#if you can’t tell i got stuck on what to do with some of the campaigns oops

[kooyabooya]

CALLA

m reader x chaeryeong // 7k words

“You’re gonna be late,” says Chaeryeong, carelessly kicking her feet up in the air off the kitchen counter. “I told you to set your alarm last night after we uh- yeah, then look what happens.” 

She’s not wrong here, honestly. You are going to be late. And it isn’t helping your case when the stolen dress shirt from your closet is being worn by her, staring shamelessly at you with an apple slice in her mouth as you’re cleaning the sink. 

But here you are making things worse, giving in to the sultry grin that Chaeryeong gives when your arms are wrapped around her waist, crumpling up the perfectly ironed piece of cloth when her hands snake up to the nape of your neck, and upwards. “Can’t you just like- call off today?” she asks, carding her fingers deep into the back of your head, massaging, “It’s always so boring here when you’re gone.” 

Your forehead bumps hers, and some of that bedroom hair starts to pool over her right collarbone, compensating for the increasing tilt of your head as the tips of your noses brush together as a small tease as you retreat with Chaeryeong leaning forward to chase that wanting kiss. 

“As much as I want to,” you’re telling her, swooping back in for a quick peck across her cheek. “I can’t. Besides, I called off that other time to stay here with you.” 

Chaeryeong pouts, eyes fixed on your face as she pulls the upper part of your shirt just underneath the collar, revealing. You take into account the scattered marks of cherry fading across her chest and neck, remnants from a list of preferences she loves you to indulge in: her lips, her breasts - especially when she’s bent over or pressed into the mattress with the end of your cock being the closer. 

“I know that look.” You dip your head down at the familiar sight, hands scooching her to the edge of the counter as you feel her ankles hook your backside loosely. “The guilt trip isn’t gonna work on me today honey, sorry.” 

Chaeryeong rolls her eyes at that, and blinks. She has this kind of tendency no matter what given situation it may be, for her to let the eyes lock onto something over your shoulder or let the mind just wander. It’s only for a few seconds and nothing more than that, but with the way that her fingers curl around your neck again, darting her eyes back towards you, signaling to something. 

“Not letting me go, are you?” You prompt. 

“Are you sure you can’t call off again?” Chaeryeong reels you in with the pull of her knees, smiling at the dry laugh leaving your lips. “Please? For me?” 

So you lower your guard, tip your head downwards to get those first tastes of her lips. She tastes like coffee, and you’re probably sure that there’s a little bit of ketchup stuck on the outer room of her bottom lip. 

You’ll be partial to the playfulness that Chaeryeong exerts, the seemingless gravity that makes everyday worth treading through. If you roll your eyes at her, she’ll do the same thing, because that’s the kind of person that Chaeyeyong is: someone who gets what she wants, even when the common denominator of all things is you. 

She’s an easy person to let by. Frankly, you’re quite the opposite. 

You like when she has a little bit of an attitude towards you, riling her up and pressing all the right buttons with all this teasing and the usual back and forth banter that ends up with a flying hand to a shoulder or face, but you love when she does that - consider it to be a hidden charm.

“Not today, princess,” you finally answer, a finger treating the corner of your lip as you quickly glance at Chaeryeong wetting her lips some more leaning again but you’re pulling back just a bit just to get the funny little shake she does with her arms when she’s being messed with. “As much as I love to, I’ve got some stuff to be done today.” 

“Like what?” Chaeryeong asks, using her hands to shake your waist in place, kind of like a little kid throwing a tantrum in the middle of the grocery store, her whining tone a further emphasis. “If you don’t go in, then-”

“My manager would be on my ass,” you answer for one. “Plus, our project would be pushed back a bit. Worst case scenario: I could get fired since this is the third time in the past two weeks where I had to call off.” 

“That won’t happen.” 

“You’re right, but I could lose my job if we keep this up. We would lose one of our primary sources of income. Bills won’t be paid, no groceries - imagine the house goes too, now that would be tragic.” 

Chaeryeong listens dutifully, but her grip is still somewhat tight on you. 

“Is that enough to sway you, my dear?” you ask, thumbs massaging the back of her (your) dress shirt that she’s practically swimming in all of it’s unbuttoned glory. And Chaeryeong here leans her head towards the bridge of her left collarbone, retreating a hand back firmly onto the counter. That same side also opened up a bit to where you could see more of her exposed chest right down the middle. Her thoughts are in order, and her right hand is sending the clear message. 

She’s not letting go. 

“Tempting,” is what she gives, her voice a bit off, not exactly defeated nor depressed, but firm. She’s pulling you in the more she leans back, flashing those pleading eyes with the hint of lust hidden beneath them. “I guess you can be on time for once.” 

Well, fuck it. What’s one more earful from your boss later today when you come in? 

Whether or not it’s your fault or Chaeryeong’s will be decided sometime later, but it doesn’t take any more of an ounce in your mind when her arms wrap around the broad shape of your back, feeling the heat of her cheeks grow with every passing second as you’re picking up on the familiar rhythms and movements from last night’s escapades. Through all the hot, slick mouths to the consuming presses of your faces against each other, you’re doubling down your efforts when you lay her across the marble as she tugs your hair gently. 

Chaeryeong gets a single leg wrapped around your waist as she shimmies herself down a bit to where the tent of your pants is, the slight raise of her hips hoping to be satisfied with an early form of friction to get a feel of the real thing following the next couple of minutes. You pull back with an audible smack off of her small, plump lips. “Figured you changed your mind?” She asks, and the lazy smirk she pulls is nothing short of playing calm and collected as you snake a hand beneath the dress shirt, feeling up the cold skin since the lack of layers is playing to her disadvantage. “That look in your eyes says ‘yes’ to me.” 

“You’re not really offering me much choice here,” you’re saying, thumb grazing the curve of her underboob. Chaeryeong never likes wearing clothes in the morning unless it's just her underwear. Today was certainly no exception. 

The more you sink your body onto Chaeryeong’s, the more you’re starting to become more familiar with the sloping curves and lines of her body that your fingers glide over - she’s tightening the noose that’s formed within her arms, slithering along with the additional pull of her ankle pressed into the posterior of your thigh. 

It’s the question she asks so innocently, even when her actions don’t really speak for her words: 

“I’m always offering you a choice here, babe.” You consider that to every avenue possible, even when you’re bent over the kitchen counter with your girlfriend under you, and she isn’t wrong in this case either. There’s always a choice for you to hide away from the rest of the world with her without having repercussions. There’s always a choice to follow when you’re making her cum over and over and over until the eventual trade off happens in emptying yourself, heaving and exhausted only for the cycle to repeat again not long after. “You just have to think critically here.” 

“Which I am,” you’re telling her, a stray finger sweeping the strand of hair stuck to the side of her cheek, meticulously tracing every fine detail along the line of her profile, studying and admiring the beauty right in front of your eyes, where the appearance is all natural and without the added effects of lighting and makeup. 

It isn’t any different, this gaze you’re bearing. Call it straight out of a romantic movie, the way that you wait at the bottom steps of Chaeryeong’s office building, waiting for her to get out at approximately five o’clock every day of the week and when she does get out, the glint in your eyes and pretty much everything around just seems to bright up instantly as she gracefully makes her way down like that typical Cinderella story, expect that both of her heels stay on throughout the whole time, but you’d love to put the heel back with it’s rightful owner if it came to that. A fairytale story imitated in real life. You would love to be stuck in that little world with her no matter where it takes you, exploring and sharing the new experiences because she’ll be there right at your side. 

But if it’s during the late nights or mornings like these, it usually entails a different story entirely. 

Chaeryeong knows what she’s doing at times when you’re up late writing reports or getting those late night reads. You know what she does to you in the mornings especially after a night out with her limbs bundled up all over you beneath the sheets - the eventual mixup culminated after you’ve rucked your fingers deep into her hair, her skin, until she’s a whimpering and whining mess in the dim lights, muscles having a mind and memory of their own in making her feel good. All of this was led from the subtitles advances, the taunts, the hushed whispers of what she would do to you or vice versa. 

The wavelength is well connected, you’re still looking deep past those whisky irises of hers, a shimmering sparkle lying beneath as she pulls a lazy smile at the corner of her lip. 

“Wanna know what I’m thinking about right now? You ask, pressing your head across the underside of Chaeryeong’s jaw and at the top of her neck. As if it were second nature or just practiced, she inhales deep, arches her back up and away from the counter, giving leeway for your arms as she grasps you close. Closer. As if she’ll melt right into your skin then and there. She’ll want more of you. The touches, the kisses, just anything of substance that makes her feel amazing. Your nose gets filled up with that sea breeze scent from her shampoo the other night, nuzzling at the tilt of her chin when you’re saying, “Forget about work, it’s just you, you, you. It’s all about you.” 

“That’s flattering,” Chaeryeong says, moving her head when your lips continue to canvas across the slender column of her neck, leaving her with these quick gasps as her body shivers beneath the dress shirt. “You’re like- so crazy about me. It’s a bit concerning, but when you’re equally insane as me-” 

“Chaery,” you say, and even with the low timbre your voice is presented with, it does something to her head, the way her eyes flutter at her own name. The sigh she lets out is heavenly. “You don’t have to tell me. I know.” 

And here you catch wind of Chaeryeong doubling back on the defensive, her face flushed as her eyes are fixated on your face again, the breathing suddenly getting irregular but only for just a second - her position is rapidly deteriorating when she averts her gaze away from yours, like she wasn’t the one who swiped your dress shirt for her to put on while you were in the shower, the way she sat so leisurely on the kitchen counter as you wrap up breakfast, and the fact that she got on top of you before you even did all that, fluttering her pussy lips across your growing cock in the hope that you’d give her a quickie. 

But here she is, splayed across beneath you. It didn’t matter whether it’d be on the couch, the floor, the bathroom floor, the mattress; anywhere you go, there’s a certain hierarchy to be followed. “God, you’re so effortless with it. You-” 

You’re shaking your head here, the air leaving your nostrils hitting right above her lips as you slide your right hand down her waist starts this little aftershock effect of shuddering when your fingertips start to dance along the lacy elastic of her panties, her legs moving with unease as she’s anticipating the inevitable creaming and jutting her hips for more. She hates the teasing to an extent, but knows that you’ll play into her game before she lets you have free reign. “Keep telling me what I want to hear, babe. It’s okay.” 

Chaeryeong however, when the right moment matters the most, doesn’t say anything. The only thing coming out of her mouth is another moan when you’ve got a handful of her ass on your palm, pressing your lips and nose deeper into her neck again. Your weight is pressing deeper to the lower half of her body as she manages to get her other leg wrapped around your waist as her lips capture yours, pulling and biting the slick parts to get more out of you. The desperation. She wants it. She needs it. You could agree with the craving aspect all by itself. 

“Not hearing anything from you,” you mutter as your lips slide across hers, dragging your hand in this perpendicular motion that catches her panties at the edge, moving it down as the cloth goes along with it. She’s still shifting about underneath, a bit erratic though it fits her so well. You don’t have to say an inkling of praise as to how good she looks when she doesn’t get what she wants. No point in telling because you’ll spread her legs apart and give exactly what she needs before she can even put in a proper request. 

“Bitch,” Chaeryeong hisses, the line of her spine jagged in a weird formation as she tilts her head back, muscles tensing as the hooks of your arms really do their work as intended. “Don’t- Don’t do this shit with me. I know what you’re doing.” 

Part of the dress shirt falls past her shoulder. Her chest opens up to you as your head goes a bit lower past her neck, letting the pale skin stretch below as the hand focusing on her panties reaches to her thighs. Almost on impulse, probably instinctually, her legs open up revealing the usual site of damage waiting to be bombarded on again, hips moving out of their own will as she keeps on fidgeting at your touch. 

Normally you’d be off to work around this time, or hit the front door in the main lobby, but not today. “Doing what, exactly?” you reiterate, fingers grazing her inner thigh as the panties eventually get discarded from her legs with all the moving that she keeps on doing, the bottom of your wrist hitting her aching lips on accident (calculated, actually), “Cause from the looks of it, I’m not doing anything wrong here.” You can’t really help yourself in these types of situations: the teasing, being playful with all of the nonchalance of talking. The first pressure point was the cursing, and that’s already done. What follows with that first barrier cracking in front of your eyes would be all of the swearing and the lovely pleads of her begging - giving it to her like she deserves, in the arched backs, the press of her calf on the small of your back, her toes curling, fingers digging into the back of your head, letting her vocal cords sing as you’re filling every single bit of her fantasy of the kind of unfathomable sex that kind of feels a bit unrealistic; though it’s real, all of it. Like you’re good at reading all of the signs and lines that the body gives without any additional help at all. “I’m just getting you ready. Exactly in the way that you want.” 

Boom. Bullseye. Chaeryeong knows all too well, and she’s yours. Her eyes roll back as the upper profile of her teeth catches her swollen bottom lip, because it’s a rinse and repeat of the countless times that you’ve fucked her over and over with your tongue, your lips, your cock. She’ll keep spilling out these praises and swears of you carrying her to bed, or dragging her at times, all of the good and bad things that she’ll late on forget when you’re burying her into the mattress or letting her ride you out in the open air. You’ll be her enemy, and she’ll be yours. But here’s the thing: it cuts both ways. 

She gets a nail or two into your nape, a bit too deep, another mark of dishonor. The growl rumbling in your throat finds its way into the upper profile of her chest, but the return of delight coming from Chaeryeong serves as the proper antithesis that cancels it out completely. “Look at you,” you drawl, “I can see the fucking glisten from up here.” 

Chaeryeong manages to get an elbow up for stability, leaning back as you find the grooves to grip into her waist, holding the bottom of her thighs with your hips as they finally rest at the edge of the counter. 

Your hand works behind the scenes as Chaeryeong keeps her lidded eyes up, just barely. “You-” Is a firm attempt for her to reply to your remark, but when the root of your palm presses down onto her heat, she moves up on reflex, wanting that roughness in the lines to momentarily sate the growing want with every small shift. Her voice hides well under her loud breaths, and all she mumbles off of her lips is a very timid, “need.” 

There’s a fair share of sights you’ll drink your eyes into for as long as you need. Oddly enough, the displeasure of making Chaeryeong wait, to whittle her down into nothing less than just impatience and desperation - it’s adorable, because this is payback for what she did to you the night before. 

You remain stoic, unfazed. Her eyes keep focusing and unfocusing as her chin goes low, looking up. 

“Gotta help me out here, love,” you adjust, swaying your head from side to side slowly as you ease up with another kiss or two, leaving nothing untouched with the soft presses until you figure enough is enough for the time being. “What is it that you need?” 

She inhales deeply. Collecting her thoughts. Her favorite kind of truth serum: the neediness. “Need you to feel me.” 

“Need me to fix you up,” you rephrase, allowing her a small victory when her arms pull you in again, the taste of your lips too addicting to ignore, holding her close at the waist that makes her stop abruptly. “Make you cum so hard that you’re aching for more.” 

The nods she makes are frantic, and you can see the lump in her throat roll downwards as she leans up for another quick kiss to your chin. 

“Please baby.” Chaeryeong’s drawing another sharp inhale into her chest when you pick her up off the counter, sitting her upright. Some of her hair catches your cheek, just by a few strands, but she takes this opportunity to recount and compose herself. “For me.” 

“You’re pretty,” you huff into her ear and she hums this nice tone against her throat when you’ve slid her right at the edge of the counter, easing up the tension in her body when you flip your fingertips at the growing warmth between her legs. She does the easy part all by herself when she slips out of the dress shirt even more, the bottom part of the cloth rumpling across the smooth surface behind her. “I’ll give you exactly what you need.” 

She’s nodding against your ear, you’re smiling deep into her hair. This is the best way to start the morning. 

When the two pads of your fingertips make that first dip into her cunt, she’s clutching onto you like her life depends on it. Like the shackles of every chain of common sense she had left finally severed. She hisses again, you realize how wet she’s really gotten, the ruts she continues on doing only makes that craving even more deserving to satisfy. 

The quick murmur of a ‘fuck’ doesn’t go unoticed when you’re calculating every move your finger makes as it inches further down the soaking trenches of her cunt. It’s all in the right amounts of pressure, the curls, inching deeper and deeper to elicit these beautiful hymns of pleasure infecting your ears. She’s spreading herself winder, mirroring the stretch of her pussy lips when you finally give her that fill that she’s been wanting all morning. You’ve got all three knuckles up inside her, each move makes her pussy gush around your fingers as you pick up the pace a bit. 

Chaeryeong isn’t one to just sit and let anyone do the work for her. She equally wants the effort just as much as you, rolling her hips into your hand as you’re dividing and conquering her body with another fast shower of kisses across her neck and chest. In the ‘ahh’s’ and ‘mmm’s’ and ‘mhm’s’ brings her closer to the edge that she oh so yearns for. Only you can pull it off and out of her in record time. 

Her fingers keep traversing into your hair, until you’ve got her in that lecherous spot to where her head shoots back in a momentary shock and buries her chin into the crater where your collarbone is as you can picture the crinkle in her eyebrows. She coos when she feels the ends of your teeth nibble over her neck, adding onto the catalog of bruises from the night prior and where the concealer will have to work a little bit harder when she goes out later in the week. 

And you curl your fingers right before the opening, and the thumb on her clit throws itself into the mix. A pinch happens somewhere here too. You’re closing in on the staggered breathing that steadies itself as the wetness starts to seep into your hand. She knows she’s close, and you know her better than anyone when she finally reaches the first layer of her orgasm, holding her at the rim of her ass as the bottoms of her thighs slide across the counter. 

“Shh, I’ve got you,” you’re whispering amidst the sucking gasps of her rapture. Her head faces up towards the ceiling, her eyes roll back before they’re fading behind her eyelids. “Some wiggle room as you’re cumming. Thank me later.” 

Chaeryeong keeps her lower half moving as she manages to pull your head back so that you can make eye contact with her. Those fucking eyes. The mocha shade of them focusing and unfocusing as her jaw slackens, the shade in her cheeks flushed as you’re grinning of her sought-after reward. You’re pretty sure that she’s mouthing a ‘thank you’, but the whines fill in as the harmonious sound to which you nod at how proud you are of your own handiwork. 

She’s riding herself without a single care in the world, chest heaving so high and low deep as the heat’s already spread out to every part in her body. 

When you do eventually draw your fingers back from her pussy, there’s a slight coat covering them as you take the time to indulge with your tongue all over them, making her watch as you’re wiping the mess off of your lips. You’re evil, but not that evil. You give her the good grace of making Chaeryeong taste herself, lips and tongue quick to pick up on the spots where you didn’t treat on purpose, watching as she sucks and licks her own slick off that brings a familiar image to foreshadow. The mess. The sloppiness of her. She’s perfect. 

You stare for a little too long as she comes down from that deserved high. Her tongue wetting her lips from the aftertaste. She leans back a bit, watches you breathe out the exhaustion as a twinkle shines in her eyes - another spark - gets both hands on the rim of the counter and lets herself down. She’s a few inches shorter than you. Her forehead right at the end of your chin, and here she looks up. It’s like this optical illusion, how she starts to shrink right in front of your eyes. 

She sinks down slowly, dropping to her knees, hands at the front of your pants, pulling them. 

You can’t let her have a head start, so you don’t even think twice about what she wants next.

It all comes in a black flash. A spring forward in time. She’s on her knees with a finger wrapped around the base of your cock, tongue sweeping the underside as she works her way up the shaft, the heat and slickness of her mouth leaving a trail of her until she’s at the end of it. 

“Chaery,” you hiss, eyes fixated at the sight of her pouty lips lathering up your cock in her spit, watching as she gently bobs her way down the line, slurping and hollowing her cheeks to her heart’s content. “Fuck- fucking hell. God-” 

A pull back with the graze of her teeth is one thing. The swirling tip of her tongue over the head of your cock is another. Then there’s the effortless dive all the way down at the base. She’s unbridled to do whatever she wants to you, and you would be okay with that. The look up with those doe eyes of hers - and the fucking cross-eyed expression with them does something to your neurons. 

She puts most of her hair behind her head while you rest your hand on top, burying your fingers in them. Chaeryeong hums as you test the first thrust of your hips slowly into the choking heat of your mouth. Bit by bit, she takes every inch of you with ease. 

You’ll get your face between her legs, it’s already happened. 

You’ll get your cock deep into the hollow of her throat, it’s happening right now. 

Fuck, and when you pull out to smack the head of your cock across her lips before you see her eyes go wide to that repeated deepthroat motion, she’ll take it well and you’re sure of it. 

Doesn’t change the impending outcome whatsoever: you’re still going to be late. 

