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sukirichi · 3 months ago

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[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 018 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst, infidelity, defamation, forced incest (please read the chapter first before you come at me 😭), reader uses a gun, alcohol consumption, emotional manipulation, toxic characters and toxic relationships, iris pov (just for a short part), mentions of murder, car accidents

notes. YOOO can you guys believe we are so close to the ending!! thank you guys so much for being so sweet and supportive to dtd! even though ik most of the readers are away and busy with school now (as am i) i still hope you guys enjoy this update hehe. the next chapter drop should be around the regular dtd tuesdays <3

wc. 13k

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[ EIGHTEEN ] no matter how easy things could be if I did, and no matter how guilty I still feel saying it. I wish I hated you.

In hindsight, the day began like any other day in the glorious kingdom of Inarizaki.

The early morning sun cast its golden glow over the streets that bustled with people, the shops opening with smiles and greetings to the familiar faces of loyal customers. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and brewed tea, the distant chime of church bells signalling the start of a new day.

But beneath this serene facade, a storm was threatening to blow – one that would shake the very foundations of the already fragile throne. Iris knew this, too – she could feel it, could extend her hand and have her fingertips brush against her inevitable end.

As the first rays of light filtered through the windows of homes and cafes, Iris watched as the kingdom’s most widely read newspapers hit the stands. The headline had been bold and dramatic, splashed across the front page in large, black letters enough to garner heads turning its way. Who Is The Real Iris Amari? it read, accompanied by a series of photographs that left little to the imagination.

The citizens of Inarizaki began their mind-numbing routine, unaware of the bombshell waiting for them in the morning news. It started slowly, with a few early risers picking up the newspaper and gasping in shock. Unsurprisingly, the scandal spread like wildfire.

The younger ones scrolled through their phones, stopping in their tracks as the news popped up on their screens. The article quickly went viral, shared across social media platforms in the speed of light. It seemed that everyone had something to say about the explosive revelation – Iris’ official portrait decorated on it all.

In a cafe Iris had once loved visiting when she was still a teenager, where morning coffee was usually a time spent with light-hearted chatter and gossip during a faraway era when she still had friends, the atmosphere grew tense and charged. She could’ve been one of them, she thinks, a group of young people huddled together, their voices hushed but urgent. “Did you see the news about Princess Iris?” a woman whispered to her companion, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Her mother involved in a murder? I can’t believe it?”

“Now that they mention it,” mumbled the man next to her, stroking his chin in thought. “It was rather odd that she got married to the Second Prince out of nowhere.”

All across the Kingdom, people gathered in small clusters – their faces a mix of shock, outrage, and disbelief. The photographs shown in the article were damning, capturing moments that painted a grim picture of Princess Iris’ past. One image showed her mother, Kate Amari, in a heated argument with the Late King. Another depicted Iris herself at a lavish party, her expression one of defiance and rebellion.

She’d remembered that party, could recall how the events went crystal clear. She’d been so young, barely nineteen and out of high school, when the impending doom of her fate grew ever near. A few years from now, she would’ve been forced into a marriage with a Prince whose affections she could never win. And what better way to accept her fate than make her mother outraged? So she’d partied, drunk herself to nearly the point of no return, and stumbled back home crying because she’d known. Her fate had been decided from her the moment the Late King slipped from her mother’s grasp, and into the arms of another woman.

She could have never escaped it.

She was nothing but a painful reminder of what her mother could’ve had. I could’ve been his concubine, her mother would cry herself to sleep, screaming those words over and over. Glass would shatter on the walls as she threw another empty bottle of wine over Iris’ head. He said he loved me! He said he would take us home and we would be together as a family!

Such dreams were shattered in the blink of an eye. No matter how much she wailed, and ran after the Late King, it never changed the fact that her mother was the daughter of a lowborn servant, and the Late King had always been majestic from the day he was born.

We were in love, she would tell Iris, brushing her hands through her dark locks – the same shade as the King’s. He’d always loved me, you see. Before the Crown forced him to marry her, you know? The Queen? The one who never smiles? He doesn’t love her, my dear, but he has us. You and me, his precious girls.

Iris thought his mother was delusional. She knew all about it, of course. She’d read her mother’s journals, the love letters the King had penned. She hadn’t been lying that he loved her, once.

The King, merely a Crown Prince at the time, aged sixteen when he first crossed the borders and paid an official visit to the humbler towns of Itachiyama where he met her mother. They’d been young, and foolishly in love. And her mother, illiterate and innocent, had captured the Prince’s heart. He thought her an ideal woman; unstained by ideals, untainted by the law. She knew only how to love him, and for once in his life, he’d felt more of a boy than he was a Prince. He’d made promises he couldn’t keep, promises of running away to the ends of the earth where they could be together.

Like a fool, Iris’ mother held onto his promise. She kept her loyalty even after he’d married the current Queen. She kept chasing after him even after the First Prince – a bastard child – was born. She’d loved him, through and through, until he returned to Itachiyama and made her believe he’d returned for her, only to stumble in the same sheets as Kiyoomi’s mother.

Her mother hadn’t been the same ever since.

She grew obsessed with revenge, throwing herself into a path where redemption couldn’t exist. She’d studied, made a name of herself, and flew to Inarizaki the moment the King had drunkenly put a child into her belly. Not that the King could remember – hence why he never accepted Iris as his own.

But she’d find herself amongst her true family. That was Kate Amari’s promise before the Queen betrayed her, and put her behind bars.

On the busy streets of the capital, pedestrians paused to check their phones, their reactions intense. Some stared in disbelief, while others shook their heads in disgust. A few young people, who had grown up admiring Princess Iris, felt a deep sense of betrayal. “I always thought she was different,” a teenager muttered to his friend. “But this... this is something else.”

The Palace was thrown into chaos as the news spread.

Inside the grand halls, staff members whispered amongst themselves, casting anxious glances towards the royal chambers. Courtiers and advisors rushed to convene emergency meetings, their faces pale and drawn. The Queen, upon hearing the news, simply sat down and pressed her lips into a thin line.

In the markets and town squares, debates broke out as people tried to make sense of the allegations. Some defended Princess Iris, arguing that the writer was anonymous, and the photographs could be doctored. “You can’t believe everything you read,” a shopkeeper insisted, waving his hand dismissively. “This could be a plot to discredit the royal family.”

The others were not so easily convinced. “Look at the evidence,” a customer countered, pointing to the newspaper. “The photographs, the timeline – it all fits. How can you ignore that?”

The debate raged on, with emotions running high on both sides. Some citizens called for Princess Iris to be stripped of her title and brought to justice, while others urged caution and a thorough investigation before jumping to conclusions. It was evident that the Kingdom stood on the brink of a social and political upheaval.

Even as the palace attempted to manage the fallout, the scandal showed no signs of abating.

News channels broadcasted special reports, experts weight in with their opinions, and social media buzzed with speculation and outrage. The Kingdom of Inarizaki had never seen such a scandal, and it seemed that everyone had been swept up in the maelstrom.

In the midst of the chaos, Princess Iris remained secluded within the palace walls, shielded from the public eye as she held a hand to her belly. But the damage was done. The question on everyone’s mind was how the royal family would recover from such a devastating blow – a question not even Iris had the answer to.

She knew one thing, and one thing, only.

She was a Princess, and she’d do anything to keep her place within the Palace walls.

Iris stood by the window of her – your – lavishly decorated room, staring out at the gardens she had once found solace in. The vibrant flowers, the meticulously trimmed hedges, the majestic fountains – all of it seemed like a distant memory now, a world that no longer belonged to her. Instead, a hollow numbness settled deep within her chest, a void where her hopes and dreams once resided.

When Iris first laid eyes on you on the day Rintaro picked you out in a crowded room, she’d thought you were harmless. Dull. Plain. You spoke only what needed to be said, and made no unnecessary movements. Stiff, and boring. She would’ve never thought, or seen it coming, that her damnation would come from the hands of a poor, lovesick girl who’d been lied to.

The heavy footsteps of the guards echoed in the corridor outside, growing louder with each passing second. She knew they were coming for her, to escort her out of the Palace for the last time.

The ornate mirror on the wall showed a reflection Iris could barely recognized – the same as her mother’s eyes had now lost their spark, a face that aged overnight from the weight of the scandal.

The door opened with a creak, and the guards stepped in. She felt their presence more than she saw it, their stern faces and impassive conveying the gravity of her situation. They waited silently, giving her a moment to gather herself, but there was nothing left to gather. Her spirit felt fragmented, her resolve shattered. Now, all she felt was anger hidden underneath a layer of numbness. Don’t look at me like that, she wanted to sneer, I am your Princess. I am the King’s only daughter!

She turned from the window, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were in a dream. Her heart was a heavy stone in her chest, each beat a reminder of the life she was leaving behind.

The corridor stretched out before her, each step echoing with a finality that was almost suffocating. The opulence of the palace, the tapestries, and gilded frames, all seemed to mock her now. She had once walked these halls with confidence and grace, but now, every step felt like a march towards her end. It was all hers – all could’ve been hers – if you never stepped in and took it all away from her.

As she descended the staircase, the memories of simpler times haunted her. The laughter, the never-ending banquets and stock of wine, the promises of a future that had been her birthright – they all seemed like a cruel illusion now. She could feel the eyes of the palace staff on her, their pity and curiosity cutting through the numbness like a knife. Still, she kept her head high, determined to maintain her dignity in these final moments.

The guards flanked her as she reached the main entrance. The heavy doors were already open, revealing the world beyond the palace walls. The bright sunlight was almost blinding. She paused at the threshold, taking one last look at the place that had been her home, her prison, and her battleground.

With a deep breath, she stepped out into the light. The doors closed behind her with a final, echoing thud, sealing her fate. The guards guided her towards the waiting vehicle, their hands gentle yet firm on her arms. She climbed inside, her movements robotic, her mind still struggling to process the enormity of what was happening.

As the carriage began to move, the palace slowly disappeared from view, replaced by the bustling streets of the city. She saw the faces of the citizens, some curious, some indifferent, and a few sympathetic. But none of it mattered anymore. Her life as Princess Iris was over, and what lay ahead was a life she never deserved.

The numbness returned, a merciful shield against the overwhelming reality. She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes, letting the gentle sway of the carriage lull her into a state of detached calm. The future was uncertain, but for now, all she could do was endure.

Summoned by the royal advisors and members of the council, Iris made her way to the council chamber. As she approached the large, intricately carved doors, two guards pushed them open, revealing a room filled with stern faces and accusatory eyes.

The room was a stark contrast to the rest of the palace. It was dimly lit, with long shadows cast by the flickering candlelight. The heavy wooden table at the center was surrounded by the kingdom’s most powerful and influential figures, all of whom had been convened to address the scandal that had erupted overnight.

“Princess Iris,” one of the senior advisors began, his voice cold and devoid of empathy. "Do you understand the gravity of the situation? The article has not only tarnished your reputation but has also brought disgrace upon the entire royal family."

Iris stood before them, trying to maintain her composure. Her eyes met those of the advisors, seeking any hint of understanding or compassion, but finding none. She nodded, unable to trust her voice to remain steady. She’d already figured this would happen.

“We have no choice,” another advisor interjected. “The people demand accountability, and the council has decided that you must be stripped of your title. This is a necessary step to restore faith in the monarchy.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Stripped of her title. The enormity of the situation began to sink in, and she felt a wave of humiliation wash over her.

“You can’t,” she croaked out, her throat growing dry. “I-I am married to the Second Prince, and my title is secured. You cannot separate us as divorce is illegal, and if you do so... that would be saying the Prince loses his title, too.”

The advisors shared a look with one another, processing the gravity of her words. “While what you say is indeed true, this is one of those occasions where we must make... necessary adjustments,” the senior advisor said, his glasses pushed up to his nose. “We have already taken measures to fact-check the article and–”

“And?”

The senior advisor glares at her for interrupting. The entire change in attitude was impalpable; now that she’d been scandalized, everyone suddenly lost respect for her. “–And we found that everything written in it was true, just as the photographs are real. We also found records confirming that your mother, Kate Amari, was imprisoned years ago for murder. The King’s murder.”

A bitter, sardonic laugh bubbled from her throat. “I do not deny that, but did anyone ever investigate why she killed him?” A round of gasps echoed through the room at the revelation. “I am willing to bet on my whole life that none of you know how important I am in the royal family, that if it weren’t for me, all of you would be losing your positions and jobs as we speak! It was I who kept all the secrets, the one and only reason you are all able to live your pathetic, worthless lives because none of you know anything! You don’t even know that the Queen you worship reverently is–”

The grand doors of the courtroom creaked open, and the air seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. All eyes turned towards the entrance as the Queen, clad in a dark, regal gown that seemed to absorb the light, stepped into the room. Her presence commanded an immediate, oppressive silence, freezing everyone in their places.

Her gaze, cold and calculating, swept across the assembly, landing on each individual with the weight of her authority. The air was thick with tension as courtiers and officials alike dared not to breathe too loudly, lest they draw her scrutiny. Iris felt her heart seize in her chest, her earlier numbness replaced by a paralyzing fear. The Queen’s entrance had turned the room into a tableau of silent dread, each person awaiting the inevitable judgment that her arrival heralded.

“That is enough,” her cold, heartless voice sweeps across the room. “The final decision has been made. You are no longer allowed to speak another word unless I, the Queen, permits it.”

“Traitor,” Iris sneered, baring her teeth and lunging at the Queen when the guards held her back. “You’re a traitor! This isn’t what we agreed upon!”

The Queen, unfazed, sighs. “Take her away from here.”

Before Iris could protest further, a pair of strong arms escorted her to the grand hall for the public ceremony. The grand hall, usually a place of celebration and state affairs, was now filled with a somber and judgmental crowd. Nobles, courtiers, and even some members of the public had gathered to witness the spectacle. The air was thick with anticipation and whispers.

The whispers grew louder with each step she took. She walked with her head held high, determined not to let them see her crumble.

The queen, stood at the front of the room. She held a scepter in her hand, a symbol of the authority that was about to be wielded against Iris. The ceremony was swift, almost mechanical in its execution.

“Princess Iris,” the queen began, her voice echoing through the hall. “You have brought dishonor to this family and to this kingdom. By the power vested in me, I hereby strip you of your title and all the privileges that come with it.”

With those words, the queen raised the scepter and tapped it on Iris’s shoulder. The symbolic gesture felt like a final, crushing blow. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, a mix of shock, satisfaction, and pity. Meanwhile, Iris stood, her eyes drawn to the ground as she fought back against the tears that threatened to fall.

She couldn’t believe it. The Queen had broken their agreement, turned back on her word like she did with her Mother. She’d promised her mother to place her within the royal family, then banished her overseas without another word. Now, she betrayed Iris too – arranging her marriage with Kiyoomi, her brother, and took it away from her.

The queen continued, her voice unwavering. “You are no longer Princess Iris of Inarizaki. You are hereby banished from the royal palace, and your marriage to Prince Kiyoomi is annulled.”

The crowd gasped, the severity of the punishment sinking in. Iris raised her head, unable to stop the tear slipping down her cheek. Quickly, she wiped it away. She had to remain strong, if only for the sake of her dignity, because what could she say now? That she was pregnant, and Kiyoomi had to continue with the announcement of ‘the happy news’? She couldn’t – she was stuck in a dead-end corner, and judging by the slight smile playing on the Queen’s lips, she’d already calculated this potential move.

She’d known Iris would never bring up the baby to save herself. Iris would never subject herself to an unwanted pregnancy, keeping up this pretend of sickening act of husband and wife with her brother any longer. If she did, the Crown would pressure her to have another child – one with Kiyoomi this time around, assuming that Rintaro would be disposed of soon enough.

Iris couldn’t go that far.

The Queen, as always, got what she wanted and won.

As the ceremony concluded, Iris turned and walked out of the grand hall. The heavy doors closed behind her with a resounding thud.

Her mind raced with thoughts of what to do next. Where would she go now? Her mother was gone, and she had no allies, made no friends. Maiko could’ve been someone to run to, but even the foolish kid had been too enamoured with you to ever have any loyalty for her. But she refused to let it end like this. She had to clear her mother’s name, to reveal the truth about the queen’s crimes.

She wasn’t going to let it end like this.

With her title stripped and her future uncertain, Iris vowed to fight back. She would uncover the secrets buried deep within the palace walls, expose the queen’s treachery, and reclaim her honor. As she walked away from the palace, the whispers of the crowd still echoing in her ears, Iris walked onwards with newfound resolve. She might have lost her title, but she had not lost her spirit. The battle for her mother’s honor and her own redemption had only just begun.

She would take back what was hers.

The palace was sent into a whirlwind of chaos after Iris’ deposition.

You and Kiyoomi stood in the hallway of Belleview Manor, observing the frenzy. Servants moved like automatons, their faces set in grim determination as they hauled the remnants of Iris’ belongings out of her quarters, tossing her clothes and personal items into hastily arranged piles.

You watched as delicate dresses were carelessly bundled, precious trinkets thrown aside, and keepsakes unceremoniously discarded. Your eyes fell upon a particularly cherished item – a framed photo of a younger Iris and what appeared to be her mother. Their faces were lit into smiles, Iris’ smaller hands held tightly within her mother’s. It struck a chord of guilt within you, and you stepped forward, halting a servant who was about to toss it aside.

“Leave it,” you mouth silently, taking the photograph from the bewildered servant’s hands. Clutching the frame, you held it tightly to your chest, looking up at Kiyoomi with wide eyes.

It’d been less than a week since the news spread of Iris’ abrupt leave. The Queen had stripped her off her title, and the entire Kingdom had been harsh in their glee over it. It was ruthless, needless to say, how easily they turned on Iris – who was once their Princess – the moment the article had been released. She went from being adored to being shunned to the point that even Itachiyama had closed its doors on her.

But wasn’t that what you wanted?

You’d been so desperate to keep Kiyoomi away from her grasp. Now, you’d succeeded. Iris had left, your room was now yours again, and any traces of the brunette finally disappeared.

And yet... why did none of it feel good? You weren’t proud, weren’t happy.

Outside, the commotion was no less intense. The air was thick with whispers and hurried conversations, the scent of scandal permeating every corner of the palace grounds. Meanwhile, Kiyoomi watched it all unfurl with a cold dispassion, as if he was merely an observer.

Your heart ached with a pang of pity as you glanced at him, but there was no time to dwell on it. In the span of forty eight hours, he’d lost his wife, and was pushed to being another pawn again. That part you hadn’t thought through – Kiyoomi may have been freed from Iris, but who was to stop the Queen from marrying him off to another woman? The political crisis between Itachiyama and Inarizaki was temporarily resolved the last time he’d went there, when you went there, but that had been months. And now, with the recent issue of Itachiyama being shamed for having such ‘lowborn people’ like Iris, none of it was getting better.

A small voice in your head urged you to find Iris, to offer some semblance of comfort or understanding. Gripping the photograph tighter, you make your way to your car, wondering where Iris might have gone after experiencing such a public humiliation.

Just as you were about to open the car door, a firm hand grabbed your arm. You turned to see Kiyoomi right behind you, his face etched with a mixture of confusion and concern. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I have to find Iris.”

“No,” his grip tightens with urgency, already slamming the car door shut behind you. “You shouldn’t go anywhere. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? What’s going on?”

“She’s not going to let this end,” he murmurs silently, pulling you into his chest as he looks around warily. He didn’t need to elaborate; the gravity of the moment was clear. The scandal, the disgrace, it was spreading like wildfire. There was no telling where it would end or what further damage might be done.

“Kiyoomi... Did I do the right thing?” you ask him, brow furrowing as your palms grew sweaty. “I-I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I know it would’ve gotten your marriage annulled with her, but... I don’t know what they’re going to do her, Omi. Will she be alright out there?”

Kiyoomi’s lips press into a thin line. “She will be, but I can’t guarantee things will stay the same,” he pauses, as if hesitating, then reaches to comb his hair back. “Listen. Iris is not going to take any of this lightly. There’s no telling what she will do next, but I can guarantee that none of us are safe here.”

You bite your lip, pondering it before you decided, “I still need to go.”

“Where will you go?” Kiyoomi lets go of your hand, not wanting to stop you, but not entirely willing to let you leave either. Instead, his shoulders sagged, his eyes pleading. “Just... Stay here with me. Or at least let me accompany you.”

You shook your head. You’d just freed Kiyoomi from the ties that bound him; if you dragged him with you again, then this would never end. This was something you had to solve for yourself, but if Iris couldn’t be found , then you had to start with him. “I need to find Rintaro. He still has a child with her, Omi. We don’t know how he’s handling the situation right now.”

Kiyoomi’s lips pressed into a thin line. Sighing through his nose, he seemed to have an internal debate before he closes his eyes. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

“No, it’s...” you insisted, “I think you should stay behind.”

Silence stretches between you both. For a moment, it looks like Kiyoomi wanted to say more, but chose not to. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt you – the way he closed off on himself, his walls put up so high you could barely look past it. But what could you do? And Kiyoomi, too, must’ve known this was a losing game. Forcing a smile on his face, he nods.

“Call me if you need anything.”

You smile at him gratefully, photograph still clutched to your chest before opening the car door. Then, you sped out of the driveway and called Rintaro, unsurprised that it went straight to voicemail. You tried asking the twins, even Kita, anyone who might’ve known where your husband was. But alas, none of them had the slightest clue. The last they saw of him was just before Iris was taken away by the guards, hovering behind her with an impassive look on his face.

He’d shortly disappeared after that. None of your texts and calls came through.

Jaw clenched, you turned on the location tracker you’d placed on his phone that time before you left for Itachiyama, mindlessly turning on the radio in case there’d been any reported sightings. You tuned in, letting the music fill the space in the air.

You gripped the steering wheel, your knuckles stiff with tension. You’d been driving for what seemed like hours now, eyes scanning the roads and alleys, searching for any sign of Rintaro. Fatigue weighed heavily on you now that the sun had long set, your eyelids drooping and your body aching from being sat for so long. Still, the tracker on your phone remained stubbornly blank, offering no direction to head in.

Just as you decided to turn back, the car radio crackled to life. The unmistakable voice of Iris filled the vehicle. You immediately went still, your heart pounding in your chest. You quickly pulled over to the side of the road, your breath catching as you listened intently.

Greetings, citizens of Inarizaki. It is I, Iris Amari, your former Princess and representative of Itachiyama. As you all know, I have recently been stripped of my titles now that the history behind my mother’s sudden disappearance has been uncovered.

A short pause.

I confess that I am guilty of manipulating the Crown Prince out of my boredom. The truth is, I was in a loveless marriage with the Second Prince, and I was lonely in the Palace when my husband would leave me to entertain myself for weeks, sometimes months on end. A lonely woman could only endure so much, and the Crown Prince was always there – warm, welcoming, and as lovely as he’d been when we met during our school years. I couldn’t help but seek out his company, even when he’d already married the Yuzuru heiress. After all, I knew my marriage with the Second Prince was hopeless. He would never speak to me, much less look my way – an arrangement I was satisfied with as long as it meant I could remain being a Princess.

You leant back in your seat, gnawing at your lip as you hung on to every word she said.

Now, to answer the question everyone has been dying to know: how did a no-name foreigner like me marry into the Royal Family? The truth is simple. I am the King’s only daughter, and Her Majesty the Queen manipulated my desperate, lovesick, and heartbroken mother to do her bidding. They’d both been victims of the King, their hearts toyed with until they were fueled with anger.

Your grip on the steering wheel loosened. Glancing at Iris’ photograph on the passenger seat, you stared hard at her features – green eyes, loose and dark wavy hair, almost with the same pattern of Kiyoomi’s curls. Looking at her now, Iris had always looked so... familiar. And that thought – or realization – alone, had your mouth drying.

But if they were both the King’s children, and they were married... A gasp fell from your lips.

Was that why Kiyoomi refused to touch her? Why he’d looked at her, repulsed and paling like she was vermin? It hadn’t been because she was, but rather because she was his sister.

The Queen, having had enough of her husband’s affairs and mistreatments, ordered my mother to murder him under the promise she would welcome me into the Palace. My mother did as she was told, concerned only with securing her daughter’s future, but the Queen betrayed us. Shortly after the King died, the Queen banished my mother from Inarizaki and put her behind bars to ensure her silence.

As a last resort to somewhat keep her end of the deal, she then enrolled me in Inarizaki Private Royal Academy to learn about how to run the country as a future Princess. Years later, after I graduated, she arranged my marriage with Prince Kiyoomi, my half-brother.

Now this all begs the question regarding the recent cheating scandal of the Crown Prince: if I’d known all this time that I was the King’s daughter, did I not seduce my own blood and flesh?

You may think so, but the Queen keeps a plethora of lies to keep this Kingdom running – one of her secrets being that she never had a child with the Late King, and Crown Prince Rintaro is nothing but a fraud. He is not of royal flesh and blood. He is nothing but a boy picked up on the streets to become the Queen’s puppet.

When the announcement ended, the music previously playing stuttered before continuing to where it left off. You sat there, stunned in silence with your mind reacing.

The sound of your heartbeat filled your ears, loud enough that it pulsed with the vehicle’s hum. Suddenly, your phone flashed with a notification – the tracker had located Rintaro. Adrenaline surged through you, and you slammed your foot on the gas, the car lurching forward as you sped off.

Now that Rintaro’s secret was out, you needed to find him first before the police did.

You drove through the dimly lit streets, your surroundings growing increasingly desolate. The familiar cityscape gave way to the outskirts, a labyrinth of abandoned warehouses and crumbling buildings. Shadows loomed large, casting eerie shapes that seemed to dance in the periphery of your vision. Your anxiety grew with each passing mile, the unease settling like a heavy weight in your chest.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

The once smooth road turned rough and pitted, each bump jarring your already frazzled nerves. The neon glow of the city was long behind you, now replaced by the flickering, sporadic streetlights that only deepened the shadows.

After what felt like forever, you’d finally reached your destination – a decrepit building that looked to have been abandoned for years. The windows were boarded up, and graffiti marred its exterior. Despite its appearance, the low thump of music resonated through the walls, a steady, booming pulse that hinted at life within. You parked your car and stepped out, your eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings.

The building loomed over you, dark and foreboding. You balled your fists at your sides, trying to steady your frantically racing heart.

As you approached the entrance, you were greeted by a hulking figure. “You got a pass?”

You blinked your eyes up at the bouncer, standing guard. He was imposing, his large, hulking arms crossed over his chest. “Uh,” you licked your dry lips, vaguely realizing a little too late that you’re inappropriately dressed for this event – pearl necklace, diamond earrings, and a silk below-the-knee champagne coloured dress. “N-No, I don’t.”

“Then I’m sorry, Miss, you can’t enter. This is an invite-only party.”

You’re already fiddling with your purse. “How much?” you raised your brows, daring the bouncer to continue smirking when he noticed the seriousness on your face. “Name me your price.” He was quick to mention the numbers, and without sparing him another glance, you shoved a wad of cash – with extra – to his tattooed hands.

The bouncer’s smirk grew wider, satisfied as he pockets the bills. “Welcome to Ecstasy. Enjoy your stay. If you don’t have a mask yet, someone at the counter will give you one. At the right price.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him and through the doors. The music grew louder as you neared, its relentless beat matching the pounding of your heart. You squared your shoulders, prepared to face whatever lay behind the doors of this unsettling, hidden nightclub. What the hell was Rintaro doing here?

The deeper you entered the club, the louder the music got. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something else you couldn’t quite place. The interior was a chaotic blend of darkness and vibrant neon lights, flashing in sync with the pounding bass of the music – loud enough to give you a headache. The colors danced erratically, casting shifting shadows across the grinding bodies across the room.

Everywhere you looked, people were hidden behind masks, their identities obscured in a surreal modern-era masquerade.

The masks ranged from simple to elaborate, animal-themed, Venetian, some grotesque. Yours was a simple bunny-mask, its ears protruding at the sides and the nose wide enough to cover a fraction of your eyes. You understood now why Rintaro chose to be here – the anonymity gave the revelers a sense of freedom, their movements uninhibited and wild. Everyone danced with abandon, bodies pressed close together as they moved as one with the beat. In the corners, couples were locked in passionate embraces, their hands trailing in places it shouldn’t be – completely oblivious to the world around them.

Discomfort washed over you as you navigated through the crowd.

The noise was overwhelming, a constant assault on your senses. Your formal attire, elegant and out of place, drew curious and sometimes hungry stares from the masked partygoers. Your feeble attempt in donning the bunny mask did little to hide your unease.

You pushed through the crowd, determined to find Rintaro.

Men in masks turned to watch you, their gazes lingering too long for comfort. You quickened your pace, ignoring the murmurs and the eyes that followed your every move. The flashing lights made it hard to see clearly, but you couldn’t back out now. You’d already reached this far. There was no way you were going to leave this hellish place without your husband in tow.

Finally, you spotted a tuft of dark, unruly hair.

Rintaro sat slumped at the bar, nursing a drink as his head bobbed in time to the rhythm of the music. He looked weary and lost, a stark contrast to the frenzy around him. Relief washed over you as you made your way beside him, the chaotic energy of the club seemingly fading in the background. You reached out to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder in hopes to draw him out of his stupor and back to you.

When he finally turned to you, you were met with his familiar hazel eyes – ones that bordered more on green than brown. He looked exhausted; dark circles visible even behind his wolf-shaped mask, the whiskers nearly comical as it draped on the sides. You grinned at him, relieved to have found him safe and sound. Throwing your arms around him – or more like attempted to – you found yourself gently shoved back, your lower back connecting with the stool behind you.

“Don’t touch me,” he sneers, his words slurred. “My wife won’t like it if she sees you.”

You frowned at him, rubbing at the sore spot at your back. “Don’t be stupid. We need to go home. Now.”

Rintaro throws his head back in laughter, gesturing to the bartender for another refill. Once his glass was full again, he took slow, deliberate sips – his face impassive and his eyes cold. “The night is too young. Why would I want to leave?” he murmurs more to himself than you, his gaze narrowing at your hunched figure beside him. He stares, hard, making you squirm beneath the mask. But Rintaro simply sniffs, pointing his drink in your direction. “You look awfully familiar.”

