on the mirror the whole time.

"Good girl, good fuckin' girl." he says gruffly, small smile on his features speaking volumes to his satisfaction. He can't help licking your wetness off his own fingers, before offering you a proper wolfish grin.

"Bend over. M'gonna make you scream into your reflection."