You’re surprised at how the dress shirt has managed to stay on Chaeryeong’s body this entire time, hitting the back of her mouth with obscene precision. She’s giving you this sort of payback when her hands hook to the back of your thighs; they go a bit higher to rest on your ass as she relaxes her throat, resting your cock into the cyclonic heat in every passing stroke. 

She gags a bit for a second, the puff of her cheeks letting you know that the choke is a positive implication, and you gasp in surprise. 

Her heavenly locks are even messier than they were before, when you’re pumping yourself into her mouth, holding her still to prolong the amazing feeling she has over your cock. The sounds she makes happened the morning before when your body decided to have a mind of its own, in response of the cold air to which Chaeryeong accepted the gift wholeheartedly: fucking her mouth until you’ve got your cum spilling out the corners of her mouth and a few spurts painting her cheek soon after - it isn’t any different here.

You could cum right here, right now, and she’d be happy with the result. 

But when her eyes drop low, dead in the water, hazy, the puff up of your chest prepares you for the worst. 

She hums. Her mouth slips across your hard length slowly, meticulously. The little notion of control takes over when she drags her lips across the sensitive surface with so much care - so much detail, the grip you have in her hair only makes it much more excruciatingly difficult to keep yourself upright, in the buckling of your knees every few other seconds. You’re not simple to take on, and where she’s gargling all over the length, she diverts some of her attention to your balls soon after, nails lighty dragging across the ridges as you nudge down deeper into the opening inside. 

“Umgph,” she finally says when nothing is said except for the leaking gags coming out of her throat, and you’re starting to feel a tad bit dizzier. 

You drag yourself out, pull a bit too hard where the roots of her hair are tangled along with your fingers, and she looks up, a third of your cock sticks out to the inside of her cheek, then her eyes roll back. The hollow she does with her cheeks, the suction- the fucking suction. 

“Jesus girl,” you taunt, almost defensively. “Fuck. Love it when you do that.” 

“Mmph,” she hums, nodding with your tip captured between her lips still. She does a few additional bobs as the clutch of your fingers starts to loosen over her head, slipping, retreats a second later. “Was that enough to convince you to stay?”

The way that you bend yourself down, reach to her level. Her fingers slide over your wrists while your hands get her face in between them, pulling the old bag of tricks and kisses - pulling and biting and sucking off the slop, melding every little part of her towards you. Everything starts to fade out from the outside, as if you’re sinking down deeper into the never ending abyss that’s Chaeryeong. 

Except, she’s the one who pulls away first - not you. The irregular breathing returns after a short stint away, hot and haphazardly, rising up from the floor with a hand quickly wrapped around your cock still. “Maybe you need a little bit more persuading.” 

“I’m all ears,” you tell her, willingly. 

“Really? Okay then. Couch.” 

Your cock is tethered between her fingers, following along to the hypnotic fashion in the movement of her hips. She’s gliding along the hardwood floors on the balls of her feet, humming along shamelessly until you find yourself in a usual territory, just a few steps away from the first battleground. Chaeryeong doesn’t let up with the racking of your brain when she twirls around and captures your lips with hers, her hand languidly sliding along your slick cock that shuffles an influx of these scattered breaths to where she’s smiling into your parted lips. Though, she pushes you onto the cushions of the couch, straddling you as she cradles the back of your head so gently, to where you’re looking up and the only things you can feel are the stray strands in her hair brushing along the side of your face as your lips are under attack again. 

But your hands have their own ideas in mind, acting as an additional weight to her hips, your cock twitching when the outer rim of her puffy pussy lips, making your lips and hers buck on impulse from the contact, chuckling at the twitch. 

“I think teasing you would be better,” she suggests, finally letting herself rest on top of you, the wetness staining the underside of your length, gasping a bit when she realizes that the growth of your cock actually feels a bit thicker than usual. “Wow babe, oh- god. Did you-” 

“Could say that I’m properly convinced,” you sigh, dropping your head back when she slides up a tad bit- jesus. 

And Chaeryeong nods at the resolve, leaning her head to the left as she manages to get a hand underneath your chin, hips moving dangerously slow on purpose. This can be an agenda of sorts, the usual wake-up routine that you would have no problem in following. Until one of you wants to tear the page to start something anew; you could have the ending of digging your cock deep into her until she’s shaking her head for more. 

“Had I done enough already?” she then asks, the drag of her lips past the corner of your mouth, her breath enchanting enough for you to pass out figuratively. 

“I’m passive to changing my mind. But seriously, Chaery, your fucking hips-” 

She hums and nods, grinding down your cock a bit more harshly. Anything that she does would be enough to make you snap. 

“Don’t think too hard about this.” Chaeryeong grins, her soft chuckle in the open space between your lips and hers. It’s a brief moment of embrace - the intimacy - something that happens effortlessly without even the move of a muscle or nerve. You kiss her again, trying to do everything in your power to not give a shrivel of attention in the way that she grinds her pussy over your cock. A tongue gets swept across your lower lip, followed by another sharp inhale; she’s happily skating along your length, makes your eyes drop low, and your head feels dizzy. Only when she pulls away, brushes the tip of her nose against yours, biting her lip down and breathing, “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?” 

Your only logical choice here is to look up, watch Chaeryeong’s face as she licks her fingers, runs them through her folds a few times, grabbing your cock carefully and runs your tip across the first waves of heat, sponging up the soakage as she lets herself down; she slides down to a third - right above the halfway point, and sinks soon after. 

Her cunt molds around your cock perfectly. At the mere fit of her, your lower half twitches in response. She rests for a second as her eyelids drop from above, frozen. You’re positive that you can’t move either; neither of you want to, because everything pretty much made sense in the moment alone, making you forget about everything else. 

“Slow,” you’re telling her, thumbs resting at the creases of her hip. “Slow.”  The anchor of your hands to her impossibly small waist guides her in the same motion she was doing a few minutes ago, gyrating her pussy down to the base of your cock. And then she rises, drops her ass onto your balls and the rebound transfers over to your thighs. “Yeah, right there. Good girl.” 

Chaeryeong does the same motion again, and slams her ass down. She repeats it, and the second time you’re thrusting up a bit to reduce the impact, but the weight on top of you becomes a bit unbearable, and you’re filling the crater of the cushion once more. You’re going to be fucked, the same can be said for her too; it’s a competition as to who can reach their edge first, or at the very least, who can get so needy for their own release that all bets are thrown off the table and one of you will just fuck the other into oblivion. 

“Every fucking time,” she curses, her body almost levitating over your hips at this point. You’re biting down the groan ripping between your vocal cords, each one more aggressive than the last. That’s what she’s working towards - to break you both mentally and physically - bringing out that side of you that’s mere putty one second, make the complete one-eighty to flip her over and make her suffocate through the cushions. You can feel it in the audible slaps her legs sound against yours, the drag of her unbelievably tight pussy piloting the usual aches back to the forefront, unraveling the slack as you struggle to keep it altogether. “Ugh. Amazing.” 

“Chaeryeong,” you sputter out, and this in one of the few rare instances where you’re saying her name properly, and the sight above is always something to get lost into; her head falls forward, shielding the sly smirk and whimpering whines leaking out of her lips. She throws her head back when you’re yanking her back down onto your throbbing length - a test run, an assessment. The way that she fits all around you is second to none, the smoothness and intuition to double down serves as a dangerous addiction that you see yourself relapsing in no time flat. “Hold yourself down here, close to me. Bounce on my fucking cock - shit, just like that.” 

She nods, her upper half finding a hold as she lets the other do it’s thing, moaning mindlessly and all of the good things about how your cock fills her up so easily. The desperation, the hint of panic, that natural instinct of wanting to be fucked, drench your cock with her slick any chance she can get like right now. Her huffs are starting to pick up in pitch as your hands play second fiddle of driving yourself into her as deep as you can get it, and you start to feel your eyelids drooping while the sounds of her thighs start to fade out between your ears. Keeping it together here was never the option. And she holds herself down at the hilt, grinds a bit once you’ve bottomed her out, gyrating your embedded cock as the press of your fingers starts transforming into this claw-like grip. 

Innovative as she is, Chaeryeong moves her legs a bit, plants her feet onto the seat of the couch. Your hands find their way to the underside of her thighs, raising up the intensity with the same motion as before. 

“S’that feel good, baby?” She asks sweetly, innocently. “Your fucking cock feels so good. I could live like this if I wanted to. 

You’ve reduced yourself to nods. There’s nothing left to be said, this indescribable feeling.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” The assurance is cute, but with her pretty little body in the form that it is, the flushed face and heaving coming out of her chest almost undermines the appearance entirely. 

So you’re back to the drawing board. Square one. Chaeryeong is an endless bundle of lust when she squats down on your cock again, doing exactly as she said. She’s fucking you relentlessly as the entire frame of her body plays victim to the aftershocks of your cock and hips; the crash sending a ripple effect of her ass, her thighs, her tits, all shaking up in different paces of motion, and the feeling is the same result every time. 

Everything starts to stir within your body, nearing that eventual end that you and her have been working towards, breaking her body down in endless spires of nerves, right until the very second where she’s clenching around your cock, cumming on your waist. She’s holding herself down to you again, hips moving in this counter-clockwise motion, hoping to reduce the overbearing sensation when she’s peaking again, biting down her scream. It’s in the cinches of her face, the patchwork of scratches forming across your neck and shoulders, the signs of a pretty girl losing their mind over a good dick, wanting to have more like she depends on it. 

“Look at you, baby,” you appraise, combing a handful of her hair as you keep up the stable pace of upward thrusts into her cunt. You know how this story goes - how it’ll be from here on out, where Chaeryeong can’t even come up with the right words on the tip of her tongue, when she’s all fucked out where she can’t even think straight, lets you take the reins away from her. It’s a bit of a facade when she’s holding your neck by the arms, the kind of hug in a reunion after for being away for so long, palms pressing down on the small of her back as you get yourself in the prime position to really fuck her in the way that she knows and likes. The inside of her knees squeeze the outer rim of your legs, holding herself in palace as you get the right angle to the degree, fuck her through and through until she’s screaming and cumming the absolute mess out her. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. Just relax. Let me.” 

Chaeryeong sighs into your collarbone, resting her lips across the skin. You zero in on the imaginary line that you’ve created in your head, gliding into her tight hole. The sound of her slick getting louder and louder with every harsh thrust. There’s also a hint of care in the back of your mind: to not let her squirt over the cushions, since that’ll be another hassle to handle once all of this is over until the next round. 

You’re pulling a lazy grin at the corner of your mouth again, and she takes notice, an airy laugh following soon after. Chaeryeong knows that look all too well. She lives to see that look each and every time - to shake your goodwill down and morphing it into mere impulses of her infectious lust, the rawness of which you’ll completely forget what you were doing minutes prior as you’re only fixated on pounding her cunt to where she’ll beg for more, wail when she hasn’t had enough, just a full on fledged mess. Just when she’s got a few scraps of sense back into her head, she pulls her head sideways, and a siren’s call passes her lips, “do it, want to feel all of you.” 

Well, you’ll do just that. Chaeryeong’s body is one with yours, her hot breath flushing over your neck, peppering your cheek with kisses and huffing out these sorrowful gasps every stroke your cock does inside her, ripping apart every ounce of self control you have left to give. You’ll bask in the glorifying graces of her rapid cunt tearing your cock, the melting heat amidst the heaven that space between her thighs possesses - each passing movement more addictive as you’re pistoning your cock into her pussy - you’ll fuck her well, you’ll fuck her right. The clench she has on you is too strong, and it’s gotten so fucking simple for her to slide from the head of your cock to where your balls is at. She’ll ride you like there’s no tomorrow, and you would be fine with that. 

Harder. Deeper. She whispers into your ear, gasping out more with utter desperation, the voice wracked with pure pleasure, though still stable above the constant slaps your balls and thighs make against her ass; the begging hasn’t stopped too, and she really just wants one thing here from you. She can easily tell that you’re at the edge, the muscles along your cock and around your waist are contracting and relaxing in all the right areas. “Fuck your cum into me, baby. I want it. I want it bad. This pussy is yours. Yours. Own it like you mean it, I want it right in my fucking stomach.” 

‘Chae, fuck-” You bite down hard, drag your teeth against themselves. She’s fucking insane. Her pressure is too much on one point, actually on many points. Your mind and body are out of sync - everything all at once is too much to handle. You’ve got no control anymore. “-your pussy, feels wonderful.” 

“I know, I know,” she coos, managing to get a thumb across your bottom lip, fingers sliding across your cheek, barely keeping it together from the high ground. Her eyes go cross again, jaw slack when your cock drives itself deep into her sopping socket. “Can feel you throbbing. Fuck me. Fuck my pretty little pussy.” 

Your stomach collapses, and you manage to get a few more good thrusts in. “Chaer- god.” 

She slams her ass back down as you hold her there, cumming into her cunt. The first few pulses are lethal, and you’re pretty sure you’re seeing white in your head.

“Shh, there we go.” Chaeryeong sighs, hushing you with a palm over your mouth, muffling out the listless groans and curses that are trapped deep within your lexicon. “Can feel your cum- oh my god, it’s so much.” She’s still clamped well around your cock, squeezing you dry and the lazy follow up thrusts wrings out the last savoring pulses of cum where you can get it. The throbbing hotness finally taking rest within her slick. 

Though she doesn’t take herself off from you right away, and you’re not bothering the idea of pulling out, because she’s meant to stay where she’s at. Her hips continue to massage your cock inside of her as you’re doing your best to come down from your high. You and her mesh the heavy breathing, the exhaustion washing over you as the lustful aura starts to fade away. 

Chaeryeong places her head right next to yours, lightly scratching the back of your head as she lazily looks up to the low hum of your phone vibrating on the kitchen counter. 

“I think that’s your boss calling,” she tells you, placing a kiss to your temple, hips slowly grinding against yours to keep your focus on her, a foreshadow of what’s yet to come, “You should probably tell him that you’re coming in late.” 

[hidden-poet]

S. lands on top; 6

summary: Coriolanus returns home to the Capital with two women from district 12 plaguing his mind. One a (presumed) dead mystery but another well within his reach.

warnings: unco, dark!Coriolanus, possessive!Corirlanus, Dark themes, mentions of death, she/her pronouns, kidnapping, violence, All of the warnings, dead dove do not eat.

Word count: 7,835

chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Coriolanus left Mabel without breakfast the next morning. 

He was so angry, he could kill her. But what good would his anger do? 

It would break his favorite toy and leave him nothing for it.

Instead he needed to show Mable that her actions amounted to nothing. Best she think she has no effect whatsoever. That all her kicking and screaming did nothing but wear her out. 

He tried his best to show this to Dr Gaul too. When he arrived for work, he came with his normal causal presence. 

While Coriolanus wanted to forget the night, Dr Gaul wanted to rub his nose in it. 

She doesn’t look at him as she passes him in the boardroom. Her failed student wasn’t worth looking at. Wasn’t even worth talking to. 

The beautiful bird perched on her shoulder did her talking for her.

 It had beautiful blue feathers that looked soft to pet. It’s tail stuck out in show, and it’s beautiful green eyes darted around the room. 

The bird looked panicked but sat obediently on her shoulder, despite having the ability to fly away. 

“I hope you are all happy with the Reaping ceremony yesterday for it may be your last”, she taunted, sitting down in her chair. 

The bird is taken from her shoulder and kept in her hand to stroke. Ths bird gained no joy from the motion, still sitting there with a panicked expression and shaking feathers. 

“Who can tell me what was wrong with it?”, she questions. Her eyes fall on Coriolanus who looks down at his blank paper, defeated. 

He hoped someone would speak up. Say something that she was sure to disagree with, but at least he would be able to hide under it. 

No one spoke. Forcing Coriolanus to engage in the conversation he didn’t want to have. Of course Dr Gaul would make it a public whipping. 

“We lost control”, he muttered. 

“Hm, how?”, Dr Gaul asks as her finger runs down her bird's beak to show off it’s docility. 

“We allowed them to speak freely”, he pushed out in a big breath. 

Images of Reaping interview that consisted of crying children and awkward presenters, collided in his head with Mabel's own mistakes. 

“Sparks are a dangerous thing, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul provokes, “We like to think we can contain them but find too late that they have burnt our house down”. 

“None of those children have enough spark to incite a rebellion” one of his co-workers interrupts. 

Dr Gaul turns to him with a sly smile. 

‘Of course not, you idiot’, Coriolanus thought, ‘but his Mable did.’ 

“We only need one of the children to be well liked enough that someone with enough spark does incite a rebellion”, Dr Gaul dismisses with a hard tone. 

“Control is what we need” Coriolanus says louder for the group to hear, “Dr Gaul if you give us another chance, we-I can get them to perform how we want them to”.

Dr Gaul eyes her bird. It struggled in her tight grip but never pecked at her for release. 

“You can’t bargain with a person who doesn’t know they are beat yet. Instead of interviewing them at the Reaping, we allow them a couple of days for their reality to settle in. Then we give them some media training, and we host a round of interviews for the Capitol to get to know them. Or at least the version we want them to be known as”. 

Dr Gaul's condescending smile returns, letting him know he was wrong.

“You think they need time?”, she mocks in a low voice. 

“I think they need a reason to perform. The motivation of death can also be a reason for non-conformance. We’ve been asking what have they got to lose, when we should have been asking what have they got to gain?”. 

“And what do they have to gain?” 

“Maybe we could offer-” a colleague tried to contribute but was cut off my Dr Gaul. 

“Those who don’t know of what they speak, shouldn’t speak”, she snaped. 

He quieted immediately and fell back into his chair. Once more the attention was back on Coriolanus. 

‘’Mercy’’, he breaths. It takes him a second but he musters the courage to look Dr Gaul in the eye. 

Her stare unnerves him, but he forces himself to look anyway. 

 The room is quiet while it waits for Dr Gaul’s reaction. 

“Hm, interesting concept, Mr Snow.” she finally says, “Did someone write that down?’’.

“Mercy” she repeats more to herself. The bird is let go but remains on top of the table.

Her eyes roll around the room, looking at all the Gamemakers who shudder in their seats.

Coriolanus couldn’t help to think of Lucy-Grey despite how much he tried to fight against it. 

She was a performer. Right to the end. 

“I don’t understand how training them like a dog is going to make the games more entertaining”.

The voice was soft and gentle, coming from a female colleague who often came up with the most grotesque ideas.

Coriolanus scoffs at her. He hated people who couldn’t see the bigger picture. 

The Games only played a small part in keeping the districts under the Capitol boot. Yet she wanted to focus all of their energy on it. 

“It’s not about the Games. It’s about engagement” Coriolanus responded, “Who cares about a District as they come?”.

He felt a sharp twist in his stomach as he said it. Beautiful, strong Mabel caught his eye, and had never left his mind since. 

“They are animals,” he states. Mabel’s actions don’t speak against it. Like a wounded animal in a cage, she lashes and bites. 

“We need to turn them into something more marketable. Who cares when a roach is squashed? We need people to care. To want to look after them and ensure their survival”. 

Coriolanus looks around the room to see his Colleagues all awaiting Dr Gauls input. He makes a point not to look at her like the rest do.  

“By doing this, won’t it cause a up-rising within the Capitol?”, another Gamemaker who could not see beyond the Games speaks up. 

Coriolanys groans, frustrated that he is lumped together with the same Gamemakers. If he had full control of the Games, he could make them the biggest event of the year. Not some side show holiday that people can take or leave. 

But Dr Gaul won’t give it to him, unless he can show he is in control of Mabel. 

“It’s not a beauty pageant, it's a dog fight”, Dr Gaul reasons. 

The man who asked the question slumped in his chair, muttering agreements that he did not believe.  

It was obvious he was trying to stump Coriolanus. But the man had no idea the conversation was just between Dr Gaul and Coriolanus. The group was merely a sounding board between the two.

“The only way we are going to get those children to perform the way we want is through mercy. Act like we tell you and we’ll relent”. Coriolanus finishes. 

Dr Gaul suddenly stands up, gaining the attention from the room once more. She moves to the boardroom computer and pulls up a list of the tributes. 

Small photos of the twelve that preceded their name and district were casted up on the wall behind Dr Gaul. 

Coriolanus eyes the boy from 12. He still had a baby face. Full, round cheeks, and soft brown hair that fell over his forehead. His eyes were big and brown, and thin lips pressed together as if he was about to cry. 

Coriolanus imagined the interactions that Mabel had with the boy. Did she ever kiss him? Ever hug him? Did she treat the boy like her own, or keep a friendly distance?

How will she react when he most certainly dies?

“Theory will only get you so far” Dr Gaul contends, “we must put it in practice. Each of you will be assigned a tribute to play up”.