“That’s because I’m your wife. Now let’s go.”

“My wife, huh? Now I know you’re lying,” he shakes his head to himself, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he downs his drink in one go. “My wife would never look for me, and she’d never come to a place like this. She’s a little too good for everybody. A little too great for the likes of us. Even for someone like me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but I recently just found out that I’m–” he closes the distance between you, close enough that his cologne and the stench of alcohol overwhelms you. Then, he cups his palm around his mouth as if to say a secret, his mouth dangerously close to your ear as his voice drops. “–Adopted. Or kidnapped, if we’re going to be precise. Fucked up, right? But you want to know what’s even more fucked up? It’s that I genuinely thought I was this great, praise-worthy Prince who deserved no one better but my wife. And I–” his chuckles grew louder, the humour in them absent, “–I ruined it. Ruined her life. Because she doesn’t even know that she married some stupid, lowborn gardener’s son.”

You frowned at his words. Crossing your arms against your chest, you spun on your stool and faced him directly, snatching the glass from his hand before he could ask for another refill. This time around, Rintaro doesn’t protest. Just slumps further against the bar’s counter.

“Don’t talk like that. I’m sure she doesn’t think of you any differently.”

“She already does. She can barely stand to be in the same room as me,” he sighs, his head buried in his arms before him. Sleepily, and drunk out of his mind, he gazes up at you under his lashes – the sadness deep and prominent within his eyes. “She could’ve married someone else if I never came into her world, you know? She could’ve married a Lord, or-or a Duke. Hell, she could have been a Princess from another Kingdom. She deserved all that and more. Instead she’s stuck with me and I–” his breaths stuttered, “–I’m no one.”

That was it. You’d had enough of his pity party. Did he really come all the way here just to feel bad about himself? Sliding the glass towards the bartender’s way, you grabbed Rintaro by the arm, heaving at his nearly dead weight. “Rin. Please. Let’s go home.”

“I have no home,” he whines, and it’s only now you notice the tears glistening in his eyes. “I don’t have a wife, I lost my girlfriend who’s pregnant with my child, and I – where would I go? There’s no place for me here.”

“You could go with me.”

“You’re not my wife. I don’t want to go anywhere without her.”

“Rintaro, I am your wife,” you repeat, shoving your left hand right in front of his face. He’s immediately entranced by the sight, and leans into the curve of your palm. “We wear the same rings, see? It’s me.”

The sigh he lets out is dreamy. “Yeah, I’m not sober enough for this. Now I’m seeing her too.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, you lead him back to the bar, and help him sit down without falling on his bottom. “Okay, how about this? I get you a few more drinks, and then I’ll take you back to your wife, alright? I heard the Princess was looking for you.”

Rintaro’s sniffles grow louder as he avoids your gaze. “Why would she? She’s happier now that she’s with Kiyoomi. He’s the better man, anyway, better than me in all aspects.”

The memory of Kiyoomi’s lips flashed through your mind. Faintly, you wondered if this was considered hurting Kiyoomi’s feelings – running after your husband, and tending to him when he was not in his right mind. Just the thought of Kiyoomi patiently waiting for you back at Belleview Manor broke your heart. Or maybe he paced back and forth, anxiously opening his phone every minute to check if you’d updated again – you hadn’t.

But you would return, that you knew. The past few days with him – no, everything had made your decision clear. Regardless of whatever happened next… if Rintaro would be taken away by the police, or if the Queen disposed of him first, you’d already made your mind.

You were going to choose Kiyoomi.

But tonight… tonight, Rintaro needed you. Cupping his face in your hands, you levelled his gaze with yours, putting on your warmest smile – just like how you always did whenever Rintaro ran to you, worried and burdened with his day’s work. Even if he couldn’t truly recognize you, at least your touch would – hopefully – be familiar enough. “She’s worried for you, and she sent me here to take you home. She said she wants to talk.”

“She still wants to talk to me?”

Your heart ached. You’d never heard Rintaro sound this… helpless before, and at the same time hopeful. “Of course, Rin. Always.”

“Fine,” he relents, “but you’re paying for my drinks.”

You discreetly signal to the bartender, sliding over a generous amount of cash to cover all the drinks he’d ‘ordered.’ Thankfully, he understands your silent plea, nodding and begins to serve him water instead. Rintaro, too lost in his own world, didn’t seem to notice the change as he continued to down glass after glass.

Once he had reached his limit, you gently took his arm, guiding him away from the bar and through the club. To say the journey back to your car was arduous was an understatement. Rintaro kept leaning heavily on you, his weight almost too much for you to bear. His stumbling steps made your own balance precarious, especially in your delicate kitten heels. You gritted your teeth, determined to keep you both upright as you navigated the crowded, uneven terrain outside the club.

The rocky pavement outside made the task a lot more challenging than it should be. Each step was a battle, your husband’s larger frame swaying with each faltering step. You glanced around, spotting one of his cars parked far away, but you ignored it and focused on bringing him to yours instead. You’d just have to take care of the traces he left later.

With great effort – and a lot of sweat – you finally managed to get him to your car. You opened the back door, easing him inside. Rintaro whined and resisted, but you persisted, swatting his hands away to get him settled.

You managed to manoeuvre him into the backseat, checking twice to ensure he was comfortable enough before closing the door. Before you could, Rintaro suddenly reached out to you, his fingers tugging at your sleeves. “Wait,” he pleads, his eyes huge and vulnerable.

“What?”

“Need to... need to look good,” he rambled on, stretching his long legs at the backseat and tugging at his own shirt. The material is already wrinkled beyond belief, the top buttons undone. He keeps fidgeting with it, grabbing your hands to help him fix it. Stunned, your hands hover awkwardly over his chest – unsure if buttoning it up for him would be enough to satisfy him. “Do I look good? Don’t wanna – don’t wanna look drunk. She’ll get mad. Don’t want my wife seeing me like this.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words. Sighing, you reached over and closed the top buttons, patting his chest down as if to say ‘there you go.’ “You look fine. Stop grumbling.”

Convinced enough, Rintaro stops fidgeting. You were about to close the car door once more when he suddenly pulled you next to him. You squealed, barely catching your balance as you fell beside him. In one, swift movement, Rintaro had laid down and rested his head on your lap, his long legs awkwardly curled beneath him. There, he sighs, his large hands fisting your dress as you sit still – unable to move.

“Just a few more hours, please? I want to sleep.”

You agree, finding it difficult to say no when Rintaro was so… clingy like this. It wasn’t like you could return to the Palace, anyway. Rintaro would most likely be a target of the Police, and the entire government now that everyone knows he was a fraud. He didn’t need to go back to that. You’d rather keep him here – in your lap, safe and sleepy and warm. Unable to help it, you run your hands through his hair, carding your fingers through the strands and raking your nails against his scalp. It causes him to purr like a cat, the sound entertaining before he buries himself closer to your stomach.

“...Nice.”

“What?”

“Said you smell nice. Smell like my wife.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the car windows, its warmth gently jostling you awake. You blinked blearily, momentarily disoriented as you realized you’d fallen asleep. As you tried to move, you noticed the weight on your lap.

Rintaro was asleep there, his face relaxed and peaceful. The harsh lines of stress and pain that usually marked his features were smoothed away as he slumbers, making him appear younger, almost innocent.

You stared at him for a little longer, captivated by the rare serenity in his expression. Your fingers began to move on their own accord, gently caressing his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and you marvelled at how different he looked now. In sleep, he seemed free from the burdens that weighed so heavily on him during his waking hours. But now? Your heart softened as you traced the line of his jaw, wishing you could freeze this moment in time – preserve this fleeting glimpse of the man you had once fallen madly in love with.

You hesitated in waking him up, choosing instead to let him rest a little longer.

Carefully, you reached for your purse, digging through it to find your phone. The screen lit up with several missed calls and a flurry of texts from your parents, their messages frantic and pleading for you to answer and tell them where you were. Amongst the many notifications, messages from Kiyoomi caught your eye. His last message read, “please… please tell me you’re safe.”

Your heart ached at his worry, but another message drew your attention. It was from Kuroo, his message short yet ominous: “Princess, I didn’t write this, but I think you should take a look.”

With shaky hands, you clicked on the link. As the article loaded, your anxiety surged – a cold dread settling in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down at Rintaro, still peacefully asleep, oblivious to the turmoil that awaited you both.

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐄𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐤𝐢: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐲, 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐚’𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝

In a dramatic turn of events that has left the kingdom of Inarizaki reeling, the Queen has been seized by government officials following the revelation of her involvement in heinous crimes. The charges against Her Majesty are severe and include conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping, and fraud. This unprecedented upheaval marks a dark chapter in Inarizaki's royal history. The Queen stands accused of orchestrating the murder of her own husband, the late King, in a desperate bid to retain power. This shocking revelation came to light after a thorough investigation uncovered irrefutable evidence of her culpability. Additionally, it has been revealed that the Queen kidnapped an innocent baby, presenting him as the Crown Prince to solidify her control over the throne. This child, now known as Suna Rintaro, has been living under the false pretense of royal blood. The official charges against the Queen include: Conspiracy to Commit Murder, Kidnapping, Fraud, and High Treason. Government officials have acted swiftly, seizing Her Majesty and beginning the legal proceedings that will determine her fate. The palace is in turmoil as the full extent of her crimes comes to light. As the kingdom grapples with the Queen's treachery, another scandal has emerged, further destabilizing the royal family. Hours after former Princess Iris publicly revealed her true lineage, incriminating photos of Princess Suna, wife of Suna Rintaro, have surfaced. These photos, taken within the privacy of Belleview Manor, show Prince Kiyoomi and the Crown Prince's wife in a compromising and passionate embrace, confirming longstanding rumors of a cross-marriage affair. The scandal does not end there. Additional evidence has surfaced showing Princess Suna meeting with Kuroo Tetsuro, the notorious journalist responsible for exposing Iris and Rintaro’s affair. In these meetings, Princess Suna is seen paying Kuroo substantial sums of money, effectively funding his comfortable life abroad. It is now evident that Princess Suna orchestrated the recent articles that have shaken the kingdom, making her a clear threat and an enemy of the Crown. The public and government officials are now united in their stance: Princess Suna and Suna Rintaro must be stripped of their titles and exiled from Inarizaki. Their actions have sown discord and threatened the stability of the kingdom, and such betrayal cannot be tolerated. As Inarizaki faces this turbulent time, the hope for a restored and honest royal lineage is strong. The kingdom looks to the future, determined to heal and rebuild in the wake of these revelations. This story is still developing, and we will continue to provide updates as more information becomes available.

Panic surged through you as the article’s revelation settled in.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, each one more frantic than the last. You felt your chest tighten,, your heart pounding so hard as if it would burst. Desperation clawed at you, and you knew you had to get out of the car.

As gently as you could, you pushed Rintaro’s head off your lap, careful not to disrupt his sleep. He stirred slightly, but otherwise remained unconscious. You opened the door and stumbled out onto the pavement, your legs barely supporting you as you fell to your knees. The cold, hard ground bit into your skin, but the sensation was distant – the pain faint compared to the panic that was now beginning to consume you.

Your breaths were coming in ragged, uneven bursts now, your vision blurring with tears.

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady yourself as the world spun around you. You knew, without a doubt, that your own Kingdom had already turned against you.

With trembling fingers, you fumbled for your phone. You needed to hear his voice – the one person who could ground you, who could make you feel safe in the midst of all this mess. You found his contact and dialled, holding the phone to your ear with a grip so tight your knuckles turned white. Finally, the call connected, and you breathed out, letting the faint sound of Kiyoomi fumbling in the background like a lifeline.

“Kiyoomi?”

“Thank God you picked up. You weren’t answering any of my calls.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on each word, each comforting tone as you anchored yourself in the present. The world around you began to slow, your breathing gradually evening out. You took a deep, shaky breath, drawing strength from Kiyoomi’s presence, even if it was just through the phone.

“I-I don’t know what to do, Kiyoomi. What’s going on?”

Kiyoomi sighed from the other line. “It’s just as the news said. The Queen is being held by the government to answer for her crimes and you... you’re no longer allowed to return to the Palace. You’ve been deposed.”

“But that’s – that can’t happen. There should be a procedure, a legal procedure before they can strip me off my title!”

“I know, but with everything going on in the country right now, the officials have all decided to skip the formalities and proceed with making any unjust royal family member out of the Palace as soon as possible. You included,” more shuffling rings through the phone, and you hear a car door slamming shut. “But don’t worry, I’m heading out of the Palace right now. Tell me where you are. I’ll come find you.”

Nodding even if Kiyoomi couldn’t see it, you move to send him your location when your phone was suddenly ripped out from your hand. You watched, mouth agape, as Rintaro throws it to the ground and crushes it with the weight of his foot. You scrambled to stand up, fire raging in your veins as you looked at him – Rintaro was now awake, his hair still messed up from sleep, but his eyes were big and bright, like he’d been riding on a high.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I should be asking you that,” Rintaro glared at you, all the previous softness disappearing from his face. “Are you out of your mind? The news said we’re exiled. And you’re just giving our location to Kiyoomi like that?”

“That’s Kiyoomi! I trust him!”

“He’s a Prince, a member of the Royal Family – the same family you’re no longer a part of. I don’t care if you think you can trust him, there’s nothing he can do for you.”

“Oh, but you can do something about it?”

Rin flinched like he’d been slapped. Still, he kept his composure, his hands planted on his hips as he sighed and looked around you. You were nearly in the middle of nowhere – in the outskirts of the city, far from the inquisitive gaze of the Palace. It was almost hard to believe how so much had happened in such a short span of time, but Kiyoomi was right. Iris wouldn’t let it end there. If she was going to fall, she was going to take everyone down with her.

“I can’t help you, but you heard what they said. I’m exiled – I’m leaving this damned country.”

Your husband slammed the car door shut, and began to walk towards his car. “Rin,” you called out to him, taking two steps at a time to match his pace. “Rin, would you please just stop? Let’s talk!”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

You stopped in your tracks, surprised when he’d turned your away. Rintaro’s face was flushed red, the vein on his neck prominent. “Why are you so angry? Oh, is it because your plans have been ruined and you can’t become King anymore, is that it? Because Iris is gone now, and you can’t have her?”

“Seriously? After all this time, you still can’t get over that?”

The laugh you let out is incredulous. “How can I? You kicked me out of our room a few days ago because you said you wanted to take care of her!”

Rintaro’s face hardens. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, thank you so much for telling me, because that totally changes everything,” you throw your hands up in the air, stomping to where he stood just to sneer at his face. “You really expect me to believe you stopped caring about her? The moment your girlfriend was kicked out of the Palace, what did you do? Oh, right. You went to some dingy, ‘exclusive’ anonymous nightclub and got drunk out of your mind. I think its crystal clear you needed a distraction from the pain of losing her.”

Rintaro scoffed, baring his teeth as he takes on your challenge and comes closer, your noses brushing. “What pain? I couldn’t care less that she’s gone. She never loved me anyway.”

“Then why drink yourself half to death last night? You could’ve been in real danger if I didn’t come looking for you.”

“You shouldn’t have, then.”

“A thank you would suffice.”

Rintaro’s face hardens. He takes more steps, forcing you to walk backwards until you were back to where you started – your back hitting the edge of your car. He looms over you, his eyes shining with something you couldn’t decipher. “Why did you look for me, huh? My mistress is gone. She’s out of your hair, and you could’ve had everything you wanted. Why else bother looking for me when all I did was hurt you?”

He practically forces the confession out of you. “Because I was worried about you!”

In an instant, Rintaro’s heat disappears. He flings himself backward like you’d burned him, frowning as he stares you incredulously. Then, he lets out a laugh that sounded more like a pained choke. “You are many things, but I never thought you could be a liar.”

“Liar? What are you talking about?”

He meets your gaze, his eyes cold and daring. “You don’t care about me.”

“Yes, I do!”

“No, you don’t! You know the truth, Y/N. I’m not a Prince – never have been, and never will be. You couldn’t possibly care for a fraud. You know it, too. I’m a nobody, and you were always better than me.”

Rintaro’s words hung in the air, each one landing with a weight that nearly suffocated you. Was that how he thought of you the whole time? That you’d... hated him? Thought of him differently because he wasn’t the King’s son? The very notion left you appalled. The ground beneath you felt like it shifted, your heart clenching painfully at the broken expression he wore. Shame, guilt – it all swam in the dark pools of his eyes, mingling with sorrow as you stared at him.

How could he think that, after everything?

His voice carried defeat, almost as if he wanted you to hate him, as if he believed it would make things easier.

The realization itself twisted something deep inside you. You didn’t hate him – not even close. Maybe you hated what he did, the lies that he’d kept and the facade he’d put on, pretending that he’d loved you when he didn’t. But him not being the King’s son? What did that change? Stood before you was still Rintaro, not Suna, the man you’d adored and cursed from the moon and the back. The thought that he’d been carrying this belief, suffering under it, cut you more deeply than any betrayal. Somehow, this hurt more than finding out he had another.

The fact that this whole time, Rintaro truly believed you looked down on him for not being a Prince. How could he have been so wrong?

The breath was knocked out of you, your shoulders deflating as every muscle in your body softened. “You may not be a Prince, but you’re still my husband. I still care.”

You watched the change in his expression as the words left your lips.

His eyes widened in shock, the disbelief evident against the relief that slowly unfurled across his face. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest, his breath catching in his throat. But beneath that relief, confusion lingered, the doubts overshadowing your confession. It was as if he was trying to convince himself that you were wrong, that you should hate him, that your kindness was a mistake.

You could see it all – how Rintaro desperately wanted to believe you, yet he still clung to the pain of his insecurities like it was all he knew.

“If you care so much,” his voice broke as he spoke, “Then why did you kiss Kiyoomi?”

His question struck you like a blow to the chest. The words echoed in your mind, rendering you frozen in place. How could you answer that? How could you justify what you’d done? You could say you didn’t mean it, that you’d regretted it, but that would be a lie. You’d wanted to kiss Kiyoomi. It was a long overdue kiss, and until now, you still wanted to run back into his arms and have him tell you everything would be okay.

And that must show in your face – your blatant infatuation with the Second Prince. Rintaro’s face was a mixture of hurt and confusion as his gaze landed on your lips, probably picturing the way you’d kissed someone else. It made you feel small, like a child caught with their hand deep in a cookie jar. Your mind race, searching for an explanation, a way to make him understand, but all you could feel was the crushing sense of betrayal you’d inflicted on him – on both of you.

The truth was too messy, one that you couldn’t explain yourself. You cared for Rintaro, would do anything to protect him and save him from the mess he’d been tangled in. But you also loved Kiyoomi, loved tangling your hands in his curls, and laying your head on his chest to hear his heartbeat. You would fight a far for your husband, but when that war was over?

You would run straight home to Kiyoomi.

Still, you wanted to reach out. To say something, anything, that would take away the pain in his eyes, but the words were lodged deep in your throat. All you could do was stare at him, realizing too late you had hurt him in a way that might never fully feal.

“So you love him,” he concluded, and when you didn’t refuse, Rintaro nodded to himself – letting the words sink in. One of his hands were planted on his hips, the other fisted on his lip with his brows furrowed. “Was it... was it after I kicked you off to Belleview Manor? Or has it... have you liked him for longer than that?”

Since Itachiyama, you wanted to say, almost apologetically, since the day you kept choosing her over me.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a distant rumble interrupted the silence, growing louder and more distinct with each passing second. You barely had time to process it before Rintaro moved, his hand suddenly gripping your arm with a firm urgency.

Rintaro pulled you down, hiding you both behind the car. You followed his lead, heart pounding in your chest as you pressed your face against his back, the creases of his shirt bundled in your palms. Crouched low, the cold pavement pressing against your knees, you watched as he cautiously peeked over the car’s hood, his eyes narrowing in concentration. The sound of engines grew louder, more ominous – like the sound of your end nearing. You dared to peek from above Rintaro’s shoulder until you could make out the distinct patterns of royal emblems on some of the vehicles, followed closely by the flashing lights of police cars.

Fear gripped at you. You could feel your heart pulsing all the way up to your tongue, your breaths coming faster as you glanced at your husband. Rintaro’s expression mirrored your panic, eyes wide and intense.

The vehicles were closing in, fast and steady, like predators hunting their prey. You both knew that your time was running out, that you were no longer Prince and Princess. Exiled. Dethroned. Hunted like the lowly criminals you both were.

Rintaro wasted no time. He yanked you up as gently as he could by your wrist, guiding you into the passenger’s seat before he slammed the door close, and hopped onto the driver’s side. His movements are frantic as he started up the car, letting the engine hum fill the vehicle. “Wear your seatbelt.”

“But Rin, you were just drunk last night–”

The engine roared to life as Rintaro slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. “I’m fine now, and I drive faster than you. You know that. Wear your seatbelt.”

The car lurched forward, tires screeching against the pavement. You felt your body press back into the seat as your heart pounded in time with the racing vehicle. The world outside blurred into a streak of colours as you shot down the road, the cool morning air rushing in through the partially open windows.

You could hear the shriek of sirens behind you, the vehicles in pursuit closing in fast.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, sharp and intoxicating, as your mind raced to keep up with the unfolding chaos. This was real. This was happening. You were no longer just royals entangled in a web of lies and deceit – you were fugitives now, running from a government that once hailed you as symbols of hope and power.

Rintaro’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he weaved through the narrow streets with a precision born of desperation. Each sharp turn sent her stomach lurching, the tires skidding dangerously close to the edges of the road. You cried out his name, and Rintaro hissed as he swerved back to safety. You could see the cityscape flashing by in jagged, disorienting bursts – the familiar landmarks rendered alien the further you flew away.

The vehicles behind you were relentless, engines howling as they sped after you with unyielding force. The sirens were deafening, mocking.

You glanced over at Rintaro, seeing the intense focus etched into his features, the slight tremor in his jaw as he pushed the car harder, faster, willing it to escape the grip of your pursuers.

The realization hit you like a physical blow – you were criminals now. Your life of luxury, of duty, and privilege, it was all over. Everything you had known, everything you had believed in, was crumbling away behind you, left in the dust of your panicked escape. There was no going back now, no return to the life you once had. You would have to leave everything behind – the Palace, the titles, your parents, Kiyoomi.

The car swerved violently as Rintaro took a sharp corner, the tires screeching as you fought for traction. The chase had spilled deeper into the outskirts of the city, where the streets were narrower, the buildings older and more decrepit. The vibrant pulse of the city was fading, giving way to a desolate stretch of road that seemed to go on forever, before it disappeared into the horizon like a thin thread of hope.

Beside you, Rintaro’s face was set in grim desperation, his eyes locked on the road ahead as the car surged forward, fuelled by the desperate need to escape. You could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken understanding between you that this was your only chance.

And with that, you accepted your fate.

This was the path you had chosen – no, the path that been forced upon you. The chase continued, the world outside becoming a blur of speed and danger. You braced yourself for whatever lay ahead, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

“They’re getting close,” Rintaro said through gritted teeth. One glance at the rear view mirror confirmed your worst fears; they were closing in on you, and that meant the end was nearing. You knew without a doubt that as soon as the government laid their hands on you, everything was over. Rintaro would be exiled, or worse, executed for infiltrating the sacred walls of the Palace – even if it hadn’t been his fault. And you would lose everything, everyone, that you ever cared about. You couldn’t let that happen. “Fuck! I need something to get them off my tail!”

You moved without thinking.

Reaching for the gun secretly stashed in the glove compartment, you quickly rolled the windows down, the upper half of your body carefully sliding out as you unlatched the seatbelt. “Hey!” Rintaro shouted, “What are you doing? Get back! It’s not safe!”

“I’m still the General’s daughter. They won’t shoot,” eyes narrowed, you aimed at the nearest police car who’d been hot on your heels. There was only a few inches left before they could bump into you. “But I will.”

There was no time for hesitation, no room for doubt.

The rush of the wind whipped through the car, pulling at your skin and stinging your eyes. Your finger hovered over the trigger, the world narrowing down to the police car’s tire, spinning so fast it seemed almost like a blur.

You fired.

The crack of the gunshot echoed in your years, the sound so loud it was deafening. You watched as the bullet hit its mark, the tire exploding in a burst of rubber and metal. The police car veered wildly, the driver losing control as the vehicle swerved violently across the road. Then, with a sickening lurch, it tumbled over, metal screeching against asphalt as it rolled, flipping end over end before it crashed into the guardrail. The screech of tires and the crash of metal filled the air as the cars behind it desperately slammed on their brakes, unable to avoid the wreckage. One by one, they collided, a chaotic pileup of twisted metal and broken glass until the entire road was blocked.

You slid back into your seat, your breathing ragged, your chest painfully tight.

Your hands were still shaking, the gun trembling in your grasp. Cold sweat dotted your skin, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you stared at wreckage left behind you. The pursuing cars had been held back, unable to continue the chase.

The road was clear.

Rintaro pressed down harder on the gas, sending the car forward with renewed speed. The roar of the engine filled the car, its sound fierce and almost primal. You could feel the velocity pulling you back into your seat, your body slamming onto the leather.

As the wreckage disappeared from view, the chaotic noise behind you fading into the distance, you let out a shaky breath. You glanced down at the gun in your hands, the metal still cool against your skin despite the heat of the moment. It had been necessary, but the reality of what you had done settling heavily. You exhaled, trying to calm the trembling in your hands.

Rintaro eyed you from his seat, his jaw clenched before he glanced back at the road. “Do you know what you just did?” You nodded, tears now brimming at your lash line. “You’ve just officially declared that we’re at war with the country. They’re never going to let us go.”

“I know,” you were crying now – the tears unstoppable as you pressed your palms against your eyes. “I know.”

Rintaro was quiet for a moment. So quiet you wondered if he was still there, and he was. The tension never left his face, and he never once slowed down in his speed. But he was calmer, in some ways, his face set into a determined frown. “We can’t go back. We can’t say goodbye to anyone anymore.”

You couldn’t say goodbye to Kiyoomi.

“Where are we going, Rin?”

“Far,” was all he says, and the road that stretched before you suddenly seemed endless. “Far, far away from here where they can’t hurt you.”

“You mean us.”

“Of course,” he stole a quick glance at you, surprising you when you saw how his face had softened. Almost as if he’d already accepted that the life he’d lived was never his, and he had nothing but the future ahead of himself. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise. But if you... if you tell me to turn back, I will. I’ll find a way to get you back to Kiyoomi–”

“No,” you interjected, and Rintaro’s eyes widened. “I... I’m staying with you.”

Rintaro’s eyes scanned your face, looking for the answers. “Are you absolutely certain? You don’t have to, you know. This country can still forgive you, they can love you still–”

“I’m staying with you.”

“Okay,” he nodded, his face unreadable under the faint morning light. “Okay. It’s you and me.”

The decision to leave wasn’t easy.

It clawed at you, gnawed at the very fabric of your being, but you knew – deep down, in the place where love was both cruel and kind – that you couldn’t stay. You wanted to fight, to clear your name and prove to the world that you were innocent, to stand in front of the kingdom with your head held high. You wanted to see your parents again, feel their arms around you, hear their voices assure you that everything would be okay.

But even as these thoughts plagued your mind, they were outweighed by something stronger, something inescapable.

You thought of him – Kiyoomi, the Prince you ended up falling for. The one who’d stolen your heart, not with grand gestures, but with quiet moments, gentle touches, and promises whispered in the dark. You still remembered the warmth of being in his arms, the way he looked at you with eyes that saw through your soul, the comfort you found in his presence, and the future you’d dared imagined together. You had given him his heart when it felt all was too late, and he had given you his the moment you laid your eyes on his. Each one of you were willing to sacrifice so much for the other – it just never occurred to you that you would sacrifice Kiyoomi now.

And it hurt.

It hurt more than you could have ever imagined. The thought of leaving Kiyoomi behind, of crushing the trust he’d given you, of severing the bond you had formed – was a pain so deep it nearly made you want to ask Rintaro to turn back. At least let me say goodbye. Let me look at him one last time. You wanted to stay with him, to choose him, to finally build the life with Kiyoomi that he’d promised, but you couldn’t. He didn’t even have the littlest idea that that had been your last conversation, the last time you’d hear each other’s voices.

Because there was another man – Rintaro, your husband. The one who, despite everything, still held a huge fraction of your heart.

He was the one who needed you now, and he didn’t have anyone else. You’d seen the despair in his eyes, the loneliness that consumed him, the way his eyes didn’t quite match what he said as it held the silent please for you to not abandon him, to not cast him aside like everyone had. You knew him well enough to understand that if you left, he would disappear – not just from the world, but from life itself.

Rintaro would slip away, fade into the shadows, and you would never find him again. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t lose him like that.

So you chose him.

You chose to run away with him, to leave behind everything you’d known, everyone you’d loved. It was a choice born out of duty, of loyalty, and of the twisted love that still tied you to him. It was the right choice, not that it made it any easier. The ache in your heart would remain and scar you forever, haunted by the knowledge you would never see Kiyoomi again, never hold him, never tell him how much he’d meant to you.

It was a loss you would carry with you for the rest of your life.

But you couldn’t do it any other way, couldn’t have gone a different path and not think of Rintaro still. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you’d left him alone, if you let him slip away into the darkness that beckoned him. Even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness, even if it meant leaving behind the one person who’d taught you to love again. You had to choose Rintaro, even if it came with the price of letting everything else go.

So you did.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and made the choice you knew would tear you apart. You ran away. And as the world blurred around you, as you fled into the unknown, hand-in-hand with your husband, you couldn’t stop thinking of the Prince you’d left behind – the man who would always hold your heart in his hands, even if you could never return to him.

“You and me, Rin.”