Coriolanus' eyes shut, and an  annoyed smile tenses at his lips. He could see where this was going. 

“We have mentors. Let them do it”, he speaks out. Trying to claw his way out of the hole Dr Gaul is digging. 

“Why, Mr Snow. Every great scientist conducts their own experiments. What would the mentors know of a great show?”, her voice carried a condescending tone. 

There was nothing Coriolanus could stop her from giving him the 12 boy, and nothing he could do to stop her taking his 12 girl. 

It was only her sick idea of training Coriolanus for presidency that allowed him to keep Mabel after last night. 

He had failed Dr Gaul last night, and now she was throwing an extra obstacle in his way of training Mabel. 

Dr Gaul would find some way of ensuring that Mabel knew of Coriolanus media training the boy. Poke the fire before Coriolanus could get it to a non-threatening level. 

Coriolanus' lips tug into a smug smile. One day he would kill Dr Gaul. 

“Shall we dish out tributes randomly?” he bites. 

Dr Gaul waves her finger at Coriolanus. It was the only time that anyone had seen her display any other sort of emotion despite boredom. 

Her amusement was a stark contrast no matter how small it played across her features. 

Her lips sealed together to hold in her smile, her body slightly curled in as if she was about to erupt in whole body laughter.

With a bite of her tongue, she straightens and the lips that held in laughter, now parted to release her normal board tone.  

“I have an idea of who I would like with whom”, she snarky replies. 

There were 23 gamemakers, and only 12 tributes, so Dr Gaul picked a mixture of people she liked and people she despised. 

They were paired to tributes according to their social status to Dr Gaul. The most unmarketable tribute was paired with the Gamemaker who tried to show up Coriolanus just moments before. 

The tribute, a girl just shy of  eighteen from district 5, had tried to volunteer her young sister. Stating that she had promised to take her place just moments before. 

‘Make her a martyr for rebellion’, Coriolanus thought. 

Dr Gaul finally gets to district 12 and to no one's surprise, pairs the boy with Coriolanus. 

Coriolanus brings his fist up to his lips, trying different angles in his head that he could pawn to Mabel to make her believe he was trying to help the boy. 

She was too smart, and too distrustful. She wouldn’t believe anything he would say. She would just have to swallow the news without any sugar coating. 

“We’ll hold a national interview next week”, Dr Gaul announces, “You have until then to try this mercy tactic to get them to perform”. 

With her dismissal, the Gamemakers move to leave the room in one big herd. 

Coriolanus tries eagerly to follow them. The last thing he wanted was to talk openly about Mabel's failure with Dr Gaul. 

“Not you, Mr Snow”, he felt his heart sink as she called out for him in front of the others. 

A few turn to stare at him as he remains frozen in his spot. He shakes off his nerves as the last person closes the door behind them. 

Returning to his seat, he sits with confidence he did not have and looks boldly at Dr Gaul.

She sits down at the head of the table, next to him and picks up her bird once more, stroking the back of its neck.

“You want to talk about a performance?” she remarks, clearly talking about Mabel. 

“Last night-” he begins but is cut off by Dr Gaul who hadn’t finished talking. 

“She’s everything I hoped she was going to be”, her eyes remain on her bird as she talks and Coriolanus is grateful she can’t see him squirm in his seat. 

“Beautiful thing. Smart, stubborn, stupidly unafraid. A great feat for you indeed. I have never seen anything quite like her before”. 

Her eyes flick to Coriolanus who stills in his seat. 

“She’s an up-rising in herself. Are you sure you can handle that?”. 

“Mabel is a spoiled child who got away with acting how she likes because of her beauty. She is only a up-rising because no one has ever told her no. Last night, I assure you, she was told no”. 

Dr Gaul once more smiles. But her eyes remain on her bird. 

“Do you practice what you preach? Have you shown her mercy?”

Coriolanus thinks back to the train. He had put his own coat over her to keep her warm while she slept on his knee. She didn’t know it of course, so he supposed it didn’t count.

He gives her chocolate as rewards. Although, since the book incident there has been no sweets in the penthouse. 

He would hardly say he has been unkind to her. Strict maybe. 

Mercy, however, was a high bar to reach. 

“She’s clothed, fed, housed”, Coriolanus lists.

“Clothed sometimes”, she quips, “Fed and housed? Lab rats are fed and housed. That’s not mercy, that’s upkeep”. 

The bird squawks and Dr Gauls flick its head to shut it up.

“Pretty isn’t she?” Dr Gaul asks, placing the bird into Coirolanus' hold. 

He holds it gently, cupping the small clump of soft feathers between his hands. 

Dr Gaul continues to stroke its head with her long, pointed finger. 

“Mercy keeps her from flying. It knows I can, and have done, unmerciful things to it. It knows that if it tries to fly I will do unmerciful things again, but it trusts that if it does what I want, me, in my mercy, won’t harm it just because I can”.

Dr Gaul pulls her finger away, giving her full attention to Coriolanus. 

“If I hurt it no matter what it did, why would it do what I want at all?”. 

Her voice suddenly turns hard and low. Her eyes train on the blue bird as she speaks.

“You know it took me months to catch this bird. Stubborn, fast little thing. For the longest time it was my favorite pet I had ever owned”. 

Her hands reach out and Coriolanus shuffles his hands lower so Dr Gaul could rest her fingers on its back while her thumbs scratches the bird's neck.

“Then I met Mabel”, with the pressure of her thumbs on the birds neck, she snaps the bone. 

Coriolanus should have released the dead bird but felt too shocked to let go of its limp body. 

“It pales in comparison”, Dr Gaul rises from her seat and Coriolanus throws the dead bird on the table. 

“I do hope our little one on one enlightened you, Mr Snow. Mabel is too rare for you to fail”. 

Coriolanus remains sat at the table, staring at the once beautiful bird as Dr Gaul moves on with her day. 

Once the initial shock wears off, he rises from his seat and makes his way to his office with an unbothered demeanor. 

His head reeled, however. It was clear Dr Gaul wanted to get her hands on Mabel. 

 She wanted Coriolanus to fail so she could swoop in. But Coriolanus never failed at anything. 

Dr Gaul couldn’t have Mabel. She belongs firmly, and utterly to Coriolanus Snow. 

He would get Mabel to realise that sooner, or later.

He headed over to the training center after work. 

He wanted to get a start with the young boy so he would be ready for the interview. 

Coriolanus would play on the heartstrings of the Capitol people. Get them to pour money on the soon to be dead child to make his existence less miserable until he was killed off. 

His product came in a cute package, all Coriolanus had to do was feed the young boy a script and the Capitol people would eat out the palm of his hand.

He requested a room alone with the child. They were given the tv room which was large and filled with furniture. 

The young boy was kept in chains despite his small frame. 

He looked afraid as he entered the room to see the tall and well dressed man that Coriolanus was. 

The Peacekeeper pushed him through the door. Coriolanus asks the peacekeeper to leave him and his tribute in peace. 

“Hello, James” Coriolanus greets the child as the door is shut.

It didn’t work to ease the boy who kept a long distance and a frightened look. 

“I am Coriolanus Snow, and I  will be helping you prepare for your interview next week”. 

“Interview?’ the young boy asks, “I don’t want to”. 

He looked like he was going to cry. His voice broke, and he held his head up to keep back the tears. 

“It’ll help you in the Games. People will send you gifts. If you do well enough, I might even be able to get you sweets and chocolate to enjoy”. 

A little mercy while he waits to be slaughtered. 

The little boy shakes his head. The tears now spill from his eyes fast and fat down his face.

Coriolanus reaches for a handkerchief he always keeps and takes a step forward to give it to the boy. 

James jumps back as Coriolanus approaches. 

“We are not strangers, you and I”, Coriolanus said. 

The boy looks at him in wonder. Not knowing what to expect next. 

“I’ve heard all about you from Mabel. Do you remember Mabel, your neighbor?” he asks softly. 

The young boy nods his head, bringing his chained hands to rub the tears from his eyes. 

“She’s asked me to help you”, it wasn’t entirely a lie, “and you trust Mabel don’t you?”. 

The little boy nods again. Coriolanus moves forward to take the young boys chin and wipe his face with the handkerchief. 

“Her and I are friends. Which makes me and you friends”, he places the handkerchief back in his breast pocket as he talks in a soft and slow voice, “She’s asked me to help you get as much chocolate as i can. And for me to do that, you need to listen to every word I say, and do exactly as I command, Okay?”. 

“Will Mabel-” Coriolanus knew the boy’s question would end asking to see Mabel which he wouldn’t allow happen, so he spoke quickly over him. 

‘Mabel will be watching the interview. So we must make her proud”. 

The boy settles under the name of a friend, and Coriolanus sits him on the couch to go over the interview. 

Coriolanus critiqued everything. From the boy's tone of voice, to how he sat. The boy was receptive. Quickly adjusting to how Coriolanus wanted him to be. That being as small and cute as possible. 

Coriolanus soon had enough and with a promise that he would bring chocolate when he visited again, so the boy would know what he was performing for, he left to return to Mabel. 

When he returned home the sound of music irritated him. 

He followed it to a spare room down the hall. It was mostly a junk room. He remembered he had stored an old music player there just in case he ever needed it for company. 

Careful to make no noise, he pushes the door slightly ajar so he could peek through. 

Mabel was dancing like she did back in 12. Spinning round and round. Swaying her dress around her as her bare feet thud against the floorboards beneath her. 

Despite her circumstances, she moved her body to music she did not like. 

She was trying to fit one of lucy-greys old songs to the tune but was making a mess of it with her timing and out of breath voice. 

‘Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling, clementine. You are lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, clementine” she sings out of tune.

Coriolanus remembered the song. Remembered watching Lucy-Grey dressed up in the nicest rags she had, and too much make-up to sing it up on stage. The song sounded much nicer coming from her lips, but Mabel looked much better signing it. 

She spins away, planting her back to the door as she dances with someone not there. Coriolanus takes the distraction to push through the door and make his way to the music player. 

He picks the box up and smashes it against the floor. The music makes an awful static noise as it is killed. 

Mabel spins back to him. She doesn’t look shocked or startled. Instead a playful and amused expression still dances across her face. 

“You could have changed the song” she remarks. 

From the top of her gown he could see the harsh, red lines from the cane. She must have been in pain but yet insisted on dancing. 

“Dr Gaul asked about you today” he says in a calm manner. 

“Good for her”. Mabel keeps her distance across the room like the small boy did. 

“Not good for you. You realize I can’t protect you from her”, he admits, “You think I am bad, you have no idea what Dr Gaul is”. 

“Scared of her Coryo?” Mabel taunts, “I am not. I’ll protect you”. 

“You should be”, Coriolanus argues.

‘‘She can’t do nothing to me that hasn’t already been done”, Mabel spat. 

“She can do things to you that you couldn’t even imagine”. 

“Let her. What have I got to lose?”. Mabel storms past him out the door, heading back down the hall. 

There it is. 

She had nothing to lose, everything was already taken from her. Her family, friends, passions, bodily autonomy. 

Coriolanus follows her to the living room. 

“You should know I’ve ordered Peacekeepers to retrieve your sister from district 12”. 

Mabel spins so fast her hair sweeps across her face.

Finally her annoying smug look is replaced with pure dread. 

Coriolanus sighs deeply, and shrugs his shoulders.

“What have you got to lose Mabel? Nothing. What do you have to gain? Your sister's life”.

“You’re lying” she states in a tone almost wishing. 

Coriolanus shakes his head. “I’ve figured you out Mabel. You’re a glutton for punishment. Dare I say you enjoy it. The more I push you, the harder you push back. But that boy at the reaping…You wouldn’t have begged for your own life but you begged for his”.

Mabel for the first time is silent as the information rushes over her. Coriolanus feels a stinging sensation of power run through him. 

“When she arrives, she’ll be placed in an apartment in the building complex for easy access, and every time you step out of line, she’ll suffer. Every time you’re good, she’ll eat”. 

He steps closer to her so that they were almost touching. He towers over her, his neck craning so he can look her in the eyes as he speaks. 

“I am doing this to protect you. Dr Gaul would ruin you” he promises. 

Mabel spits in his face. He feels the warm, wet saliva trickle down. 

His eyes close in anger but he begins to laugh. 

She was beat. She knew it too. 

Instead of a slap, her hand reaches up to wipe the spit away. 

“I am sorry” she said, ‘I didn’t mean that”. 

Coriolanus opens his eyes to find Mabel looking rightfully worried. 

“Please just let her go. I’ll be good”, she promises, “You’ve made your point”. 

Coriolanus reaches up to take her face in his hands, yanking her up on her tippy toes so he didn’t have to look so far down. 

“You’re so beautiful Mabel”, his thumbs brush against her cheekbones, before moving up to her eyes. 

She closes them so he can brush his thumbs against her long eyelashes. She doesn’t open them as he runs them over her eyebrows and down across her lips.

“What a prize you’ll be once your fire is stowed. She called you a rebellion in itself today, and she was right. Who wouldn’t fight for you?”. 

“My sister-” she begins but stops herself knowing nothing she could say would sway his mind. 

Her eyes remain closed. Not daring to look. It was the first time Coriolanus felt like he had control over Mabel. 

How he wished Dr Gaul could see him. He wouldn’t fail. She couldn’t have his Mabel.

“Your sister” Coriolanus repeats, “Do you think you could be good for her?”. 

Mabel nods in his hands, eyes still closed. 

With his hold on her, he brings her head forward to whisper in her ear. 

“Why don’t you put that saliva to good use?”. 

He feels the weight of her drop in his hands as she lowers herself to her knees in front of him. 

Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panam, and king of mercy. 

It was Saturday. A supposed day off for Coriolanus but his mind raced with potential questions that may be asked of James. 

He could go later to advise the boy and ensure he had a suitable answer for each question, but for now he forced himself to enjoy laying in bed. 

It was late, Coriolanus had never remained in bed, unless he was sick, past seven. 

Now the clock almost hits ten and he makes no move to rise. 

Mabel lay’s on his chest, covered in nothing but a thin sheet.

Coriolanus had awoken well before seven at which point he had woken Mabel with the weight of his body curled around her, and kisses that spoke of his need. 

Her mind too, seemed to race as she lay there. 

“What color hair does my sister have?”, she asks. 

“What?” Coriolanus asks as Mabel rises from his hold, bringing the thin sheet with her. 

“It’s occurred to me that I have taken you at nothing but your word. You are a liar and a thief. How do I know you really have my sister?”.

Coriolanus’s wonderful morning was now ruined. Mabel had been so perfect the past few days and now the spell had been broken.

He rises from the bed, going over to his wardrobe to get dressed as he speaks. 

“Do you want to see her?” He offers. 

“Yes”, Mabel commands. 

Dropping the sheet, she hurriedly dresses in the same green dress she always wears. 

Coriolanus takes his time, flipping through his large wardrobe to find a shirt. 

Mabel pushes past him, grabbing the first shirt she sees and shoving it at Coriolanus. 

He backhands her for it and she tumbles to the ground in a heap. 

“I was going to say we could bring her breakfast but it seems neither of you will be eating this morning”, he taunts. 

This time she waits on the floor for him to choose a shirt. He lays it on the bed before going back to pick pants and shoes. 

When he begins to dress into his pants, Mabel rises from the floor and takes the hem of his pants into her hands. 

He lets her do so, dropping his hands to his side and watching her under a curious gaze. 

She helps him dress into his shirt and shoes. She never once looks at him and he never once looks away. 

He knew that she was trying to dress him as fast as she could so she could see her sister. But there's a domestication to it that Coriolanus loved. 

He leaves the room wordlessly and she follows him out of the apartment and into the elevator. He only stops to grab his coat and keys. Mabel knew it would only be a quick visit before he left for the day. 

Level 3, she commits to memory. 

Coriolanus seemed too relaxed to be showing her. He seemed almost bored to be showing her. 

Mabel knew that Coriolanus had her sister. She didn’t know that he would be so quick to show it. She had prepared herself for a series of nagging before he relented and either showed her where her sister was kept or brought her sister up to her. 

Knowing where her sister was kept was the first step in forming a plan to get her out. Coriolanus gave it up too easy. 

He was a smart man but too egotistical. 

A week of playing docile and he had forgotten the threat Mabel posed. 

The third level opened to a long hall but only one door. She followed Coriolanus to it where he dug through his pocket for his keys. 

Finding the right one he held it out for Mabel to take. She takes careful note of which key it was and inserts it in the lock. 

“After you” he states. 

Mabel felt as if she could throw up as she twisted the key in the lock. 

The apartment is empty and for a second she thinks Coriolanus had played a terrible joke on her. 

He pushes her into the apartment and the door locks behind them. 

“Livy!” Mabel called for her sister, “Livy!”. 

A shuffling noise is held and a small body dashes out from a cupboard. 

Mabel drops to her knees to retrieve her sister who shoots into her arms. 

Her name could be heard from her sister's small voice between large sobs. 

“It’s okay” Mabel promises, “Oh god’. 

Livy was barely 6 and could easily be picked up by Mabel who distanced her and her sister from Coriolanus. 

“I’ve never lied to you, Mabel,” Coriolanus stated.

Mabel nods, “No, you haven’t”. 

“So let’s go”, he nods back to the door. 

Mabel walks to the door with her sister in her arms but is stopped by Coriolanus. 

“I can’t leave her”, Mabel begs.

“Find a way”, he retorts. 

Mabel knew it was for the best. She could figure a way to get her sister out. The Penthouse was too secure.

Coriolanus was too preoccupied with keeping Mabel there. 

Escape was impossible there but a level unguarded and only one lock to get through? Mabel could get through that. 

She places her sister down despite her screaming. A plan was already forming in her head. 

“I’ll be back” she promises. She wipes the tears away from her sisters eyes and places a kiss on her head. 

“You’re safe and I’ll be back”, she reiterated. 

Livly grabs hold of Mabel's leg, begging her to stay and take her home. 

Mabel tries words, bending down and rubbing her sisters back as she spoke. 

Coriolanus, tired of the scene, used force to separate the two. 

Mabel tries to fight off his hold from her sister, to pull her close once more but Coriolanus tore her from Mabel’s grip and took the squirming girl over to the couch where she was thrown on the soft cushions. 

Mabel followed close behind so as soon as his hands were free of Livy, he took hold of Mabel’s arm and pushed her back out the door. 

The little girls cries could be heard from behind the door. It was an unbearable minute that it took for Coriolanus to remove the key from the lock and retreat back to the elevator. 

The big metal door shut out the sound completely, but brought Mabel back to the front entrance of her prison. 

The security measures were more complex and Mabel stood stunned while Coriolanus went through them all. 

The door finally opened and Mabel was flung inside. 

Despite her sadness and anger, Mabel did not cry as she was tossed to the hard floor. 

She rolls on her back and looks up to the high ceiling forming a plan in her head. 

—-------------------

Coriolanus spends the rest of the day with the boy. 

He had forgotten the chocolate promised. 

The boy took the news hard, but sensing that Coriolanus was already irritated he kept his disappointment to himself. 

They went over questions that Coriolanus formed. Even spent an hour just practicing the walk from the curtain to the stage. 

Everything was crucial to the performance. One mistake could cost Coriolanus having the most popular tribute. 

Coriolanus was nothing if not a perfectionist. 

The other Game makers visited their tributes at the training house. A Saturday couldn’t be wasted with friends and family. Not if Dr Gaul was involved. 

Still they broke for lunch at an expensive restaurant in the city. Coriolanus was glad for the distraction. 

They spoke of the impossible task of making the tributes ready for the interview.A few even spoke of their persona they were going to push. 

No one but Coriolanus wanted their tribute to seem weak. James would have no problem standing out. 

The news lightened Coriolanus who stopped by the shops on the way back to the training house to pick up the chocolate promised to the boy. 

When he did return home, the smell of burning filled his nose. 

He rushed to the kitchen where pots could be heard clanging together. 

Mabel was there, covered in flour and bending to take a burnt cake from the oven. 

“What are you doing?” he asks angrily. 

“Oh you’re home” Mabel says in a soft voice, “I am sorry. I didn’t hear the door open”. 

She places the cake next to several others. All of them were no good. Burnt, sagged, or an off color. 

With her hands free she walks over to Coriolanus wiping her hands on her dress and taking his coat from his shoulders. 

“I wanted to have something nice for you to eat when you got home, but I have never been a good cook. And that was with ingredients and kitchen stuff I knew”. 

“Don’t over-exert yourself. I have no need for you to cook” he says cautiously, watching her hang up his coat. 

“I know”, she states turning to look at him, “I just wanted to show you that I have changed. I’ve been thinking all day how foolish I’ve been”. 

She walks slowly over to him, ringing her hands together. 

“If I wasn’t so foolish, Livy wouldn’t be here”, she continued, stopping in front of Coriolanus. 

“I mean really I didn’t even mind that”, she doesn’t finish her sentence but looks up at Coriolanus. 

“I didn’t really mind you. But I fought against you anyway and it cost my parents both of their daughters”. 

“And you thought cake would solve that?” he mocks. 

“From where I am from, cake is how we show remorse” she wraps her arms around his stiff frame. 

He didn’t let her remain, pulling her hands away just after they landed. 

“I have work to do. Clean up your mess”, he demand. 

Coriolanus locks himself in his study. He could feel his resolve slipping as she buttered him up. It was important now, more than ever, that he remained in charge. But she had a funny way of turning his knees weak. 

He avoided her until dinner where they ate in silence. 

She tried to make conversation with him. Batting her eyelashes like he used to watch her do to other men. 

He slightly enjoyed watching her try to gain his attention. As a peacekeeper he used to beg for it to happen every night at the Hobb. 

His ignorance of her, only grew her attempts. She sat next to him and not across from him. Asked him question after question until she realized she wouldn’t get an answer.

“Coriolanus, I am trying” she finally said. 

He ignored her still, taking a piece of bread from the table. 

“Hey” she complained. Her hand reached out to touch his chest and he dropped the piece of bread to grab her wrist. 

Not touch. One thing he couldn’t ignore was her touching him. 

It felt like fire every time. He longed for it, he couldn’t ignore it. 

He shoves her hand away, quickly rising from the chair and storming off. 

He took a shower alone. Something he hadn’t done for a while now. 

Of course, he was going to give in to Mabel and her new way. He would be crazy not to. 

But watching her pine for him as he had pined for her was satisfying. 

Once again the order of things was returning. 

When he returned to the bedroom he saw her laying on the bed in his nightwear. The oversized bed shirt and old boxes that slipped down her frame. 

She was doing her homework. She doesn’t look up at him or speak as he enters the room. 

He scoffs quietly, now she is sulking. 

He picks up the book he is currently reading and enters the bed without a word. 

They remain like that with Mabel doing her work and Coriolanus reading his book. 

He gets four chapters in before Mabel disturbs him by thrusting her paper over his book. 

“Do you want to check it?” she asks. Normally he would and her nightmare lesson would begin again until she got it. 

He knocks the paper out off the road with his book so he could return to his reading. 

“No,” he states. 

“Good. I am pretty sure it’s wrong” she jests. 

She throws the paper to the ground which was something Coriolanus would normally scold her for but he can’t ignore her if he is scolding her. 

He also can’t ignore her when she places her body across his legs. 

She lays on top of him. Her head reaches his stomach where she pushes up the fabric of his pajama shirt and places three small kisses on his stomach. 

His eyes shut briefly from the thrill of it. His stomach tied in knots under her. 

The book is moved to the left, it hangs loosely in his hand over the bed. 

Without the book blocking her, she grins at Coriolanus. Knowing how irresistible she was. 

His spare hand reaches down to cup the back of her head, looking down at her in disbelief. 

Her fingers loop around the waistband of his pants, wordlessly asking for permission. It’s given when he raises his hips to accommodate her and the book drops from his hand. 

Coriolanus sleeps soundly that night. 

Mable had given him a massage after riding him long and hard. 

She was surprised by how quickly he had fallen asleep. His hair splayed out across the pillow as he lay on his stomach, his hands under his pillow as Mabel digs her hands into the mussels of his shoulders. 

She snaps her fingers a few times in his ear to ensure he was asleep before sliding off him and dressing in his dressing gown. 

As slightly as she can she sneaks down the hallway to where he kept his keys by the front door. The door in front of her required more than a key to get in so he felt no threat leaving them there. 

She slides out the draw of the hallway cupboard to retrieve the key she hid earlier. It was the closest match she could find. 

It wouldn’t fool him if he looked but she would just have to make sure he never looked. 

The key to her sisters door is taken off and the decoy is returned in its place. 

She moves to the kitchen next, taking out the wet cake mixture from the fridge and sinking the key to the bottom. The cake was small; it would only take a few cuts to find it. 

Slowly and carefully to avoid making noise she places the cake in the oven and sits in front of it watching it bake. 

Coriolanus woke with the feeling of his hair being pushed back. 

His eyes flick open to see Mabel laying on her side next to him. A heavenly sight to see first thing. 

He had almost convinced himself it was all a dream last night. 

“Morning. The kitchen staff need to be let into the knife draw. He keeps pointing at it”, she says. 

He rolls over to check the clock. Quarter to 8. 

He shouldn’t have slept in. No matter how peaceful his sleep was. 

With a groan he rolls out of bed and Mabel jumps down next to him. 

“I told them to prepare the food downstairs,” He said, annoyed. 

He notices she was wearing his dressing gown. It incites a need to have it for himself. To feel her warmth against his body. 

He spins her by her shoulders so he could slide the dressing gown off and put it around himself. 

She makes no complaints as he does so. Running back to the wardrobe to get another to protect herself from the cold. 

“Put your slippers on. It's cold this morning” he demands but does not follow the same advice. 

Coriolanus had so many clothes and shoes it made it hard to find anything among it, but eventually she finds her slippers wedged between the cupboard wall and a shoe rack. 

She turns to find Coriolanus had left the room. She follows him to the kitchen where a frightened chef watches as Coriolanus unlocked the knife drawer. 

“Don’t let it happen again” he warns the Chef who nods his head in agreement. 

His eyes shoot out at Mabel as if she was a traitor but surely he must realize who the knife drawer was locked from. 

Coriolanus stayed in the kitchen until the Chef was done, and another servant washed, dried and returned the knife so the drawer could be locked once more. 

Mabel waves at her friend as the girl rushes past to plate up the food. 

No wave is returned, but Mabel smiles anyway. From the corner of her eye she could see Coriolanus glance at his keys with a curious expression. 

She dashes over taking hold of his arm and tugging him forward. 

It worked to distract him. The keys were placed down and he willingly followed Mabel to the table.

“You’re in a good mood this morning” he comments. 

She pushes him into the chair by his shoulders and climbs on top of him. 

“You’re in a bad mood this morning” she replied, “can’t say that’s ever happened to me before”. 

Her fingers card through his hair and he leans back into his chair.

“I bet it hasn’t” he remarks. 

The servants come to display the food on the table. Coriolanus takes his hands from her waist expecting her to get up but she remains. 

She does swing her legs out from either side of him so she was sat on one side. 

Thanking them as they place the food, Mabel reaches out for a bacon strip and eats half of it before offering it to Coriolanus. 

He denies being fed. Leaning forward himself to plate his own food. 

Did she think he was a fool? He thought to himself. Was she deluded enough to think Coriolanus would buy this change of heart act?

She played the part for the benefit of her sister, he understood that. 

Still felt somewhat rewarding to reap the benefit of his hard work, so he was hesitant to call her on it. 

She yawns as he reaches for his cup of coffee. 

“Did you not sleep well last night?” he asks her before taking a sip. 

Mabel thinks back to the cake with a sly smile. 

“Best night sleep I’ve had in a while actually”, she answers honestly. 

Mabel looked best when she had just woken. Coriolanus had always thought so. 

Her hair was wild and messy, her eyes were heavy still carrying sleep, and her lips were always so plump and red. She must bite them either as soon as she wakes up or during the night. 

She takes his cup from his hand, bringing it to her lips to have a taste. 

“Uh, I don’t know how you drink that”, she complains putting it back on the table.

“You’ll get used to it”, he says, “You seem to get used to things quite fast with proper motivation”. 

A tense smile pulls on Mabel's lips, and she averts her eyes to the table. 

“Has she eaten today?” Mabel asks. 

“She eats at seven every morning. Good food. Proper food. Not district slop”. 

Mabel turns her head back to him, bringing her lips to the point they were hovering over his. 

“Well, how can I thank you?”. Her words carried ill-intent. He would hear the disdain in her voice as she spat them from her mouth. 

“You can get off me so I can get ready for the day”. An almost perfect morning, ruined by acknowledgement of the large elephant in the room. 

As he walks back to the bedroom he wishes that he refrained from taking the jab at her. Who cared if she was acting the fool? At least she was acting like his fool. 

When he enters the room dressed for the day it seemed Mabel was back to her new self. 

She stood as he enters the room. 

“You’re leaving already?” she asks. 

“Yes” was his short reply. 

“Wait” she calls as he heads towards the door. 

He halts in his spot, watching her run into the crowded kitchen. 

It startles the servants as she shoots pass them

She takes the cake from the fridge, the parchment under it reading “level 3. Find her”. 

There was only hope that it would get to Mrs plinth and even more hope that she would go against her husband to follow through. 

Still she was Mabel’s only chance. Ma plinth was a good person. Still district- still human. 

She was sure to listen to a desperate plea. 

She takes the two plates and pass the servants who squashed themselves to stay out of her way. 

Coriolanus watches her bring the cakes out from the kitchen. 

“One for Ma” she raises the smallest cake tin, “and one for Dr Gaul”. 

“Cakes?” Coriolanus questions fixing his tie. 

“Apologies” Mabel reminds him, “just make sure you don’t mix the two. Ma has a district recipe that won’t be appreciated by Dr Gaul”. 

Coriolanus sighs he wanted to say no but the last 24 hours had been so nice. 

Ma was just below him and he would see Dr Gaul at work. Maybe the cake would serve as a pointer to his good work. 

So he takes the cakes from her hands. 

She points once more to the cakes,  “Ma. Dr Gaul” she reiterates. 

Coriolanus nods, going to leave her.

She catches his face between her hands to stop him, reaching up on her tippy toes to kiss him. 

He freezes. He wanted to kiss back but by the time he could gain control of himself again she was pulling back. 

She tabs his hands as she spoke to indicate as she was talking, “Ma. Dr Gaul”. 

“I understand” he assures. 

“Good”, she grins, “I’ll see you when you get home”. 

The thought made Coriolanus feel giddy. 

He leans down to kiss her once more. Half of him didn’t want to go to work but he was determined that Mabel would not stray him from his path. 

Mabel sees him to the door and waves him off 

“Please, please, please” she mutters under her breath. 

tag list;

@bruher

@hiatuswhore

@swimmjacket

@immyowndefender

@namelesslosers

@lovelymoonkiid

@queenofshinigamis

@acidaciruela

@briefwinnerpersonaturtle

@tian-monique

@someonefromwutheringheights

[rebeltigera]

Absolutely obsessed with V!Wukong and Blind!Macaque.

I have questions, overall comments and some hypothesized things. (Feel free to ignore or not answer all of them, but the ADHD has kicked in and I gotta splurge because YES)

OKAY! So;

You’ve mentioned in the past that B!Macaque is terrified of Wukong because of what was done to him, PTSD is a bitch. How would V!Wukong get around this to show that, to Mac, he’s not a threat?

* My first thought was, oh! He could start leaving his things around that smell like him so Macaque gets used to his smell, but that seemed more like training a dog, so probably not. But maybe?

Would V! Wukong try and steal Macaque some new eyes that work or an elixir that could heal his sight? Is it possible for his sight to even be healed at this point? Is that something Macaque would even want?

Once some time has passed and Macaque got more comfortable with this Wukong, would Macaque show his growing trust for V!Wukong by grooming his fur? Or allowing V!Wukong to groom him?

How would they show their growing intimately outside of… well, physical affection? Would they feed one another? Pick out clothes they know the other likes? Little things unique to them.

Would V!Wukong ever tell B!Macaque about his macaque? And if he did, how long would it take him to open up? Same scenario with Macaque, how long would it take him to open up?

I like to imagine that the word “Destiny” is a forbidden word for both of them. Neither of them like hearing it. Good way to get V!Wikong to start growling.

Your B!Macaque is so beautiful, he reminds me of a delicate crystal flower, I like to imagine V!Wukong is scared to touch him for a while because he’s afraid he’ll break him further.

V!Wukong violently protecting B!Macaque is something that just makes my heart happy for some reason, and B!Macaque gently cleaning up and healing him afterwards even though V!Wukong is the last person who’d ever need healing is such a tender vision in my mind.

Okay, I believe that’s the end of my rambling. I can’t think of anything else at the moment. I hope you have a wonderful day!

THE TISM HAS TISMED AAAA LOVE IT-

IDK why y'all decided that this ship is interesting after like - one art sksksmssm

But alr

... Oh boy the first one -

To be honest? I Don't know, maybe it would be his charm, the little things he'd do , or that he'd rescue Mac from falling into his own shadows. I didn't ever thought much about it

Mac wouldn't notice him at first . His heartbeat concealed, his power too. Wukong would indeed leave little things around but not in a "find my smell comforting way" . He would do that , move cluttery n dishes to more accessible places. Mac tend to leave them in the sun (to see them through shadows) but once the sun is gone they are gone from his view cuz they don't leave shadow anymore or are concealed by it.

Mac's eyes are not able to heal anymore. However Wukong would find a way to connect in a way their eyes. It wouldn't be permanent thing , just sometimes. See what I see kind of thing

Mac might not want but would need it. Because the last thing he saw was Wukong striking him . And it stuck like super glue.

Wukong might be the one to get a grooming session first. He'd be so confused and scared in a way . Like- he wouldn't expect that and sit obediently like a puppet till Mac would be done . Wukong wouldn't get to touch his fur tho.

Casual Physical affection would be everything to them . Because they both would be reluctant to it at the start .

Wukong wanting to touch but never doing so , Mac starved for it but never asking for it .

So their trust would be shown by it fully .

One thing that I can think of rn is that wuk would wake him up by gentle touches. He relies mostly on his hearing nowadays so it would be nice n comforting.

Whisper when he'd get a feeling Mac would get overwhelmed.

Outside of it , cooking , clothing etc etc - yeah it would happen

About telling him about his task- he wouldn't. Coming to that universe his memories become no more than flashes of the past. He doesn't even know what he searched so long for . He still get flashes of past Mihou and it brings him pang of pain but it'll pass.

For Mac to open up- months? Maybe years . Once he'd realize that V!Wuk is not a threat It would be easier. Wukong got nothing to hide from him so he'd be open like a book.

Mac speaking of destiny

Wukong growling it's bullshit, while hugging him closer

He'd get some pats.

The other moments he might growl more would be in safe heaven called nest, but it's story for a different acc sksksks

Wukong indeed would be scared to hurt him. Those bloodied hands are the one that destroy everything. He wouldn't dare to taint Mac with em. He would have moments when he'd think if he held him too strong he might crush him . Just like that.

The last thing might've happen , but wukong would rather want to keep to himself if he'd ever got hurt or dirty with blood . Mac is too pure.

[featherandferns]

teaser for my upcoming fic: sugar

feel free to ask me questions about it!!! we're all in mourning so here's some fluff non-canon season 4 jj x reader

content warnings: dr*g use; mentions of s*xual themes

“JJ, I mean it,” you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. “We should talk about something else.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ surrenders, holding his hands up and all. He relaxes back against the plastic seat of the boat and you do the same. Your legs outstretch so you can rest your feet on the spot beside him. The two of you catch each other’s gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. “How’d you meet Mark, then?”

You glance at JJ. “A few months back. He’d just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.”

“He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. “Y’know, just cause I know what you look like naked don’t mean we can’t be friends now.”

Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. “There was definitely a better way you could have put that.”

“Probably,” he shrugs, grinning, “but it’s true, ain’t it? We can be friends.”

“Of course we can. We are,” you emphasise. 

“So…That means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,” JJ offers. 

Laughing, you rock your head back and gaze up at the sky. The stars are out. They shimmer white and crystal in the abyss of the night. “That’d be too weird, I think, but I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.”

“I just got one question. Just one.”

“Go on,” you reluctantly reply. 

“Does he say ‘thank you’ after the two of you fuck?”

You burst into fits of laughter. It’s so sudden that it has you doubling over. Tears slip from your eyes and you wipe them away, looking at a grinning JJ. God, you missed him and his twisted sense of humour. 

“He just looks like the kinda guy who would!”

“Oh my God, no!” you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, “no, he doesn’t say ‘thank you’.”

“Is he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.”

“JJ stop! I’m gonna pee myself!” you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pier’s lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

“I can give the guy pointers if he needs them,” JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning. 

“Don’t you dare!” you say, trying not to crack up again. “‘Sides, he doesn’t need pointers.”

“Everybody needs pointers,” JJ says with a roll of his eyes. “John B gave me one of the best pointers.”

“I find that impossible to believe,” you snort. 

“He did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, I’m telling ya.”

“Mhm, I’ll bet,” you sarcastically return. You glance at the joint to check if it needs tapping off, take another drag, and then look up to find JJ watching you. He hasn’t changed enough for you to forget what that expression means. 

“You want me to show you?”

“Show me? How?” you say with furrowed brows. Something in the air shifts with your question. An unspoken thing, an unseeable thing, but something nonetheless. A nervous tickle comes to your throat. 

JJ doesn’t reply but he slowly leans over the seat towards you. Your breath catches in your lungs the moment he enters your bubble, breaking some unspoken barrier, and your smile fades away like day into night. You feel as though you’re stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and you’re ashamed to admit that you don’t hate that you are. You’re ashamed that you’re not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. You’re ashamed that you’re curious as to what he’s going to do next. 

JJ’s close enough now that you can smell him. His cologne mixed with something sweet but tangy, like seasalt and citrus. Something masculine underneath, that has a primal instinct inside of you wanting to claw its way out. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat instead. Your eyes stare into his. You study the laps of green and grey in the sea of blue, mesmerised in the way the night sky reflects in the iris. His gaze darts down to your lips and you have no idea how this happened and how you got here, and everything is blurry but so, so clear from the cannabis as he leans forward, and you can’t move but you should move and you want to move but you don’t, you never want to move again, as his lips brush against yours just so, just enough for you to know that they have, that he has, that he’s real, but that he hasn’t, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesn’t count and it shouldn’t and you shouldn’t but–

[crimsonwolf715]

I Wanted To Do It Because They Took Me Away From You

(Part 1 of Adventures of the Batfamily)

Bruce Wayne POV

“Damian’s gonna stay here since he’s still feeling under the weather,” Dick says as Bruce comes out of his office for patrol. 

“Sounds like a good decision,” Bruce replies. 

“Also, come say hi to Tim.” 

Bruce walks over to Dick, who holds his phone out. “Hello, Tim.” 

“Hi, Bruce. I heard that the Demon Spawn can actually get sick.” 

“He’s had a cold pretty much since you left,” Bruce says. “And be nice.” 

“Eh…” 

Dick laughs. “They mean it lovingly when they call each other mean names.” 

Bruce sighs. 

“I’ll try to talk them into being more civil,” Dick whispers. 

Bruce nods. “Thank you. Tim, how is the mission going?” 

“Fine. We’re almost done. Just another day or two and I should be back home with everyone else,” Tim answers. “I’ve missed you guys, even Damian.” 

“That’s what happens when you live with a bunch of people and then go somewhere else for over a week,” Dick replies. “I’ve had it happen a lot of times.” 

“I’m gonna head out on patrol. You two behave and make sure you check on Damian while I’m gone, Dick.” 

“I will. He’s mostly over it so he should be fine in the morning.” 

“I know, just make sure that he gets some rest and doesn’t spend all night talking to his many animals.” 

“I will.”  

Bruce wakes up with a sick feeling in his stomach. He opens his eyes and everything around him is blurry. 

“Wakey wakey, Batsy.” 

The Joker appears in front of Bruce and he tries to back up, only to find himself stuck where he is. Another Joker appears next to the first one. 

“Wow, that really did a number on you, Bats. I can’t even tell if you know what’s going on.” 

Bruce tastes metallic, then spits blood onto the floor. He doesn’t feel injured, but the taste is still in his mouth and he can see the blood clearly. 

“Oooo, so high, Batsy.” 

Bruce’s eyes force themselves closed, like there’s some kind of weight on his eyelids. 

Twelve year old Jason jumps out from behind the Batcomputer. “Boo!” 

“Nice try, Jason,” Bruce says, holding a mug of coffee. He takes a sip as Jason starts pouting. 

“You’re impossible to surprise,” Jason says. 

“Not true. You’ll just have to pay close attention,” Bruce replies. 

“Dick has managed to surprise me in this cave twice.” 

“I gotta ask him how he did that. He’s so cool.” 

Bruce smiles and shakes his head. Jason’s eyes are bright as he jumps around in his costume, preparing to fight crime. 

Bruce opens his eyes to see Dick across from him, tied up in his Nightwing costume. 

“Two caught, one to go,” Joker’s voice says, even though he’s nowhere to be seen. 