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou x reader #rintaro suna x reader #kiyoomi x reader #suna x you #suna rintaro x you #kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #cw: incest #cw: gun #suna rintarou x fem! reader #suna rintaro angst #suna x reader angst

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carisisrolledupsleeves · 6 months ago

Note

“there is no way anyone is that innocent” with sonny? also can you include overstim + multiple orgasms for reader? thank you!! ❤️❤️❤️

..........

ooops this turned out to be really long hehe but i hope you like it! thanks for the request!

It’s been years since you had seen Sonny. After college, you had left to study abroad, and ended up staying. You had met someone, and had started your first serious relationship. Apart from visiting for Christmas, you had not been back home.

But the break-up had been horrendous and so you packed up your stuff and returned to New York, to the comfort of your loved ones, to lick your wounds.

The occasion was less than ideal. Your sister’s nuptials. For her sake, you kept a brave face, did everything to help her with the fairytale wedding she had always dreamed of. Your family being devout catholics as well as Italian, it had to be proper and perfect down to the smallest detail.

And it ended up being exactly that. Although Sonny’s presence, and the fact that he looked incredibly handsome in his suit, was threatening to distract you for the entire ceremony. The priest hadn’t even gotten to the opening prayer yet and your eyes wandered, meeting his gaze as you stood by your sister’s side. He smiled in a way that made you blush, and remember all the things you had done with each other as teenagers, things your parents would probably disown you for if they ever found out.

Following the ceremony, you had been too busy to even sit down, let alone think further about the way his lips had lingered on your upper jaw as he had kissed you on the cheek. Or the way he had whispered ‘You look so beautiful’ before your aunt pulled you away towards the car waiting to take you to the estate your family had booked for the celebrations.

But now that most of the formalities are over and the guests are eating, drinking, and dancing, you have snuck away to take some much needed drags from your vape pen, the kind filled with something other than nicotine.

‘If you don’t share, I’ll tell.’ a male voice says behind you and you smile, turning around to see Sonny.

He looks even sexier now. He had lost the tie, and his shirt is unbuttoned just right, a bit of chest hair is peeking out. His hair no longer in its perfectly gelled state, having played with the kids in attendance all afternoon, giving countless of piggy-back rides. You catch yourself staring once more.

‘Our parents would literally kill us.’ you hand him the vape.

‘Our parents would kill us for a lot of things, even fifteen years later.’ Sonny smirks as he takes a drag.

‘I’ll just say you seduced me.’ you shrug, reveling in the way he flirts with you.

‘And now? Seems you’re the one seducing me.’ he waves the pen at you and you snatch it from his hand.

‘I would never. All the naughty stuff? You taught me. I’d probably still be a virgin if it wasn’t for you, Sonny.’ you joke and he laughs out loud.

‘Ohhhhh. Right. So that ex-boyfriend of yours was gonna wait ‘til marriage, huh?’ Sonny chuckles and you continue to tease.

‘Hmmm. Now I’m almost thirty and single and no one wants me because you ruined me.’

Sonny steps closer. ‘I want you.’ he whispers. ‘I’ve always wanted you.’

You take a deep breath. He isn’t joking around any longer. And the smug grin disappears from your face as you take in the serious implications of his words, and his actions as he lifts his hand to cup your cheek, your lips suddenly only inches apart.

‘Sonny, I-’ you’re about to lean in when someone shouts your name. It’s your mom. Fuck.

He sighs as you pull away, and you give him an apologetic look as you rush back towards the wedding party before your mother catches you with him, and the weed. Adult or not, you’re still a child and probably always will be when it comes to your parents, especially as the youngest daughter.

You hate to leave him, the urge to be near him even more compelling now after his confession. There’s always been something between you. Yes, you had been kids back then; exploring, being curious, with a decent amount of teenage rebellion on top of it. Still, you would have never done this with just any boy. Sonny and you had always been each other’s first crushes, and there had always been a level of trust and intimacy with him you had not been able to find with anyone that came after. The joking, the teasing, even now it seemed you picked up right where you had left off.

Being the younger sister of the bride aka running the errands and doing the things the maid of honor is too important to do, you are sent to get the lash glue they forgot in your room earlier. As you rummage through the mess you left behind when getting ready, there’s a knock on the door.

‘Ugh, hang on!’ you grumble, opening this and that bag to search.

Another knock. God, fake lashes falling off can’t be that much of an emergency.

‘Wait!’ you yell, getting annoyed.

‘Waited long enough.’ you hear Sonny’s voice say outside the door.

Oh. Oh. You drop the makeup bag back on the table and more or less leap for the door. The moment you open it, Sonny pushes into the room, pressing a heated kiss onto your lips, and you wrap your arms around his neck. You aren’t even surprised that he followed you, and that this is happening right now. In all honesty, you had hoped for it, even dreamed about it, from the second you found out he was coming to the wedding. Now, as his hands wander over your body, it’s more than obvious that he had been too. Reaching back behind him between kisses, you lock the door, and he smiles against your lips.

‘Hmmm, guess I was right.’ he mumbles, his voice low.

‘Right about what?’ you ask sheepishly, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders.

‘That there’s no way anyone is that innocent.’ Sonny starts fumbling with the zipper of your dress and you turn around, making it easier for him.

‘What do you mean? I’m a good catholic girl.’ his warm hands glide down your back as he pulls it down, revealing your dark red lace underwear.

‘Good catholic girl, huh?’ his fingers trace along the fabric, underneath the waistband of your thong, pulling it before letting it snap back. ‘Did you put this on hoping I would take it off? I know you did. So innocent.’

You turn back to face him, your dress falling to the floor. Sonny draws in a sharp breath, taking in the sight of you, and you can feel the heat spreading throughout your entire body. The look in his eyes is a mixture of that boyish gleam of anticipation and the confidence of a man who knows exactly what he wants.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ you taunt, making him laugh, but you kiss him again, with more force this time, turning his laugh into a moan.

Truth is, nothing has ever been innocent about you when it came to him. And yet it feels so different now that you aren’t kids anymore. Even with your ex you hadn’t felt like this. It does scare you, even though it excites you at the same time. You start unbuttoning his shirt, your hands on his body like magnets, discovering just how much he has grown from an awkward, lanky boy into a man. Not that you didn’t love the awkward, lanky boy just as much.

Your fingers wrap around his erection as your hands reach down his pants and he hisses, walking you backwards to the bed, unhooking your bra in the process.

‘I really…have no idea…what you’re talking about.’ you repeat as you begin to pump him, endlessly thrilled by how you can already feel him leaking pre-cum, and dying to have him inside you.

But it seems Sonny has other plans. Pushing you down on the mattress he forces you to withdraw from him, and he gets down on his knees, pulling your hips toward him, and all of a sudden his face is merely inches away from your lace-covered center. He’s so close you can feel his breath, making you shiver.

‘Lie down.’ Sonny orders softly and you do as he asks. ‘Good girl.’ he whispers in response, and you just about soak your panties at his words.

Not that it matters, since he grabs the piece of clothing and pulls them off with one swift motion, tossing them aside. And there you are now, naked on the bed in front of him, and his long fingers slip over your clit, down your folds, playing with your wetness. Your moan is louder than you had anticipated as it leaves your mouth, and your body trembles at the prospect of what’s to come. You look down at him as Sonny spreads your legs open, his eyes staring into yours as his tongue darts out to taste you.

‘Fuck baby, you taste even more delicious than I remember.’ he purrs, again letting his tongue roll over your pussy, again making you moan.

‘Sonny…oh my God!’ you whimper, and he grabs your thighs, settling between your legs.

You nearly pass out. All you can do is lie there and hold on to the sheets as his adept mouth continues to work on your cunt. His tongue delves into you, drawing more slick, fucking into you softly before he’s back on your clit, and you can feel him spread your lips some more to get better access. Applying just the right amount of pressure he massages your nub, and you can’t help but reach down to run your fingers through his hair, pulling ever so slightly as he makes you shudder with every flick of his tongue.

‘Mmm I could spend all day between your legs. I missed you.’ he groans, and you can hear his own arousal in his voice.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as he keeps going, sucking on your clit while he plunges two fingers into you.

‘Ugh, shit! Sonny! Please…’ you beg, arching your back as he starts pumping his fingers in and out, curling over your gspot.

‘What, my love?’ he asks, looking up at you curiously but you know he knows what it is you want.

‘Please…’ your voice getting more and more shaky as he picks up the pace.

‘Please, what?’ Sonny grins, licking your slit up and down, his face already wet with your juices. Oh, what a sight.

‘Please, fuck me.’ your flushed face turning even more red. You’ve never said this to a man out loud.

‘I’m not done here yet. Not by a long shot. You gotta be patient. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?’ Sonny mumbles, his fingers pulling back a little to toy with your wet opening before shoving them back in, making you cry out in pleasure.

You’re getting close. And you know he can feel it, in the way you grip at his hair, in the way you grind yourself against him, in the way you can’t help but clench around his fingers.

‘It f-feels so g-good, Sonny.’ you breathe, as he mouths at your pussy, his tongue flat against you, licking from bottom to top, seemingly not getting enough of your taste.

His fingers fuck into you harder and faster, as he focuses on your most sensitive spots. The feeling of his tongue on you paired with his pretty moans, the way he is getting so much pleasure from satisfying you, it’s all too much. You can feel the wave rolling in, your thighs beginning to shake. He had given you your first orgasm ever, and it had been so unexpected, you’d had no idea what was happening. Even the ones after had taken you by surprise, and you had mostly been shy about it. For some reason, you had always held back, especially with your other lovers, or they just hadn’t been as good at getting you there. Now back with Sonny, it was different. You are losing control and truth be told, you don’t know if you’re ready for it.

However, you can’t stop it. The spring that’s been coiling tightly in your stomach from the second he started touching you, releases and you shake, trying your best to stifle a loud moan. You whimper and attempt to get away from Sonny’s mouth, his fingers that are still sliding in and out of you. It’s too much. It’s all too much. You sigh and finally push him away, closing your legs as you shiver.

‘Hey…’ he exhales softly, grabbing your waist as you look at him shyly. ‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing…I just…can we just…’ you stammer, slightly overwhelmed. He looks at you confused.

‘Oh, no. Wait. We gotta try this again. And this time you gotta relax.’ he slips his hand back between your legs, and you want to protest, being so sensitive after your climax.

He starts rubbing your clit again and you can’t help but open your legs once more, giving him access. Sonny is back on you, his tongue licking up your first release, and within seconds he is eliciting another. You close your eyes and your hands grab the sheets for hold, feeling yourself topple over again. It’s even more intense this time, your pussy and clit still swollen from your previous orgasm, having been denied to even come down from it. You spasm around his fingers again, your back arching, and this time, his name escapes your mouth in a moan, and he watches you intently as you ride out those waves of pleasure.

But no, he still doesn’t withdraw his fingers.

‘Again.’ he whispers, circling your clit, pressing his fingers into your glistening heat as he spreads your thighs wider, and you feel like blacking out. ‘Let go, my love. Don’t think of anything else.’

You come. Again. And even if you tried to think of anything, you can’t. His free hand holds down your hips as your third climax crashes over you with a gush and it’s only then he pulls out of you, letting your pussy convulse and release a stream of moisture. Fuck. You don’t know what is happening but his mouth is on you again, tasting every last drop coming out of you, sloppily licking up and down your folds.

‘Good girl. Making such a pretty mess for me.’ he praises, and it finally registers in your brain. He had just made you squirt. And that definitely hadn’t happened to you before. Ever.

‘Sonny, what the fuck?’ you choke, almost breathlessly.

‘Language!’ he smiles as he gets rid of his pants and underwear, finally crawling up, kissing you deeply as he grabs your hips.

The taste of you on his lips makes you even more delirious as he thrusts into you, his cock feeling bigger than ever in your overstimulated core. You whine, and you’re already starting to bliss out, again. Sonny is close just from eating you out, you can tell but he’s holding back, burying himself inside you while his thumb finds your clit.

‘I love seeing you cum.’ he growls into your ear before his lips capture yours once more.

And yes, you come again. There really is no point of holding back any longer. You fully give yourself over to him, and this blinding ecstasy. He really seems to revel in it, and now that he is inside of you, it is even more intense. Sonny gasps as you squeeze him, your walls beginning to spasm, making it almost difficult to pump into you. You claw at his back, rolling your hips against his as you moan a string of curse words at which he grins.

‘You gotta stop.’ you cry, as he picks up the pace, pounding into your delicate pussy.

‘I’m not done with you.’ Sonny smirks, biting at your neck as you keep scratching and digging your nails into him.

Oh God. Good Lord. You can’t even think straight anymore. You have lost count of your orgasms, not that it matters because he seems to want to make you come as many times as possible until he can no longer hold back himself. Arching your back you meet his rough thrusts, feeling him smile against your lips as he kisses you passionately. His thumb hasn’t left your clit, keeping pressure there, rubbing to intensify your pleasure if that’s even humanly possible. You are on another plane. You might as well be on another planet. You have lost all sense of time and space, the only things to exist are Sonny and you. With each thrust, his cock hits your gspot in the most delightful way, and your body begins to curl in on itself, pussy throbbing and clenching around him.

‘I love it when I can feel you burst around me.’ he groans, sending you over the edge to another orgasm.

‘S-Sonny! Jesus fucking Christ!’ you scream, pressing your head back into the mattress as you desperately cling to him, shaking.

Sonny grins at your profanities; he has you exactly where he wanted you - completely undone. He pushes up your legs, positioning them over his shoulders, fucking into you, even deeper than before.

‘Fuck, baby, fuck, you’re so wet! Fuck!’ he’s close now, you can feel it.

‘I want you to cum inside me.’ you purr into his ear, your words driving him crazy.

He growls, ramming into you as he plays with your clit. You know he’s going to make you come again but you want to hold back, want to feel him come with you. Crying out his name you hold on to him, purposely clenching your walls to squeeze him and he bites your lip in response, the slight pain adding to your pleasure even more. Just as you feel yourself topple over again he tenses, and as your pussy pulses, pulling him in even deeper, he finally lets go, spilling inside of you. He moans your name, pumping his cum into you, the sensation too much for your overwrought cunt. You can’t stop shaking, and he’s hugging you tightly, the two of you collapsing together.

You don’t know how long you stay like this, breathing heavily, your bodies tangled in soaked sheets. Messy, crazy, wild, out of control; just how sex is supposed to be, and it took you reuniting with your first true love to unleash this feral side of you.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Sonny asks, pushing back a strand of hair from your face.

‘That you were my first. And you should be my last. Because fuck, I don’t think anyone will ever make me cum like this ever again.’ you smile, kissing him.

‘Well…that was my plan all along, I’m glad I succeeded.’ he admits, pulling you even closer.

request a prompt from the smut prompt list 🔥

#sonny carisi #dominick carisi #svu #law and order svu #sonny carisi smut #sonny carisi x reader #dominick carisi x reader #dominick carisi smut #carisi x reader #carisi smut #smut #prompt #smut prompt

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in-another-april · 10 months ago

Text

summary/prompt + genre - just a few hcs about living together with spencer | fluff

warnings - mentions of food

wc - 385

notes - hehe i'm so normal about him *eye twitch* i have more but i didn't wanna overdo it soo lemme know if i should post the part 2

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- He’s pretty tidy overall, but he does have his things. Namely, the books. You’ve run out of space for yet another bookshelf, but his collection just keeps growing, so now they’re Everywhere. Every time you sit on the couch there’s something jabbing into your back and you just sigh and shoot him a lighthearted glare as you pull out his 3rd copy of The Illustrated Man from behind the pillow.

- His side of the closet is also a mess, especially the sock drawer, but he knows exactly where everything is and is surprisingly particular about his clothes. You ask if you can borrow his green sweater and he’s like “Which green, army, moss, or olive?” while you’re just ???? at him.

- He is absolutely obsessed with anything combining his two favorite things (you and books) whether its him reading to you, you reading to him, reading the same novel and discussing it book-club style, or just being in your general vicinity while he reads by himself.

- Speaking of general vicinity, he’s a sucker for parallel play. As much as he loves talking and interacting with you, he really enjoys the comfortable silence of being around you while you do your separate things.

- Stares at you with the sappiest heart-eyes no matter what you’re doing. You could be just folding laundry and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the entire world. Even if you’ve been together for years, he’s still enamored with you like a teenager with a crush.

- He cannot cook to save his life. He knows the processes and methods of cooking in theory, and can easily recite the history of practically any dish, but once he’s actually trying to make something he’s lost. He still wants to make food for you, though, so he practices up on a couple of meals he knows you like so he can surprise you with them after a long day.

- On his days off, he gets really into making elaborate coffees. The coffee from whichever local police precincts he’s working a case with is normally watered down and bitter regardless of how much sugar he adds to it, so he starts to appreciate the coffee from home a lot more and makes a whole thing of it every morning. You get him one of those fancy Keurig’s that makes espresso shots and has a milk frother and he almost cries.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #x reader #reid x reader

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cheralith · 9 months ago

Text

vogue — 「 boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader 」

synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink?

content tags/warnings ; gn!reader, use of they/them pronouns, mild language, traditional japanese basis of (l/n) (f/n) used, reader wears glasses, makeup, and heeled boots, some mild manga and jjk 0 spoilers (three minor characters from each are introduced), uhhh suguru being a dick lawl, some parts not edited/not beta read

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned ****!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, mild angst, some crack if you squint

word count ; 10.2k

notes ; heavily inspired by "the devil wears prada" and "paradise kiss", so there'll be some references i've dropped within this—see if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.

now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai

It’d be foolish not to know the household name of Geto Suguru, the ultimate male muse of Jun Takahashi whose title has yet to be reigned by another. He was the ultimate breathing mannequin of the iconic Yohji Yamamoto piece he had worn on the Milan runway back when he was just a teenager. It was one of the most staple pieces of the new century that helped open the gates of the mixing of world culture and avant garde fashion—an England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojōu-gesa splattered with weaves of gold—and it was that very piece that rose him to the top of the fashion world as one of the most powerful names in global fashion.

And how could he not? At seventeen, he was scouted as a model for Gaulthier and became his muse at the ripe age of twenty before several other worldwide designers began to fight for his eyes. It was only a few shrewd years later that he’d open up his own successful fashion line, RIIKO, named in honor of his late sister, resulting in it becoming one of the fashion line pillars in the modern century.

It didn’t take long after that, due to his fame and distinct education from Jujutsu University, rising to the top for Kaizen fashion magazine and ruling it with an iron fist and several cups of coffee with almost all his designs on display for all to see in the office. It was due to his work that Kaizen became the powerhouse of powerhouses of fashion editorials and magazines and it was solely his work that made fashion what it was in present times.

Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodel’s name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru.

So it’s understandable that many had called you a fool—a dimwit, even—for not understanding how big of a deal it was to become his junior assistant after lazily submitting your resume. Originally, you had just wanted to become a simple lifestyle journalist for papers like Sankei Shimbun or The Japan Times, but seeing how it was between a seemingly mysterious fashion magazine that mentioned, received gasps, or the measly and homely newspaper of The Hokkaido Tribune, a magazine you knew would only give new journalists the scraps of what they earned, the choice was obvious.

Whatever gave you more money, you’d take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?

“Do not tell me you’re going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?” Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. “You’re going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.”

You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (don’t mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that there’s nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. “What on earth do you know about fashion?”

“Enough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,” he states simply as he shoves a donut in his mouth. He kicks his feet up on the table, making you cringe at their nakedness. “Trust me, change if you can. Make a statement for ‘em.”

Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that you’ve worn since early college. “And at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they don’t like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.”

“Can’t find them,” you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. “I’m already late, anyway,” you sigh, “Listen, if I don’t come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him.

You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldn’t even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. There’s nothing wrong with the gray, you think. It’s safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and you’d much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble.

Stretching out a hand on the street, you call for a taxi and humbly enter as you smooth out your trousers. The taxi driver eyes you in the rearview mirror with a questioning glint in your eye. “Job interview?” he asks.

“Oh, um,” you nod your head. “Yep! I'm a little nervous, haha.”

“Really?” he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. “Better get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?”

“Kaizen Magazine,” you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.

“Kaizen?” questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. “As in the… the fashion magazine?”

You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didn’t know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didn’t up until a few weeks ago.

“I see…” he mutters. The drive there is a mix of silence and everyday morning conversations, before he pulls up to the building that held the key to your dreams. “Well then, here’s your stop.”

You let out a little gasp of excitement. “Thank you so much,” you reply as you shove some cash into the slot.

“Hm, well,” the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, “Good luck, Plain Jane.”

You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. “Sorry, what was that?”

But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all that’s left is a billow of smoke and cinders. Dazed and confused, you quickly shake those feelings off before you head inside to the building that was now your shining beacon of hope with a determined smile still plastered on your lips. White is the first thing that greets you when you enter the building as it was essentially aired out onto every corner. White marble counters, white tile flooring with white grout, white frames of fashion icons—the white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You haven’t even met Geto Suguru yet, but you understood already that he expected nothing but excellence.

You ride up the elevator quietly and alone, trying not to focus on how your anxiety increased with each ding of the passing floors. The elevator screen seems to almost taunt you as it closes in on your doom, the numbers getting closer to the designated floor until it slowly pauses and shone brightly the number 21 in stippled red.

The doors slowly open and the light seeps itself back to your vision, white flooding your senses again. You carry yourself carefully down the hallway whilst taking your time to admire the many framed pictures of past magazines, multiple runway models, and scraps of newspaper articles. One specific piece catches your attention, however; it was large, almost half your body size and framed in a gilded black frame. It was a picture of a mannequin wearing a tawdry gray-black robe with the kanji characters of “summer” painted with purple messily atop. Layered was a loose, but well-fitted piece of thick green and gold cloth that looked much more refined to the messiness of the other materials.

You stare at it for what seemed to be forever whilst admiring the contrast and beauty of the work before your name is called out.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?”

Your trance breaks from the voice approaching you. You turn to see a short and young woman with dark blue eyes staring at you with a raised brow. “That’s you I presume?” she asks.

“Oh! Uh,” you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. “Yes… yes, that’s me. I assume you’re Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?”

She nods slowly, her eyes going to study your outfit which was a rather stark contrast to her own attire that highlighted an emphasis on shades of opal and navy. Her eyes have a similar glint in the way that Ino’s and the taxi driver’s had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather… something.

“I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion,” she murmurs. Sarcasm going undetected by you, you grin as a response and think that a compliment from her was a sign you did something right. Her eyes go to rise back and meet yours again before she turns and redirects you to the end of the hallway where some rooms belonging to subordinal editors sat in, clacking away at the computers. There was one singular room that held the only door on the floor and it doesn’t take you long to assume who it belongs to considering the large letters of GS frosted onto the glass.

Two desks stood on each side of the door, one completely devoid of life and decorations. Manami guides you to the empty one and patted the top of it. “This will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.”

Manami taps on her clipboard a couple of times, listing off a couple of requirements that you were most likely going to need in the future: efficient time management, ability to fight for what Geto wants, sharp memory, quick feet…

“And uh…” Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, “... a good wardrobe.”

You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“A good, warm…” she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. “... welcome to start off his day.”

She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. “Got it!”

Manami tours you around the floor of the office, letting you say hello to your future coworkers that work in the cubicles that send you worried looks behind your back. They obviously seem too pitying of you, knowing that your fate would be sealed as Geto’s potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract.

“This is Human Resources,” Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. “You’ll contact them if you have any—” her phone dings suddenly. Casually, she pulls it out, only for all of her resolve to disappear in an instant. Manami then abruptly blows a whistle with her teeth, alerting everybody in the radius.

“Everybody! His morning facial was canceled!” Manami hollers. “Geto is coming in…” her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manami’s heart instantly drops. “Oh God… he’s in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,” she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. “Come with me.”

Manami takes back to where you first started and orders you to stand in the front of the blank desk with a look that screams both fright and anxiousness all in one. She lists off too many tasks that you need to do before he comes, but you’re so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you can’t even remember the first thing she told you.

“Help me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before he—”

The elevator dings and all goes quiet; Manami tosses the magazines over her shoulders and positions herself firmly in her place, gesturing for you to do the same. The doors open and unveiled from two bodyguards is a man—a tall man, around six feet or perhaps even taller—dressed in noir fitted pants and a matching button-up closed only halfway to reveal a silk navy turtleneck. Caped behind him is a black velvet trenchcoat that you’re sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. He’s slightly sunkissed, with blue-black tresses of hair with a soft bang sneaking through and large plated earrings to match. His eyes, however, show a tint of color—a sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.

But he’s almost hauntingly attracting—like a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful.

“Good morning, Geto,” Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.

Geto doesn’t reply, just merely giving a silent blink before he sheds his coat off and tosses it aimlessly towards Manami. It proves to be heavier than anticipated, giving how she fights to groan from the weight of it. He’s handed his briefcase from one of the bodyguards and begins to open the door to his office until he pauses and turns and glances at you, the stranger.

“Hello,” you state with a slight bow. “I-I’m one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name is—”

“(Y/N),” Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. It’s all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. “(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?”

Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. “Yes, that’s me.”

Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, “In my office.”

You glance at Manami for confirmation, only given back with a jut of her head towards the door. All the unease you felt in the elevator comes hurdling back to you in an instinct and you feel as if you were no more than a peasant to someone that was essentially royalty in the fashion world.

Geto turns his chair to face away from you, shuffling a few papers over each other that appears to be your resume, before he spins it slowly towards you. He kicks his feet up lazily on his desk.

“It’s nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,” he says. His voice is still the same—a little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds… bored. Unamused even. “A bachelors in print journalism… same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?”

You fight to fiddle with your glasses as you watch as Geto tangibly toys with his own, with his focus angled on the papers in front of him rather than you. “Um, I assume so. Though I believe they’re actually retiring this year.”

“Good,” he sighs in what seems to be relief. “Shame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.”

“Really?” you quietly question. You had only taken their class a few semesters ago and thought despite their rather… all too lenient disposition… you did learn quite a lot in their class. “I thought they were a rather alright teacher…”

Regret pools in your mouth from the moment you have finished your sentence. Geto finally goes to look at you from the edge of his glasses with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

“Tengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,” Geto declares. “Though, I’ll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.”

A laugh that’s just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. “I suppose I had learned just a few things…”

“Mmh,” Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. “Well. Let’s start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?”

Geto already feels the cliche comments erupting. Had the person in front of him say at least one of them, he was ready to insert the papers he was holding into the nearby shredder. Or maybe out the window this time, he wonders—something nice for a change.

“I was inspired by your work.”

“It’s been my dream to work at Kaizen.”

“Fashion is my absolute passion.”

“I want to—”

“I’m just in need of a job, really,” you say lifelessly.

He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesn’t say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating you’ve piqued his interest. “Well, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?”

You clear your throat. “I had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious mag—”

“‘Recently’?” Geto repeats quietly. “You hadn’t heard of us before?”

Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. “My specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-I’m not too knowledgeable in that area.”

Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. It’s then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothing—it confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesn’t do much to ease your brain.

“Continue,” Geto gestures and takes off his glasses to look at you, or you suppose your outfit, more properly. He folds his hands and places his chin on top of them. “You said you only learned about us not too long ago?”

“Yes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,” you explain. It’s only then you realize that your declaration sounds absolutely ludicrous and almost disrespectful to the editor-in-chief of the most iconic fashion magazine in the nation. “Connections are quite powerful in this day and age, haha…”

“I suppose,” Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. “What about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?”

Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that it’s almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.

He sighs. “Do you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?”

“Well, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,” you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).

Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.

“Um,” you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. “N-no…”

“Then tell me,” he continues smoothly. “Why exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadn’t even heard of my name, let alone my magazine, until recently. What is there within that makes you want to work here other than you just… what was it that you said?” He air-quotes mockingly, “‘needing a job?’”

Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly can’t get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Geto’s profession. And that’s all the response he needs to make his decision.

His hand takes the packet again and to your horror that you fight to keep in, inserts it into the paper shredder. The groan of it rumbles through the room agonizingly and you realize that Ino is going to have the time of your life planning your doomsday.

Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. “You may go.”

With a swift flick of his wrist, Geto dismisses you with a slight edge to his murmuring as he puts back on his glasses to examine the morning newspaper to not waste any more incessant time in the day.

You don’t even attempt to fight back with any poor excuses. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the sting of them frustrating you to your wits end. Instead, you gather the last of your resolve and bid him through a strained throat good day and make your leave, humiliation and disappointment trailing not too far behind.

You hope that Ino will give a nice eulogy, at least.

Out of all the miracles that await you in life, you do not expect the one that comes in the form of an early morning phone call that wakes you at the ass-crack of dawn. When you pick it up with sleep still very much embedded in your eyes, it dissipates in the instant you hear Manami’s voice. It’s only then that it hits you why on earth she was calling so early and why she was demanding to know your whereabouts, claiming you were going to be late on your first day of work.

You think it’s some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manami’s voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguru’s junior assistant.

You don’t know how, but you don’t waste any time questioning how on earth you landed in such a position because you leap out of bed at 7:23 a.m. and manage to do your morning routine in the matter of what you think is a record-breaking fifteen minutes. Your ruckus manages to wake up deep-sleeping Ino, who, when you excitedly tell him to postpone your funeral, gives a groggy thumbs up before drooling back into his pillow. It’s 7:38 a.m. when you shove on your shabby coat and you realize you only have a mere twenty-two minutes left until you have to officially clock in for work.

At 7:40, you’re out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasn’t too far from where you lived.

At 7:47, you’re at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Geto’s coffee.

7:50, you’re sticking your hand out waving desperately for a taxi and tip extra to make the driver speed through as you attempt to make sure the coffees don’t spill out of their containers.

7:58, you arrive at the building and just barely make it into the narrow gap of a tight-fitting elevator, earning stares from the others from your rather… frazzled appearance.

At 8:02 a.m., you dash out the elevator and officially clock in for your first day at work at Kaizen Magazine amidst a birdnest of hair, clothes that were plucked out of your hamper, and what you pray to the heavens above are hefty layers of deodorant and perfume since you were given no time to shower.