Dick looks worse for wear. Bruce can see that most of his face is bruised even though his head is down and his arm is in a position unnatural for an arm to be. 

“Nightwing,” Bruce says. 

He doesn’t say anything or pick his head up. Joker walks back in and throws Damian on the floor in front of him. 

“Got them,” Joker says. “Now you can all die together as the happy family you claim to be, on the anniversary of the worst day of your life. We miss baby Jay-bird, don’t we?” 

Dick Grayson POV 

“Please tell me you’ve got something,” Nightwing says as he and Damian take a break on a rooftop. “We’ve been looking for almost twelve hours and there’s no sign of the Joker.” 

“Well I’d love to tell you good news, hot stuff, but I don’t have any.” 

Damian groans and turns his comm off. Dick rolls his eyes where Damian can see it. 

A moment of silence. 

“You alright, Oracle?” 

“Hold on,” Barbara says. 

“Hold on?” Dick asks. 

Damian switches his comm back on. 

“The computer finally figured out where he is, but I don’t know that you’ll get there in time.” 

“Where is it?” Dick asks. 

She rattles off a location and how to get there. 

“I can do it. Come on, Damian. We’re never telling Batman how fast I’m about to drive with you in the car with me.” 

“Go speed racer,” Damian says as they head towards the Batmobile. 

They get to the Batmobile and Dick starts racing towards the warehouse. “Keep watching the feed for me,” Dick says to Damian. 

Damian pulls his phone out and turns on the news. “Twenty minutes until the timer goes off.” 

“We can get there in twenty minutes,” Dick says hesitantly. 

“You don’t sound sure,” Damian points out. 

“I’m sure,” Dick replies, hiding his concern behind a quick smile. 

Damian nods, clearly unconvinced. Gordon calls so Dick puts the video in the corner of the screen towards Damian. 

“We got an anonymous tip on where Batman is,” Gordon says. “We’ve got officers already on the way and I was supposed to contact you earlier, but got busy.” 

“No need to worry. We know where he is and we’re on the way.” 

“That’s good.” 

“How close are the officers?” Dick asks. 

“About fifteen minutes out,” Gordon answers. 

“We’ll meet them there but they are not allowed to go in without us. Joker will kill them without hesitation if he finds them.” 

“I know the rules. I’ve already alerted them that they can’t go in without you guys until the timer hits five minutes. If it hits that point and you guys aren’t there, they’re gonna go in without you.” 

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Dick replies. “Bye, Gordon.” 

He hangs up and picks up speed once he gets on a straight road. 

“Weee,” Damian says sarcastically. 

Dick shakes his head, but laughs for a moment.  

Jason Todd POV

Jason turns on the TV and sees Joker on the screen with a bloody and beaten Batman. 

“One hour left until The Batman dies,” Joker says. “Nightwing and Robin are nowhere to be seen and if they’re not quick about it, they’ll get to watch just like everyone else.” 

Jason recognizes the room Batman’s being held in. It’s from the “Funhouse”. Jason doesn’t grab his helmet or take any of his normal tools with him. He grabs one of his pistols off of the table and runs to his motorcycle. 

After securing the pistol in its holster, he speeds towards the warehouse. He weaves through traffic with expert ease and makes it to the Joker’s “Funhouse” in record time. He walks into the warehouse, memories of his brutal beating at the hands of the Joker flashing before his eyes making it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. 

He searches each room until he finds Joker, laughing as he’s telling the camera that there’s only one minute left until Batman gets executed. The method of execution is something else. A cannon-like contraption that’s got smiles and laughs painted on the sides, but instead of a cannonball it has five knives inside of the barrel. Jason grabs the knife out of his pocket and cuts the wires to the camera as Joker pokes Batman’s face while taunting him. 

“You’ll have the same death day as your son,” Joker whispers. “A fitting end, if you ask me.” 

It takes a moment, but Joker hears the camera feed in the corner of the room cut so he turns in that direction. Jason runs towards him and kicks him into the wall. 

“Five… Four…” 

Jason looks around the room to see the timer on the cannon still running. One thought crosses his mind as he makes eye contact with Bruce, who looks like a light breeze could take him out. 

Joker won’t take anything else if I can help it.  

He runs towards Bruce as the timer keeps counting down. 

“Three… Two… One…” 

Jason grabs at his chest, where the knives found home after being shot from the cannon. Joker, who’s getting up after being kicked into the wall looks shocked, then angry. Jason’s vision blurs, then stumbles back. Joker starts raging and throwing things around. 

“I killed you! You’re supposed to be dead!” Joker shouts. “How are you still alive?” 

Jason flips Joker off. “I’m just that awesome, shithead,” he chokes out. 

Police sirens can be heard, so Jason pops three shots off at Joker. One manages to find home in his arm, so he tucks tail and runs. Jason takes one of the knives out of his chest and cuts Bruce free, then falls onto his back. 

Bruce shakily gets on the ground. “Jason?” 

“Heh, I cut the camera feeds so you can feel free to pass out until the police show up with Bluebird and your new brat,” Jason says. 

“How are you alive?” Bruce asks. 

“Ra’s woke me up.” 

“What…?” 

“I had this grand plan to take control of Gotham’s underworld and kill the Joker. I know your stupid rule of no killing, but just him. I wanted to do it because he took me away from you.” 

“Jason, you’re gonna be fine. You can’t die again.” 

“You’re acting fairly normal for a man so high off his ass that he couldn’t untie a rope tied like a child tied it.” 

Bruce’s breathing gets heavier and faster, so Jason slaps him. It’s weak by all standards, but it does the trick. Bruce comes back to reality and starts checking Jason’s condition. 

“Stop it, old man. I guess this is how it should have ended. Dying to protect my family, I like that. I still hate you for replacing me and leaving that scumbag alive, but at least nobody has to lose their dad today.” 

Jason turns his head to the side, then starts coughing up blood. 

“Father!” a voice calls from somewhere else in the base. 

“Damian,” Bruce mumbles, then turns in the direction of the door. 

“I hope you don’t remember this when you wake up,” Jason says. 

Bruce turns back towards Jason and he slams the butt of his gun into Bruce’s forehead. Bruce blacks out almost instantly and crumples into a heap. 

Bruce Wayne POV

Bruce wakes up to the sound of a heartbeat monitor. Steady heartbeat, and someone is holding his hands. He opens his eyes and he’s surrounded by his children. Dick, Tim, and Damian are all sitting in the room around his bed. Dick and Damian have a hold of his hands while Tim’s sitting at the foot of the bed with a book in hand. All of them are asleep in various uncomfortable looking positions. Damian blinks his eyes open and stares at Bruce for a minute before seeming to fully wake up. 

“Father!” Damian lets go of his hand so he could use both hands to reposition. 

Bruce ruffles Damian’s hair, which he accepts with a small huff. It only takes a minute for the other two to wake up thanks to Damian’s ruckus. 

“How long was I out?” Bruce asks. 

“Almost thirty-six hours,” Dick answers after a quick glance at his watch. 

“It took you so long that Drake was able to come back from his mission,” Damian adds. 

“What happened to Jay?” Bruce asks. Dick stiffens up while Tim and Damian look confused. 

“Who?” Damian asks. 

Recognition crosses Tim’s face, then it turns to confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“He was there. He got me out.” 

“Jason wasn’t there, Bruce,” Dick says quietly. “You were the only person there and the feed cut suddenly, so we figured you got yourself out. You were pretty high, so you can’t really trust anything you saw.” 

Bruce furrows his brows, but only acknowledges the statement with a nod. The subject changes to his recovery, which will take a couple weeks so says Dr. Thompkins. Bruce doesn’t say much, letting his kids do the talking. Tim tells him all about the mission he was on and how well it went, while Dick and Damian talk about adding trackers into the suits so they can keep up with each other. 

Everyone quiets back down after a while and eventually falls asleep, so Bruce is left alone with his thoughts. Thoughts about the fact that there should be a fourth kid here with him and there isn’t. That Jason would be here with his brothers if Bruce hadn’t been so reckless and careless. 

Jason POV 

Jason stumbles into his base and people start rushing towards him. 

“Boss, what happened?” one asks. 

They take him to the clinic down the road and the doctor treats his wounds. Once the doctor clears him to leave, he heads back to base. Everyone’s waiting, and looks concerned. 

“How are you planning on protecting us from the Bat like that?” one asks. 

“Bat’s gonna be out for a while,” Jason replies. “He’s being replaced by Nightwing, and I’m pretty sure that you guys can handle the week that I’ll be out.” 

“A week?” another one cuts in. “You look like you’ll be out for at least a month.” 

“I heal fast,” Jason says. “I’ll be back to working in no time. I’m thinking that we change our tactics a little while waiting for the Bat to come back. I want things to be a little more discreet. Give the heroes a false sense of security.” 

He explains the plan to them and they all seem pleased with it. 

“Someone keep tabs on whatever you can find about the Joker while I’m out,” Jason says. 

He heads back to his tiny apartment and crashes.

[realjrwiquotes]

thank you :D

[lesbianfakir]

I’m always writing these damn breakup texts at 4 in the morning

[fingertipsmp3]

I should neverrr have accepted this shift. Literally every problem I have would be irrelevant if I didn’t have to go to work today

[lilgynt]

no i don’t care that most of my moms commutation to me especially to direct question is just straight up ignoring me or some other form of non verbal communication. like grunting or vague pointing. the glass i broke outside is unrelated

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,” 

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it. 

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead. 

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?” 

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,” 

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,” 

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?” 

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,” 

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?” 

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” 

Yup, you have a headache now. 

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?” 

Why were you considering this? 

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?” 

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?” 

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“ 

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble. 

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor. 

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it. 

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life. 

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this. 

He said your name, “Well?” 

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did. 

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place. 

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself. 

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now. 

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was. 

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair. 

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh. 

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?” 

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,” 

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror. 

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?” 

“Gojo, this is—“ 

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,” 

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?” 

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,” 

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“ 

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire  — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way. 

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion. 

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed. 

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most. 

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event. 

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did. 

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn. 

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,” 

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?” 

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate. 

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them. 

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“ 

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled. 

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,” 

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,” 

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours. 

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,” 

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?” 

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,” 

“No one can see us,” 

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,” 

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling. 

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?” 

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks. 

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?” 

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn. 

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,” 

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“ 

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you. 

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare. 

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?” 

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had. 

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst. 

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,” 

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?” 

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?” 

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.” 

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“ 

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,” 

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,” 

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?” 

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru. 

And you really didn’t hate Suguru —  it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him. 

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs. 

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend. 

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“ 

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?” 

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it. 

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“ 

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?” 

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,” 

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm. 

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.” 

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,” 

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.” 

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there. 

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious. 

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point. 

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended? 

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds 

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge. 

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later. 

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you— 

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?” 

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,” 

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?” 

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter. 

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?” 

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,” 

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it. 

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them. 

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t. 

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one? 

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again. 

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy. 

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept. 

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen. 

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?” 

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?” 

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,” 

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?” 

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly. 

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?” 

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?” 

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,” 

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts. 

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,” 

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”  

You glanced at the time, he’s late. 

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a  way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground. 

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked. 

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad. 

It was probably the latter. 

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel. 

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,” 

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?” 

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh. 

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch. 

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?” 

“A bad rom com,” 

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,” 

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,” 

He sighs, running fingers through his hair,  “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,” 

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,” 

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table. 

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,” 

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,” 

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,” 

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,” 

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,” 

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?” 

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem. 

It was unspoken. 

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t. 

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now. 

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever. 

Your neck hurts. 

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed. 

Or what you thought was your bed. 

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear. 

Gojo. 

Gojo??? 

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears? 

You really should have fucking known better. 

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer. 

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh. 

Fuck. Your. Life. 

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes. 

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first. 

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?” 

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—” 

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone. 

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur. 

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace. 

“What is it?” 

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?” 

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,” 

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan. 

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,” 

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,” 

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?” 

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long. 

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding. 

Fuck. You were so screwed. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. 

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything. 

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress. 

Another knock. 

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?” 

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?” 

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square. 

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,” 

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,” 

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair. 

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,” 

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?” 

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,” 

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,” 

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks. 

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,” 

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this. 

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan. 

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over. 

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it. 

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?” 

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips. 

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,” 

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in,  “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his. 

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—” 

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?” 

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?” 

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. 

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,” 

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh. 

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—” 

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips. 

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—” 

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?” 

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“ 

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act? 

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins. 

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru. 

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him. 

Like it always never was. 

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,” 

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours. 

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—” 

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—” 

“My apartment isn’t—” 

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away. 

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo,  “Gojo, what do you want me to say?” 

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“ 

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“ 

“But what you said—“ 

“I said what I had to—“ 

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room. 

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“ 

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?” 

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“ 

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,” 

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand. 

“Give you what?” 

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“ 

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop. 

No, it was. It was, right? 

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“ 

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“ 

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,” 

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,” 

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?” 

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“ 

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?” 

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you. 

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?” 

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,” 

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone. 

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer. 

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards. 

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,” 

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,” 

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips. 

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,” 

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,” 

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”  

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress. 

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?” 

Slap. It’s definitely a slap. 

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest. 

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?” 

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance. 

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you. 

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,” 

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders. 

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away. 

“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.” 

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name. 

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side. 

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate. 

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you. 

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —- 

And he realized it was you. 

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“ 

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?” 

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat. 

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you. 

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?” 

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit. 

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased. 

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,” 

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,” 

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief. 

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit. 

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,” 

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds. 

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back. 

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined. 

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,” 

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips. 

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin. 

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,” 

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.” 

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“ 

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life. 

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again. 

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off,  I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body. 

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle. 

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,” 

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes. 

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—” 

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—” 

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out. 

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face. 

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you. 

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours. 

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.” 

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist. 

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips. 

Fuck, it was real.  

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake. 

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more. 

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse. 

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?” 

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort. 

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body. 

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,” 

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,” 

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer. 

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?” 

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips. 

“How about we make breakfast together?” 

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good. 

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?” 

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?” 

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,” 

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again  — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?” 

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,” 

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck. 

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,” 

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile. 

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,” 

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?” 

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze. 

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,” 

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.” 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present. 

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present. 

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you? 

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it. 

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview. 

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture. 

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation. 

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now? 

There’s only one person who’d text like that. 

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now? 

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business. 

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly. 

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink. 

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head. 

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you. 

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that. 

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman. 

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go. 

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,” 

“I was expecting to meet 

I suppose we’re on the same page,” 

He tilts his head, “Really?” 

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,” 

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,” 

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her. 

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her. 

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?” 

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“ 

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you. 

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways. 

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back. 

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen. 

You needed to talk to him in person. 

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet. 

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt. 

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,” 

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,” 

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line. 

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,” 

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” 

And he’s blinking, “Why?” 

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—” 

“But you didn’t—” 

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,” 

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?” 

“No I don’t—” 

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?” 

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,” 

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?” 

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?” 

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“ 

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,” 

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?” 

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“ 

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“ 

“But—“ 

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?” 

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,” 

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.” 

And this time he doesn’t stop you. 

It’s for the best. 

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas. 

It was for the best. 

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories. 

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them. 

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru. 

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did. 

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing. 

Fuck. You were home. 

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye. 

Gojo? 

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name. 

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops. 

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address. 

Satoru was…getting married? 

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here. 

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove. 

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved. 

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot. 

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors. 

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy. 

Even if it wasn’t with you. 

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now. 

So you wait. 

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom. 

That wasn’t Satoru. 

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding? 

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were. 

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head. 

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows. 

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands. 

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.” 

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?” 

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze,  “Satoru—” 

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips. 

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—” 

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it. 

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek. 

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,” 

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,” 

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake. 

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.” 

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

[suguann]

Ex-husband!Gojo who doesn’t understand that the parents (mostly the moms who try to hide behind their giant sunglasses) at Mio’s soccer games talk, and he chooses today to pull you into his lap. Several sideways glances cast your way at how cozy you both must look as you watch your four-year-old daughter run in the wrong direction across the field because she got distracted by a butterfly.

He doesn’t hear what they talk about—aren’t they divorced? I’ve never seen anyone divorced act like that—or (worse) when they try to be subtle about their probing into Satoru’s dating life while you stand there with a stilted smile plastered onto your face. 

(More than likely, he’s listened to every word and doesn’t give it the same amount of thought or care as you do.)

“Gojo,” you hiss, trying to move off his lap to no avail. “I have my own chair.”

“Can you still call me that if it’s your name too?”

A huff. “Go bother somebody else—”

“Shh,” he tells you, tugging you further against his chest. “You’re missing the game. Mio’s finally found her way back onto the field again.”

“But everyone’s staring at us.” You catch the eye of a mother tearing into a pack of fruit snacks.

“So? Let them stare.”

Everyone starts cheering, and you both watch Mio chase the ball down the field, her little body ducking between the taller kids. 

“That’s my girl!” Gojo shouts over the other parents.    

And then Mio kicks the ball into— 

The wrong goal.

“Maybe we should have let her join t-ball,” you whisper, though you both clap as your daughter starts doing not-quite cartwheels in the middle of the field.

Ex-husband!Gojo who still does work around the house every Friday, and to your dismay, shirtless now that the weather is warmer.

The plate in your hands has a few scuffs, half of a cartoon character’s face scrubbed off to oblivion that Mio will have something to say about later. Doing everything to stop from staring out into the yard where he’s mowing the lawn because the window is right there, above the sink, to tempt you.

It’s difficult when his chest glistens with sweat from the early-summer heat and how those stupid gray cotton shorts (that you know he picked out with the sole purpose of torturing you) sit dangerously low on his hips— 

He looks towards the kitchen window, a crooked smile stretching across his lips. The blood rushing to your brain, that must be what makes you give a sudsy wave and cause heat to creep into your middle.

Ex-husband!Gojo who strolls into your room while you’re putting away laundry one afternoon, and unsurprisingly shirtless as he crowds you against the dresser. Front to back. His mouth at your ear.

That steady resolve you pride yourself in crumbles at your feet, and you swallow the tiny, helpless sound working its way up your throat. A slippery thing that slips out. “Satoru…”

“You know, these little shorts were always my favorite,” he tells you, his fingers playing with the elastic waistband.

“Were they?”

“Don’t you remember? Couldn’t get them out of the way fast enough.”

Your mouth is dry, something playing in a loop in the back of your brain. Early morning, breakfast cooling on the stove, crumbs stuck to your cheek, these shorts dangling off the leg propped up on the counter—

“Where’s Mio?”

A kiss to your nape, a knowing smile. “Taking a nap.”

Ex-husband!Gojo who works your shorts and underwear off your legs before pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

“Satoru, we—we can’t keep doing this—”

Your words trail off into a moan when he slaps your clit with the leaky tip of his cock, and wet sounds echo in the room.

“Yeah? Go on, baby,” he tells you, slowly splitting you open, stuffing you full, two puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place like it should be (how it’s always been). “Tell me some more why we can’t keep doing this.” 

You can’t, not with how he’s filling you up in the way only he knows how. Not when he hooks two thick fingers into your mouth because you’re getting too loud, pinning you against the bed with your cheek buried into your pillow, every sound choking into nothing.

You wriggle underneath him, fingers clawing at the comforter and your back arching.

“Christ, look at you,” he growls, leaning over you, teeth bared. “Fucking look at you. You needed this, didn’t you?”

Ex-husband!Gojo who presses what leaks out back inside you with his thumb after he pulls out, wet and sticky circles between your legs until you fall apart again with a soft cry. His thumb is there again, at your entrance, pushing and stopping like a plug, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Can’t waste it.” 

And quieter, “Maybe it’ll take.”

(Who knows?

Maybe it will. Worse things have happened.)

Ex-husband!Gojo who stays for dinner for the fourth time that week, and none of the reasons have been because Mio asked if he could. It’s more about the fact that you’ve enjoyed how whole your family feels again, that you can pretend for a moment this is what you do every night.

(How it was probably always going to come back to this.) 

That your wedding ring doesn’t sit in the back of your sock drawer, and his isn’t tucked away in his wallet. That you don’t feel guilty when you think about saying I love you or wishing he’d stay longer—

“Daddy, you gonna lose,” Mio tells Satoru as Mario Kart appears on the screen.

“We’ll see,” he laughs, tugging on one of her pigtails until she’s giggling and swatting his hand away.

You lean back against the couch, watching them with a small smile you share with Satoru over your daughter’s head.

[danveration]

Sleep well, amour.

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: You’ve been very intrested in Alastor ever since you met him. He invites you to see his recording studio, which you accept. Then you ask if you can stay and listen to him host! While listening, you fall asleep. How does he react?

Word count: 2844

Warnings: Ummm not really much? Alastor being Alastor! One mention of not being able to sleep sometimes, mention of seeing people in hell doing dr*gs, k*lling eachother, and fighting, mention of reader having bad social skills (?)

part two

A/N: UM!! this is my first time writing for alastor, so apologies if it isn’t the best. Please give me any feedback you want, I’d love to hear it! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy :’)

Alastor the radio demon. You know of the things he’s done, you know that people are quite literally terrified of him. But for some reason... you feel a certain way towards him that you can’t describe, but it’s surely not fear.

You’ve had a some-what odd admiration of him since you landed in hell, only a few months ago. You got spotted by Charlie when you first got to hell. She noticed you looking around nervously and lost, and put two and two together that you must be new. She very kindly introduced herself which was refreshing because.. well.. it’s hell. Everywhere you looked people were fighting, doing drugs, and even killing each other. You were glad there were kind people even down here.

“Hi, you! Uh, you lost?” Charlie smiled you and waved.

“Um yeah! I’m guessing this is hell, huh?” You awkwardly chuckle. Social skills weren’t ever your thing, it seems they haven’t got better after you died, either.

“Yep! This is hell! You must be new? I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar. It’s so nice to meet you.” She smiled and stuck out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie! My names Y/n.” You politely smiled back and shook her hand.

After that meeting, Charlie showed you to the hotel in which you eagerly accepted to stay at, her being the only sane thing you’ve seen down here. It was a pretty nice place, no 5 star hotel like back on earth, but it was something you’re very grateful for. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you haven’t met her.

While she was showing you around, someone caught your eye. He was a tall man, very polite and respectful looking. He was dressed head to toe in old fashioned attire, with a cane to suit his charming look. He was smiling in a way that made you look at him like he was something you wanted to inspect under a magnifying glass.

He glanced at you and smiled larger, stepping over to you and Charlie.

“My, my! What do we have here? Charlie! You didn’t tell me that we’ve got more guests? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear! The names Alastor!” He spoke politely.

His voice was sort of.. Radio-like? You found it soothing.

“Haha yeah! I found them wandering around on the street this morning! They’re a newcomer, their name is Y/n.” She spoke back, excited to introduce you.

“Y/n! Well, my, my. That’s quite a lovely name!” He said. “Say.. do you listen to radio? I host a brilliant radio broadcast that’ll give you some real insight on this place!” He said enthusiastically.

“Oh.. haha thank you” You smile. “I do actually! I love radio shows.” You immediately feel drawn towads him. You cant tell if it’s just the new scenery or what.. but you want to just sit and chat with him for hours.

Alastor perks up at that. “Oh you do, do you?” He smiled more.

“Yeah! Back when I was.. uhm.. alive, I actually had a whole playlist of them! What do you do your show about?” You ask.

Alastor is delighted to have you take interest in his show. “Well, dear, I do all sorts of things on there! Yes, yes, you think of it and I’ve most probably done it! Most commonly known is the souls I entrap and prison, as I broadcast their screams of horror all over this horrible place and people get to hear the noises of their never-ending torture and demise. But! I also just made a wonderful segment on my mother’s Jambalaya recipe!” He stated.

While part of those sentences gave you chills, you still seemed to take interest in him.

“Well,” you chuckle. “I will certainly check it out!” You smile.

“Ah! Wonderful news, my dear.” He said while he twirled his cane.

Charlie was watching you interact with him and noticed how you looked at him, as if admiring. She smile and said, “well! We better finish the tour.”

She motions for you to follow her and you do, waving Alastor goodbye.

He waves back and yells, “goodbye, sweetheart! Lovely to have met you.”

After that, you wanted absolutely everything to do with him. You’ve also got to know the other people staying at the hotel. Angel, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. They were overall kind people. Husk found your interest in Alastor to be no good.

“Yeah, no. That, whatever thing you have created in your mind about him, isn’t true. He’s vile, Y/n. Trust me on that.” He grunts.

Angel thought you had some kind of kink towards “scary, creepy men.” Which wasn’t true because you didn’t even find him scary. You found him charming.

“Ah.. Alastor? Fucking sexy weirdo if I do say so myself. He’s got some reaaal problems but hey, if you’re into that-“ You cut him off by saying it wasn’t like that & that you don’t think anything sexual towards him.

One day, you were talking to Sir Pentious about his “crush” on Cherry Bomb. He completely denied it but you could tell from his blush and his nervous demeanour that he was very interested in her.

You were caught off guard when you heard that radio voice coming up from behind you.

“Y/n, my dear! I have a question for you.” Alastor came and stood beside you, looking down from where you’re sitting.

“Al! Hey, what’s up?” You ask, containing your excitement.

Sir Pentious excused himself quickly, seeing one of his “egg boys” were being played with by Niffty. She isn’t one to be gentle.

“So, I know how you’ve been listening to my radio show as of late, and I was wondering if you’d like to see where the magic happens!” He states.

“R-really? I’d be honoured!” You say, smiling.

“Ah! Lovely. Come now, this way.”

You get up and he locks arms with you and chats about his new microphone that he got.

Once you guys arrive, you’re shocked. It looks very professional and comfortable. It suits him heavily. There’s a big open window, a desk, some chairs and sofas, a bunch of technical stuff on the desk along with his new mic that you recognize from his descriptions, and a deer coat hanger?

“Wow, Alastor. This place is so actually so sick. I love it. And the new microphone suits you!” You say. “Thank you for showing me, really.”

Typically, Alastor would never show someone something personal of his, including his studio, but you are an exception. He isn’t sure what it is about you but he doesn’t seem to hate you as much as he does with anyone else. At first he was weirded out, but now he just embraces it. He also feels protective of you. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re even down here. For as far is he can tell, you’re an angel. Always being kind even to those who aren’t kind to you, always saying “please” and “thank you,” all that jazz. Jazz! You even like jazz music, his favourite. He told you that he lived on earth the time jazz music was popular. The 20’s and 30’s. That explains his vocabulary and how he dresses. You just find it more interesting and take time to ask questions about what it was like in that time.

“Why of course, my dear! If I’d want to show anyone here, it would be you.” He says, giving you his iconic smile.

You have a thought. “Hey, Al? Would it be alright if the next time you do a show, I could stay and listen?”

You hope he doesn’t think this is odd.

Alastor raises a brow. “Why would you want to do that?” He asks.

You panic, thinking you went too far by asking and now he’s going to cut you off or something.

“Ha! Kidding, sweetheart! Of course you can. I love when my broadcast is wanted to be listened to. Though I love it as well when they don’t want to.” He says.

You’re relieved, a bit scared, but still relieved.

“Say!” He says. “I was going to make one tonight talking about this silly technology box that thinks he is better than me! You know, expose all his lies and secrets to my listeners, and unwilling listeners. Maybe broadcast it all throughout hell!” He starts laughing manically. Then calms down and stares at you.

“Would you want to stay and listen, hm? I can do it now! I didn’t have any plans today going forward and well, getting it out sooner is better than later, I always say.” He asks.

You know he’s talking about Vox when he mentioned the technology box. Him and Vox have a sort of rivalry going on. Though Alastor seems to not care much about him, Vox is sure obsessed. He’s even gone so far as to making posters about him. Which areee.. not much of a resemblance.

This offer strikes you and you immediately perk up. “Yes! I’d love to.” You say.

You don’t think Alastor knows this but whenever you’re struggling to sleep, you put on his radio show and his voice comforts you to sleep. You’re sure if you told him, he would find it weird.

Little did you know, Alastor already knew. He walked past your room one night and heard static sounds coming from your quarters. He immediately was intrigued and put his ear close to your door to hear his voice. He was surprised, but not weirded out. He found it delightful that you found comfort in his voice. It’s not everyday someone does. Usually it invokes terror and anxiety on anyone who hears. This was new, and he didn’t hate it.

“Lovely! Let me get all set up. You can sit wherever you feel the most comfortable!” He says, adjusting his mic and pressing a buttons on his table.

You find a spot and sit down. Feeling honored to even be in the same room as him, let alone HIS room.

“Ahem! Welcome ladies and gentlemen-“ He goes off into his introduction, before winking at you and starting.

After about 20 minutes, you begin to feel tired and put your head on the side of the wall, still listening but with your eyes closed.

Alastor immediately notices and smirks, knowing how his voice effects you. He continues on and after about another 20 minutes, he finishes up. You’re asleep, slightly smiling.

He walks over to you and looks down.

“My, my. You really are an interesting one, aren’t you?” He whispers. He smiles more softly than he usually does and looks around to find a purple blanket hanging on his deer coat hanger, and gently places it on you.

He feels his heart fluttering while looking down at you and he immediately shrugs it off.

“Mm well, my dear.. I guess you can stay here. I’ll just be over there, transferring my broadcast to the other radios around town.” He says and points to his table.

“Sleep well, amour.” He speaks softly.

[pucksandpower]

Hall Pass

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Carlos Sainz x ex!Reader

Summary: Carlos’ desire to fantasize about other women leads you straight into his teammate’s arms (or in which your boyfriend chooses a famous actress as his hall pass while you decide on someone much closer to home)

The hotel suite is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. You sit on the edge of the king-sized bed, your fingers idly tracing the intricate patterns on the duvet cover. Across the room, Carlos leans against the ornate writing desk, his arms crossed over his chest and a pensive look on his face.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and measured. “We need to talk.”

You look up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “What’s on your mind?”

He shifts his weight, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been thinking ... about us. About our relationship.”

Your heart skips a beat, a knot forming in your stomach. “Oh? And what have you been thinking?”

Carlos takes a deep breath, his eyes darting around the room before settling back on you. “I love you, Y/N. I do. But ... I can’t help feeling like we’re stuck in a rut.”

You furrow your brow, confusion and hurt mingling in your chest. “A rut? What do you mean?”

“It’s just ...” He pauses, searching for the right words. “We’ve been together for so long, and it’s been great. But don’t you ever wonder what else is out there?”

You stand up, taking a step towards him. “Carlos, are you saying you want to break up?”

He holds up his hands, shaking his head quickly. “No, no. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I just ... I had an idea.”

“An idea?” You repeat, your voice laced with skepticism.

Carlos nods, a hint of excitement creeping into his tone. “What if we each got a hall pass?”

You blink, taken aback. “A hall pass? Like ... permission to sleep with someone else?”

“Exactly,” he says, snapping his fingers. “But not just anyone. We each choose one person, and if we ever happen to meet them and the opportunity arises, we’re allowed to go for it. No hard feelings, no guilt.”

You stare at him, trying to process his words. “Let me get this straight. You want us to choose people we can cheat on each other with, guilt-free?”

Carlos winces at your phrasing. “It’s not cheating if we both agree to it. Think of it as ... spicing things up. Adding a little excitement to our relationship.”

You cross your arms, mirroring his earlier stance. “And you think this will solve our supposed ‘rut’?”

He shrugs, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “It could be fun. Just imagine the thrill of knowing we both have this secret possibility out there.”

You shake your head, disbelief coloring your voice. “I can’t believe you’re seriously suggesting this.”

“Come on, mi amor,” Carlos coaxes, taking a step towards you. “It’s not like anything will actually happen. We’ll probably never even meet the people we choose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then what’s the point?”

“The point is the fantasy, the excitement,” he explains, his eyes lighting up. “It’s like ... buying a lottery ticket. You know you probably won’t win, but the possibility is thrilling.”

You chew on your lower lip, considering his words. Part of you wants to shut down this ridiculous idea immediately, but another part is intrigued by the challenge. “And you really think this will help our relationship?”

Carlos nods eagerly. “I do. It’ll add a spark, keep things interesting.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

“So ... is that a yes?” Carlos asks, hope evident in his voice.

After a long moment, you nod slowly. “Fine. But we set some ground rules first.”

Carlos grins, clapping his hands together. “Of course! Whatever you want.”

You hold up a finger. “Rule number one: we tell each other who we choose. No secrets.”

“Agreed,” Carlos says quickly.

“Rule number two: if anything ever does happen, we tell each other immediately.”

Carlos nods. “Absolutely. Honesty is key.”

You take a deep breath. “Okay. So ... who’s your choice?”

Carlos’ grin widens. “Margot Robbie.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Seriously? Margot Robbie?”

He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “What? She’s gorgeous, talented, and there’s practically zero chance I’ll ever meet her, let alone have the opportunity to sleep with her.”

You shake your head, amused despite yourself. “Well, at least you’re being realistic about your chances.”

Carlos chuckles. “Exactly. It’s the perfect choice. Exciting, but safe.” He leans forward, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “What about you? Who’s your hall pass going to be?”

You pause, pretending to consider your options carefully. In truth, you’ve already made your decision, a plan forming in your mind. “Well,” you say slowly, “I think I’ll choose ... Charles.”

Carlos’ brow furrows in confusion. “Charles? What Charles?”

You allow a small smirk to play across your lips. “Charles Leclerc.”

The color drains from Carlos’ face as realization dawns. “Charles ... Leclerc? My teammate, Charles Leclerc?”

You nod, feigning innocence. “That’s the one.”

Carlos sputters, his earlier confidence evaporating. “But-but you can’t choose him!”

“Why not?” You ask, your voice sweet. “He fits all the criteria. He’s attractive, talented, and exciting.”

“But he’s my teammate!” Carlos exclaims, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “You see him all the time!”

You shrug, echoing his earlier nonchalance. “So? You’re the one who wanted to add some excitement to our relationship.”

Carlos paces back and forth, his earlier enthusiasm replaced by panic. “This isn’t what I meant! I chose someone I’ll never meet. You chose someone you could literally bump into tomorrow!”

“Carlos,” you say, your voice taking on a patronizing tone, “are you saying you don’t trust me?”

He stops pacing, turning to face you with wide eyes. “Of course I trust you. It’s just ... it’s Charles!”

You take a step towards him, your expression hardening. “Let me ask you something. Did you really think this through when you suggested it? Or were you just hoping for a free pass to fantasize about other women without feeling guilty?”

Carlos opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find a response. “I ... that’s not ... I didn’t mean ...”

You cut him off, your voice sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you thought you could have your cake and eat it too. You’d get to keep me while indulging in your little fantasies about Margot Robbie or whoever else catches your eye.”

“Mi amor, please,” Carlos pleads, reaching for your hand. “That’s not what this was about at all.”

You pull away from his grasp, shaking your head. “No? Then what was it about? Because it sure as hell wasn’t about improving our relationship.”

He runs his hands over his face, frustration evident in every line of his body. “I just ... I thought it would be fun. A little harmless fantasy to spice things up.”

“Well, congratulations,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve certainly spiced things up now.”

Carlos looks at you, desperation in his eyes. “Can we just ... can we forget this whole thing? Pretend I never suggested it?”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Oh no, Carlos. You don’t get to backtrack now. You wanted a hall pass? You’ve got one.”

“Please,” he begs, reaching for you again. “I was being stupid. I don’t want this.”

You step back, avoiding his touch. “Too late. What was it you said? No hard feelings, no guilt?”

Carlos’ face crumples. “I didn’t think ... I never imagined you’d choose someone like Charles.”

“Maybe you should have,” you snap. “Maybe you should have considered how I’d feel about you wanting permission to sleep with other women.”

He hangs his head, shame written across his features. “I’m sorry. I really am. Can we please just talk about this?”

You shake your head, moving towards the door of the suite. “I think we’ve talked enough for one night.”

Carlos’ head snaps up, panic flashing in his eyes. “Where are you going?”

You grab your purse from the nearby chair, slinging it over your shoulder. “Out. I need some air.”

“Y/N, wait!” Carlos calls, his voice rising in desperation. “You can’t ... you’re not going to ...”

You turn back to face him, your hand on the doorknob. “Going to what, Carlos? Use my hall pass? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No! I mean, yes, but not like this. Not with Charles!”

“Why not?” You challenge. “He’s attractive, available, and conveniently located just down the hall. Isn’t that exciting?”

Carlos’ face contorts with a mixture of anger and fear. “You wouldn’t. You’re just trying to teach me a lesson.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Am I? Are you willing to bet on that?”

He takes a step towards you, his voice pleading. “Mi amor, please. I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”

You open the door, pausing in the threshold. “You know, Carlos, you were right about one thing. This definitely isn’t boring anymore.”

As you step into the hallway, you hear Carlos’ voice rising behind you. “Y/N! Come back! We need to talk about this!”

You let the door swing shut behind you, cutting off his desperate pleas. As you walk down the corridor, your heels clicking against the polished floor, a small smile plays across your lips.

You have no intention of actually going to Charles’ room, of course. But Carlos doesn’t need to know that. Let him stew in his own jealousy and insecurity for a while. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before suggesting something so foolish.

As you reach the elevator, you can still hear Carlos’ muffled shouts echoing from your suite. You press the button for the lobby, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. Part of you feels guilty for causing him such distress, but a larger part feels justified in your actions. He needed to understand the consequences of his thoughtless suggestion.

As the elevator doors slide closed, you let out a long breath. It’s going to be a long night, but perhaps this will be the wake-up call your relationship needed. Not in the way Carlos had intended, but in a way that forces you both to confront the real issues lurking beneath the surface.

The elevator begins its descent, carrying you away from the drama upstairs and towards an uncertain future. One thing’s for sure — your relationship will never be the same after tonight. Whether that’s for better or worse remains to be seen.

***

The hotel bar is a sanctuary of soft lighting and hushed conversations. You sit perched on a high stool, nursing a glass of red wine and trying to quiet the storm of emotions raging inside you. The bartender, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, keeps glancing your way, clearly sensing your distress but respectfully maintaining his distance.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice the figure approaching until he speaks.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?”

You look up, startled, to find Charles Leclerc standing beside you, concern etched across his handsome features. For a moment, you’re struck by the irony of the situation.

“Charles,” you manage, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, just ... needed some air.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your act. “At the bar? Must be some very alcoholic air.”

Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “Caught me. Mind if I buy you a drink to keep my secret?”

Charles slides onto the stool next to you, a warm smile playing across his lips. “Only if you let me buy the next round and tell me what’s really going on.”

You hesitate, swirling the wine in your glass. “It’s ... complicated.”

“I’ve got time,” Charles says softly, signaling the bartender. “And I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

As the bartender sets a Moscow Mule in front of Charles, you take a deep breath. “Carlos and I had a fight.”

Charles nods, his expression neutral. “I see. Do you want to talk about it?”

You laugh bitterly. “Oh, you’re going to love this. He suggested we each get a hall pass.”

Charles’ brow furrows in confusion. “A hall pass? Like in school?”

“No,” you explain, taking a sip of your wine. “A relationship hall pass. Permission to sleep with one chosen person if the opportunity ever arose.”

Charles’ eyes widen in surprise. “He suggested that? Really?”

You nod, feeling a fresh wave of anger wash over you. “He thought it would ‘spice things up’. Add some excitement to our relationship.”

“And how did you feel about that?” Charles asks carefully, studying your face.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Honestly? I felt ... hurt. Betrayed. Like I wasn’t enough for him anymore.”

Charles reaches out, hesitating for a moment before gently placing his hand over yours. “Y/N, you’re more than enough. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

You look up, meeting his intense gaze. “Thank you. That ... means a lot.”

He squeezes your hand before pulling away, taking a sip of his drink. “So, what happened next?”

You feel a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I agreed.”

Charles nearly chokes on his drink. “You did?”

You nod, unable to suppress a small chuckle at his reaction. “I did. But not for the reasons Carlos wanted.”

“Oh?” Charles leans in, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Do tell.”

“Well,” you say, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “Carlos chose Margot Robbie as his hall pass.”

Charles snorts. “Of course he did.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “So when it was my turn to choose ... I picked you.”

For a moment, Charles is speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he manages to sputter, “Me? You chose me?”

You nod, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “I did. You should have seen Carlos’ face. He was furious.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, looking both flattered and bewildered. “I ... wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him quickly. “I didn’t choose you because I actually intended to ... you know. I chose you to teach Carlos a lesson.”

Charles nods slowly, processing this information. “And did he learn his lesson?”

You shrug, finishing off your wine. “I don’t know. I left him screaming in our hotel room.”

“Y/N,” Charles says softly, his voice full of concern. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. You deserve better.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Do I? Sometimes I wonder ...”

Charles reaches out again, this time cupping your cheek gently. “Listen to me. You are an incredible woman. You’re smart, funny, beautiful ... any man would be lucky to have you. And if Carlos can’t see that, if he’s willing to risk losing you over some stupid fantasy, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

You lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the wine. “Charles ...”