When Geto comes in that day, all suave and composed, he takes one good look at you before sighing and focusing his attention to the more refined Manami and lets her take the gears for the day. The only attention he gives you that morning is the rough toss of his heavy coat—a cashmere pearl peacoat today—flung at your arms that nearly makes you tumble from its weight.

You quickly learn that working for Geto requires high demand and maintenance, as he is not one to skip over any details in his day. Not even three hours in your first day, you already have to plan out his future meetings, reschedule one with a rather feisty and insistent client, edit a forest of emails, finishing by dashing out five blocks on foot to the two michelin star restaurant to retrieve Geto’s weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only would’ve gotten half the tasks you had completed by the end of the usual eight hours, but you realized early on that you had barely scratched the surface of your future in Kaizen.

You think that after plating his steak with the shakiest of hands, you finally have time to relax during lunch time when you see the small hand of the clock finally hit 12:00 p.m. , especially since you and him were left alone in his part of the office together. But the moment that Geto saunters into the office again, he tends to you once again with a final task by himself.

“(Y/N),” he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly.

You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. “Yes, Mr. Geto?”

“No need for such formalities,” he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. “They make me feel old, and I’m surely not much older than you are…” you think that’s the longest he’s spoken to you since the day had started. “Did Leibovitz confirm?”

Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. “D-did who confirm?”

He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. “Leibovitz. Did she confirm?”

Silence fills the office, much like the silence that drowned you back at the interview. He clicks his tongue and dismisses you with a disappointed shake of his head. “Just go on your lunch,” he mutters, sighing.

Manami, the savior that she is, is called into the office after her break and is asked the same task and you watch with humiliation whilst packing your things to go on your lunch as she picks up the telephone and speaks to someone over the line before confirming to Geto that, “I’ve got Annie!”

“He hates me, Taku!” you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. It’s ten in the evening and you’ve just come home after what was supposed to be an 8-5 shift. You suppose you should be used to this already after two months of working for the Lucifer donned ritually in white in the building, but you don’t know how much your sanity (and body) can take.

Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasn’t familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that he’s beginning to pile you with the more urgent and busier duties and that he often stares you down more menacingly in the morning with those piercing purple eyes of his, like you were gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. You thought it was just him being normal Geto Suguru, the man with the expectations higher than the clouds, and that you just were still adjusting to such a high-intensity environment, but it was today that your world came crumbling down when you overheard him muttering to his associates about you, tone icier than ever.

You were on the other side of the door, a fist going to rap on the glass with the other holding his afternoon coffee pick-me-up when you heard it.

“... can’t even do the most miniscule things right,” Geto had groaned. “I ask if Lanvin’s models are all good to go for next Thursday’s shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask ‘How do you spell Lanvin’? For fuck’s sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.”

You hadn’t heard Geto swear since you had started working there, but something about his venomous tone enunciating such words had made your blood run cold from the other side of the door. Not having the courage to face him after that, you left his coffee on Manami’s desk for her to tend to with a post-it note saying a sorry excuse for yourself before letting your eyes sob frustratingly in the bathroom, isolated from others.

The last time you had cried that hard was way back in childhood, where you had broken your arm from falling down a tree branch. But you think that Geto’s words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will.

“It’s a miracle how I haven’t been fired yet… I don’t even know why he hired me!” you wail.

Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you can’t tell if it’s a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that it’s both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you.

“First off, you need to eat,” he presses, staring at your gaunt features. “The way your face is swallowing is making me feel like I’m living’ with a ghost. You’ve lost some weight, I’ve noticed.”

Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize he’s right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. They’ve never been so cavern before. You suppose it’s because of the lack of proper meal time between your days and how you often eat small and very late dinners back at home, truly not enough needed fuel for you.

“Secondly,” Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what he’s about to say because of your current disposition but goes through with it anyway. He might as well rip the bandaid off now to let more time for the wound to heal. “You won’t like what I’m ‘bout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.”

An aching body rises up from the table. You go to stare at Ino through glazed eyes and a pouty lip, asking him what he meant.

“Ah nope! Don’t give me that face and don’t play coy with me,” he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He can’t—he shouldn’t give you the easy way out and just say to quit—not when you’ve been earning so much bank that rent isn’t a problem for either of you anymore. He wonders, though, for a moment if so much money is worth your rationality.

He drags a hand down his face before placing his chin on it, examining your haggard appearance. “What I mean is that you need to see through Geto’s eyes. See what he sees when he looks at you. Tell me, if you had an assistant that showed up wearing things that looked like they were plucked from the clearance bin at a thrift store and didn’t show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all things…” Ino eyes you with a raised brow. “You startin’ to follow me?”

Your fingers fiddle with each other. “... sorta.”

“Now listen,” he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. “I already know what you’re ‘bout to say about me not knowing’ how to dress in shit other than black and more black, but even I know that you should put in more effort into your appearance. That’s the first step.”

“But I have—!” you exclaim helplessly, “I-I swear, I’ve been trying to… but it’s not my fault that it isn’t up to his standards.”

Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. “Free up your weekend,” he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. “I’m no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?”

“And remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in today’s fashion world,” Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom that’s been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. “I’m so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.”

The past weekend had been filled with endless shopping trips and you shuffling in and out of clothes every minute, practicing how to pair items and colors together by Yuki’s teachings. Of course you should’ve known that Ino was going to contact the one person that he was within reach that was essentially a walking encyclopedia when it came to fashion. You’ve met Tsukumo Yuki before, found her to be quite delightful even, but you never anticipated she would be this giddy, especially about clothes of all things.

And she used her brain to good use for not only clothes, but the entirety of yourself. You never knew how much just a simple haircut could do your face along with small hints of makeup to emphasize the best parts of it. Dared not your hands go to a lash curler, but here you are now, making sure your powder compact and lipstick for the day was in your bag before you went out.

“Uh, I don’t think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,” you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. “Are you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? I’m okay with just borrowing them.”

“Nonsense, babe,” she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet that’s now bursting with many clothes given by her. “I needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.”

So (Y/N)’s closet is basically her trash can, a particular shaggy brunette thinks with a roll of his eyes. Ino fiddles with the piece of toast in his mouth as he leans on the doorway, watching as Yuki essentially treats you like her very own Barbie doll at such an odd morning hour.

“(Y/N)’s not a doll, Yuki,” Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. “You better get ‘em out the door soon or else they’ll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlord’s been on our ass about increasing our rent…” he mutters, sniffing. “Damn bastard.”

She snaps at Ino to be quiet and let her work before she shuffles on a regal blue overcoat over your shoulders that completes your look. When you look at yourself finally in the mirror, you almost think there’s a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. It’s a simple outfit with not much layering, but it’s still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. You’re adorned in a white weaved sweater with flared, light-wash jeans and white boots to match. Over the outfit lies the coat that drapes almost like a king’s mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.

Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. “How’re you feeling, hun?” she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. “Don’t you look wonderful?”

You know that it was all her work, it was all her creativity that made you into the artwork that you are now, so breathlessly laugh with a smile on your painted lips and thank her quietly once more before whispering, “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

Her eyes study you for another minute, going to stare at the glasses still atop your face. Yes, they were new and much more modern considering she quite literally called your old pair atrocious, snapped them in half, and tossed them over her shoulder, but she was still quite dissatisfied when you told her about your hesitance about using contacts. “Are you sure you don’t want to give contacts another chance?” she sighs.

You shake your head with a small smile, “I’ll feel completely naked without them,” you murmur, “Besides, I think they actually compliment this look, if I’m being honest.”

Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used.

“Well then!” she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. “We wouldn’t want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Let’s get you a cab!”

Somehow, you think you really are at your first day at work again from the way you feel that same fluttering in your stomach and from how the people you’ve once grown accustomed to seeing in the early mornings are not merely passing you with mundane nods of their heads but instead, greeting you with wide-eyed gawks and open-mouthed smiles. Some of them, a few who you knew but never spoke a word to, even do a double take and compliment you aloud on the new look. Even the cute barista in the lobby that never bothered to spell your name right at last did after finally taking a good look at the holder of the card.

When you exit out of the elevator, Manami nearly drops the pile of magazines she’s holding when she spots a refined and refreshed you. You offer a bright smile to her and you watch as her gasp slowly forms into an affirmative grin when you round your desk.

She laughs softly. “And who might you be?” she asks with a tease in her voice. “‘Cause last time I checked, that’s my coworker (Y/N)’s desk.”

“I murdered them,” you shrug nonchalantly, earning another chuckle from her. You take it as a good sign, great even, considering up until now, Manami had been rather stoic and a little indifferent towards you because of your amateurism; but now, you suppose that ditching that Plain Jane from just two days ago is finally beginning to do you good by finally grounding a proper relationship with her. “Shame, isn’t it? Poor thing.”

“Truly,” she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. “Don’t tell me those are—”

“—the new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?” you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. “Oh yeah.”

Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. “How on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! I’ve been looking for them fo—”

The elevator dings again but with a tone that makes you and Manami flinch. Both of you stiffen and straighten out your posture, falling into a thick silence when out comes Geto traipsing out like he usually did—his aura being nothing less than dominating. You and Manami chime out in sync a good morning to him as he saunters towards his office as he begins to shuffle off his coat as usual to toss to you until he looks up and catches you in his field of vision.

He stops all of a sudden with his eyes dancing about your figure, a stark contrast to the rest of his paralyzed body. Geto’s lips thin all of a sudden, and so do his eyes when they scan your outfit. He takes in a sharp breath and opens his mouth to say something to you, yet nothing comes out, even as your eyes glisten with anticipation.

It merely instead zips itself close and he finally whisks himself into his office, coat still on and briefcase still in hand, and slams the door shut.

But not without glancing at you one last time.

Much has changed in the past month for the better.

Yuki was a godsend—she had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sorts—because you swore your career life had taken a complete 180° the moment your closet was revamped. Ever since that makeover, you had felt so much more confident in your actions, so much lighter on your feet. The price of your efforts was beginning to pay off as well, as Geto began to slowly thaw his icier sense of self when you began to actually put effort into your appearance. His thrusts of his coat towards you began to become less aggressive, was significantly more lenient when it came to more of the impossible tasks, and had at one time actually muttered a ‘good morning’ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.

She’d occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didn’t want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it that’d usually read “With love, YT ❤” in neat cursive. Along with forming a close bond with Yuki, your relationship with Manami improved significantly, especially when you gave her those white Louboutins she was eyeing. She often invited you to lunch with her other friends, Larue and Remi.

The iconic John Galliano once said that, “The joy of dressing is an art.” A month ago, you would’ve never believed what you would think is a rather tacky statement, but now, you can truly see it to believe it. It never occurred to you to actually look at your surroundings closely, but you often would sometimes take a few seconds out of your day to admire the many colors and materials that would adorn your coworkers. Whether it be admiration for their sense of style or mild jealousy over luxurious pieces, you were finally understanding what makes fashion, fashion.

And your epiphany was awarded today with the task that you thought would never come into the light of your days working for Geto—being tasked with dropping off The Book.

The Book was a collection of pieces that were needed for the upcoming edition of the magazine, regarding it as being the most important item in the entire company. It was a duty that usually Manami tended to, but she hypothesized that you managed to finally get on Geto’s good side after a while and congratulated you. Manami spoke to you briefly about how trivial The Book was to both Geto and Kaizen. She told you about how you must guard it and Geto’s key to his penthouse with your life, and that you were to remain absolutely invisible to him if he was in the apartment. Manami told you because it was usually the hour he needed most concentration—it was during the later hours of the day that he usually mended last minute edits to the edition or he was working on his latest fashion collection since he was only able to work on it during the weekends as Kaizen took too much of his time.

Manami told you he would most likely be found on the second floor of his penthouse, and you were to remain on the first floor at all costs.

“The editors will finish The Book around 10:30 or 11:00 at night, wait in the office until then. Then, drop the book off at his penthouse at no later than 11:30 with his dry cleaning, too.”

Her words echo in your mind as you tiptoe out of the cab and look up to see a gleaming, glamorous building sitting in the heart of the city. It’s one you’ve passed a plenty of times—hell, you pass it on your way to work—but it never occurred to you that it’d be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss.

“Take the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, don’t wander around, don’t even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.”

The only doors that are on the very top floor of the apartment complex are two large metal doors that sit before you. You enter the key into the keyhole and push them open with controlled force, closing them as quietly as possible with Manami’s whispers still floating about your head. You knew that Geto was certainly a man of luxury, but to see that wealth exempt in a form other than fashion was a sight that you weren’t sure if your eyes deserved to feast on. Sculptures and paintings decorated the foyer and hallway, adding occasional splashes of color to the ivory-adorned apartment. After hanging the dry cleaning in the designated coat closet, the first room you enter - and perhaps the only one you’ll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.

“Place The Book on the coffee table in the living room. That’s it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. It’s for your own good.”

But oh, how curiosity is just a little devil of temptation that sits far too easily on your shoulder. A house holds the most of a person, and Geto is just an all too mysterious enigma for you not to at least dip your toe in. The doors at the end of the hallway are waiting for you, but so are the picture frames that sit atop the TV stand. You suppose… maybe another minute wouldn’t hurt.

Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. There’s only two of them—six by fours, both in oak brown frames. The first one is a picture of a smiling young girl with short chestnut hair sporting a smile with a cigarette between her teeth. Beside her are two boys taller than her, both making similar faces at the camera. One of them, the one that’s a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesn’t require much brain power to know the other figure in the photo is a younger Geto Suguru, his hair shorter in a tight bun with a rare, but soft grin on his face, his gaze affectionate to the others.

The other picture is of the same two boys arm in arm with each other. Both of them are grinning now, with the white haired boy still smiling a little more largely than the other. It doesn’t take long for you to assume who the other boy was considering that the shade of purple sheathing his twinkling eyes is unique to only one individual in your life.

Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldn’t do much harm, but how utterly wrong your thoughts prove when you suddenly hear the slam of a door from the floor above. The crash of it makes you yelp and breaks you out of your trance from the pictures and your gaze suddenly snaps to the open stairs above you, as well as two voices echoing aloud.

“Y-you can’t—” an unknown voice wheezes. “I’ve been your muse for years. You possibly can’t just abandon me out of nowhere…”

“You say that as if I’m not doing that right now,” a familiar one replies back boredly. It’s Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because it’s in that moment that you remember that you can’t get caught inside of his house. “This is the last time I’m telling you, Shigemo. Get out.”

The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. “You need me,” he declares.

“Needed. Past tense,” Geto corrects as he almost forces Shigemo down the stairs with an invisible force surrounding him. You can see their figures above you, Shigemo slowly stepping backwards with each step Geto takes forward. “You’ve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.”

“I’m not a food,” Shigemo snivels. “I’m a person. Most importantly. I’m the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. We’re essentially a team.”

They’re towards the end of the staircase, towards where you are still present in plain sight. Your eyes scatter about a place to hide in the meantime, but there are seemingly no places to hide that would hide you well without the notice of Geto’s eyes.

“A team?” Geto barks out a sarcastic laugh, one that makes shivers run down your spine from both the rarity of the sound and how utterly intimidating it is. “I work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.”

“Who will you have then?” Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. “You know that I’m the only one that will tolerate you. It’s not like you can go crawling to Goj—“

“Finish that sentence and see what happens,” Geto hisses, causing the other man to fall into a forced silence.

Your eyes finally land on the small space between the fireplace and a pillar. It’s a space large enough for you to fill and efficient enough to hide you from sight. Unsticking your feet from the ground, you make a run for the small space, only for you to forget about the obstacle that was the ottoman sitting spitefully on the floor.

The thud that comes from your body almost rivals the volume of the door slamming open moments earlier and just like the door, it attracts unneeded attention. Geto and Shigemo stop their bickering for a moment to search for the cause of the sound, only to see you humiliatingly face first on the floor. Geto narrows his eyes at the sight of you, an unwanted visitor in his home.

A pained groan slips from your lips accidentally. You silently curse yourself for not taking the time to properly break into the tantalizing loafers Yuki bought you the day prior and wince at the pain blooming from your knees and chest. When you finally get up, you can’t help but notice that everything around you seems rather… hazy.

“Who is that…” Shigemo mutters.

Geto bites back a sigh and instead, pinches the bridge of his nose. He supposes that despite your improved mannerisms, your clumsiness still has yet to dissipate. Annoyed, he grunts out, “One of my new assistants.”

Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesn’t need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. “I thought I told you to leave,” he states, shoving his bag towards him.

Shigemo’s face paints a horrified expression once again. “Geto, please rethink this,” Shigemo pleads.

He lets out a chain of pleads and excuses for himself as Geto essentially escorts him out with just walking towards him, his face still icy. Shigemo ends up on the other side of the door to his penthouse and it’s there where his patheticness exudes the most—he falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming he’d do anything and everything just to be by his side.

But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemo’s whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.

“I don’t think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,” Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where you’re still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. “So tell me, why are you still here?”

At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. You’re sure you looked utterly stupid and a mess right now, considering that you had just lost a fight to an ottoman out of all things, but you couldn’t let Geto see you in such a state. It didn’t take you long to realize that the reason why everything around you looked so blurry was because of your now-missing glasses that you attempted to look around for. But you pulled a Velma, and just like her, you can’t see without your glasses.

Everyone thinks it’s an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. You’ve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didn’t appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times you’d take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too big—others mentioned you looked “off” and “weird” without them. Either way, comments from the other children stuck with you like scars, and ever since then, you refused to be seen without them.

“I a-apologize,” you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldn’t see how much of a clutter you are. You’ve humiliated yourself too much already in the office and the last thing you truly need is for you to get fired merely because your curiosity got the better of you. “I was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs and—”

Your words fall deaf on Geto’s ears. He lets out another groan while stretching the aching muscles in his neck as he closes in on your disorderedness. A hand goes to shield your face—you don’t want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didn’t bother wearing makeup today. You can’t even bear the thought of him looking at it. In a rushed state, you wander around for your glasses with your head tucked in, using the remnants of your hair to curtain your face.

A jumble of excuses tumble out of your quivering lip, but Geto is too preoccupied with the gleam of something catching his eye. Laying flat on the floor are a pair of glasses that doesn’t take Geto long to presume who they belong to. He plucks them from the ground and examines them for a brief moment before holding them above you.

“I assume these are yours,” he asserts with a cocked brow.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice directly right above you and through your foggy field of vision is the seraphic figure of Geto holding what seems to be your glasses. Lips escaping a relieved gasp, you hurriedly scramble to your feet. Your eyes are too poor to see it properly, but Geto also shares surprise, but for an entirely different reason.

He doesn’t give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because he’s much too preoccupied studying your face. It’s so… fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. The way your eyes are wide open, pupils blown with a touch of singularity makes him even more intrigued because of how they’re uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to them—your cheekbones, perfectly rounded. The slope of your nose fell just right. Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space—wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

When his eyes stare at you in what seems to be bewilderment, you swallow thickly and look away. But you can only glance at your surroundings for less than a second before Geto takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your face toward him again. It’s then that you realize that Geto isn’t staring at you, but your face as a whole. His eyes flick with small movements, dancing about as they go from eyebrow to lips, freckle to lash, examining each and every single particle that your face has to offer.

You feel a heat creep onto your cheeks. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you can’t detect his opinions on the one thing you’ve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Geto’s thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.

“Has your face always been this open…?” he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face.

You aren’t sure whether it’s a compliment or insult, either or neither. Geto’s tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“My glasses…” is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Geto’s face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart.

“Oh,” he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. “Right.”

Shaking hands go to put them back onto your face again. Sighing internally of relief of your now crystal-clear surroundings, you dust yourself off with your head once more, tucked into your chest.

“I’m so sorry for this,” you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. “I-I’ll make sure this never happens again… good night.”

With that, you scurry yourself out before Geto has the chance to falter. All words to urge you to stay to either scold you or excuse you evaporate on his tongue. He can only watch in a strange silence as your figure rushes down the hall and out the doors, the click of them ringing out in his penthouse.

After moments of self-paralysis, an unknown feeling boils inside the pit of Geto’s stomach. He thinks he’s seen your face before with the familiarity of it unsettling him. The ghost of your face prances about in his mind as he slowly climbs the stairs to his sewing room, ignoring the shattered wine glass on the floor thrown by Shigemo. He instead, refills his own glass again with the nearby bottle of merlot wine and savoring the thickness of it running down his dry throat, embellishing in its warmth.

A single, large window faces the busy nighttime street and Geto walks and stills near it, watching carefully as the speck of your figure on the street below calls for a cab. He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it’s a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he’s picked up) before you shuffle yourself into a cab that speeds off into the night.

Geto lets out an annoyed click of his tongue. Something about your face seems haunting and he doesn’t enjoy it. The last thing that he needed for today was even more plaguing thoughts in his head after the loss of his muse not even just ten minutes ago, but now with your face staining the back of his head, his jaw grits in irritation. In a poor attempt to take his mind off the excursion of today and the future, he shuffles about his many sketchbooks to look for any designs he could pluck out for his latest collection.

It’s an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasn’t found a single piece to begin working on that fits into his theme. Miraculously, through the vast array of what is thought to be thousands of sketches, Geto hasn’t found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. It’s an early one—he thinks it dates back to his early college days, when he was just beginning to peek into the world of fashion. A pang of nostalgia hits him all of a sudden when he flips to a specific page that was the start of his history.

It’s the very design that had the attention of many designers. The sketch featured a gold and red embellished outfit, a sheen of glittering flickers adorning it. The shirt features a mosaic of gold and small flecks of color here and there, imitating the many church mosaics he’d often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them.

It’s not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? He’s seen it many times before. It’s been brought up over and over again—in interviews, in magazines. It’s one of the staples that made Geto the pillar that he is. He knows every detail of it, much like his other designs, so it isn’t the design of the outfit that made him appalled. It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it.

Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model’s face that he had drawn years ago…

… somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

a/n: first jjk fic in forever! wowie it's been much too long... also if u need a refresher on who shigemo is, he's the guy with the ponytail that nanami pulled kekeke

10.2k is hefty i know but i couldn't help myself my bad lolol T_T currently just a test run of what i hope to be is a series that some may be interested in because clearly this barely scratches the surface of what i want to embed haha so please let me know how you like it so far :))

continuing, i hope you enjoyed and thank you for taking time out of your day to enjoy my craft, whether it be your first time or your hundredth! once more, likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and are always appreciated (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!!

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huramuna · 11 months ago

Text

growing on you - oneshot.

modern aemond x (ex) girlfriend reader

content: smut (specifics under the cut), afab reader, angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, descriptions of depression and its effect on the body, probably an unhealthy relationship, aemond being an idiot, probably ooc aemond, reader not described, no use of y/n, targtowers seek therapy: the story, fluff at the end bc hehe

work is 18+, minors do not interact or you shall be smited.

word count: 7.4k (oops)

a/n: i've had this one in the drafts for a while. tweaked to be a fun 'lil angsty end of year holiday fic. as is my motto: fuck it we ball. a/n 2: i pivoted from a third person pov fic to a second person pov fic 3/4 through writing this using the find and replace tool, so if there are grammar errors, i apologize! also my first time doing second person pov, weehee.

monsters - all time low ft. blackbear • why do i - set it off ft. hatsune miku

warnings: p in v, creampie, cockwarming, slightly tipsy sex

Everything in your life was enveloped by him. your clothes smelled like him, small strands of his hair were woven into every nook and cranny of your apartment together, his fitness regime protein powder and ketogenic supplements were littered in your kitchen cabinets.

You couldn’t get rid of him, not even if you tried. Aemond was all you'd ever known— you have known one another since the age of seven, and have been in a relationship since fourteen. You were both now twenty-six. Twelve years you’ve been together romantically (longer, even, but you were both too stubborn to admit it) and nineteen years you’ve been in each other's lives in some capacity or another.

You’ve been involved together longer than you’ve not known each other. You hardly knew who you were without Aemond— a thought that scared you deeply.

It’s been two weeks since he moved out, only temporarily he’d said. He needed space. He would still pay his share of the rent and you didn’t need to worry about that.

But what about everything else? What about him warming you at night? Comforting you when you had nightmares? What about his items in the fridge, surely you’d spoil if he didn’t use them soon. What about Vhagar? Their— no, his geriatric cat that he took with him to God knows where— she must be terrified, surely.

Was he giving Vhagar her medicine before bed? Of course he was— he was the more responsible one anyway.

You paced back and forth until the soles of your feet ached and then some. Knowing Aemond for so long, you had intimate knowledge on everything about him, you were woven into each other's DNA like vines on a trellis, growing and expanding until you swallowed all of the other plants whole.

That is what happened, wasn’t it? You grew too large, too comfortable and became stagnant. You weren't unaware of his rising workload at his firm, but he had always been a workaholic— throughout their teenage years, through college and grad school. It never slowed him down so you didn’t understand the change in behavior.

Aemond was closed off. He always was a bit emotionally stunted due to his upbringing or lack thereof from his father and everything that happened surrounding his eye, but he had a soft side for you, always for you. You could retrace every part of him perfectly from memory, always could make him laugh, could comfort him when he recused himself, and the rare times he did cry, you were there.

But the last few months there was a shift— a change in him. Where he had been hard to open before, like a rusty hinge just requiring some oil, he was now padlocked, ironclad and impenetrable. Attempts to talk were shrugged off, ignored or diverted.

“Please, just talk to me, Aemond,” you said one night as you sat on the couch. You were watching your collective favorite show and he wasn’t even commenting on it like he usually did, he was silent and deadpanned. “I don’t understand what’s wrong if you don’t talk about it.”

“There's nothing wrong, therefore, nothing to talk about. I’m just tired from work,” he responded gruffly. “Stop whining.”

His tone was clipped and harsh, sending a wave of hurt trickling through your body. you were overly emotional, where he was under emotional— usually, you balanced each other out and struck a good middle ground, but in times like these, during fights, things would get explosive.

The tears started right away, your little sniffling cries stifled by a hand over your mouth. You turned away, wrapping yourself in the blanket.

“Seriously?” he growled, “I didn’t even say anything and you’re fucking crying again.”

“I d-don’t appreciate your tone, Aemond— you’re being mean,” you sniffed, wiping away tears that were soon just replaced by new ones. “Please, don’t be mean to me.” you were always soft hearted, and it was one of the things Aemond loved about you— or he had loved at one point.

“I’m not being mean,” he pinched his brow, “you’re overreacting and I do not have the capacity to deal with your antics anymore.”

Of course, your mind hit the panic button. ‘Anymore’ meaning that he didn’t want to deal with you at all, ever. The tears increased and you recused yourself further into a ball.

“Fucking hell.” he cursed, getting up from the couch and stomping outside to the balcony, lighting up a cigarette. He was out there for about an hour— you had cried yourself to sleep.

It was many situations like that for weeks that finally just… broke him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said one day, slamming his keys down on the kitchen table, “I seriously cannot deal with your childish shit anymore— I’m working my ass off at the firm, actually bringing in money and I still have to come home and tend to you. you’re twenty-six, grow up and stop crying at every little thing. It’s fucking infuriating.”

“You know I can’t control that part of me!” you screamed back, your temper rising immediately to match his. The words flowing out of your mouth didn’t feel like yours, but some sort of defensive mechanism. “You can’t do this anymore? You’re not doing anything Aemond, except pushing me away. God, you haven’t even touched me in weeks.”

“Oh, so this is about sex?” he countered, getting closer to you, nostrils flaring. “You’re mad because I won’t fuck you? Are you that desperate?”

That one stung, to be sure. Aemond had been your first and only— you only ever knew him, only ever had him. “No, not just sex,” you murmured, “you haven’t even… just touched me normally. No hugs, no little caresses, nothing— it's as if I’m an aversion to you.”

He backed up from you, “Maybe we’re just too close,” he admitted, “We’ve been together too long. It's not fun anymore, it’s not new— it’s the same old, same old, going through the motions for release, not because I actually like it.”

“I don’t understand.” you said, your voice sounding disconnected from your body. The tips of your fingers felt numb, the numbness spreading through your body, your heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted to escape.

“I need space. I need to think about this.”

“This?”

“Us. I need to think about us and if this is something I really want,” he paused, “You’re… too much and not enough right now.”

“Wh— Aemond, please,” you whispered, your voice broken, “What can I do? I’ll… I’ll change, I won’t cry or whine anymore— please.”

He stared at you, his prosthetic eye unmoving while his remaining one bored into you, “I will think about it.”

“What… does this mean?”

“We are taking a break, alright? I’ll have my essentials out and I’m going to stay with Aegon.”

“Please— don’t go. I need you.”

That was the end of that conversation. That was the last time you spoke, two weeks ago. You expected him to text you at some point, to check in on you, to maybe try to talk things out.

Nothing. There's been nothing. Radio silence.

You felt isolated— you had no family, as your parents were estranged from you. you couldn’t go to Aemond’s family, as close as you were to them all, it just simply wasn’t an option.

You didn’t have friends. All you knew was Aemond.

It was early in the evening and you were in a deep pit of self-loathing. You decided to text him.

You swallowed thickly— the green meant he either turned off his phone or blocked you. You hoped that it wasn’t the latter.

The next few weeks were a blur. You felt like you were barely living, merely going through the motions to stay alive— not that you really were.

You woke up, went to work, came home, scrounged up food and then went to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Weeks become months of your monotony, and no word from Aemond. He still had half of his stuff left in the apartment, you felt like you could barely breathe. At every turn there was something to remind you of him.

You’d lived in this apartment together for four years, the evidence of your relationship etched into the very walls. It was like the space was closing in on you and you couldn’t catch your breath, barely keeping your head above water.

You had to move out— you had to get away.

You managed to find a place, a cheap studio above a coffee shop downtown. The landlord was an old lady who was sympathetic to your situation and agreed to let you take the space quickly.

There was still the matter of your and Aemond’s current apartment— or, rather, it was just Aemond’s now.

Saving yourself the embarrassment of seeing if you were still blocked, you called Aegon. He was a better messenger than none.