He leans in closer, his voice low and intense. “If you were with me, I would treat you like the queen you deserve to be. I would never even think about another woman, let alone ask for permission to be with one.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. “Charles, I ... we can’t ...”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “Why not? You have a hall pass, don’t you?”

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of emotions clouding your judgment. “That’s not ... I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Charles sighs, dropping his hand from your face. “I know. And I would never want to be the reason you and Carlos break up. But Y/N, you have to know ... I’ve had feelings for you for a long time.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You have?”

He nods, a rueful smile on his face. “How could I not? You’re amazing. But you were with Carlos, and I respected that. I still do. But seeing you hurt like this ... it kills me.”

You feel tears spilling down your cheeks now, unable to hold them back any longer. “I don’t know what to do. I love Carlos, but after tonight ... I don’t know if I can trust him anymore.”

Charles pulls you into a gentle hug, his strong arms wrapping around you protectively. “It’s okay. You don’t have to decide anything right now.”

You bury your face in his chest, inhaling his comforting scent. “I just ... I feel so lost.”

He strokes your hair softly, his voice a soothing murmur. “I know. But you’re not alone. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

You pull back slightly, looking up into his eyes. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Always. But Y/N ... I want you to know that if you ever decide you want more than friendship, I’m here. I would never hurt you the way Carlos has.”

You feel a flutter in your stomach, a mix of excitement and fear. “Charles, I ...”

He shakes his head, placing a finger gently on your lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how close you are, of the electricity crackling between you. “I should ... I should probably go.”

Charles nods, but makes no move to let you go. “Probably. But do you want to?”

You bite your lip, torn between desire and duty. “I ... I don’t know.”

He leans in, his lips barely brushing your ear as he whispers, “Come up to my room. We don’t have to do anything. We can just talk or watch a movie. But I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

You shiver at his closeness, your resolve weakening. “Charles, I ... what if someone sees us?”

He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. “Let them see. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re allowed to have friends, to seek comfort when you’re hurting.”

You take a deep breath, knowing that you’re standing on the edge of a precipice. One wrong move and everything could come crashing down. But looking into Charles’ eyes, feeling the warmth and safety of his presence, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s go.”

Charles stands, offering you his hand. You take it, allowing him to lead you towards the elevators. As you walk, you can feel the eyes of other patrons on you, but Charles’ steady presence beside you helps you keep your head high.

In the elevator, you stand close together, the air thick with unspoken tension. Charles’ thumb traces small circles on the back of your hand, sending shivers up your arm.

“Charles,” you say softly as the elevator begins to ascend. “I need you to know ... I’m not using you to get back at Carlos. Whatever happens tonight, it’s because I want it to.”

He turns to face you, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek once more. “I know. And I want you to know that whatever happens or doesn’t happen, tonight doesn’t change anything. I’ll still be here for you tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that.”

You lean into his touch, feeling a sense of peace wash over you for the first time since your fight with Carlos. “Thank you.”

The elevator dings, signaling your arrival at Charles’ floor. He leads you down the hallway to his suite, fumbling slightly with the key card before pushing the door open.

As you step inside, you’re struck by how different it feels from the suite you share with Carlos. Where your room is cluttered with both of your belongings, evidence of your life together, Charles’ suite is neat and minimalist. It feels like a blank slate, a fresh start.

Charles closes the door behind you, leaning against it as he watches you take in the room. “So,” he says softly, “what now?”

You turn to face him, suddenly feeling nervous. “I ... I don’t know. This is all happening so fast.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “We can take it slow. Why don’t we sit down, maybe order some room service? We can talk, or not talk. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You feel a rush of affection for him, grateful for his patience and understanding. “That sounds nice.”

Charles moves to the phone, quickly ordering a selection of snacks and another bottle of wine. As he hangs up, he turns back to you with a shy smile. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered your favorite.”

You blink in surprise. “You know my favorite wine?”

He shrugs, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I pay attention.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words. How many times had you had to remind Carlos of your preferences?

As you settle onto the plush sofa, Charles takes a seat beside you, close but not touching. “Y/N,” he says softly, “I want you to know that you’re in control here. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and desire. “I know. And I appreciate that, Charles. But ...”

He raises an eyebrow. “But?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. “But I think I want to kiss you.”

Charles’ eyes widen, a look of surprise and joy spreading across his face. “Are you sure?”

Instead of answering, you lean forward, pressing your lips to his in a tentative kiss. For a moment, Charles is still, as if he can’t believe this is happening. Then, with a small groan, he responds, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair as he deepens the kiss.

As you lose yourself in the sensation of Charles’ lips on yours, his strong arms pulling you closer, you feel a sense of rightness settle over you. You know that there will be consequences to face tomorrow, difficult conversations to be had. But for now, in this moment, you allow yourself to forget about everything else and simply feel.

When you finally pull apart, both breathing heavily, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “Me too. I just didn’t realize it until now.”

He pulls back slightly, searching your eyes. “What happens now?”

You take a deep breath, considering your words carefully. “Now ... now we take things one step at a time. I can’t make any promises, Charles. I need to sort things out with Carlos, figure out what I really want.”

He nods, understanding and a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I know. And I’ll respect whatever decision you make. Just know that I’m here, Y/N. Whatever you need.”

You lean in, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you. For everything.”

As you settle back into his arms, feeling safe and cared for in a way you haven’t in a long time, you know that whatever the future holds, this night has changed everything. And for the first time in a long time, you’re looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

***

The soft morning light filters through the curtains, a sliver landing directly on the warming skin of your face. You stir slowly, awareness creeping in as you realize you’re not in your own bed. As your eyes flutter open, you find yourself nestled in Charles’ arms, his steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm against your cheek.

For a moment, panic flares in your chest as you try to piece together the events of the night before. But as memories flood back, you relax, remembering that while you and Charles shared kisses and conversation, nothing more intimate transpired.

Charles shifts beside you, his arms tightening slightly as he wakes. “Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

You tilt your head to look up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “Good morning.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle. “How are you feeling?”

You take a moment to assess, surprised by the sense of calm that settles over you. “Better than I expected, actually.”

Charles nods, relief evident in his eyes. “I’m glad. I was worried you might regret ... well, everything.”

You shake your head, sitting up slightly to meet his gaze. “I don’t regret anything. Last night ... it made a lot of things clear for me.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity and hope warring in his expression. “Oh? What kind of things?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation ahead. “I think ... I think I want to be with you. Not just for a hall pass, not just for one night. I want to see where this could go between us.”

Charles’ face lights up, joy radiating from every feature. But then, just as quickly, concern clouds his expression. “Y/N, as much as I want that — and believe me, I do — what about Carlos?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I need to end things with him. Properly. What he did, suggesting that hall pass ... it was just a symptom of bigger problems in our relationship. I see that now.”

Charles nods slowly, sitting up beside you. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to make any rash decisions because of one fight.”

You turn to face him fully, taking his hands in yours. “I’m sure. Last night, talking with you, being with you ... it made me realize what I’ve been missing. The respect, the understanding, the way you actually listen to me. I want that. I want you.”

A smile spreads across Charles’ face, but there’s still a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. But ... are you sure you want to do this now? Maybe you should take some time, think things through.”

You shake your head, determination setting in. “No, I need to do this now. If I wait, I’ll just be living a lie. Carlos deserves to know the truth, and I ... I want to start this — us — with a clean slate.”

Charles squeezes your hands gently. “Okay. If you’re sure. But I’m not letting you face Carlos alone.”

You blink in surprise. “What do you mean?”

He meets your gaze steadily. “I mean I’m coming with you when you break up with him. I know Carlos, and I know he’s not going to take this well. I want to be there to support you.”

“Charles,” you protest weakly, “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s going to be messy enough without you there.”

He shakes his head firmly. “You’re not asking, I’m offering. More than that, I’m insisting. We’re in this together now. Let me be there for you.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by his support. “Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Charles leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Always. Now, why don’t we get cleaned up and face this together?”

An hour later, freshly showered and steeled for the confrontation ahead, you stand outside the door to your suite with Charles by your side. Your hand trembles slightly as you raise it to knock.

“Hey,” Charles says softly, catching your hand in his. “It’s going to be okay. I’m right here with you.”

You nod, taking a deep breath before rapping your knuckles against the door. For a long moment, there’s silence. Then, just as you’re about to knock again, the door flies open.

Carlos stands there, his hair disheveled and dark circles under his eyes. His gaze flicks between you and Charles, confusion quickly morphing into anger.

“What the hell is this?” He demands, his voice rough.

You step forward, trying to keep your voice calm. “We need to talk.”

He laughs bitterly, throwing the door wider. “Oh, now you want to talk? After disappearing all night? Come on in, let’s have a nice chat.”

As you and Charles enter the suite, you can’t help but notice the state of disarray. Empty bottles litter the coffee table, and it’s clear Carlos hasn’t slept.

“Have a nice night?” Carlos spits, slamming the door behind you.

You flinch at the sound, but stand your ground. “I’m sorry for leaving like that. But we need to discuss what happened.”

He rounds on you, anger blazing in his eyes. “What’s there to discuss? You used your fucking hall pass, didn’t you? With him?” He jabs a finger at Charles, who remains calm but alert beside you.

“No, Carlos, I didn’t,” you say firmly. “Charles and I talked, that’s all.”

Carlos scoffs, pacing the room like a caged animal. “Oh, you expect me to believe that? You disappear all night, then show up with him in the morning, and I’m supposed to think nothing happened?”

Charles steps forward, his voice level. “She’s telling you the truth. Nothing happened between us last night.”

Carlos whirls on him, fury contorting his features. “Stay out of this, Leclerc. This is between me and my girlfriend.”

You feel anger bubbling up inside you at his possessive tone. “That’s just it. I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

The room goes deathly silent as your words hang in the air. Carlos stares at you, shock replacing anger for a moment before his face hardens again.

“What did you just say?” He growls.

You stand tall, drawing strength from Charles’ presence beside you. “I said I’m not your girlfriend anymore. I’m breaking up with you.”

For a moment, Carlos looks like you’ve physically struck him. Then, with a roar of rage, he sweeps his arm across the nearest surface, sending glasses and bottles crashing to the floor.

“You fucking bitch!” He shouts, advancing on you. “You sleep with my teammate and then have the audacity to break up with me?”

Charles steps between you and Carlos, his voice low and dangerous. “Back off. Now.”

Carlos sneers at him. “Oh, defending your new whore, are you? How noble.”

You push past Charles, anger overriding your fear. “That’s enough! I told you, I didn’t sleep with Charles. But even if I had, it would have been my right. You’re the one who suggested this stupid hall pass in the first place!”

Carlos laughs bitterly. “Oh, so this is my fault now? I suggest a little harmless fantasy to spice things up, and you use it as an excuse to cheat on me?”

“It wasn’t harmless!” You shout back. “It was hurtful and disrespectful. Did you ever stop to think how it would make me feel, knowing you wanted permission to sleep with other women?”

Carlos runs his hands through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “It wasn’t about that! It was just a game, a fantasy!”

You shake your head, feeling a wave of sadness wash over you. “That’s the problem. Our relationship isn’t a game. It’s not something to be risked on a whim. And the fact that you don’t understand that ... it just proves we’re not right for each other anymore.”

Carlos’ anger seems to deflate, replaced by a desperate pleading. “Y/N, please. We can work this out. I’m sorry about the hall pass thing, okay? I was an idiot. But don’t throw away everything we have over one stupid mistake.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, but you blink them back. “It’s not just about the hall pass. It’s about everything. The way you take me for granted, the way you never really listen to me. I deserve better than that. I deserve someone who respects me, who values me.”

Carlos’ gaze flicks to Charles, understanding dawning in his eyes. “And you think he’s that someone? My teammate? My friend?”

Charles steps forward, his voice soft but firm. “I’m sorry it happened this way. I never wanted to hurt you. But Y/N is right — she deserves better. And I want to be the one to give her that.”

For a moment, you think Carlos might lunge at Charles. But then, to your surprise, he crumples, sinking onto the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“How long?” He asks, his voice muffled.

You move closer, but stop short of touching him. “How long what?”

He looks up, his eyes red-rimmed. “How long have you two been ... feeling this way about each other?”

You exchange a glance with Charles before answering. “Honestly? I didn’t realize how I felt about Charles until last night. When he was there for me, really listening and supporting me ... it made me see what I’ve been missing.”

Carlos nods slowly, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “And you, Charles? How long have you been in love with my girlfriend?”

Charles takes a deep breath, meeting Carlos’ gaze steadily. “A while. But Carlos, I swear to you, nothing ever happened between us until last night. And even then, we didn’t sleep together. I respect you too much for that.”

Carlos laughs humorlessly. “Respect me? You’re stealing my girlfriend and you talk about respect?”

You feel a flare of irritation at his words. “He’s not stealing me. I’m not a possession. I’m making my own choice.”

Carlos stands abruptly, moving to the window and staring out at the city below. For a long moment, silence reigns in the room. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, defeated.

“Get out. Both of you. I can’t ... I can’t look at either of you right now.”

You take a step towards him, your heart aching despite everything. “Carlos ...”

He whirls around, his eyes flashing. “I said get out! Take your things and go. I’ll have the rest sent to you.”

You nod slowly, knowing that pushing further will only make things worse. As you move around the room, gathering your essential belongings, you feel a profound sadness settling over you. This is the end of a significant chapter in your life, and despite your certainty that it’s the right decision, it still hurts.

Charles waits by the door, a silent, supportive presence. When you’ve finished packing a small bag, you join him, pausing at the threshold to look back at Carlos one last time.

“I’m sorry it ended this way,” you say softly. “I hope ... I hope someday you can forgive us.”

Carlos doesn’t respond, doesn’t even turn to look at you. With a heavy sigh, you step into the hallway, Charles close behind you.

As the door clicks shut, you lean against the wall, suddenly feeling drained. Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“Are you okay?” He asks gently.

You nod against his chest, taking comfort in his warmth. “I will be. It’s just ... it’s a lot.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I know. But you’re not alone. We’ll get through this together.”

You look up at him, managing a small smile despite the turmoil of emotions swirling inside you. “Together. I like the sound of that.”

***

The soft glow of the setting sun filters through the curtains of Charles’ hotel suite, casting a golden light across the room. You sit on the plush sofa, your legs tucked beneath you, a glass of Prosecco cradled in your hands. Across from you, Charles leans against the minibar, his own glass in hand, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches you.

“What?” You ask, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks under his intense gaze.

Charles shakes his head, his smile widening. “Nothing. I just ... I can’t believe you’re really here. With me.”

You take a sip of your Prosecco, savoring the crisp, bubbly taste. “I’m having a hard time believing it myself. But I’m glad I am.”

Charles moves to join you on the sofa, settling in close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “How are you feeling? After everything that happened with Carlos ...”

You sigh, leaning back against the cushions. “Honestly? I feel ... lighter. Like a weight I didn’t even know I was carrying has been lifted.”

Charles nods, his expression thoughtful. “I’m glad. But I want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. If you need time, space ...”

You cut him off by placing your hand gently on his arm. “I appreciate that. But I’ve had years of space with Carlos. What I want now is to be here, with you.”

His eyes light up at your words, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. As he pulls back, you can’t help but smile at the joy radiating from him.

“You know,” you say, taking another sip of your Prosecco, “I have to admit, I was surprised when you ordered this.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “The Prosecco? Why?”

You shrug, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Carlos always insisted on ordering Spanish cava. He said it was better. I never had the heart to tell him I preferred Prosecco.”

Charles looks at you incredulously. “You’re kidding. He never noticed?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I mean, I drank it, of course. But ... I don’t know. It just never seemed important enough to make a fuss over.”

Charles sets his glass down on the coffee table, turning to face you fully. “Y/N, listen to me. Your preferences, your likes and dislikes — they’re important. They matter. You matter.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you. That ... that means a lot.”

He reaches out, gently wiping away a tear that has escaped. “It’s the truth. And for the record, I’ve known you preferred Prosecco since that team dinner in Monza two years ago.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You remember that?”

Charles nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Of course. You lit up when they brought out the Prosecco. Your whole face changed. I’ve never seen someone so happy over a glass of bubbly.”

You laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “I can’t believe you noticed that.”

“I notice everything about you,” Charles says softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I always have.”

You lean into his touch, your heart racing. “Like what?”

Charles’ thumb traces gentle circles on your skin as he speaks. “Like how you always twist your hair around your finger when you’re deep in thought. Or how you bite your lip to hide your smile when you’re trying not to laugh at one of the guys’ bad jokes.”

You feel a blush creeping up your neck, touched by his attention to detail. “What else?”

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, I know you have a secret stash of gummy bears in your purse for long flights. And that you always hum Dancing Queen under your breath when you’re in a good mood.”

You gasp in mock horror. “Charles Leclerc, have you been spying on me?”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Not spying. Just ... paying attention. Is that okay?”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat at the tenderness in his gaze. “It’s more than okay. It’s ... it’s wonderful.”

Charles leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re wonderful. And you deserve someone who sees that, who appreciates every little thing about you.”

You close the distance between you, capturing his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. When you pull back, you’re both a little breathless.

“Charles,” you murmur, “I think I’m falling for you.”

His face lights up with joy. “That’s good, because I’ve already fallen for you.”

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in years. “Oh really? When did that happen?”

Charles pretends to think for a moment. “Hmm, probably around the time you yelled at that journalist for asking me stupid questions after my DNF in Canada.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh god, I forgot about that. I was so embarrassed afterwards.”

He gently pries your hands away, his eyes shining with admiration. “Don’t be. It was amazing. No one’s ever defended me like that before.”

You shrug, feeling a bit sheepish. “He was being an ass. You didn’t deserve that after the race you had.”

Charles pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “See? That’s what I mean. You care. Deeply and fiercely. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

You snuggle into his side, reveling in the warmth and safety of his embrace. “You know, it’s funny. I always thought I was happy with Carlos. But being here with you ... it’s making me realize how much I was missing.”

Charles presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Like what?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Well, for one thing, this. Just sitting and talking, really talking. With Carlos, it always felt like we were just going through the motions, you know? Like we were playing the roles of the perfect couple without really connecting.”

Charles nods, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your arm. “I get that. It’s easy to fall into patterns, to stop really seeing each other.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “And it’s not just the big things. It’s the little stuff too. Like ...” You pause, a memory suddenly surfacing. “Oh! Like the flowers.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Flowers?”

You sit up, turning to face him. “Yeah. Carlos always sent me these huge bouquets of red roses. Which, don’t get me wrong, were beautiful. But ...”

“But they’re not your favorite,” Charles finishes for you.

You blink in surprise. “How did you know that?”

He grins, looking a bit bashful. “Remember that charity gala in Milan last year? You spent at least ten minutes gushing over the centerpieces.”

You gasp, the memory flooding back. “The peonies! Oh my god, Charles, how do you remember these things?”

He shrugs, his eyes soft as he looks at you. “Like I said, I pay attention. Especially when it comes to you.”

You feel your heart swell with affection. “Well, Mr. Attentive, what else have you noticed about me?”

Charles pretends to think hard, tapping his chin dramatically. “Let’s see ... I know you prefer your coffee with just a splash of milk, no sugar. You always double-knot your shoelaces before a run. Oh, and you have a secret obsession with cheesy 80s power ballads.”

You laugh, playfully swatting his arm. “Okay, now I know you’re making things up. There’s no way you could know about my power ballad addiction.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh really? So if I were to start singing Total Eclipse of the Heart, you wouldn’t immediately join in?”

Your jaw drops. “How ... how did you ...”

Charles grins triumphantly. “Team karaoke night in Singapore. You thought everyone was too drunk to remember, but I wasn’t as far gone as I let on.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh god, I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

He gently pries your hands away, his expression soft and sincere. “Hey, no hiding. I loved it. You were so free, so happy. It was beautiful to watch.”

You feel tears prickling at your eyes again, overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings. “Charles ...”

He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that have escaped. “Y/N, I want you to know that I see you. All of you. The good, the bad, the silly, the serious. And I love every part of it.”

You lean into his touch, your heart racing. “I’m starting to see you too, Charles. And I ... I think I might be falling in love with what I see.”

His face lights up with joy, and he pulls you in for a deep, passionate kiss. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless and grinning.

“So,” Charles says, his voice low and husky, “what do you say we order some room service? I’m thinking ... chocolate lava cake for dessert?”

You gasp in delight. “How did you know that’s my favorite?”

He winks, reaching for the room service menu. “I told you, mon cœur. I pay attention.”

As Charles calls down to place the order, you lean back against the sofa, a contented smile playing on your lips. You can’t help but marvel at how different this feels from your relationship with Carlos. With Charles, you feel seen, heard, understood in a way you never have before.