“Hey, Egg,” you said, sitting on the couch. you bounced your knee up and down, biting at the skin of your lip. You and Aegon were amicable, not necessarily as close as you and Aemond, but you grew up together. Aegon ran in different social circles than you and you were somewhat polar opposites so you never really stuck— you did have your phases of friendship, though– which pissed Aemond off to no end. “Um, I don’t know if this is the right way to go about things but, do you mind relaying a message to Aemond for me?”

“Yeah, ‘spose I could. What’s up?” Aegon replied, his tone nonchalant like usual.

“I’m moving out of the apartment into my own place, so I guess he can go back. I’ll have all my stuff out by tomorrow.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” Aegon said, “He’s been driving me up the wall with his tidy, feng shui bullshit. He rearranged my whole place like five times and has taken up all the space in my cabinets with that nasty no-carb shit,” he paused for a moment, “I… didn’t mean that in a bad way to you, ‘course. I’m sorry it had to come to this. He’s a fucking idiot.”

That made you laugh, genuinely. Your first laugh in months. “Yeah– he… tends to do that. He left half of his stuff here, it feels like I’m living in the twilight zone. I just… gotta get away, you know?”

“Hey, I get that– you don’t have to explain yourself to me. He’s a dickhead and doesn’t understand how good he has it. If you want, I can bring my truck over tomorrow and help you move stuff.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Egg.”

“I want to– please.”

Your brow furrowed– Aegon usually wasn’t so persistent on anything unless it involved drinking or drugs. But, you hadn’t had real human contact in eons besides at work so… maybe it could be good.

“Okay, see you tomorrow. Thank you, really.”

–

It was rainy the next day– nasty and wet, droplets pouring down like tears. It felt somewhat familiar.

But, Aegon showed up like he promised, rolling up in his old, fading yellow pick-up truck. His hair was much shorter than you remembered and he looked actually well kept– Aemond must’ve been whipping him into shape.

He waved and ran through the rain, standing under the eave, “So– it’s raining.”

You snorted, “I think I can see that,” you teased with a tiny smile, “Not sure when it’ll let up.”

“I brought uh…” he paused for a moment to think, stretching out his arms in a square shape, “Y’know?”

“A tarp?”

“Yup– that,” he gave a lopsided grin, inviting himself in through the open door, “you aren’t going to kick me out if I don’t take off my shoes, right?”

You glanced down at his boots– they were a bit muddy and definitely wet. Aemond wouldn’t have let him step two feet through the threshold without taking them off. But– you weren't Aemond. “No, keep them on if you want. It’s not my problem if you track dirt through the place anyway.”

He nodded, taking his phone out of his pocket for a moment and shooting a quick message to someone. “Sorry I haven’t been around, it’s just… he’s my brother. It would be kind of… I dunno, crossing some sort of unsaid boundary if I visited his… girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend. I guess,” you corrected softly– but you didn’t really know yourself what it was. He wouldn’t talk to you, “It’s fine. I didn’t expect anyone to really reach out anyway, because of that… unsaid boundary thing.”

“We should’ve. you’re a part of our family with or without Aemond. Me, Helaena and Daeron have a whole group chat about it. Even mom asked where you’ve been,” he scratched the back of his head absentmindedly as he sent out another text, “Someone should’ve checked up sooner.”

“You’re acting like I’m some sort of neglected puppy, Aegon,” you turned to him, “... do I really look so terrible?”

Aegon glanced up at you, his mouth formed in a hard line. He cracked his knuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “I won’t lie to you. You look half dead.”

You blinked. Hard. Moving towards a mirror in the hall, you looked at yourself. Dark circles under sunken eyes, your skin was a pale pallor and your hair needed a trim desperately, your split ends curled and fettered. You were gaunt, as well– having lost a bit of weight over the months. “Jesus,” you muttered. Glancing over at Aegon, he was texting again. “Sending an update to the group chat, I guess? ‘Good news, she’s still alive, barely’?”

He snorted, “Yeah– something like that,” finally, he locked his phone and slipped it in his pocket. “I made sure to text Aemond, too.”

Your mouth felt dry at the mention. “Why?”

“He asked.”

“Asked?”

“He asked me to… make sure you were okay.”

Goosebumps prickled at your skin, the ever familiar feeling of nausea and despair swirling in the pit of your stomach. Nibbling at your lip more, you turned away, feeling a bit too exposed. “And what’d you say?”

“I said you were alive but you are not okay.”

Your lips pursed into a line as you tasted a bit of copper in your mouth from chewing on your lip. “I guess that’s right,” you muttered, “Why would he ask?”

“Aemond is… complicated. you know that better than anyone. I don’t know what kind of bug he has up his ass these last few months but… even through all of this, he still cares.”

“Like hell he does,” you snapped, feeling the sting of tears, “If he did, he would’ve given us a chance to talk it out, to… to try, maybe even go to therapy, I don’t fucking know– he would’ve reached out– anyone should’ve reached out,” your hand went to your hair, right at your hairline at your scalp, picking at the hairs there– another self-destructive habit you’ve picked up in your months of isolation, “I’m so fucking alone, Aegon. He knows… you all know I have absolutely no one else. I’ve been going through this on my own. I have no friends, no family– no brother to go live with when I need space, no family group chat. I don’t have shit, Aegon. All I’ve ever known in my life is him and you and Helaena and Daeron and mom. Why… why does it feel like I was cast off the island without even… a tribal council or something?” you sniffed, the tears coming in full force now.

Aegon was silent, coming up behind you. “I’m… sorry,” he murmured, putting his hands on your shoulders, as frail and skeletal as you were, “We should’ve been better. We… will be better.” he turned you around and pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in his arms. “We thought you would’ve been… fine without him. He made it seem like that– that you were strong enough. I only figured it out yesterday when he was up my ass about texting him as soon as I saw you. He needed to know if you were feeding yourself, if you were keeping up with your medication, if you still had nightmares. A fuckin’... laundry list of questions– I told him to stick his questions up where the sun don’t shine and to see for himself,” he took a breath, “He settled on one question– if you were okay.”

“I think he got his fucking answer, then,” you whispered, “I am not okay. I haven’t been okay in months. I… I need help.”

“I know,” Aegon shifted you slightly to look at your face, “We’ll help you– I promise, you won’t be alone anymore. Look, I’ll even add you to the group chat, okay? I’ll rename it to ‘Aemond Sucks’, how does that sound?”

You cracked a tiny smile, sniffling. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

–

You ended up moving your belongings to your new place the same day, effectively ridding yourself of the constant shadow of Aemond’s memory.

Aegon even took you to Michael’s and HomeGoods to get stuff for your little studio, so you could really make it yours. It was a bit intimidating at first– you weren't used to being able to decorate things the way you wanted, as Aemond always opted to keep things simple and minimalistic.

You, admittedly, went all out. Your new studio looked like a Pinterest board titled ‘cottagecore’. You were incredibly happy with it all, practically jumping up and down at it.

“It looks so good! I love these little mushroom chairs you picked out, Egg,” you hummed, patting some plush felted stools in the shape of mushrooms, which you put near the window. “I bet Helaena would love it.”

“Let’s take some pictures for the group chat, Hel will literally be all over this. you two always love that cottagecore, fairycore, fantasy… shit.” he grinned, stooping down to take some very out of perspective pictures of the mushroom chairs, making them look fifty feet tall.

You settled into your new place quickly, having Helaena, Aegon and Daeron over quite often for drinks and movies. Your health steadily improved until you were mostly back to normal physically– there would be a lot of scars internally, however that would take longer to heal, if you ever would. You had developed a trust issue complex since Aemond’s unceremonious exit from your life and hadn’t gone on any dates, you didn’t know when or if you would ever be ready. They did you the courtesy of not mentioning Aemond, until Daeron said something odd.

It was about four months after you moved in, and almost a full year since you’d last seen Aemond. You were all a few mixed drinks in, Aegon had made them and you were heavy on the alcohol, light on the ‘mix’, and you were all kicked back on the couch, with Aegon laying on the mushroom chairs stacked next to each other, lazed back like a cat.

“Mom says she wants you over for Christmas dinner,” Daeron said, taking a sip of his drink, “She figured it’d be fine with Aemond going off with his new…” he blinked, catching himself.

Helaena nudged Daeron in the ribs as a warning, staring at their friend warily.

“... his new? His new what?” you asked, your voice so quiet that it must’ve been like a squeak.

“... new girlfriend.” he finished.

You were silent for a while before sighing. “I figured it would happen eventually. I can only hope that it… wasn’t too soon after we broke up– or whatever… happened.”

“We all told him it was fucked up that he just left and ghosted you, lovey. Even mom got on his ass about it, and he is her favorite child who usually can do no wrong.” Helaena put her drink down, wrapping her arm around you. “You should come to Christmas dinner, everyone would be super happy to see you! And Aemond won’t be there, so even more reason to come. Please.” she whimpered, using her best puppy-dog face.

You mulled it over in your mind for a few moments. You couldn’t think of anything more painful than being alone during the holidays, so you nodded.

–

It was snowing on Christmas day, the flurries coming down and melting against your skin as you waited for Aegon to pick you up. You were wearing a red checkered tapestry dress with a flannel jacket, a white fluffed scarf wrapped around your neck and lower face. As soon as you saw the familiar color of Aegon’s truck, you practically booked it into the passenger seat.

“Merry Christmas, you look fantastic,” Aegon mused, ever the charmer. “I’ve got the heater on full blast, I promise– but y’know my old boy’s puttering these days. We’ll need to get some speed for it to really warm up.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, your teeth chattering, “S’cold.”

He reached back and grabbed a well-used blanket, draping it over your legs. “Better?”

“... yeah– but,” you blinked, raising a brow. “What do you have this in the truck for?”

Aegon laughed as he began the drive to his family’s estate. “I think you know.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve fucked someone on this blanket, Aegon.”

“Someones– not just someone. But I keep it clean, no worries!”

The drive to the Targaryen estate was about an hour and a half from town, nestled deep into an expansive forest where there weren’t any other homes in at least five miles. It was a gorgeous, Victorian style mansion and according to Daeron, was most certainly haunted. You had been here numerous times, of course, but it’d been a while. As you pulled up in the driveway, you saw Alicent standing outside the door dressed in a gorgeous red and green festive dress, hair curled to perfection. Nothing less was expected of Alicent, though.

“Oh, my darling,” Alicent cooed, holding her arms out to caress who she thought of as her fifth child. “It’s been too long, I’ve missed you.”

Your heart warmed under Alicent’s caress, someone who had become more of a mother figure to you than your actual mother. You sniffed, pressing your forehead into Alicent’s shoulder. “Missed you too, mom.”

“Come on, you both can cry inside in the nice toasty house, yeah? I’m freezing my balls off here, mom.”

Alicent huffed, ushering both of you inside. “Don’t be vulgar, son– it’s Christmas.”

Helaena and Daeron were already there, as well as Otto, who gave you a stiff nod as a greeting, as was his usual means of communication.

You settled into the kitchen, Alicent pouring everyone apple cider and dishing out at least six types of holiday themed cookies. About an hour after arriving, there was a knock on the door.

“Oh, that must be Rhaenyra and Laena. Can you answer the door, darling? I need to take the roast out of the oven. I’m sure they would be happy to see you!”

“Mhm!” you mused through bites of cookies. You loved Rhaenyra and Laena, who were technically married with husbands, as was Alicent, but the three of them were in a secret, not so secret to anyone with eyes, polyamorous relationship. It always amused all of their kids when they tried to hide it.

You turned the doorknob, fully expecting to see Rhaenyra and Laena. It was not.

Aemond.

“Fuck.” you blurted out, eyes wide. It had been the better part of a year since you had last seen him. His hair was longer now, gathered into a low bun at the nape of his neck, his cheeks a bit more gaunt. He still wore his earrings and his rings– including the one you had given him almost a decade ago.

“Shit.” he responded, seemingly caught equally off guard by seeing you again. The pupil of his non-prosthetic eye dilated until the iris was almost consumed in black, before he flexed his hand and reeled himself in.

You couldn’t help but notice he was alone– no ‘new girlfriend’ as Daeron had put it. “Aemond,” you breathed, feeling like you were outside of your own body, your head filled with fluff and static. “Merry… Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” he responded gruffly, “Can I come in?”

“Oh– yeah, duh,” you chastised yourself, stepping aside to let him in. “Sorry.”

“Mm.” he grunted in his usual manner. That seemed to be a habit he hadn’t dropped.

You all but retreated to the kitchen, the expression on your face telling everything. Aegon, Daeron, and Helaena gathered around you.

“I didn’t invite him, I swear.” Aegon whispered.

“Well, neither did I!” Daeron professed.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t invite him. He left me on read three weeks ago when I sent him a picture of a bug on my windowsill.” Helaena sniffed.

A new voice chimed in. “I invited him,” Alicent spoke, breaking up the little posse, “I told him to come over or he would be grounded for three months.”

All four of you stared at Alicent, deadpanned.

“Mom– he’s… almost twenty-seven. you can’t ground him,” Daeron said, confused. “And moreover, why? Wasn’t he busy?”

“Well, first off, he is my son, so I wanted to see him for Christmas. Two, I believe we have someone here who has some unresolved issues with him.” Alicent responded, staring right at you pointedly.

“... I don’t know… I… I don’t know if I can talk to him. It’s been too long… I feel like I was just getting over all of this.”

“Well, do I have any say in this?” Aemond barged into the circle, his hands in his pockets.

You suddenly felt overwhelmed, the familiar bubbling of everything being too much rising in your stomach. You were teleported back to months ago when you were barely alive, trapped in your own mind. “I… I need… I need a minute.” you muttered, your voice sounding distorted as you made your way to the bathroom, turning on the faucet. Chest heaving, you were already crying, the waterworks starting somewhere between the hallway and the sink.

“You’re always fucking crying, I can’t take it anymore.” Aemond’s voice from months and months ago echoed in your head, causing the tears to flow more. You bit against your lip, tasting blood right away as you willed yourself to stop crying.

“S-stop… stop crying,” you whispered, fingers messing up your hair as you held fistfuls of it. You couldn’t catch your composure for the life of you, sliding against the bathroom wall onto the floor.

Vision blurring, you don’t know how long you were incoherent for. When you came back to yourself, Aemond was in front of you, crouched down.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, the door closed behind him, “It’s okay.”

You swallowed, still numb as he pried your fists from your head, out of your hair, smoothing it down.

“Look at me, can you do that? Nod if you can hear me.”

You nodded slowly, the feeling coming back to your extremities in a sprightly tickling sensation. You blinked tears from your eyes, the liquid smearing your vision.

Aemond rasped a thumb over your eyes, effectively clearing the obstruction from your vision. “Just breathe,” he continued to whisper. It was ever reminiscent of when he would calm you down after a nightmare, voice low and scratchy in a way that comforted you. He was so close now, closer than he’d been in forever. He still smelled the same, the scent triggering a deep aching within your chest. A scent that took you forever to get rid of, but you never truly could. “Can… we talk?” he asked then, his voice sounding more vulnerable than ever.

It felt like whiplash, visions of your previous fights plaguing you, where he had been so closed off, so far away, so distant that you couldn’t reach him– and now, he was here. In the present, in the flesh. In front of you, opened. Not opened completely, but you could see it, like the slit of a cracked door, the light bleeding through. It was there.

“... yeah.”

“I… I’m… I’m sorry. What I did was fucked up. It was fucked up and wrong and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“You’re right about that,” you muttered, pulling your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “I didn’t deserve it.”

Aemond’s mouth twitched slightly before he sat down next to you, propping up his legs in a criss-cross. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, before closing it. His hands flexed and unflexed in quick succession– he was clearly thinking very carefully about his next words. “... I’ve… got issues. You know that better than anyone. I don’t know what was going through my head those months that we fought. I can hardly remember it now, it was like… I was in a fog, a haze– I was working myself half to death, I just wanted dad to notice, to fucking… appreciate me,” he put his hands on his head, “I was so… tied up in this illusion that if I made junior associate at the firm so young that he would congratulate me on my achievement and…” Aemond let out a sigh, “And… in the process… I pushed you away.”

You looked at him, feeling your gaze soften ever so slightly. You knew that his father was a sore spot for him and that trauma ran deep. “You didn’t just push me away, Aemond,” you sighed, reaching out a shaky hand to pry one of his from his face. “... if you would’ve just talked to me, I could’ve helped. You didn’t push… you… you shoved, you shoved and ran in the other direction.”

His one violet eye danced towards you. “I know. I’ve been kicking myself for it. When Aegon told me you weren’t doing well… I almost left work to see you.”

“... you did?”

“Yeah. Aegon basically told me not to– that… this was something you needed space for. Kind of like I did but… maybe in a more healthy way.”

“A text wouldn’t have hurt.”

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone– his wallpaper was still the same as it was, a picture of you, him and Vhagar very unhappy in an elf costume. He scrolled to his notes app, which was filled with messages addressed to you. “... I thought it might, after what Aegon had said. I was… ashamed of how I acted, how I handled the whole thing– how I left you alone without a word. He told me how you looked… dead. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Your eyes scanned the messages, picking out some words. The main ones that caught your gaze were ‘sorry’, ‘love’, ‘regret’. A huge breath left your lungs, feeling as if everything had been knocked out of you at once. You felt like you were being whipped back and forth in the wind, trying to grab onto anything. If you both weren’t so stubborn and just messaged one another– well, no. You did message him, one time. “I thought you blocked me.”

“... for five minutes, maybe.”

“God, we’re so fucking stupid, Aemond.”

“You aren’t– don’t say that. I’m literally a dumbass. All of my siblings told me so, even my own mother, and you know she never curses.”

The tiniest of smiles cracked onto your face as you jostled his shoulder. “Yeah… you are a dumbass. I am allowed to say it at least once. So, um,” you shuffled slightly, “Daeron kind of let it slip that you had a new girlfriend?”

Aemond pinched his brow. “Of course he said that. He is twenty-one years old and still doesn’t know how to use his goddamn ears. I said I was seeing a new therapist, not that I had a fucking girlfriend.”

“A therapist?”

“... things got really dark for me after I moved back into our… no, my… place. After you officially moved out. It felt lifeless, all of your things were gone, the fucking warmth sucked out of the place. It felt like it’d been sterilized of anything… good. I feel into something– I don’t know, a depression? I guess, that’s what Aegon called it. He suggested I see a therapist, citing me as ‘an emotionally stunted asshole who needs more therapy than him’.” he exaggerated the last bit with air quotes, rolling his eye.

“... he isn’t wrong. I mean, I love your family, but all of you are all kinds of fucked up. Maybe I am too, practically being a part of it.”

Aemond chuckled, giving a tight lipped smile. “We are fucked up. I realized that… I really do not give a shit what my dad thinks, because nothing will ever be good enough for him. He’s so far gone now that he probably doesn’t even know we exist. I’ve come to terms with that and honestly… it feels like a weight has been lifted.”

“I’m glad you could… work through some of that, Aemond.” you say sincerely, resting your cheek on his arm absentmindedly.

“... I want to talk about us.”

“... us. Okay.”

“I don’t expect you to want to jump right back into things. It would be unfair to think that– but… maybe we could try?”

Your chest feels a bit tight at his admission– he wanted to try. Every fiber in your being wanted to say yes and jump back into it like you’d never left. But you knew you couldn’t. There were still parts of you scarred by this whole experience, some parts that may never heal. It would take a long time and a lot of talks like this to even get some semblance of what the both of you had. “Well… before we were together, believe it or not, we were friends. Could we… try that for right now?”

His chest visibly deflated a bit, but he nodded. “Whatever you need, okay?”

–

The days following Christmas, leading up to New Year’s were… different. You and Aemond were back in contact, going out for coffee and lunch a few times.

On the day before New Year’s eve, you texted him.

Turns out, timing the movie to sync with 12 am on New Year’s day to Toby Maguire saying ‘Pizza time’ was difficult. Well, it wasn’t difficult for normal people– but you and Aemond were a bit tipsy, as Aegon had left some hard apple ciders in your fridge, to which you both indulged.

“Okay, okay,” Aemond stared at his phone, “5… 4… 2… wait, no, fuck, 3… 2… I think we fucked it up– just go, go!”

Quickly, you started the movie. “Maybe we should’ve practiced– can we start over?” you plopped on the couch, sinking into the sofa and taking a swig of the cider.

“Doesn’t work like that, sweetheart. Can’t turn back time.” he mused softly, squatting down on one of the mushroom stools. “Pretty comfy.”

“Aegon picked those out, nifty, huh?”

“Nifty.” he parroted.

The movie continued on, but as it went on, there was an unspoken tension growing. Aemond hadn’t sat on the couch, but rather, the stools that were on the other side of the room. It felt like a chasm had formed, the strain almost palpable.

You chewed on your lip anxiously, contemplating whether or not to say anything. But, you had both been trying a new technique called ‘communication’ – a pretty cool and helpful thing that Aemond’s therapist had taught him. You remember laughing when he posed it that same way– but it was extremely important. You cleared your throat. “Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

“... um. I wanted to try the mushroom seats, I guess.”

“You don’t want to sit next to me?” you countered, feeling especially brave.

“Is that… alright?”

“Um, duh. I invited you over for pizza and a movie so we could… sit together. Not for you to be half a mile away sitting on a mushroom.”

“As long as it’s alright with you.” he murmured, sitting up from the mushroom stool and making his way over to you, sliding onto the couch, still a few feet away from you.

You weren’t sure if it was the atmosphere, the pent up emotions, the small buzz of alcohol, or a destructive cocktail of all three, but you inched closer to him. Closer, closer… until your thighs were touching. You glanced up at him beneath fettered lashes. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he responded, his voice low and warm. It caused a balmy and comforting vibration to go through you, reverberating in your chest.

You became all too aware of your movements, your closeness to him, the skin of your thigh grazing against his jeans as you got as close as you could. Your lips parted slightly as he stared back down at you. “Can… we?”

“Can we, what?” he murmured, lacing his fingers through your loose hair, gently grasping it at the nape of your neck. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“... kiss. A little bit.”

“Just a little bit?”

“Mhm. A teeny bit.” you leaned up, Aemond meeting you halfway as your lips came together. The culmination of your year apart, all of the emotions, the sadness, the frustration and anger, the passion, love, tears– all of it came together at this moment as the two of you melded together perfectly, as if you’d never left. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh of contentment, followed by what could only be articulated as a moan.

It caught both of you off guard, Aemond pulling away for a moment, his lips still ghosting over yours. “Fucking hell,” he breathed against your skin, sending goosebumps tingling from your tailbone up to the nape of your neck, the hairs on your body standing on end. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” you responded before latching onto him once more. It started off loving and slow, your lips moving against one another like two old lovers dancing together– then it began to heat up, your mouth parting to accommodate his tongue, gnashing against yours as their dance turned up a notch. Your hands roamed his body, everything you committed to memory for so many years still in its same spot. It felt good, it felt like home. “Please, Aemond– I… I need you. It’s been so long… too long…”

“Too long since I’ve had you, had this,” his hand reached down, cupping your mound still hidden beneath your panties. Somehow, you foresaw this moment before it happened and thankfully wore a light dress. “Let me in, love.”

You parted your legs, feeling the ever familiar crook of his fingers slide down the front of your panties, testing the waters. The pad of his thumb and middle finger locked on instantly to your clit, swirling the sensitive bud, sending electric shocks through your extremities. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, pressing your forehead against his. “Need you inside, now.” you all but growled as you peppered little kisses along the soft flesh of his neck.

He wouldn’t keep you waiting long, as it seemed he needed this as much as you did. He parted your panties to the side, propping you on top of him and sliding you down his length, earning a hissed gasp from both of you. It took all of his strength not to burst in you right then, as you enveloped him in your tight, wet heat. “You were made for me,” he breathed, biting down on your shoulder, leaving red marks. One of his favorite things to do was to mark you, leaving hickies in his wake as he worshiped every inch of exposed skin he could reach. “Melded so perfectly, just for me.” he grabbed the flesh of your bottom, squeezing gently at first, then landing a smack on it as he began to thrust up into you.

You nodded fervently, hiccuping little moans as you dug your face into his shoulder, biting him in turn. Your nails sunk into his skin, indenting against his spine as they always had, as they always were meant to. It felt much like a pianist resting their fingers on the ivories after a long break, the pads of your fingers sinking into the ridges of his very being. You were meant to be here, he was meant to be here. You could feel your end coming on all too soon, his cock filling every nook and cranny of you, bullying that spongy, delicate sweet spot just right. You began to clench, your tell-tale sign to him that you were close.

“I love you,” he whispered, panting slightly, using one hand to push your face back so you could meet his gaze. His wild, pupil-blown out gaze, cheeks reddened, mouth parted, brow furrowed. “I love you, I fucking love you. I missed you– fuck.”

“I l-love you,” you responded before he parted your lips with his thumb, “Love you so much– p-please, s’close.” you whined into his mouth.

“Let go, sweetheart, c’mon,” he grinned against your lips, nipping and biting at them. “Come for me.”

That was all you needed, the twine of your climax coming undone right in your core, snapping like a taut thread. Your usual habit was to hide your face in his shoulder when you came, whimpering and panting– but he didn’t let you this time. He held your face, staring at you intently as if you were a piece of fine art on display, and he was a connoisseur.

You clenched around him tightly, spurring him to his own end. His hard wrought fingers gripped your ass like it was a lifeline, grunting as he found his release deep within you, where it was always meant to be.

Coming down from your high, you slumped against his chest, mouth parted. Embarrassingly enough, a little drool wetted your lips. You were fully and thoroughly fucked out, not even registering that Tobey Maguire said “Pizza time!”

“Happy New Year, love,” Aemond murmured against your hair, nestling you tightly against him. He didn’t pull out– he preferred it this way, having you warm him through until you both fell asleep.

“... Happy New Year,” you whispered back.

–

Two and a half months later, it was Valentine's day. You and Aemond were officially dating again as of January 2nd, much to the surprise of no one.

You both took things as slow as you could, keeping separate apartments for the time being– but you’d given him a key to your place about two weeks in, and he was there all the time, taking much needed leave from work.

Unlocking the door to your apartment, you walked in, seeing Aemond lounging on the couch with a scruffy brown furball on him.

“Oh, Vhagar! You brought my baby,” you mused, dropping your items (with some grace, so as not to scare the geriatric cat), walking over, “Oh, I hope she remembers me.” you frowned, kneeling down and offering your hand to her.

“Of course she’ll remember, she yelled at me for a good three months at Aegon’s when we were without you.”

Vhagar sniffed your hand for a good minute before blinking her sleepy, lazy eyes at you, then promptly rubbing her scraggly cheek fur on your hand. You were elated, scratching her cheeks, hearing the tinkling of a little bell.

“A new collar?”

“Mhm, take a look.”

You swirled the collar around, looking for the name tag– only to find… a ring. An opal and moonstone ring. Your heart stopped in your chest as you stared at Aemond.

“I would get down on one knee– I was intending on you coming home and Vhagar running to you and then you finding it… but she’s on me, and I can’t get up. Cat rules,” he mused, unclipping the collar from her neck and slipping the ring onto your finger. “I know we’ve only been dating for… a month and a half, so stop me if it’s too soon.” he grinned, his toothy smile.

Vhagar gave a croaking meow, promptly jumping off of Aemond’s lap. As soon as the old cat was off, you threw yourself at Aemond, blubbering. “This… this…” you sniffed, unable to form words.

“Just so there isn’t any confusion… will you marry me?” he asked, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“Yes, yes– I will,” you sniffle, burying your face in his chest and sobbing.

He let you sob on him, getting his shirt all snotty and wet, all while smiling.

After crying for at least ten minutes, you manage to take a picture, sending it to the group chat, with the caption: “I think we should add him to the chat now, guys.”

Ding.

“Is this group chat named ‘Aemond sucks’?”

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fic #aemond fanfic #aemond fluff #aemond smut #modern aemond smut #modern aemond #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond angst #my writing

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beomiracles · 5 months ago

Note

CONGRATS FOR 500!! so well deserved!

for your bash i’m thinking about something emogyu coded cuz i can’t live without it so…

tattooartist!beomgyu x reader

where reader is lowkey really scared like they’re literally trembling while entering his salon because they never got tattoos before! and in such a place (i see some sluty tattoo on their lower back)

but beomgyu seeing this can’t help but smooth their nerves by talking and reassuring aand… sneaking some not really sneaky touches here and there :’)) and rest i’ll leave for you to continue…

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... as someone with tattoos (who definitely had a crush on her tattoo artist at the ripe age of 17) this was right up my alley ! and I've been meaning to get a tramp stamp myself to add to my collection sooooo hehe

wc -> 1.8K

pairings tattoo artist! beomgyu x afab!reader warnings mentions of needles, reader is really pristine and gets her first tattoo, Beomgyu is a little handsy, slightly suggestive but nothing crazy at all!

the urge to turn this into something more in the future y'all

Gosh, what were you thinking? – A tattoo? What on earth would your parents think when you came over for the holidays? Not to mention, the pain. You had such a low pain tolerance it was almost ridiculous. Despite it all, you pushed the door to the salon open and stepped inside.

The studio was small; covered head to toe in posters of inked up men and women, wearing nothing but skimpy clothing – your cheeks reddened at the sight. Music was playing from an old radio, the artist was unfamiliar but the heavy beat perfectly lined up with your racing heart. You bite your lip as you consider turning back, there was still time…But then the door to what you assumed to be the small staff room, opened; and through it came one of the most gorgeous men you had ever laid your eyes on.

He was perhaps everything your parents would’ve forbidden your teenage self from ever getting acquainted with. Long dark hair, matching the smoked out eyeshadow around his piercing eyes, a metal ring going through the center of his full bottom lip; not to mention the several ink designs adorning his neck and arms. You swallow a gulp as you shamelessly ogle the man in front of you, not noticing how he tilted his head, a smirk creeping its way to his pierced lips.

“1:30?” He asks as he watches the way your gaze snaps from his chest to his eyes. You blink, confused, as you fumble for words. “I uh…what?” You meekly squeak out, feeling the color on your cheeks intensifying by the second. The man’s smirk widens, “you the one who booked the appointment for 1:30?” – “Oh, y-yeah that’s me..” you mumble as you clear your throat rather awkwardly.

He offers his hand and you notice the tattoos adorning his finger as well. “Beomgyu”, he says as you take his hand. After exchanging formalities, he guides you over to the stretcher at the back of the salon; it reminds you of the ones hospitals usually keep. Bringing out your phone, you begin pulling up the designs you had carefully chosen weeks prior. “You gotten a tattoo done before?” he asks as he watches your pink acrylics tap against the screen.

You shake your head as you give him a sheepish smile. “Never.” Once more your mind wanders to your parents, your mom especially, what would she say? – Your family wasn’t exactly orthodox, but the subject of tattoos and other bodily modifications was sort of an unspoken rule. And even though you were now an adult, free to make your own decisions regarding your own body, the ways of your upbringing were still rooted in the back of your mind.

Beomgyu doesn’t look surprised as he studies your nervous frame, his gaze stopping at your hands, timidly fiddling with your phone case. “You nervous?” His question was more of a statement but you give him a small nod, “yeah.” He smirks, “it’s quite natural, don’t worry, I know what I’m doing, love.” The small wink he sends you doesn’t go unnoticed as you stutter out a small o-of course, your eyes flitting down to your phone in order to avoid his intense gaze.

“So whatcha lookin’ to get?” He asks as he brings out a moveable table, containing what you could only assume to be the tools he used for his works. Your eyes widen as you eye the sharp needles with dread. You nervously bite your lip, “w-well, I was thinking something on…on my lower back.” Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow in your direction, seemingly intrigued by your bold choice of placement for your first tattoo.

“And you’ve got some designs for me I presume?” Nodding you show him the multiple pictures you had saved on your phone. His inked finger swipes through them as he studies them closely. “You got a favorite?” he asks, his eyes not leaving the screen. You shake your head, “I was thinking I’d do whatever you think will suit me best…” you mumble as your gaze flickers between your phone and him. Beomgyu hums as he stops on a picture of a butterfly. You follow his gaze and he nods to himself before handing your phone back, “I think you’ll absolutely rock that one, love.”

His words of assurance made you feel confident in your decision and you eagerly nod as Beomgyu leaves to print out the design. – The two of you spent another fifteen minutes discussing placement as you held up your shirt for Beomgyu to place the paper against your skin. The feeling of his hands on your waist as he explained what would look best made your heart flutter in an unexplainable way.

With your back facing the mirror, your hands awkwardly rest on Beomgyu’s chest as you turn your head to study the design. His inked hands moving across your hips, fingers brushing against your lower back as he talks you through the healing process. Swallowing – your eyes drift to the way his arms drape around you before moving to his face. You watch the way his lips move as he speaks, the slight frown of his brows as he focuses on getting your tattoo right.

Then through the glass of the mirror, your eyes meet his. The smirk he flashes you is enough to tell you that he can sense the nerves radiating off of you, and perhaps even the tinge of attraction flowing through your veins. “You ready?” He asks without letting go of your hips, biting your lip, you slowly nod.

Upon laying down on the stretcher, your attention shifts entirely to controlling your labored breathing as you anticipate the sting of the harsh needles. Somewhere behind you, you can make out the sound of Beomgyu pulling on latex gloves and before you know it he’s next to you, sitting down on a movable chair as he plugs in the sharp tool which makes a jarring noise.

Screwing your eyes shut, you bite down on your bottom lip, preparing for the sting. But it never comes, instead you feel Beomgyu’s hand on your hip as he massages the flesh gently. “Relax”, he murmurs and you can feel his gaze on you, “it’ll hurt less if you do.” Nodding as best as you can, you do as he says; drawing in a deep breath through your nose before letting it out through your lips.

The pain wasn’t as bad as you thought it would have been. While it did initially sting in an almost unbearable way, it quickly simmered down to a light burning sensation. Beomgyu had told you that the whole process would take about an hour – though he managed to keep your mind occupied with questions about yourself.

“What’s mom and dad gon’ say about this one?” He asks as he dabs the irritated skin with a piece of paper before continuing. You huff out a small breath of air at the mention of your parents. “They won’t be happy.” – “Why?” He wonders and you think of a way to properly answer. “Well they’re…strict, I suppose.” You say as a small frown crosses your features, “but, I’m old enough to decide on my own. I guess I just wished they would be a little more accepting?” It felt a little weird, opening up about your parents like that to someone you had known less than an hour but Beomgyu hums understandingly behind you.

“They are your parents, probably only want what’s good for you. I bet they’ll come around.” He says as he dabs the paper against your tattoo once more. You nod, “hopefully.” Beomgyu remains silent for a moment, the sound of the needle working its way through your skin filling the studio, the radio having gone silent half an hour earlier. “And your boyfriend?” he suddenly asks. – “I…I don’t have one..” you quietly mumble, thankful that you were facing the opposite direction as your cheeks flushed with color.

“Really?” Beomgyu asks in a surprised tone, though you can sense the smugness lingering behind his words. “How come?” – “Such a pristine girl as yourself, thought you were bound to be taken”, he then adds and when you turn your head to look at him, you find a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I guess…I don’t know. Maybe I just haven’t found the right one yet…” you bite your lip as you hesitantly peek at his expression only to find him already looking at you. “And who’s the right one?” He asks as his gaze returns to your lower back. “Someone my parents wouldn’t approve of”, you state and Beomgyu raises an eyebrow without looking up from your tattoo, as if expecting you to elaborate. – “It’s silly…but I, I’ve often thought about bringing home someone I know they wouldn’t like, just because I would want to show them that there’s more to people than just their appearance I suppose…does that sound weird?” You hesitantly ask as your eyes focus on the way his lips stretches into a smirk. “Not at all.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you crane your neck to watch the way Beomgyu’s hand moves across your back; fascinated with the way the design was coming to life on your skin. Noticing you stare Beomgyu gives you a quick glance, “doesn’t hurt that bad, no?” – You shake your head as a small grin finds its way to your lips, “no, not at all.”

An hour passes and soon the ink is completely engraved in your skin. Bunching your shirt up, you skip over to the mirror to admire the butterfly on your back with wide eyes. “I love it”, you breathe as your gaze travels along the tattoo, marveling at how well it complemented your skin.

Beomgyu comes up behind you as he, too, studies his work. “Told you, you would rock it.” He murmurs as he kneels down behind you. Startled by his sudden movement you turn around only to be stopped by a pair of large hands on your hips. “Stay still”, he mutters and you immediately comply as your gaze returns to the mirror in front of you.

Carefully, he wraps a thin layer of plastic over the inked design, making sure to flatten it out with the palm of his hand before dragging it across your stomach. You hold your breath as you watch the way his painted fingers move across your lower abdomen, his touches perhaps lingering a little longer than needed, but you didn’t mind. When he stands up, his chest is almost pressed against your back and you swallow a gulp.

“You look wonderful, love.” He mumbles as one of his hands finds yours. – He opens your palm for him to place a small note in, your gaze follows the small movement as you frown. Upon opening the paper you realize that it’s a number, presumingly his. Your wide eyes travel back up to his as your lips part in an unspoken question.

“If you ever consider getting another tattoo”, he smirks.

taglist ✎... @theresawtf @jjklvr9 @binniebakery @beomies-world @yunjinsbbg @ninoshome1 @gardnhee @babymochibeargyu @lunathewritingcat @duckywuckypookiepie @naoristerling @beomtasticc @sanasour @celestialbeomgyu @f4iryfever @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @junimoa03 @soohashits (if your tag is not working please check your settings to make sure that your blog is not hidden!)

#txt #txt fanfic #beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #txt post #choi beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu #beomgyu imagines #serene's 500 bash !#txt imagines

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ode2rin · 1 year ago

Text

by design, you became mine

pairing. mikage reo x gn!reader

genre. fluff & highschool or teenage romance !

warnings/content. 3k+ wc | profanity | mentions of food | timeline is set before blue lock ! | reo and reader is in their sophomore year in highschool | reader is a bit mean to reo (not in an extreme way, just in a normal teenager-y way) and reo is a sore loser in love | and this is me trying the grumpy x sunshine (obv reo) trope ! | half-assed proofread btw | some parts might be ooc reo but it's fine hehe

summary: reo asks you to tutor him after failing an exam in which he oddly looks happy about

“the teacher said i need to be tutored,” a voice tinged with amusement reached your ears.

looking up, you saw reo mikage standing right in front of you, his million-dollar smile lighting up his face, as he held out a math test paper marked with a big, bleeding red ‘F.’

and for someone who had just allegedly received the lowest score possible on such an important exam, he was definitely grinning a little too much.

“and why should that concern me?” you shot back, hoping to hide your indifference.

your annoyance seeped into your words, not meant to sound rude, but you craved some peace during your lunch break. hunger gnawed at your stomach, and this interruption wasn't helping.

he shrugged casually, as if the situation were no big deal. if you had received such a grade, you would not be smiling right now, let alone treat this situation nonchalantly. “well, the teacher did mention i could ask anyone. and since you're undoubtedly one of the smartest in the class, it only makes sense to choose you, right?”

with sarcasm making its way to your tongue and translating to your voice, you retorted, “oh, is that so? do you find me worthy of your esteemed company, young master?”

as the son and sole heir of the mikage corp, reo was trained to be an exceptional conversationalist, and there had been only a few instances when he couldn't form a response right away. this one, however, might be the longest he got a cat to get his tongue. reo feels like he’s having a heartburn from your remark, it’s pathetic.

ever so impatient, you, who only wanted to get back to your lunch, beat him to a reply, saying, “what if i refuse?”

quickly recovering from the unexpected turn of events, reo let out a dramatic gasp, “do you not care about my future? what if i don't graduate on time and can't get a job?”

that must be the most bullshit reason you've ever heard from the heir of a business tycoon. you're pretty sure his future is much clearer than any blue sky. but sure, you can play along.

“fine.”

“really?”

sensing an out-of-place joy in his tone, you raised a brow. was he that thrilled to be tutored?

“i'm sure. now, can i return to my lunch?”

reo's eyes widened a bit as he realized that he was interrupting your meal. hurriedly, he bid you goodbye with a smile.

even with your sarcastic retorts, he walked away, still smiling. his grin was a telltale sign of how much trouble you had just signed up for.

stupid reo and his stupid, handsome smile.

smiling to yourself, you couldn't help but wonder how he managed to receive such a mark in the first place. you had known him since freshman year (it’s hard not to know him), and you knew that the mikage heir was a born genius. so, could this be a mishap? probably. oh well, he couldn't be so difficult to teach.

you’re wrong.

reo mikage is the worst fucking student.

not only does he seem uninterested in your explanations, completely disregarding all the equations you painstakingly lay out for him, but he also has the audacity to stare at you the entire time.

with that shit-eating grin that never leaves his face.

sure, he's cute, but right now, he's nothing more than a damn thorn in your side.

“is there something on my face that bothers you this much, or do you simply have the attention span of a goldfish?” you said, frustration evident in your tone.

“you're just a bad teacher, i think,” he quips, smugness dripping from his words.

“and you're the worst student, i'm sure,” you fire back, refusing to let him have the upper hand.

“well, how about you give me an incentive?” reo suddenly exclaims, his excitement evident in his sparkling purple eyes.

“and now you're asking for more as if you're not already taking up too much of my time?” you reply sarcastically, but your words carry no venom.

“come on! if i get a high mark on the next exam, you'll give me your number!” he eagerly proposes, his enthusiasm contagious.

do all rich kids have the tendency to want mundane things?

“what are you going to do with my number?”

“networking! it's a thing in my world. expanding social circles and all that,” he explains, trying his best to come up with excuses that sound remotely plausible.

reo, well aware of the fact that he can only fabricate bullshit excuses in your presence, hopes he's not being too obvious. unfortunately for him, you see right through it, but it doesn't bother you all that much.

“better show me that A+ then,” you challenge, your expectations clear.

oh, it’s on. he’s going to ace that exam, one way or another. not that it’s actually hard.

mikage: hello y/n! mikage: do you have some notes from the discussion from yesterday? mikage: hello?

so much for networking.

mikage: and they finally read my messages! the crowd cheers!

what led to this moment is, once again, reo mikage standing in front of you, grinning from ear to ear, eagerly holding out an exam paper marked with what seems to be the biggest A+ you've ever seen.

that was three days ago, and sure enough, he got the incentive he asked for. and in those days, you damn sure experienced the ‘networking’ he speaks of with how often he texts you.

you: yeah, let me just take pictures of it to send you. mikage: NO you: ??? are you yelling at me mikage: i mean no, don’t take pictures of it. i’m a visual learner. i have to see your notes in person.

is he fucking serious right now?

you: and what do you suggest we do about that? it’s saturday, we won’t see each other until monday, genius. mikage: how about i’ll come to your house? you: how about you try asking nagi for notes instead?

after sending your last message, you put your phone down despite it continuously buzzing, signaling reo's discontent with your suggestion. you did a commendable job of ignoring him until he grew tired of sending unread messages and decided to call you instead.

“what?” you answered, picking up his persistent call.

“the probability of nagi having notes is lower than the probability of cows flying ten years from now!” he exclaimed, and begrudgingly, you admit he sure does have a point in that.

sighing into the phone, you reply, “you can't come here, it's a bit busy.”

“we'll meet up then! i can pick you up?” reo suggests eagerly. the ‘q’ in reo mikage sure does stand for ‘quitter’.

“do you text and call everyone in your networking circle this much?” you ask, slightly amused.

“what do you mean? we're friends!” he protests.

“did i miss a few pages, young master, or did you get hit in the head with a soccer ball and become a bit delusional?” you tease, unable to resist.

“how about you stop being mean to me?” you could almost hear the pout and the mock hurt in his voice.

you can't, not when you get cute reactions from him in return.

you can't help but find his cute reactions entertaining, and you smile at the phone, even though he can't see it.

“i'll think about it,” you concede.

“okay, you have enough time to think about it while i'm on my way to you! bye, see you in a bit,” he says cheerfully before hanging up.

looking at the phone, you wonder when exactly you agreed to this.

stupid reo and his stupid persistence.

reo is once again in front of you, a scene that has become quite familiar over the course of your friendship.

however, this time you find yourselves in a cozy cafe near your house instead of on the school premises. he’s sitting in front of you, skimming through your notes, probably visually learning, while you sip on the drink he insisted on ordering for you. you gave in, because reo is not a quitter of any sorts. fighting him on the bill is futile and definitely a waste of effort.

“i’ll pay you back,” you state firmly.

“i asked you here, so i should pay,” reo insists.

“i’ll feel bad.”

“if that’s the case, i guess you can treat me next time?” he suggests with a playful smile.

“you practically dragged me here, and you're already talking about a ‘next time’? you're not being slick, reo mikage,” you retort, not letting him get away with his charm.

“a man could try…” he whispers, hiding his face behind your notes, although you can see his neck turning red.

shaking your head, you shift your attention to the busy street outside the cafe. however, your ears catch the faint hum of a familiar song coming from reo. you know that song — it has been stuck in your head since a famous girl group released their album.

unable to contain your amusement, you chuckle, causing reo to look at you with curious eyes.

still smiling brightly, you remark, “didn’t know you're a fan too,” and laugh once more.

reo, on the other hand, feels starstruck.

he made you laugh for the first time, and was it the prettiest sound he ever heard? it sure is. it feels as if his heart beats in harmony with the rhythm of your laughter. it takes his breath away and brings him back to the present, all at once. it's intoxicating in the best possible way.

once he gets home, he's going to memorize the discography of this girl group. nothing will stop him. he will hum every single one of their songs in your presence.

reo would do that and even more if it means hearing you laugh again. this shouldn't be the last time he gets to experience it.

you had fun with reo last saturday.

but right now? you sure don’t.

he’s avoiding you, like a fucking plague. and much to your chagrin, you miss having him around, despite his annoying antics. all with his stupid excuses and stupid grins.

he’s physically avoiding you, but you've noticed him stealing glances at you multiple times during this boring history class, his guilty expression not going unnoticed. it's time to put an end to this charade once and for all.

as soon as the bell rings, you quickly stand up and make your way towards reo before he can leave the classroom. looking around to ensure you're alone, you confront him.

“what’s wrong with you?” you demand.

“what do you mean?” reo feigns innocence.

“you’re avoiding me. you did something, didn’t you? did you spill something on the notes i lent you and you can't bring yourself to tell me?” you accuse, trying to get to the bottom of his strange behavior.

reo wishes it was just that. but it wasn't. it was much worse, to the point that even seishiro nagi called him out on it. and seishiro nagi? a man who couldn't care less about anyone because it's a hassle, calling someone out? you know you messed up if he does.

and reo believes he did.

“you're smiling at your phone too much, ‘s creeping me out,” nagi remarked, looming over reo’s phone.

reo shrugged, trying to hide his excitement. “stop being a hater, nagi.”

curiosity piqued, nagi caught a glimpse of your contact number on the screen. “oh? you finally made a move? about time.”

“i didn’t... they're tutoring me,” reo replied, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

nagi raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “huh? for?”

“uh, i failed a math exam.”

“you?” nagi chuckled, finding the situation rather amusing.

“okay, fine, the test paper wasn't mine or anyone’s.”

“normally, i won't give a damn, but tell me about it,” nagi said, genuinely interested.

it was an understatement to say that nagi was borderline amused after hearing reo's story, so amused that he had to unintentionally slap reo with the truth.

“basically, you tricked them. should’ve just said that.”

it's safe to assume that nagi's words had struck their way into reo's mind all throughout that day until now.

once again, and perhaps for the last time, reo stood in front of you. but this time, there was no smile on his lips nor a glint in his big purple eyes. he took a deep breath, gathering the courage to confess.

“no, i didn't spill anything on your notes. but i did something to you,” reo admitted, his voice trailing off. seeing your raised eyebrow, he continued, “i tricked you.”

“what?”

"i didn't fail any exam. i didn't need tutoring. no teacher told me to approach anyone. the test paper i showed you wasn't mine. i wasted your time, and i..." reo's voice faltered, barely above a whisper, “... tricked you, because i didn't know how to approach you after having liked you since first year.”

reo panned his eyes to the floor, unable to meet your gaze while his heart sank.

he hasn’t even started yet it's done. he should've come clean. he should've just told you he liked you since freshman year. he should've just asked for your number like a proper man. but he was so fucking shy, unbearable to think of being rejected by you. he could only think of coaxing you to talk to him.

and now his own foolishness was paying the price.

it's over. you and him are done for. he's not going to hear your laughter anymore. he won't ever receive a sarcastic retort again. all those moments of bliss, gone —

“i kinda know.”

what?

reo's eyes widened, and he lifted his gaze to meet yours. how?

“did you forget that the teacher congratulated the class for having good results on the exam you showed me? no one got a score below B+, reo. so imagine my surprise when you came, interrupting my lunch, showing me a paper with an f mark claiming you flunked it.”

god damn it, reo mikage.

it's either you're joking or reo just made the most foolish mistake known to mankind. and none of the former is evident in your face.

he should really pay attention in class, not on your side profile from where he sits across you.

a grave grave mistake. can the ground swallow him whole? or can someone shoot him —

no, actually, wait a damn minute.

it was as if all the clogs in reo's brain got a huge power-up as he realized something so spectacular.

“then why did you not say anything?”

you... from the start, could've just refused him. if you knew the entire time. so why did you agree to tutor him in the first place?

perhaps…? no, reo didn't want to get his hopes up.

he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his nervousness evident in his fidgeting. it was as if he had been caught in a whirlwind of emotions, trying to make sense of it all. the weight of anticipation hung in the air as he waited for your response, his heart pounding in his chest.

and then, you smiled.

you and your stupidly bright smile that feels like a ray of light on a freezing cold skin that reo is having right now.

he really did not want to get his hopes up, but how in the hell would he do that when you just smiled at his question?

“what does that smile mean?”

“well, it means that maybe you're not the only scheming lovesick fool here, pretty boy.”

oh.

you knew it all along that he was scheming his way into your heart.

you knew the entire time.

and you let him.

what the fuck. reo was having a heartburn, literally, figuratively, and madly so. all because of you.

reo snapped out of his thoughts when you waved a hand in his face, vying for his attention. you spoke, “is this everything you’re guilty about? i thought it was something grave. if you told me you spilled something on my notes, i would have started swinging at you, actually.” your laughter filled the room, lightening the tension.

the second time reo made you laugh was because of a scheme that he expected would end whatever beautiful thing you had between you two. not that he’s complaining.

“so you like me back?” reo finally gathered the courage to ask, his voice tinged with hope.

“if we get some food right now, i might answer that coherently. scheming or not, you really do have the habit of interrupting my lunch,” you playfully replied.

“i’d buy you the whole cafeteria if you answer me right now,” reo declared, a touch of desperation in his voice.

the ‘o’ in reo mikage sure stands for ‘overspending’, you’re convinced.

giving in to his request, you took three steps closer to him, barely a foot distance between you. softly, you declared, “yes, reo mikage, i like you too. but i must say, you, making me starve right now, is reducing your chances of being my actual boyfriend.”

“let’s get you some food.” reo said, holding your hand and leading you out of the room like he was on a mission. amused by his sudden swift pace, you let out a laugh.

and suddenly, all tension left reo’s body. his heart once again beat at a normal rhythm. that’s the third time reo made you laugh. surely, it’s one of many more to come.

a minute after walking side by side, you broke the serene silence surrounding you. “not gonna lie, the networking excuse is kind of funny.”

“but it worked. a win is a win,” reo smugly said, showing you your intertwined hands. “see? a win.”

you shook your head at his remarks. your stupid reo and his stupid scheme.

note. hello lovely ppl ! thanks for keeping up w me this far and for following me! as a thanks, here’s a reo fic since i’m missing him so much and emma has been feeding me ideas abt him <3 this is actually the longest i’ve written (i’m so normal abt reo i swear), hope you like it! (btw it goes without saying that this fic, is in fact, another TS inspired hehe love lots!)

𓆩♡𓆪 for one of the best people i met here, @saetorinrin

#☁️ my ode to you #pls take it easy on me #this is my first time writing so much dialogue #than usual #i love reo #i'll give it my best 4 him #mikage reo x reader #mikage reo #mikage reo fluff #mikage reo x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage

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fshigur0 · 1 year ago

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heartburn — suguru geto x fem!reader

synopsis: suguru geto has left, that happened many years ago. but when all of a sudden he texts you back, hinting to an urgent matter you have to discuss, you accept out of curiosity. but we all know the story of how curiosity killed the cat.

warnings: MDNI! basically smut with a bit of plot, angst in the beginning, mentions of death, suguru is sadistic, praise kink, begging kink, use of pet names (such as love, dove, sweetheart, princess, etc.), manipulation, unprotected sex, teasing, vaginal penetration, slapping, creampie, dirty talk, suguru is just cruel, angst at the end. it might have left space for a part two? who knows

a/n: this is a repost! hope u like it hehe <3<3

The sheer lightness of being was something extremely unfamiliar for a sorcerer. Your existence was inexorably intertwined with a fate that was, to say the least, cruel, and at the mere age of sixteen — in the very spring of one’s life, it all felt excessively tragic.

You couldn’t really retrace the rapidity of how it happened, but although death should have been a gradual concept to learn for a group of teenagers, it loomed over you; watching from afar like a predator does with its prey, and when you least expected it, it would engulf you like a cruel serpent, completely stealing your breath away.

As soon as the spring of your youth was abruptly shattered – reduced to ashes by an uncontrollable fire – you realized you had lost Suguru as well.

Perhaps out of denial or maybe as a form of protection, you had always told yourself that noticing the pain Suguru was going through had been impossible: after all, you were suffering too. In fact, everyone was suffering, but none of you shared the experience of pain with each other.

You suffered in silence in the darkness of your rooms, in the emptiness of a classroom, but you couldn’t show weakness for fear of weakening each other as a result. Yet, you realized – now almost ten years since the events that had mercilessly changed your life – that all that “care” would amount to nothing. You and Suguru had already lost from the start. When he had decided to leave your life completely, he himself had said that ’it was going to happen anyway, eventually’.

It was at that particular moment that you focused on the details of his face: purplish dark circles dominated the lower part of his eyes, which you had always admired before as they were brimming with love, now devoid of any emotion.

You loved him and, truly, you had loved him ever since you sat next to him in class. His stature and expression might have seemed intimidating to everyone, but having him beside you conveyed a sense of… safety; the first time he cracked a small, soft smile at you, your cheeks ignited and your heart drummed in your chest so hard you feared it might burst from your ribcage. Suguru was kind, and always addressed you in a low but delicate tone, as if he feared that raising it even a little would shatter you.

Sure, you had fallen in love, but Suguru had fallen harder. He loved the way your eyes would slowly trace the pages of your favourite book, their intense colour lit by a ray of nomadic sunshine. He loved the tenderness of your fingertips on his scalp and the way you could send shivers down his spine just by running your hand through his hair. He loved the way your voice syllabled his name, it was pure music to his ears. Suguru loved you, but you both knew it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, because the world he so yearned to create was much more valuable than you.

The stabs that his words had inflicted soon gave way to a disturbing sense of guilt: if you had realised this earlier, could you have changed the course of the story? Could you have prevented his transformation into a mass murderer? Could you have saved the Suguru Geto you knew? The questions plagued your mind, never to be answered.

And just as the first love of your youth walked out of your life, his silhouette growing smaller, that sense of guilt which tormented you morphed into disgust. Spring had come to an end, making way for a long winter.

〔From Suguru Geto〕 : there are some urgent matters we have to discuss. i’ll come to your place.

He’s sitting on your couch, manspreading. His arms crossed over his chest and his head slightly tilted back, eyes firmly glued on you; his gaze is unbearable, and that mocking grin on his face does not help your cause.

You want to punch him so badly, to scream and yell at him, to ask him why on earth he has decided walk back into your life after so long: but it was you who had allowed him to do it, who had opened the front door for him despite your hands shaking — your mind trying in vain to stop you, to warn you that what you were about to do was morally wrong.

Surely, you won’t be able to look the others in the face any more, not after you have welcomed a criminal into your home, a murderer whom everyone wants dead.

“So, cat’s got ya tongue?”

You take in the last drag of your cigarette, now consumed, savoring the remnants of nicotine tingling your brain. You want to snap back at him for asking such a dumb question, what are you supposed to say? Welcome him back like nothing happened? Throw a party?

“I have nothing to tell you, Suguru. Rather, it was you who texted me out of nowhere,” You acknowledge that you have raised your voice slightly, as if just hearing him speak irritates you to your core, “So speak.”

“Mhmh, you really haven’t changed much, have ya?” His smirk only grows bigger, like he is getting amused at that sight of you. “You still get heated up pretty quickly, I see.”

You scoff, an expression of sheer disbelief on your face. “Seriously, Suguru?” It hadn’t even been ten minutes and he was already taunting you; you hated him, hated that he was treating you like that after breaking your heart, hated that he was breaking it once more right after you had managed to glue the pieces back together. “Listen here, Geto,” and he raises an eyebrow, the smirk slowly vanishing, as if your use of his surname had wounded his pride, “What on earth do you want from me? You don’t show up for years and now you’re here, acting like nothing’s wrong and, and…”

“… And that hurts your feelings, love?”

A stab in the chest would have hurt less, you think. But right now all the suffering you’ve gone through erupts into an anger that blinds you. “You better not fuck with me or I’ll make you regret coming here.”

Silence suddenly drops in your living room, and for a moment the black-haired man remains stunned, blinking. Then, much to your surprise, he starts laughing: it’s that kind of laugh that pierces right through you and rumbles in your chest. However, you don’t understand why a part of you doesn’t mind.

You sit still, unable to utter a single word, an overwhelming feeling of shame washing over you.

You are currently sitting on two different sides of the room, however you now realise that you are actually extremely close. He shakes his head and leans forward slightly until one of his hands rests on your knee. The cool skin of his palm makes direct contact with yours. You quiver. Dammit, you think, did I really have to wear shorts today?

“Oh my, who thought you threatening me would be so cute?”

“Cut it out, Suguru, or else-”

“Or what, sweetheart? Will you snap my neck?” Suguru grabs your wrist, completely disregarding the strenght he does that with, and brings your hand to his neck, wrapping your palm around it. He applies some pressure, and it looks like he’s enjoying that.

“Or will you pierce my chest?” He then leads your hand to his chest, pushing it right over his heart, so hard that you feel his heartbeat vibrate on your skin. “Scream at me that I’m a jerk, that you have every reason to hate me — because you fucking do, Y/N.”

He pulls you in, so close the points of your noses are almost touching, and you feel his minty breath on your face. You should push him away, you really should, but you don’t want to.

“I really do.” You’re barely able to breathe out, lips chapped up.

You are essentially sitting on his lap, Suguru’s hand finding a way to the back of your thigh, squeezing your flesh. You let out a surprised squeal, and he knows he has you wrapped around his finger.

“I can see that” He responds, deep-brown eyes locked on you. “My sweet, sweet, little dove.”

Before you know it, Suguru closes the gap between the two of you, mouths clasping together. The kiss you share isn’t in any way chaste, and it doesn’t take long for you to start feeling breathless.

His hand caresses the abused spot he has just grasped, before cupping the curve of your ass, boldly ignoring the pink fabric of your shorts. The action makes your cunt throb, and you feel ashamed that not wearing a bra underneath your shirt had caused your hardened nipples to be so exposed.

“Suguru, please…” You beg, yet at this point you’re not sure what you’re begging for.

“Mhmh, I didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart. Can you repeat that for me?”

You know this has to stop, you are perfectly aware of that and the situation on its own is seriously unbelievable. Have you lost your mind? You have to tell him before it’s too late, you have to…

Smack.

The impact of his palm on your butt is sudden, but it takes your breath away for a second. Your mouth slightly parts, yet there is no sound coming out of it. You’re taken aback.

“I think I asked you to repeat yourself, haven’t I?”

He sticks his tongue out, tracing a vertical line along your neck, viciously nibbling on your sensitive skin as his hand rubs circles on your aching butt. His teeth then reach your earlobe, sending inebriating vibrations throughout your core.

You hesitate, and he slaps you again, this time it stings so much you bury your face into the crook of his neck. You bite the bottom of your lip, exhaling.

“P-Please, Suguru…” Stop it, let go of me, “Please, fuck me.”

He chuckles, and gently grabs you by the back of your neck, only to connect your mouths again. “You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs in a husky voice before sucking on your lower lip, releasing it with a light pop, “I missed you so fuckin’ much.”

As he pulls away, a thin thread of saliva separates you. Suguru’s hands grab the hems of your Kuromi shirt, uncovering your breasts, and he wastes no time as he starts sucking on the hardened buds.

“S-Suguru, mhhh…”

Your hands firmly grip his shoulders, head tilted back in pure bliss. You are drenched, and Suguru is quick to notice that: with a swift movement - which produces yet another squeal from you - he has you laying down, back against the soft cushions of the sofa.

You feel extremely defenseless as he positions himself above you, arms secured at the sides of your waist. You take a moment to admire how his long hair gracefully drops down, perfectly framing his face.

“I forgot how pretty you looked underneath me.”

He hums, and this has you clench your thighs together, yearning for some so much needed friction. Suguru then leans forward and places a soft kiss to your temple, and at the same time, his hands roughly grasp your legs to separate them exposing your drenched shorts.

“Would you look at that, already so wet for me, aren’t ya.”

You glance away for a mere second, your eyes scanning your surroundings just not to look at him. However, before you can tilt your head back in place, his mouth is on your clothed pussy: the warmth of his breath makes you throb in anticipation, as he taunts you, sucking on the fabric of your pyjamas.

Suguru adores the way you whimper, hips moving relentlessly as you attempt to grind against his mouth — needing more than what he is giving you. Yet, seeing you struggle for his attention makes his cock twitch. He pulls down your shorts, playing a little with your lace panties before leaving you completely naked.

“You’re so wet, princess, so fucking needy. You want my cock so bad?”

You let out a loud moan as he slides his fingers through your slick, coating them in your sweet juices. You don’t respond, and that seems to displease him, because he suddenly stops.

You’re about to protest when a stinging pain vibrates throughout your cunt, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, your first instinct is to close your legs. But Suguru slaps you across your pussy again, a stern look on his face, eyes entirely darkened.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“Y-Yes!” You whimper, the pain fading away all too quickly.

“Yes, what, mh?”

“Yes, yes I want your cock- please…”

“What do you want, again?”

He was tormenting you, knowing to be the only one in control of the situation. But you were a mess already, and you really wanted him, no, you needed him.

You stretched out your arm, hand groping his bulge making Suguru inhale through gritted teeth.

“I-I want your cock to fill me up, Suguru.”

Normally, you would wish you could wipe off the grin that had formed on his face. Yet, as he starts rubbing his tip against your folds, you forget about all that. Your ankles are positioned on his shoulders and his hands grasp your waist tightly, probably leaving marks as a result. He then pushes you into him without any warning, leaving you breathless, and speechless once more.

“F-Fuck, Y/N, you feel so fucking amazing, princess.” He grunts, taking a moment to feel your plush walls embrace his cock perfectly. “Haven’t felt this perfect pussy in a while.”

“S-Sugu…-”

His thrusts are rough, hips relentless as he fucks deep into you, your walls clenching at his words. It feels so fucking good, and it doesn’t take long before you’re a babbling mess, moaning his name and earning even more mean thrusts from him.

It makes no sense, you should hate him. You should hate the man who abandoned you, who turned his back on you when…

Suguru squeezes your cheeks together, forcing you to look directly at him, eyes locked with his. “Don’t think, you always think too much, pretty,” He then bends your knees with both his arms, literally squeezing you against the couch and his body, angling his cock so deeply that your eyes roll back.

“Look at that, I’m fucking you dumb. You’re such a good girl letting me fuck you dumb like this, huh? I bet you touched yourself thinkin’ about- mmh, fuck!- about me all these years.”

You try your best to nod, incoherent words leaving your lips as your eyes start getting glossy. The lewd squelching sounds his cock makes as he goes in and out of your pussy combined with your sweet mewls are driving Suguru crazy.

He slows down watching the creamy ring formed around his cock, a mixture of his pre-cum and your delicious juices. Then he lifts his gaze to look at you: tongue slightly stuck out, saliva on your chin, tears of pleasure streaming down your face.

“Aren’t you precious? Mhh- fuck, baby, I think I’m close.”

Your walls clench once again as he begins stretching you out once more, steady thrusts slapping against your cunt. The stimulation the friction gives you, and his cock constantly hitting the spot you love most is enough to make you arch your back, shock waves of pure bliss and pleasure making you scream his name.

“Sugu- Suguru… mhhh'love this, love you so much-”

Suguru can’t take it anymore, the sight of you being subdued by him, your body melting into his own as his pace slows down, but the thrusts get harder. Only you can look so heavenly underneath him, and only he can manipulate you however he wants.

He finally reaches his high, throwing his head back as he fills you up with his warm seed, making you reach your second orgasm. His breath is hitched as he pulls out of you, his cum leaking out of your over-stimulated pussy. Your forehead is sweaty, and some strands of hair are attached to it, yet you don’t seem to care.

There are no other words exchanged between the two of you, and the silence yet again fills up the room. Your eyes are fixated on the ceiling, and although you can’t see him, you hear him standing up.

“You leaving?”

“Yeah,” he responds without a hint of hesitation in his voice, the tiniest inclination of sympathy, “I have to.”

“So you got what you wanted.” You try your best not to sound hurt, but you can’t hide the piercing pain in your chest. “Is this why you came here, just because you wanted someone to fuck? Was that the urgent matter to discuss?”

A low chuckle, that’s when you sit up on the couch. He’s looking directly at you, the glimpse of a smile you once loved depicted on his lips.

“Not just someone, Y/N.” He corrects you, but it doesn’t make it any better. No, in fact, it hurts even more.

“I didn’t mean it,” you utter, voice only a whisper as you ponder whether it’s worth it or not, to hurt him like he hurts you. “I didn’t mean it when I said that I love you.”

Checkmate, you think. Only, it is not pain that you see morphing on Suguru’s face once your gaze focuses on him again. In return, you receive nothing: his gaze seems to be devoid of all emotion, and that only magnifies the void formed in your chest.

“I can see that.” You look down, fully aware that you have just made a very dangerous mistake. You swallow the knot that has formed in your throat.

“But you see, Y/N, the big difference between you and me…” Suguru crouches down, lifting your chin with his index finger, lips a breath away from yours. “It’s that I don’t care.”

And with that he is gone, once again casting the enormous weight of his absence on your shoulders.

©fshigur0

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beardedjoel · 1 year ago

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pretty little wife | do you have an appointment?

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨ summary: 11.2k words, pretty wife visits joel at work when he forgets his lunch, and he wants to show everyone there just how good you are to him. and when you're good, you get a reward. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, pre-established relationship/dynamic, unprotected piv, rough sex, free use kink, sub/dom relationship, exhibition kink, oral (m + f receiving), kneeling???, dirty talk, sir kink, pet names for reader, reader is joel's little doll hehe, little bit of domestic bliss, brief mention of alcohol, extremely submissive reader a/n: idek what happened here, it's been a while since i've gotten a chapter finished and went a little crazy with the word count on this one oopsie. i was plotting and writing this chapter then read this book and was extra excited that it lined up with this chapter so well so ANYWAY ENJOY! reblogs + comments are always loved and appreciated! ♡

You love the mornings you have with Joel before he works, the ones where he takes it slow and sits down to sip coffee with you, eating the plated breakfast you set in front of him and chatting about what’s on his agenda for the day. You even love the ones where he practically flies into the kitchen, dressed and ready, and you can read the signals that there isn’t any time to spare for sweet chatter and a meal this morning.

This happens to be one of those mornings, with Joel buzzing around quickly, trying to get his things in order. He’d spent way too long making out with you like a horny teenager after already sleeping in too late for everything he had to get done at the office today, and now he was paying the price.

“Shit, sorry, baby, gotta rush out of here,” Joel mumbles as he scoots past you, taking a hasty gulp from his mug of coffee. You’ve been standing, fingers curled around your hips, brushing the fabric of your silk robe and watching in amusement as your husband starts to fall apart in the chaos of his own doing. You can smell the freshness of his shower on him, his heavenly body wash making you take an extra breath in just to keep it with you a little longer.

“You just worry about your shoes and bag, let me get this into a travel cup for you,” you tell him, grabbing the mug out of his hands before he can protest.

“God, m’perfect wife, thank you,” he says quickly, pecking the side of your head as he passes by again, heading towards the coat closet near the front door.

You hear him rustling around as you fill one of his favorite cups - a Texas Longhorns travel mug - and walk it over to the front door.

“Dumb ass for scheduling this meeting so early,” he mumbles to himself, critiquing his lack of foresight in his own agenda. He has his shoes on and looks ready to go as he looks up at you, his irritated expression immediately changing into a soft, lopsided smile.

His arms reach out to you and pull you in for an embrace, grabbing the mug out of your hand before leaning down to kiss you, long and deep.

“Make it up t’ya later,” he promises with a wink before one more chaste kiss makes its way onto your lips from him.

“You better,” you quip back, “Bye, honey.” He waves as he slips through the front door, and moments later you hear his truck start up, speeding off through the neighborhood.

You sigh, shaking your head a little at your husband, but start to move along with your day, changing into your more worn clothes - an old t-shirt of Joel’s and some cloth shorts - to tidy the kitchen first and then get a good vacuum done all over the house. You find a few more projects - taking an inventory of toiletries for your trip to the store this week and a quick clean of the half bathroom on the main level has you feeling accomplished for the day, realizing it’s nearing the time you’re supposed to meet your friends for your weekly tennis scrimmage.

You contemplate inside your closet for a few moments before deciding on an all white tennis outfit - a pleated skirt and workout tank top, completing it with ankle high socks and your white tennis shoes. You throw a zip up on top of everything and clasp on the sparkling tennis bracelet Joel had gotten you, claiming it had tennis in the name, so it must go with your tennis outfits, right? You’d nearly fallen out of your chair that day at the glimmering diamonds as Joel put it on your wrist for the first time, telling him that it wasn’t in fact something that actually had anything to do with you playing tennis. You decided to wear it most weeks to play tennis, anyways, just because of how sweet the gesture had been from him.

You open the fridge to grab some snacks and a protein drink to bring to the court with you, when your eye catches on Joel’s lunch, still sitting in the fridge and untouched - in his rush this morning he must have forgotten it. You frown, pulling out your phone and shooting a quick text to your friends, letting them know you won’t be able to make your usual time today and then pull up Joel’s contact to call him.

“Hey darlin’, how are you?” Joel says upon picking up, sounding slightly distracted among the sound of shuffling papers in the background.

“You forgot your lunch,” you blurt out.

“Oh, shoot, you’re right, ain’t ya. Hmm, s’okay, I’ll just grab somethin’ to go, maybe,” Joel says, sounding lost in thought over his current situation.

“Let me bring it to you. We could eat together?” you ask, biting your lip and hoping his day isn’t too busy to fit you in.

“Don’t ya have tennis and lunch with your girls right about now?”

“Er, well, I already canceled to bring you your lunch,” you admit. You hear Joel hum quickly on the other end in contemplation.

“Alright, ya got me. Jus’ didn’t want you to go out of your way f’me,” Joel says, and you shake your head a little bit.

“Of course not, I want to eat lunch with you. Besides, I haven’t been to the office in a long time.”

“See ya around noon, then?” Joel asks, and you agree that noon sounds perfect.

“W-wait, doll -” Joel cuts in before you two can hang up.

“Hmm?” you murmur, clutching the phone back into your ear.

“What’re you wearin’? Your little white skirt?” he asks, and you lick your lips and break out into a smile.

“Maybe…” you tease, “I was about to change, though, if I’m not playing.”

“Don’t.” Joel says more sternly. “Don’t change.”

And as usual, you obey.

You walk into Joel’s office building, part of a larger skyscraper downtown, and as you notice little details again you realize that you really haven’t been here in ages. It always impresses you every time you see it, though, the pristine office space and location, and it makes you smile at how successful your husband has gotten. You bet he’s as good a boss as he is a husband, you think to yourself, knowing that Joel’s business is one of the top contracting companies in Austin.

“Good afternoon. How can I help you?” a younger, sandy haired woman behind a counter labeled Reception asks as you walk up.

“Oh, I’m here to see Joel - uh, Mr. Miller? I -“ you stutter uncomfortably - you suddenly feel a bit out of your depth looking into this woman’s curious, critical eyes.

The woman looks you up and down, assessing you quickly. You find yourself wishing you could hear the thoughts going through her head as she quirks a brow at you. You try not to be self conscious, but sometimes in a situation like this, where you’re not sure exactly where you belong, you tend to get nervous. You just want to see Joel and find some solace in his arms.

“Do you have an appointment?” she interrupts you, glancing at the computer to see if there’s anything on the agenda for this time of day.

“Gosh, no. I’m his wife. Sorry, should have said that right off the bat. He forgot his lunch this morning,” you tell her, putting on your kindest smile and holding the little cooler bag up. Her eyes widen just slightly and she stares for a moment, her quick gaze roaming your outfit and body having a different meaning now, landing with a small, furtive smile on the high pony tail that had been swinging back and forth on your head as you’d walked in.

“Sorry, he didn’t say he was expecting you. I can show you where his office is, if you need,” she says, suddenly straightening her back and cocking her head at you.

“No worries, I’ve been here before. Uh, thanks,” you tell her, trying not to falter your smile. Something about the way she’d looked at you made you feel… off - like she was judging you for some secret that you weren’t in on. It’s obvious you’re much younger than Joel, but you’ve never been bothered by the fact and you wish other people weren’t, either. Maybe they’d expected some frumpy older lady to walk in here, or something, and instead were stuck with the conundrum that was you.

You try to shake it off and make a beeline to Joel’s office, but you find more eyes are on you - people looking up from their desks as you pass, doing double takes, their faces completely unreadable. Your skin is crawling a little uncomfortably at the sidelong glances from so many people you don’t know. You’re starting to regret your choice of outfit, not changing before you’d left the house, but you do know Joel loves this particular tennis skirt on you, and he’d specifically asked you not to change. You try to remind yourself that the only opinion that matters in this office is his, and it settles your nerves a little bit.

“There she is,” Joel says sweetly as you give his office door a few quick knocks and enter. He practically jumps out of his chair to meet you, swiftly going in for a kiss. He takes the lunch bag you’d packed out of your hand and plops it onto his desk.

“Hungry now?” he asks, and you nod, smiling almost dumbly at him. You just find that he does something to you, this man, and you can only smile and nod and be this submissive little thing around him most of the time. And it’s absolutely glorious, the effect your husband has on you. It's like everything that happened, all the uncomfortable stares from the office, completely vanishes once you’re with him.

Joel gives you one more kiss, groaning a little into it before pulling away reluctantly. He rearranges chairs so that you two can sit next to each other and eat at his desk. He starts to unpack the lunch, pulling out a small slip of paper with a knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Oh, that’s -” you start, a small blush coming over your cheeks.

“I know what it is, darlin’. You pack them every day,” Joel replies, unfolding it and reading the small note you’d packed in his lunch. You started to get into the habit so long ago that you can’t even remember how long you’d been doing it. Putting funny jokes, sexy promises, or just a quickly scrawled I love you and tossing it in with his lunch each night became just simply part of your routine at this point.

Joel stands up and opens a drawer at his desk, pulling out a small box that he opens to place the note inside. Your mouth hangs open a little as the realization of what he’s doing hits you.

“You… keep them?” you ask timidly, and Joel’s eyes find yours, his smile growing.

“Every single one,” he states simply, and you feel your eyes grow watery before blinking it away. “Good for when I’m havin’ a rough day,” he adds, finding his way back to his seat.

You’re practically speechless, loving that the small gesture has meant so much to Joel, has helped him on days he’s here without you and needs a pick me up. The thought alone sends your heart soaring, filled with love for your husband and you lean forward to kiss him again, savoring the feel of his lips on yours.

“That’s so sweet, baby, I love it,” you finally manage to say with a tight voice, and he pinches your cheek lovingly before settling back in his chair to eat.

“Oh, hang on, darlin’, I think there’s some sodas in the break room I could sneak us,” Joel says with an effortlessly suave wink, leaving you smiling to yourself as he slips out of his office.

Joel hears hushed voices through the open door to the break room, and he’s about to turn in when the words they’re saying catch his ear. He knows he should just go in, silence them with his presence alone, but he can’t help himself. He immediately feels a seething boil under his skin at what he’s hearing.

“I swear, I heard from someone who went for like, a party or something at their place, she’s totally like one of those Stepford Wives. All dolled up and in dresses and aprons all the time and shit. I don’t know, just sounds weird to me,” a female voice says, and Joel’s brow crinkles further, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“What, really?” a male voice replies, with a second female voice murmuring something similar.

“I mean, didn’t you see her walk in today? The outfit alone. Cute, but like… feels like she’s trying a bit too hard, you know,” the first woman says, and Joel hears laughter between the other two.

“Oh, I saw,” the second woman says with a snort. “It’s all people are talking about out there, seriously. Didn’t know the boss was such a sugar daddy.”

“I know, makes you wonder. He could have anyone, he’s handsome enough and successful, and he chooses to just be with some housewife? She’s pretty and all that, but like…. I guess to each their own,” she says, with a tone that indicates she doesn’t mean her words at all, and her judgment is still swift.

Joel has found himself sucked into their conversation, listening from the outside with baited breath, a sinking feeling in his chest. Sure, he’s angry, absolutely livid that these three are being so hastily judgemental, but what’s hurting the most is knowing they’re talking about his wife. His sweet, loving, caring, absolutely perfect wife. Someone who always thinks of others, so giving, so wonderful. He knew if you heard their words, it would hurt you deeply, the thought that these people were talking badly about you for just living the way you want to live.

Joel can’t take it anymore, swiftly turning the corner of the doorframe and entering the room. The three of them are mid-laughter and it tapers off as Joel heads for the fridge.

“Afternoon,” he says casually, a knowing smirk on his face to try to hide his anger. He glances at the three of them, surely sweating bullets and all looking a bit like they were caught in the act, eyes blinking rapidly and smiles a little too forced.

They all murmur similar greetings in response, trying to act casual. Joel grabs a few sodas out of the fridge, wrapping his large hands around the cool cans and letting the change of temperature ground him a bit.

He makes his way to the door, letting them think that he didn’t hear anything, that they got off the hook that easily. He stops abruptly at the entrance to the room, glancing over his shoulder at his three employees, looking so uncomfortable as they stand huddled together that he could laugh right in their faces.

“Y’know,” he starts, dragging it out a little with a small sigh. “I’ll bet she’d have nothin’ but nice things to say about you three,” he says simply with a quick shake of his head before turning, not even bothering to check their reactions.

All he wants now is to head back to you, back to his wife, and give you an extra squeeze and a kiss for being so wonderful to him. You’re waiting eagerly, nervously playing with your fingernails when Joel returns, and you immediately smile widely again at the sight of him.

“Hit the jackpot,” he says, and you grab the can from him. Joel leans down, grabbing your face with his free hand, slightly cold still from the drink and you yelp with a playful giggle.

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly with a chuckle, moving his hand off of your cheek. “Just needed to kiss my girl.”

You meet his face in the middle and let him, his lips crashing into yours for a few blissful seconds before he sits down next to you and asks to hear about your morning. He keeps a firm hand on your knee any time he doesn't need to use them to eat his lunch as you two sit and catch up between bites.

“Y’swear, you made this bread?” Joel asks you, marveling at his sandwich - meat, cheese, and veggie toppings sitting between a sourdough recipe you’d been trying to perfect.

“I swear. I can’t believe you haven’t seen the levain in the house, it’s just a big gross blob in a jar,” you say, stifling a laugh.

Joel ponders his memory for a few moments before nodding. “Guess maybe I did. But m’point is - what can’t my wife do? So talented…”

You feel your cheeks heat up at the special attention and compliments he’s giving you, shaking your head modestly in reply. “N-no, it’s just bread,” you say meekly.

He squeezes your thigh, leaning his forehead against yours for a brief second as he speaks. “You’re perfect, darlin’, sorry to say it, but it’s true.”

You laugh then, deciding not to fight him on it anymore. Your face continues to warm from his compliments, your body tingling slightly as you feel a hint of desire pooling low in your body. You know that isn’t his intended result from the compliments he’s doling out on you now, but you can’t help but respond to his attention like this, feeling a deep satisfaction that you’ve pleased him in some way.

“Hey Joel, I -“ a voice interrupts, a broad, light haired man entering through the cracked door. “Oh, sorry, didn’t know - uh -“ he says upon seeing you, chair scooted close to Joel’s, his hand rubbing circles on your thigh.

“S’alright Rick, what is it?” Joel replies, not bothering to move his hand. If anything, he instinctively tightens it, claiming you in front of a new person, letting them know who you belong to.

“Jus’ had a few questions on the Parker Street project, but it can wait.” His eyes flash back and forth between you and Joel, seemingly trying to size up the situation. Joel opens his mouth to respond to Rick, but the man smiles suddenly and speaks again before Joel can.

“Now who’s this, though? Don’t tell me you’re hiring girls to eat lunch with you now,” Rick teases, and you feel your mouth pop open and your face get hot at the insinuation. Joel’s face doesn’t crack, it hardly even moves as you glance over at him desperately, feeling a burn of embarrassment prickle at your eyes. You try to blink it away, hoping you don’t end up crying in front of this random asshole.

Joel clears his throat a moment later, his hand tight on your thigh, sudden energy and irritation coursing through him and out into his grip. “If you need to hire your own wife to eat lunch with you, then you got bigger problems, don’t you, Rick?” he snips back, and Rick pales realizing what he thought was a light-hearted joke didn’t quite land.

“J-just messing around, I’m sorry. She’s just - uh -“ Rick stutters, and Joel just gives a blasé raise of his eyebrows.

“Careful what words come out of your mouth next about my wife.”

Rick seems intent on digging himself deeper into his own hole and stutters some more, trying to explain himself. “N-no, it’s just - well, you’re very beautiful,” he says, turning to you quickly. “Some people around the office, t-they said some things when you came in. Just jokes, that’s all, just you’re pretty and young, and Joel, well he’s… and… we just made funny assumptions that you couldn’t be his wife.”

Joel sighs, keeping a cool demeanor as he cocks his head in Rick’s direction “People really think my wife, my perfect little wife, is some random girl I hired, huh? After the way you all know I feel about my girl, way I go on and on about this perfect little thing right here,” Joel says, gesturing to you quickly. “Think I’d want anythin’ to do with anyone else?”

“God, no, Joel, it’s just - we didn’t know, she was… shit, so young, okay?”

Joel’s lips purse and you watch on, wide eyed and stunned silent by this conversation, not sure what you could even say right now to help.

“Well, she is the age she is,” Joel says simply. “Let everyone know if they’ve got an issue, they can come see me.” He breathes an unamused chuckle, looking at Rick expectantly.

“You’re right, Joel. It was just s-stupid office chatter, sorry you had to get caught up in it. We know how m-much you love your wife. He’s always - always talking about you, promise,” Rick says, and your lips turn up a little at his groveling.

“I know he does,” you finally say, keeping yourself meek but clear, turning to look at Joel and planting a kiss on his cheek. He turns his head, meeting the kiss and making sure Rick sees just how much you care for each other.

“We’ll talk about the Parker Street stuff later, come back in… mm, an hour or so with Steve and Pat,” Joel says, glancing down at his watch.

“Sure, of course, sounds good,” Rick says quietly, starting to back out of Joel’s office. “Again, I’m so sorry…” he trails off, and you smile blankly at him in return.

“It’s alright, I get it. Joel does pay me in other ways to eat lunch with him,” you say, and you hear Joel nearly choke on a laugh next to you as he mutters an impressed curse under his breath.

Rick doesn’t know what to do - smile, laugh, or let his face get a deeper shade of red at your sudden fierceness, but he settles on a strange, awkward combination of all three before leaving the door cracked shut behind him.

“Now what was that?” Joel asks, turning towards you, shock written on his face.

“What, I can’t give him a taste of his own medicine?” you reply, doe-eyed and smirking.

“God, no, y’can. It was perfect, so fuckin’ sexy to see you tell them what I do for ya,” Joel growls, standing up and pulling you off your chair and into his arms. You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck in response to his movements, pulling yourself closer.

“Do you have to get back to work now?” you ask with a slight pout, knowing this lovely afternoon with Joel would have to come to an end eventually.

“Don’t want ya to leave,” Joel says, hand splayed across your lower back, holding you tight to his torso. “Could keep ya here w’me at work as my little pet, couldn’t I?” His eyes gather up a mischievousness as he considers his own words and what they mean he’d be getting this afternoon.

“Have me, then,” you reply, your eyelashes fluttering as you blink up at him. Joel’s jaw sets a little tighter, a groaning noise working its way out of him as he grinds up against you a little bit. His hand gently taps under your chin, lifting it slightly and holding it there, cocking his head in amazement at you.

“All mine, hm? My little pet to play with?” he asks, his voice going an octave lower in want.

You dip your head in one long bow, and Joel starts forward, catching your lips with his. He devours you, forcing his tongue into your mouth quickly and you slide yours against his in equal fervor, starting to moan wantonly into his mouth. He’s already got you breathless, the way his hands move fluidly along your back, catching your ass in his palm and squeezing, the other one gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place.

Joel moves you backwards, slowly walking you until he collapses in his office chair, pulling you down with him and settling you to straddle his lap. He pulls away, thumbing your cheek and scanning your face, glowing and flush with arousal for him already.

“Wanna teach some assholes here a lesson about disrespectin’ my wife,” he says. “Can’t have that, can I?”

Your lips turn up in a smile and you shake your head for him, eliciting a devilish smirk from Joel.

“Alright, why don’t ya stay next to me, darlin’, while I get some work done. See if any of ‘em got somethin’ more to say when they see how good my wife is to me.”

You blink a few times in confusion, your body torn because of the way he’d just been all over you, to not have it progress any further. You start for a chair, to pull it over next to his desk, and you hear Joel tisk as soon as you begin to turn away. His hands hold onto your back, stopping you from sliding off of his firm lap.

“Not like that doll, y’know what I want - need y’to help me relax a little,” Joel says, his eyes quickly dipping to the floor and back up, and you stiffen, immediately picking up on the change. You should have known better when he’d brought up the words little pet. You tilt your head innocently at him as he releases his hold on you, and feel your body moving before you can even process it, moving off of his lap, legs buckling and sending you to your knees.

“Mmm,” Joel murmurs, looking down at you, settled on your knees next to his chair, “Good girl, my good little wife.”

Your insides warm at his praise, bubbling with satisfaction as you gaze up at him seated above you. You have to admit that you’re surprised Joel has gone this far in the workplace - this dynamic isn’t necessarily anything new to you, and Joel does have to be in a certain mood to get as far as wanting you kneeling next to him like this, but you’re always more than happy to oblige. You love the way it makes him look at you, so pleased and adoring as you fulfill both of your needs and desires, turning yourself off to become everything he needs, and in turn, everything you need.

“Now, you okay if people see you like this? Y’know the last thing I want is to upset ya,” Joel says and you nod.

“It’s okay,” you say with a small smile, scooting a bit closer to his chair. You worm your way closer, nuzzling his leg before resting your chin on his thigh. “Whatever you need, sir.”

“Mm, that’s it, jus’ get comfortable,” he coos down at you. Your heart is lifting, thundering happily in your chest at how natural this position feels for you. “I’ll let y’know when I need you.”

You nod dutifully into the fabric of his slacks and Joel turns his chair slightly, patting his thigh before pulling you in between his legs rather than next to him, and you rest your cheek on his inner thigh, letting your breath calm at the warmth of his skin. Your initial nerves that anyone could walk in and see you like this, see you in a position they might consider weak or strange or even gross are dissipating when you sense your husband's presence so close, the thick muscles of his thigh moving underneath your cheek.

You observe his world as he starts to get to work, clicking and typing on his computer with a few irritated sighs. You can tell just how much Rick’s comments are affecting Joel, how the tension spreads and radiates throughout his body. He tuts a few times as he scrolls his emails, your eyes flicking up to the screen but not bothering to read much, giving him his privacy. He picks up the phone and you hear bits and pieces of the conversations he’s having, just finding yourself content to let your mind wander, focusing on the sensations at hand - Joel’s warmth, the muscles on his leg shifting every so often, the sound of his breathing above you when the room gets quiet.

His hand drifts down while he’s waiting for the other end of the line to ring on a new call, his large hand landing on the top of your head and moving down, stroking gently along the side of your head several times. The sudden attention has you glancing up at his face, and he gives you a sweet look, eyes glazed over as he watches your lips parted and eyes trusting and twinkling for him. You melt instantly, a frown coming to your face as soon as Joel breaks eye contact and blinks quickly a few times, snapping out of it.

“Oh, yeah, this is Joel Miller calling for Devin,” he says. You then decide to filter out anything unimportant again, and wait for Joel to call your attention again as he places what sounds like some order for different lumber sizes for a new build they’re working on. He doesn’t move his hand, though, brushing it along your head in slow, repeated strokes while his voice drones on. You don’t even notice the way your hands have moved of their own accord, grasping onto his calves and inching yourself even closer to where his legs meet on the chair. Your hands are crawling up his thighs, rubbing them, and your face is dangerously close to his crotch now. You can feel Joel’s eyes peering down at your slow, steady movement towards dangerous territory.

“Mhm, you too, bye,” Joel says, before harshly setting the phone down onto the receiver on down his desk and hissing through his teeth as he snaps his head down to look at you.

“What’re you doin’,” he snips, and your movements halt, a bit of fear burning through your veins that you’ve upset or disappointed him.

“Just… wanted to touch you more,” you say quietly, putting your eyes and head down towards the floor.

“Said I’d tell y’when I needed you, didn’t I?” he asks.

“I know… I’m sorry, Joel. You just… make me so…” you stutter, knowing he probably won’t like that you’re trying to make excuses right now, not when he’s in this dominant mode. He’s usually pretty lenient with situations like this though, when he knows you just want to be close to him and aren’t trying to be a brat on purpose.

“Hmm,” he growls a little, his lip bit in contemplation for a moment before he places a hand on the back of your head, fisting your high ponytail into his palm. “I know I do, can’t help yourself can you?”

You shake your head in quick movements. “No, I can’t… sir.”

“Make it up t’me…” Joel says, dragging his words. “Suck on my cock like a good girl while I finish this work, then I’ll give ya all the attention you need.”

Your hand brushes gently over the obvious arousal bulging out of his pants, so close to where your cheek was just resting, as you graze your fingers up to his belt in a slow, tantalizing manner, garnering a hum of satisfaction from Joel. You’re about to pull it through the first loop when there’s a knock on the door and you jump, dropping your hand back to his thigh.

“Shit,” Joel spits under his breath in irritation. “After,” he commands a bit louder to you, and you nod, staring up at him in anxious anticipation for what to do next. Should you stand, stay right where you are, get into the seat next to Joel? Your heart starts to pick up a little as you sit up straight, ready to move if needed.

“Don’t get up for them,” he says sternly, seeming to read your mind, so you blink and try to relax back down. His hand finds its way back to the side of your head, stroking to calm you. “S’okay.”

“Yes, sir,” you say quietly as Joel summons them to come into his office.

You refuse to make eye contact with them, suddenly feeling shyness weigh on you, your shoulders curling in as you find refuge against Joel’s leg again. You hear the shuffle of shoes and bodies entering the room and try not to tense up, wanting to make a good impression for Joel. You try to be brave, looking up at Joel and then turning your head to his coworkers with a lazy smile, and they’re already staring at you with a mixture of emotions - confusion, lust, disgust, and so many things you can’t read that you find it makes you avert your gaze immediately.

“The Parker Street project, right?” Joel says, completely ignoring the rapidly changing emotions on their faces.

“Right,” one of them that isn’t Rick says. “J-joel, um,” he says, flashing his eyes to you a few times.

“My wife, don’t worry about her. She’s visiting today. Tell them hello, darlin’,” Joel says, his hand still moving lazily along the side of your head.

“H-hello,” you manage to choke out, giving them your name and hoping your voice doesn’t waver too much.

They awkwardly greet you in return, and you try to focus, focus, focus, on Joel’s soothing hand on your hair, the well worn fabric of his pants below you that smells like him, the promise of dirty things after he has this meeting. You find it calms you, wishing you could be exactly like he wants - perfectly submissive, not scared for these other men to see you like this, and you aren’t scared, per se. Joel just doesn’t always bring this dynamic out of the home with him, and it has you feeling more timid than ever over it, even though you do like it. The chance for Joel to show you off, practically in a begging position between his legs, knowing you’re in a skimpy skirt that he loves as it flows out around your hips and onto the floor below you. The thought of these men seeing how much you belong to Joel has arousal starting to pool deep in your belly, swirling lower and lower the more you think about it. Joel’s girl. His pretty little wife. Let them see how good I am to him.

Joel’s hand doesn’t leave your head as they all speak - Rick, Steven, and Pat all doing their best to focus despite the out of the ordinary circumstances. You can’t help but wonder if Joel cares, if he thinks this will affect the way he’s treated by his employees. You start to spiral out, hoping your eyes don’t give away the sudden panic and worry that you’re somehow doing something wrong, making Joel’s life harder by being here. His hand edges down to your chin, unnoticeable to the other men, who have their eyes trained downwards on some blueprints on Joel’s desk as they chatter. He tilts your head slightly off of his thigh, having you look up at him, and he can see the nervous breath hitch in your throat. His eyes go soft and he gives your chin a few gentle strokes of his finger.

“Good girl,” he mouths, and you melt a little, still not completely rid of the tension. “I love you,” he mouths next, and you find that was the key to the lock, the exact thing you needed from him right now. Of course Joel wouldn’t have you sitting like this if he cared at all what these men thought, if he had any doubts. One thing you knew about Joel was that he wasn’t a man with many doubts, ever.

You squeeze his calf lovingly and relax again, not failing to notice that Joel’s pants have a prominent bulge just inches from where you’re nuzzling against him. You feel the familiar crawl of arousal in your core again, starting to throb in time with your clit, and you want nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and start riding his cock right now in front of everyone. As if he read your mind yet again, sensing the low, low pooling of heat inside of you, Joel decides to adjourn the meeting.

“Hope that answered most of it, but let’s talk tomorrow, hm? Gotta get this pretty girl home soon,” Joel says to them, and to your surprise, they seem much more relaxed, giving out smiles and little chuckles and talking more animatedly with Joel as they wrap their meeting up. You breathe a sigh of relief and say goodbye to them when Joel requests you to, thankful you can be alone with him again.

As soon as the door to his office clicks shut, Joel shifts in his seat, moving your head off of his lap and replacing it with his own hands. He growls a little, the sound deep and rumbling all the way down to where you’re sitting at his feet, eager to please. His fingers fly to his belt, unbuckling it with a fury that you’re not sure you’ve seen from him before, deft fingers undoing it and unzipping his fly in record time.

“Get my cock in your mouth, pretty girl,” he groans, yanking it out of his pants - the tip exposed first, achingly red and dripping with precum. Your mouth salivates, your tongue starts to poke out before you even realize, desperate to lap it onto your tongue and taste him. He fists it in his hand, slapping it against your mouth a few times, looking down at you through hooded eyes.

“No playin’ around, either, no little kitten licks and all that shit - I want this fat cock stuffing your mouth ‘till you’re choking,” he says, his voice a hot heat that licks down your skin like fire, sending a wave of arousal crashing through you. Slickness pools in your underwear, and you rub your thighs together instinctually. You nod, your mind still processing the vulgarity of what he’d said.

“Your words,” he reminds you, and you blink a few times, swallowing hard.

“Yes, o-of course, sir,” you say eagerly, eyes fixed on the bulbous head of his cock, sitting less than an inch from your hungry, salivating lips.

“Good girl.” Joel lands another gentle stroke on your head, reaching back to grasp at the high ponytail sitting atop your crown, wrapping it around his hand in a few swift tugs. He has complete control, his hand firmly pressing your head to close the gap between your soon to be swollen lips and his cock, and you open wide for him, not wanting him to even have to ask, and he doesn’t fail to notice.

“Eager girl, so good,” he praises, the end trailing into a groan as he slips past your lips, the immediate taste of him on your tongue more than welcome for you. You hum around his girth, the satisfaction filling your soul instantly as he presses on the back of your head, sending you further and further down his shaft. He hits the back of your throat, and he breathes hard, nearly gasping as you try to swallow him down and gag a bit, but Joel smiles crookedly, loving the sound that makes him feel so big and powerful above you.

“Yeah? Chokin’ on this big cock, are you? Bet you love it,” he purrs, his fingers tightening around your hair in his hand, scratching along your scalp.

“Mmm,” you hum affirmatively around him. Your mouth is so full, jaw stretched and hurting already and you can scarcely breathe with the angle he’s hitting you at. You bob your head, slowly starting to move yourself faster along his cock, and Joel feels impossibly hard inside your mouth. You nearly moan at the feeling of what you alone do to him, your thighs clamping together under your skirt as you feel your warm center start to ache for him.

“Fuck, pretty thing, so good for me, aren’t you? Suckin’ on me like that at work like the little slut you are,” Joel grunts out, his breathing more erratic now. He’s losing himself completely to you, his head thrown back into the chair, panting as you keep up the quick bobbing of your head.

You continue to take him in deep thrusts, your eyes watering, saliva pooling all around the base of him and starting to drip. Your hand pumps along what your mouth can’t take and you’re becoming a complete mess, tear stained cheeks and gagging noises that only serve to egg Joel on.

“Fuck, perfect fuckin’ mouth, let me fuck it.” Joel tugs on your ponytail, trying to pull your head back to hear the two words he needs, the two words you’re desperate to say to him.

You slide yourself up his shaft in a long, slow stroke before popping the head out of your mouth. You gaze up at him, your eyes completely changed and fucked out already for him, and Joel nearly comes at the sight alone. Your hair is starting to become undone in the way it only does when he fucks you, your lips puffy and overused now, and eyes glassy. It’s a sight to behold, absolutely angelic, and Joel feels only pure adoration for you and gratitude that he’s the only man who can gaze upon this exact view any time he wants.

“Yes, sir,” you say, lapping his head and waiting for him to make the next move. He bucks his hips into your small licks before he tightens his grip on the back of your head, holding you in place as he slides himself back into your warm mouth. He sighs at the feeling and only moves slowly for a few moments to stand up from his chair before he starts to thrust his hips into your mouth with more vigor.

It sends you reeling, the speed he’s moving in your mouth now, so unrelenting, taking everything he needs from you as you choke around him and try to swallow him down. You feel the ache between your thighs that has been growing reach an apex, your panties undoubtedly completely soaked through now, needing him to touch you, to find some relief for your neglected, throbbing clit.

“I’m gonna come down that pretty throat,” Joel says among his panting breaths, shoving himself into you with a hearty thrust.

You encourage Joel with a tight suck, trying to flick your tongue underneath his shaft as he moves your head. He groans loudly, and you know he’s close, your hands flying up to claw at his thighs and hold on as he slams himself into you.

“Yeah little doll, gonna come in you, gonna c-“ Joel cuts himself off with a swift groan of pleasure as he bucks forward, spilling himself deep into your throat as promised, painting your throat white with his spend. He holds you in the position, keeping himself buried deep in your mouth as he comes down, breathing heavily. You feel his fingers slowly relax on your head, dropping your ponytail before he plops back into his chair. When you look up, his eyes are closed, head leaning back, and he looks completely blissed out, making you grin in satisfaction. You take care to tuck him back into his pants and he smiles down at you, peeking an eye open.

“C’mere,” he says softly, patting his lap. You clamber up onto him, letting him press you against his chest as he wraps you in his arms, kissing the side of your cheek and neck.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, and you grab his hand in yours, bringing it to your mouth. You kiss along each of his knuckles, carefully giving each spot attention before letting his hand drop and putting both of your hands around his neck, scratching up into his hair. He hums contentedly at that, nuzzling himself into your neck.

“You liked everything I did today?” you ask tentatively, knowing what his answer will be, but you can’t help but seek his praise. After a more intense scene together like today, it feels extra good to hear.

“Mm, I did, m’pretty doll.” He pauses thoughtfully for a moment, his fingers brushing along your back. “Y’know I wouldn’t change you, right? Change any of this? I want ya just as you are.”

“Oh.” You blink and knit your brows a little, nodding. You flick your eyes to his face, seeing that he’s already studying you. “Yeah, I do. Why’re you asking?”

“Jus’ makin’ sure. Too much damn chatter in this office today. All I care ‘bout is you knowin’ you’re my perfect girl.”

You sigh happily and plant a kiss where your head lays on him. “I’m so glad you liked it, I just wanted to do a good job for you.”

Joel makes a low, understanding sound and nods. “Y’did. Bet my baby is all worked up though, isn’t she? Needs a reward for being such a good girl today.”

You practically start to salivate at the words, good girl and reward in the same sentence always seem to lead to glorious things with Joel. You bite the inside of your lip, not sure if you should show him how suddenly eager you are, but a small shift from you in his lap tells him everything he needs to know. He chuckles, low and reverberating across his chest before he grabs your ass, moving you so that you’re straddling his thigh. One hand stays on your ass, and the other comes to cup near your lower belly, the one splayed on your behind starting to push you forward first. His hand on your belly pushes you back, encouraging you to use his thigh while he raptly watches your features screw up into pleasure.

You breathe in shakily at the miniscule amount of pressure on your clit already, immediately tightening around nothing as you start to move yourself in time with his hands as they manipulate you. You feel the build up already of a quickly approaching orgasm, your breath shallowing and erratic now as you quietly moan his name. Your eyes roll back and flutter shut as you grind harder, and just as you feel yourself cresting that sweet cliff into pure bliss, Joel holds tightly to both sides of you, stopping you. You nearly gasp, a frustrated grunt flying past your lips before you can stop it, your hips wiggling but to no avail - you can’ get enough friction now, enough pressure to send you into the pleasurable oblivion you’re craving.

“P-please,” you whine, a sob threatening to break out of your throat as your cunt weeps and aches desperately for him.

“Now…” Joel starts, his lips brushing your neck, beard and mustache tickling you and sending another wave of arousal to your core. “If you’re good jus’ a little longer, do what I say, I’ll give you your reward, mkay?” He talks smoothly and slowly, his words hitting you deep inside as you whimper, trying to grind down on him again, barely able to listen to him through the needy fog clouding your mind.

“C’mon, little doll, know y’want more than jus’ this, comin’ on my leg, don’t you?” He pulls back from your neck and puts a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. His eyebrows raise just slightly in expectation of your answer, and you purse your lips a little but nod.

“I need it,” you whisper quietly, your face scrunched up slightly in need as you finally still on Joel’s lap.

“I know y’can do it, doll,” Joel assures you, his hand curling around your face and to the side of your head, smoothing your hair back.

“Okay… w-what do I need to do for my reward?”

“You’re gonna head on home, I’ll be maybe thirty minutes, an hour behind ya while I wrap up here and sneak out early.” Joel pauses and you watch his face intently, brows twitching to hear the next part of his plan.

“You’re gonna put on that little blue set with the flowers, you know the one right?”

You nod quickly and mutely for him, lips pressed tightly together, enraptured by his words. You feel your heart fluttering, beating faster already.

“Words, darlin’,” he presses you, and you pop your mouth open.

“Yes, sir.”

“Lay in bed an’ wait for me jus’ wearing that. No touchin’ yourself, no coming until I get to you, you understand?” Joel thumbs where he holds your chin before squeezing it possessively.

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl. You do all of that, and you get your reward,” Joel says, a corner of his mouth tugging upwards in satisfaction at the way you’re eating up his words, sitting with baited breath.

You don’t even have to ask him what the reward might be, knowing Joel, knowing it will be well worth whatever short torture you’ll have to put yourself through while you wait for him. You can’t say some parts of your body seem on board, your pussy still fluttering, slick, and longing for Joel even as you try to accept that you won’t be able to do anything about it for a while yet.

“I can do it,” you tell Joel finally, trying to straighten yourself and exude confidence, rolling your shoulders back.

“Okay, then. Home now, doll. And do as I said.” Joel gives your ass a firm spanking before releasing you from his lap, letting you slide off. The both of you, unable to help yourselves, quickly glance down to catch a glimpse of the spot on his pants where you’d just been seated, and Joel’s wry expression at the dark, slick stain from you makes you need to take a deep breath, remind yourself of your new mission.

“See you at home,” you say with a stern nod, pulling yourself together. When you leave the office, you have a renewed confidence, nothing like you felt when you’d walked in here earlier to those critical eyes following you. You feel an extra bounce in your step, passing by the secretary who has one of those particular pairs of eyes. You meet her stare as you walk up to where she’s seated, and you adjust your ponytail, knowing it’s quite obviously much more messy than when you’d arrived from Joel’s hands as he’d fucked into your face like it was his salvation.

“Have a great afternoon,” you chirp at her, a genuine smile shot her way as you pass by.

She gives you a faltering smile in return and her words trail after you as you don’t bother to stop on your way to the elevator. “You too…”

You’re patiently waiting, your whole body taut and anxious as you lay back against the pillows of the bed, sighing. You fiddle with the straps of your lingerie, glancing down to make sure everything is sitting just right on your body for Joel when you hear the front door opening in the distance. You smile to yourself devilishly, your heart thumping and skipping in your chest. You listen carefully, wanting to hear the exact moment Joel approaches you after this long, arduous wait. You’d ghosted your fingers over yourself too many times, always stopping yourself at the last minute before you took it too far, not wanting to disappoint Joel. You know that he’d know, somehow. He could tell the minute he walked in the house, you’d bet - your guilt would permeate every room in the house if you’d disobeyed what he’d asked of you.

It left you a nearly shaking mess, vibrating with excitement as you hear Joel milling around downstairs, the refrigerator opening and the familiar sound of a bottle of beer being opened. You frown slightly, wondering if he’s going to keep up your torturous wait for him until you hear him ascending the stairs. You prop one leg up and drape your hands along your thighs, spreading your baby pink manicured fingers across the skin there, cocking your head and glancing towards the door. The bed faces the door and Joel gets an eyeful of you the moment he appears in the frame, his gaze roaming hungrily over you. He leans one arm on the doorframe, beer in the other hand, observing you from afar.

“Were you good?” he asks, taking a long swig from the bottle.

You nod, whispering a yes to him.

“I know, can tell,” he says, not bothering to explain how he’d know, but you believe him.

“Wanted my reward,” you say meekly, shifting your legs restlessly on the bed.

Joel approaches the bed silently, feet moving purposefully lazily underneath him. He unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, revealing the top of his chest, and your eyes linger there, catching his curls of hair now peeking out of the top. He takes one more swig before he sets the beer on top of your dresser. He shrugs his shirt off and climbs onto the bed, crawling towards you. His heavy, muscled form keeps you in place as he straddles you, bringing his face only inches from yours.

“You try to touch yourself?” he asks with a little more bite to his tone. His lips find the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the tip of your nose as he speaks.

“A-almost. But I didn’t, I swear,” you say a little too quickly. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Thas’ right,” Joel breathes, inching closer to your lips with softening eyes. “My good little wife.”

He brushes his lips against yours and you shudder and moan, the anticipation that’s been building for hours now nearly at a breaking point. Your hips lift off the bed and Joel moves his hands from where they were bracketing your head to your hips, tight and commanding as he stops you from grinding into him.

He slips away from your face, moving down your body towards your aching heat, observing the lingerie you’re wearing along the way. His mouth brushes along the swell of your breasts covered in the lacy, flowery, sheer fabric.

“This looks perfect on ya, sweetheart.” He smirks against your skin and sucks, leaving a mark on each breast before he slides his lips down your stomach, stopping before he reaches the apex of your thighs.

You whine quietly to yourself, and Joel continues to take his time, a finger sliding under the strap of your panties. His eyes drift between your legs and his eyebrows raise.

“Babydoll, you’ve been makin’ a mess again,” Joel tuts, making a greedy little sound in the back of his throat. You can feel how wet you are for him, how you had been practically non stop since you’d left his office and somehow made it home, changed into this bra and panties, and laid down in bed, all of it in a strange fog, only able to focus on getting to this point, to Joel.

You crane your head to see what he’s looking at, the dark stain on your underwear, no doubt full of your slick arousal. Your face warms at him looking at it so intently, seeing just how wretchedly desperate you are for him, that this simple promise of a reward could have made you gush and gush for him.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, tracing his finger along the wet spot, leaving you to shudder again with a hitch of your breath. “Is it all for me, hm? All of this?” Joel’s finger slips underneath the fabric, running his finger along your slit and the inside fabric of your panties, gathering up your arousal.

“Mhm, mhm,” you nod eagerly at his teasing, completely intoxicated by him now.

“Tell me,” he demands, circling your clit a few times, and you cry out.

“It’s all yours.” Your eyes squeeze shut and you buck into his light touches, feeling like your entire being is on fire from the inside out, the intensity of need for Joel becoming nearly sickening, like you’d do anything to keep his attention right now. And you know at the end of the day, you would.

“What is? What’s all mine, little doll?” He speaks so assuredly, so languidly, like he could tease you all day like this and not be bothered. You know he would, too, if that was what would get him off that day, and you shudder to think that could be the case today.

“M-me, my pussy, it’s all yours. Only yours, sir.”

“That’s right. Good girl.” Joel sighs, moving his finger to his mouth and licking it clean in a slow, long stroke. He slowly, tantalizingly pulls your panties down your legs and you feel relief coursing through you that you’re getting that much closer to what you need from him.

Joel takes in the now bare bottom half of your body as he tosses your underwear on the floor. He moves swiftly, grabbing your sides and flipping your body so that you’re straddling his chest and he’s lying underneath you. He begins to pull you forward without a word, inching your aching heat closer to his mouth.

“Better soak my face, y’hear me?” he says before bringing you down and licking a flat, wide stripe up your slit and you cry out.

“Yes!” you call out suddenly, answering his question as you’re overtaken by the warm sensation of his mouth. He knows you so well, knows your body, what you respond to, and he dives right in, flicking his tongue perfectly over your clit a few times, drawing circles over it. You whine, your knees wobbling on either side of his head as you grip the sheets. You can tell you’re already doing exactly what Joel asked of you - there’s what feels like an impossible amount of slickness between your legs, and you can hear the lewd, pornographic sounds as he laps and sucks around your pussy. When his tongue pushes inside of you, you roll your eyes as your hips involuntarily thrust forward into it.

He pulls out for a moment, his breathing heavy against your cunt as he speaks. “What, you wanna fuck my tongue, d’ya, like a dirty little slut?” You nod, forgetting Joel can’t see it, and he tuts. “Answer me, little doll, use your words.”

“Yes, yes, please, let me fuck your face,” you practically sob, your lips going dry as you try to lick them back to life. It’s no use, your mouth drying all over again from the panting breaths Joel is bringing out of you.

“Fuck, dirty thing, such a whore for me, ain’t you?” You feel yourself fluttering around nothing, desperate for him to fill your aching, tightening little hole again.

“Yes, sir, I’m your whore. P-please…” you say, and Joel growls before his tongue pushes back into you, and he gathers your ass in his palms his fingers squeezing both globes tight enough to bruise, and he starts to lift you up and down, controlling the pace that you get to fuck his face. It’s dizzying as you feel him sliding in and out of you, your body bouncing on top of him, completely out of your control.

“F-ff-uck,” you moan, “My - my clit, Joel, I’m so close,” you cry feebly, barely able to get the words out. Joel pushes his nose inward, making sure it’s rubbing your clit each time he snaps your hips back down onto his face.

“Oh, right there, riiight there, yes!” you scream, and Joel goes harder as he senses you tensing up, your cunt pulsating and starting to quiver around his tongue. If anything, he starts to pull your hips down harder each time, and your eyes roll back as you squeeze them shut, your vision going bright white while your entire body responds to the pleasure. You feel your brain go fuzzy and your skin burning with the need for him finally releasing, his name falling from your lips over and over again.

Joel slows the thrusts a bit at a time, letting you ride the heavenly aftershocks into his mouth until you can barely take it anymore and you find yourself squirming to throw yourself onto the bed next to him. Joel lets you go and you roll over onto your back, panting with your eyes shut.

Joel is instantly on you again, wrapping an arm around your chest and kissing the side of your face. Your body still craves more of him, so you turn to meet his lips, tasting yourself on them and feeling how wet his beard is while it rubs against your skin. It’s igniting something dirty and primal and feral inside of you to have your own arousal on your tongue as it dances into Joel’s mouth.

His hand drifts to your breast, groping it and sliding a hand underneath your bra, running a thumb over your nipple. You whine when he tugs it harder and roll your body to lay on your side and get closer to him. Your hips start to grind on his leg, already seeking more friction from him again.

“Need me to fuck this little pussy so bad, huh?” Joel says against your lips, the vibration of his low baritone tickling your bottom lip.

“Mhm,” you practically whisper, a moan catching in your throat when he shoves a hand between your bodies directly to the apex of your thighs. He brushes his fingers along your overly sensitive clit and you twitch your hips into it.

“I missed you…” you say quietly as you put your hands to his belt and start to unbuckle it. You don’t even realize how absurd the words are, how short a time you’ve been apart from Joel to be saying that, but it was true. You’d keep Joel in this bed all to yourself if you could, if he never had to leave the house for work.

“My poor little doll, needin’ me to come fuck her senseless, waitin’ so patiently,” Joel says sympathetically while you work on freeing his cock, sending it slapping out and onto your belly as you press closer to him. He’s irritatingly calm and collected, knowing it’s driving you even madder with need and lust for him.

He pulls your thigh up over his leg as you lay facing each other, and he presses his cock between your legs, rubbing through your oversensitive folds and enjoying how quickly he’s covered in slick arousal. Your eyes roll back and you whimper, your pussy aching and tender, but needing him inside of you all the same.

He rolls you flat on your back and presses his lips to your neck, sucking gently and flicking his tongue over the little sore spots he’s making. You squirm your hips in search of him, and he grabs under your legs, pulling them up by the knees to wrap around his hips.

“Please, baby,” you beg, feeling him teasing your entrance, the bulbous head nearly bursting into you, giving you what you want. He retreats, looking down to see you purse your lips and huff out in frustration.

When he finally pushes his length inside of you, inch by deliciously tortuous inch until you’re full of him and he’s pressing himself against your deepest parts you moan out shakily.

He moves slowly, dragging his cock in and out of you as you clench and unclench around him. You’re sure that the fluttering you’re doing around his length is making Joel crazy, but he’s not showing it, and you both love and hate just how easily you fall apart for him while he can remain so composed for you.

“Yeah, that good, baby? That what you wanted? Or you need to be drunk on this cock, have me fuck your tight little hole till it’s all used up?” He pushes down on your shoulders, sinking you down into the mattress as he keeps up his frustratingly slow pace.

“Shit, Joel, use me, please,” you cry out, grasping at the sheets and arching your body into him. He moves suddenly, with a gracefulness and speed you sometimes forget that he has as he throws your legs up over his shoulders and starts to jackhammer into you.

It’s only then that you see it on his face, the way he falls apart for you, when you freely give yourself to him, tell him to use you. He contorts his face, sweat starting to gleam on his forehead as he ruts into you over and over, sending you bouncing towards the edge of the bed with his rough movements in and out of you.

Use me use me use me you chant under your breath like a sacred prayer to him, feeling your head starting to go off the side of the bed, hanging down while you lose yourself to Joel’s cock, eyes glazing over and vision swimming.

“Not so fast, pretty girl,” Joel snips, a hand shooting out to grab at your throat, pressing you further against the side of the bed. You choke out a moan as he squeezes and grunts, simultaneously taking and giving to you in hard, frenzied jerks of his hips. “Can’t b-be gettin’ away from me, gotta let me use this pussy up, ‘member?”

You can’t speak, can’t reply, can barely even think in full words as you feel him fold your body in half further, pressing on the spongy part inside of you every time he pushes inside of you, his balls slapping loudly against your ass with each movement. You can only croak out moaning sobs as the pressure inside of you builds to a burning, aching release. He squeezes your throat harder and you break, crying out in your strangled, little voice as you gush, your entire body shaking uncontrollably underneath him.

Your cunt spasms so hard around him your hips start to arch, but he urges them back down with his free hand, using it to anchor himself and fuck into you harder, chasing his own high along with yours as your walls squeeze him. You can feel so much of him, every bit of his length fucking into you as you try to milk his orgasm out of him, fluttering repeatedly.

“T-too much, f-fuck,” you cry out in a rasp, “Joel, fuck me, I’m g-gonna -“ you’re cut off by your own desperate, screeching moan as you soak everything, cumming hard around his cock and squirting, covering Joel’s jeans, the sheets, everything. You shudder as you come down and feel Joel still jacking himself off furiously inside your tight, spent cunt, grunting and cursing.

“So fuckin’ messy, fuckin’ filthy ain’t you, doll,” Joel mumbles as he slams into you with a few hard thrusts. He groans long and low before shoving himself as deep as he can, releasing your throat and spilling himself, claiming you as he paints your walls with his cum.

You’re gasping for air from the intensity of everything, slick with sweat all over and your combined spends between your legs as Joel pulls out and immediately gathers you into his arms, kissing the top of your head.

“Sweet little doll,” he mumbles, his lips ghosting across your hairline. “You’re good?”

“God, yes,” you breathe out confidently, barely able to open your eyes except to peek at Joel’s concerned eyes settling back into satisfaction as he runs his fingers down your bare arm, goosebumps cropping up at his touch. You shiver a little as your sweat starts to dry and Joel pulls you in even tighter, nuzzling your neck.

“You were such a good girl today, y’know that?” Joel says softly as he attaches his lips to the skin underneath your jawline.

“I was?” you ask shyly, popping your eyes open to look at him in questioning.

“Mm, of course, thank you for helpin’ me today.” Joel moves so the two of you are propped up on the pillows, legs stretched down the bed and intertwined together. “Never would take you for granted - the lunches, the sweet girl I got, y’know all that?”

“I know, I know,” you say soothingly, cupping your hand around his cheek. “You give me everything, Joel, it’s the least I could do.”

“I'm gonna have to argue and say you do that, do everythin’,” Joel says, a half smile tugging the corner of his lips as his eyes sparkle mischievously now. You pinch his nose and squeeze it, scrunching your face at him in disapproval.

“Agree to disagree?” you say, one of your phrases for when you know that it’ll be a completely fruitless faux argument, that neither one of you will admit that the other is the more perfect spouse. You know deep down that it isn’t even close to the point anyways, that the only thing that matters is how perfect you both feel being together. Your heart warms along with your body as you feel your husband so close, exhaustion overtaking you from the roller coaster of a day you’d had with him and your eyes flutter shut again.

“Agree to disagree, darlin’.” Joel sighs, tilting your face up to his.

He kisses you, and the thought flashes through your mind that you’d never choose it to be any other way, any other person in the entire world to make you feel this giddy, this desired, this… like yourself.

taglist: @aphterthoughtt @bbyanarchist @amy172 @hazzaismyreligion @ohheypedrito @msmorningstaarr @kamcrazy123 @madhere @huffle-punk @jupiter-soups

(sorry i haven't been updating as much to everyone who reads my stories, i've been going through a lot of insecurity lately and it's been hard for me to be inspired when i'm comparing myself to others or just being an insecure mess so anyway ty for bearing with me)

#fic: pretty little wife #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #x reader

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