When he hangs up the phone and rejoins you on the sofa, you curl into his side, feeling perfectly at home in his arms. As the night deepens around you, filled with laughter, deep conversations, and stolen kisses, you know that this is just the beginning of something beautiful. With Charles, you’re not just being loved — you’re being cherished, appreciated for every little thing that makes you who you are.

And as you drift off to sleep in his arms later that night, the taste of chocolate and Prosecco still lingering on your lips, you can’t help but feel that you’ve finally found where you truly belong.

***

Carlos stands at the edge of the pit lane, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him. You and Charles are huddled together by the Ferrari garage, laughing and talking animatedly. The sight sends a sharp pang through Carlos’ chest, a mixture of anger, jealousy, and regret swirling in his gut.

He watches as Charles leans in, whispering something in your ear that makes you throw your head back in laughter. Carlos grits his teeth, remembering a time when he was the one to make you laugh like that.

“They look happy, don’t they?” A voice says beside him.

Carlos turns to see Lando standing there, a sympathetic look on his face. “What do you want?” Carlos growls, not in the mood for conversation.

Lando holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Just checking on you, mate. I know this can’t be easy to watch.”

Carlos scoffs, turning his attention back to you and Charles. “I’m fine. It’s not like I care what she does anymore.”

Even as he says the words, Carlos knows they’re a lie. He does care. He cares so much it feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside.

He watches as Charles pulls out a small package from his pocket, handing it to you with a flourish. Your eyes light up as you unwrap it, revealing what looks like a bag of candy.

“What’s that about?” Carlos mutters, more to himself than to Lando.

Lando squints, trying to get a better look. “Looks like ... gummy bears? Huh, I didn’t know Y/N liked those.”

Carlos feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “She doesn’t,” he says automatically. But even as the words leave his mouth, he sees the way you’re beaming at Charles, popping a gummy bear into your mouth with evident delight.

“You sure about that?” Lando asks, raising an eyebrow.

Carlos doesn’t respond, his mind racing. How had he never known you liked gummy bears? Had you ever mentioned it? Had he ever bothered to ask?

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of your laughter again. Charles is holding out his phone, showing you something on the screen. As you lean in to look, Charles’ arm slips around your waist, pulling you close.

Carlos feels his hands clench into fists at his sides. He wants to look away, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes from the scene.

“You know,” Lando says carefully, “maybe you should talk to them. Clear the air.”

Carlos shakes his head vehemently. “There’s nothing to talk about. She made her choice.”

Lando sighs. “Look, mate, I know you’re hurting. But-”

“But nothing,” Carlos snaps. “Just drop it.”

Lando holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m here if you need to talk, though.”

As Lando walks away, Carlos continues to watch you and Charles. He sees the way Charles’ hand rests on the small of your back, the way you lean into him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Suddenly, Charles looks up, his eyes meeting Carlos’ across the paddock. For a moment, they just stare at each other, an unspoken tension crackling between them. Then, to Carlos’ surprise, Charles says something to you and starts making his way over.

Carlos straightens, steeling himself for the confrontation. As Charles approaches, he can see you watching anxiously from a distance.

“Carlos,” Charles says, his voice cautious. “Can we talk?”

Carlos crosses his arms, his jaw clenched. “What’s there to talk about?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know this situation is ... complicated. But I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you.”

Carlos laughs bitterly. “Hurt me? You stole my girlfriend. How did you think that was going to make me feel?”

Charles shakes his head. “I didn’t steal anyone. Y/N made her own choice.”

“Right,” Carlos spits. “And I’m sure you had nothing to do with that.”

Charles takes a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. “I won’t deny that I had feelings for Y/N for a long time. But I never acted on them while you were together. Never.”

Carlos scoffs. “Oh, how noble of you.”

“Carlos, please,” Charles says, his voice softening. “I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But can’t you see how happy she is?”

Carlos’ eyes flick back to you, standing by the garage and watching them anxiously. He hates to admit it, but you do look happy. Happier than he can remember seeing you in a long time.

“She was happy with me,” Carlos insists, but the words sound hollow even to his own ears.

Charles gives him a sad smile. “Was she? Really? Because from what she’s told me, there were a lot of things you never noticed about her.”

Carlos feels a flare of anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Charles says carefully, “that sometimes we take the people we love for granted. We stop seeing them, really seeing them.”

Carlos wants to argue, to defend himself, but he finds the words sticking in his throat. Because deep down, he knows Charles is right.

“Did you know,” Charles continues, his voice gentle, “that her favorite flowers are pink peonies? Not red roses?”

Carlos blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

Charles nods. “Or that she prefers Prosecco to cava? Or that she has a secret addiction to 80s power ballads?”

With each revelation, Carlos feels like he’s being hit with a fresh wave of regret. How had he missed all of these things? How had he failed to notice what made you, you?

“I ...” Carlos starts, then stops, unsure of what to say.

Charles puts a hand on his shoulder, the gesture surprisingly kind given the circumstances. “I’m not telling you this to hurt you. I’m telling you because I want you to understand. Y/N deserves to be with someone who sees her, who appreciates every little thing about her.”

Carlos nods slowly, the fight draining out of him. “And that someone is you?”

Charles smiles softly. “I hope so. I’m certainly trying to be.”

They stand in silence for a moment, both looking over at you. You’re still watching them anxiously, clearly worried about what they might be saying to each other.

Finally, Carlos speaks, his voice rough with emotion. “Just ... just promise me you’ll treat her right. Better than I did.”

Charles nods solemnly. “I promise. With everything I have.”

As Charles turns to walk back to you, Carlos calls out, “Charles?”

Charles pauses, looking back over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Carlos says quietly. “For loving her the way she deserves.”

Charles gives him a small, understanding smile before continuing on his way. Carlos watches as he returns to you, sees the way your face lights up as Charles pulls you into a comforting embrace.

As he turns to walk away, Carlos feels a mix of emotions swirling inside him. There’s still pain, still regret, but there’s also a glimmer of something else. Something that feels a lot like acceptance.

He realizes now that he had taken you for granted, had failed to see the beautiful, complex person you truly were. And while it hurts to admit it, he knows that Charles sees all of that and more.

As he makes his way back to his own garage, Carlos makes a silent promise to himself. To pay more attention, to really see the people in his life. Because he never wants to make the same mistake again, never wants to lose someone else because he failed to appreciate them.

And as he glances back one last time, seeing you and Charles walking hand-in-hand, laughing and lost in your own world, Carlos feels a weight lift from his shoulders.

It’s not easy, and it still hurts, but he knows now that this is how it should be. You deserve to be with someone who knows you, truly knows you, inside and out.

And as much as it pains him to admit it, that someone isn’t him. It’s Charles.

With a deep breath, Carlos turns away, ready to face whatever comes next. He’s lost you, but in doing so, he’s gained a valuable lesson. One he won’t soon forget.

[nanaslutt]

Milking Sukuna's cock

cont: fem reader, sex toys, m!masturbation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, m!squirting, dirty talk, shibari, true form Sukuna, Sukuna and reader have some kind of special relationship, Sukuna doesn't know how to deal with love and aftercare, fluff

note: saw an ask for smthn along the lines of this, it’s not exactly what they asked for but it sparked smthn in me so :3 (this is the closest to sub!sukuna i will get, i can’t see him as a sub at all lol)

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"F-fuck a-ah fuck-" Sukuna struggled against the Shibari that kept all four of his arms snugly against his back and out of your way as you sat between his thighs and jerked a pocket pussy mercilessly over his cock. His abs are clenching rapidly and his breaths are coming quicker and quicker as you keep going, ignoring his obvious overstimulation.

His legs are twitching and shaking violently, and still, you keep going. Sukuna's face keeps twitching at his own sensitivity, his nose scrunching as his eyebrows furrow, and his teeth clenched together in tandem, making the muscles in his jaw pop out from under the skin. His mouth stomach is biting his lip between his teeth as you touch him. He's so tense, you don't need to touch his body to tell that every single muscle is clenching and unclenching, not a single atom of his being is relaxed.

When Sukuna growled and tipped his head back against his throne, you knew he was about to cum again, for the fourth time. You were alternating between his cocks, meaning each time he came, one of them sprayed his cum all over his body, making him hiss in annoyance as his cum stuck uncomfortably to his skin, seeping into the shibari. His other cock, whichever was inside the toy, filled it to the brim, so much so it dripped out from the bottom from how much he came.

You had no idea how he still had so much cum left in him, it seemed like no matter many times you milked him, he always had more to give. His hands gripped the shibari behind him harshly as he came again, his thick cum filling up the fake pussy as his jaw went slack, long groans and moans leaving his lips while you jerked him faster and faster, making the cum covering his dick inside the pussy cream up, bubbling around the base of his cock.

"Does that feel good Sukuna? You're so wet down here." You teased, biting your own lip as your eyes raked over his impressive body, not wanting to miss a single reaction from the king. Sukuna groaned at your words, too focused on filling up the toy to shoot back any snarky response.

His eyes fluttered back in his head when you continued stroking him through the aftershocks of his orgasm, your eyes watching his face carefully as his face twisted in pleasure, clearly overstimulated since he had already cum, and yet, you were still going. "Fuck, w-wait woman," Sukuna growled, the muscles in his thighs flexing and shaking as he tried not to get lost in his own sensitivity.

You wondered if he knew how much he was really shaking. He was clearly trying to hold back, maybe to save some of his ego from this vulnerability he was allowing you to see, but he was doing an awful job at holding back. Sweat beaded along his hairline and dripped steadily down the sides of his face, mixing with the drops on his neck. He was panting heavily, and his face was incredibly flushed, it was quite a sight to witness.

"Hm?" You teased, leaning closer to him, placing your hand on his pecs as you got in his face, keeping the toy steadily jerking over his cock as you looked into his eyes challengingly. Your eyes darted from his swollen lips to his eyes, steadily rolling back in his head. "A- A break." He grit through his teeth, keeping his words short so he didn't let out any unwanted noises. "Huh?" you asked, feigning ignorance as you leaned forward, your lips grazing against his as you spoke.

Just when you were about to lean in and kiss him, his head started jerking from side to side away from you, his jaw falling open as he groaned loudly again, his breath coming out stuttered. He struggled harshly against the ropes, his body jolting and wiggling around as he tried to stop your hand as his orgasm rapidly approached again, and so soon after the other one.

You smiled agaisnt his lips, using the opportunity of his eyes being shut to do so. He would've ripped through the shibari in half a second if he saw you laughing at him like this. Right before he came, you pulled back from his body and sat back down on your heels. Quickly you grabbed his neglected cock and held it steady as you ripped the toy off of his cock, sliding the other one inside it.

Immediately a loud groan was ripped from Sukuna's lungs as he came the second his neglected cock felt the tight, wetness of the inside of the pocket pussy. You opened your jaw as you watched him fall over the edge before a warm feeling on your leg brought your attention to below his legs. Looking down you noticed a thinner stream of clear liquid squirting out of his cock, spraying over his and your thighs. "Oh shit, there's so much…" You mumbled under your breath.

Likewise, the cock inside the toy was spurting out the same wetness as it leaked around him. Sukuna's mouth was open in a silent scream as he squirted all over you. Behind his eyelids, he pretended he was filling up your pussy, and with how wet the toy was from his copious amounts of cum, he almost believed it. "E-enough-" Sukuna growled lowly, too quiet and timid for you to take him seriously.

You continued anyways, feeling hot all over, your body feeling reenergized as you just watched the king of curse squirt from getting his cocks milked. When you didn't stop, Sukuna winced hard and yanked hard on the ropes. A loud cracking sound echoed off the walls of the chamber as his arms shot out in front of him and immobilized you. Two grabbed your throat, and two grabbed your wrist ceasing all of your movements on him.

You gasped for breath as Sukuna stared at you, his cocks softening as he caught his breath, letting his head back as he tried to relax now that your assault on him was paused. Sukuna squeezed his hands harshly around your throat, making your mouth open in a silent gasp as air failed to fill your lungs. "When I say enough, you listen." He said, trying to sound stern but the shakiness in his voice was very much evident.

You nodded in his hold, gasping air into your lungs when he released you. He controlled your hands though, slowly sliding the toy off of his cock he winced in overstimulation, his legs twitching around you as he threw the silicone somewhere behind you. He kept his hands around your wrists, preventing you from touching him as he laid back against his throne, his body finally relaxing, save for the unintentional spasming and shaking of his overworked muscles.

Sukuna pouted as he looked at you, almost looking like an angry cat as his eyes never once left yours, but he stayed silent, letting his gaze do the talking. You pursed your lips together to force down your smile, not wanting him to think you were looking down on him. "Sukuna, are you mad at me?" You asked, tipping your head at him. Your arms throbbed from the exertion of jerking him off for so long, and his hands gripping your wrists harshly, preventing blood flow to the sore appendages, wasn't helping.

Sukuna stayed silent, as you already knew his answer. "I'm sorry Lord Sukuna." You said, speaking to him formally to gain his forgiveness despite the uniquely intimate relationship the two of you had. "Please forgive me, I got carried away. I just wanted to bring my master pleasure." You spoke dramatically, looking at him from under your lashes.

Sukuna started at you challengingly for a few more seconds before he decided to release your wrists. You smiled, rubbing the soreness away as he placed his large arms on the side of the throne, looking away from you. "Lord Sukuna, thank you for sparing me~" You cooed, leaning forward and wrapping your body around his, his cum and sweat rubbing against the thin robe clothes you wore.

Sukuna's nose scrunched at the contact, his body going rigid against yours. It wasn't like he hated this affectionate touch, he just never got used to it. Each time you clung to him like this after sex, it felt so foreign to him, and yet he never pushed you away. "I do hope you felt good though Sukuna, thank you for letting me do that." You whispered, nuzzling your cheek against his skin.

Sukuna cringed, he never knew how to respond when you said stuff like that. Instead, he placed a hand on your lower back softly, keeping you pressed against his body as he sighed. "Brat." He whispered, briefly looking down at your tiny body on top of him before he opted to stare at the walls around him, unable to tolerate the strange emotions he felt when he looked down at you clinging on to him.

[nereidprinc3ss]

stakeout

in which spencer reid and flirty!reader are stuck in a car together with nothing to entertain themselves but each other.

fluff! warnings/tags: fem!reader, they have little crushes on each other, some of you will not like reader, but spencer does, it’s all banter, lots of teasing, playful insults, jokes about handcuffing so suggestive jokes i guess, so cheesy, reader enjoys flustering spencer, written with earlier seasons spencer in mind a/n: bandages!reader and spencer are so back!! i missed them!! this is SOOO cheesy! cheesiest thing ever! thank you to the person who requested this!!! thank you for giving me an excuse to just write cheesy banter!!! yyyayyyy!!! ilysm

“I am so fucking bored. Am I allowed to say that?”

It’s exactly the kind of thing Spencer should expect you to say, and maybe when you first joined the team it would’ve made him squirm, but now as you drop your binoculars and give him a look, bored, head tilted to shoulder, like you're waiting to be entertained, he only shrugs. Your insouciance is one of the things you know he’s come to love about you and would probably never admit. 

“Who’s going to stop you?”

You bump his shin with the toe of your leather boot and he glances down only momentarily before he’s raising his own binoculars to pick up your slack. 

“You. You don’t like when I swear.”

Spencer makes a face that you can only see the bottom half of. His voice is strained with focus. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Where? The faces you always make. You’re a judgy little bitch, you know that?”

“I don’t judge you for swearing. Frequent and creative use of profanity is correlated with a broader vernacular and greater social intelligence.”

“Oh, shut up. Yes you do.”

“You’re punchy tonight.” The leather of your seat squeaks underneath you as you slide down and groan, loudly. Spencer grimaces as he reaches over, gently swatting your shoulder with the back of his hand. “You should try to be louder. They might not have heard you.”

Your jaw drops indignantly. “Wh—the house is like 300 feet away! They’ve been blasting music all night. And not even, like… good music.”

“What, you don’t like death metal?”

You give him a side-eye. “Do you?”

He shrugs, giving up on the binoculars. A strand of hair has fallen over his face. You fight the urge to fix it. “I don’t know. It’s loud. And grating. And incessant. It begs for attention shamelessly and tactlessly. I’m kind of used to it.”

“Watch your mouth,” you scoff. “It would be a shame if I had to ruin that gorgeous face of yours.”

Spencer smirks and shakes his head disapprovingly, cheeks dusted scarlet. 

“You just can’t help yourself.”

“Who could around you, baby? Look at the bone structure on you. And those sweater vests. Can’t believe you walk around like that. It’s distracting.”

“Baby?” He grumbles, like he’s utterly displeased, but the way he’s losing a fight against that smile tells you otherwise. You lean your head against the headrest, boring your eyes right into his profile and giving him the opportunity for some searing eye contact, should he take you up on it. But for some reason, he can’t seem to look away from the steering wheel. 

“Do you choose them just for me?”

There are those pretty eyes—on you for maybe a second before they’re darting away. He fiddles with the binoculars in his lap. It’s adorable how much he doesn’t know what to do with himself when you get like this. Morgan once likened it to a cat batting around a mouse. Don’t play with your food, he told you. Take a little pity on the poor kid. He doesn’t know what he’s up against. 

But Morgan’s not here right now. 

“What?”

“Do you pick out your little sweater vests because you know I like them? ’Cause, you know—I also like when you just do a button up. The blazers, too. Those are sexy. But if I had to pick, it would be the sweater vests.”

You reach over to straighten out the grey one he’s got on right now, and he entertains your fiddling for only a moment before catching your wrist in a considerate hold. 

“Alright, can you—can you behave? Please?” He laughs. Unfortunately it makes your stomach flip. 

“Probably not. You could try cuffing me.”

“Or,” he begins, carefully pressing your own hand to your chest, “we could keep our hands to ourselves.”

You pout. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Where’s the fun in getting yelled at if Hotch has to come and unlock you because I dropped the key between the seats?”

“So it’s a maybe on the handcuffs?”

He falls back, eyes fluttering shut like you’re exhausting him, and offering you the perfect vantage point to admire that jawline of his. 

“Alright. Five minutes.”

There’s no way he’s actually taking you up on this. 

“Five minutes of what?”

His head rolls over his shoulder and he gives you a look of his own. “Of silence. I’m begging.”

Oh. 

Well then. 

You settle back in your seat and swing your own binoculars around by the strap. 

“You know, you’d be bored to tears right now if it weren’t for me.”

“I count myself lucky every day,” he says. And despite the sarcastic tone, you actually believe him. 

A moment passes, during which the bubbly tension of your shared repartee fades into a sincere comfortable silence. 

You kick your feet up on the dash. “How about I cuff you? Is that more your speed?”

You’re already grinning when he answers, not bothering to take your eyes off the house outside. 

“You are… astoundingly inappropriate.”

“Well a girl has to try, Spencer.”

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? PT 1

All I could do was stare at my reflection. This had to be a joke. I was going to wake up in my bed, right this instant.

“FUCK!”

Ok, so, pinching myself hurts. That’s fine. This is like. Some sort of lucid dream. What do they say to do if you’re lucid dreaming? Oh, that’s right, put your finger in your palm, it’ll phase through!

I resist the urge to scream as my finger meets solid flesh.

You see, I’m not in the right body. Or the right world from what I can tell. No, I’m supposed to be back home, waking up in a panic as I realize my alarm didn’t go off cuz my phone died after I stayed up way too late reading manga.

But of course, I’m not late to work, I’m in a lavish bedchamber right out of the latest webcomic I’d been reading! And by the looks of it…. I’m the crown princes crazy fiancé! As much as I love reading about the Isekai trope, I never wanted to be in one! And come on- as the Yandere Villain!? Couldn’t this at least be original? There’s hundred of stories just like “my next life as a villainess,” why couldn’t I be like… a stable hand or something? Ugh. Ok. Think!

I need to get home. Do the protagonists ever get back home in the stories I read? I pace around my room and rack my brain over every webcomic I’ve ever read, every manga I waited in line for, every anime I binged, even the unfinished manhwas! I can’t think of a single fucking one where they get home?

Well this isn’t going to stop me. I have a cat who’s going to absolutely flip if she’s not given fresh kibble in the morning. She has enough in her bowl for another 2 days but she needs it topped off ok! She’s a princess! I can’t be stuck here! Who’s going to throw her pompom toy for her if I’m not there???

What did all these have in common? What’s the barebones trope layout? Ok let’s see

1) person either died or falls asleep and wakes up in a new world…. Check

2) person is the villain!…. Check

3) to avoid the characters terrible death, person tries to change the story, ends up being new protagonist…

Ohhh… hey…. Do these Isekai characters ever just…. Play along? Even the “reincarnated as a baby” ones, they only play along till they’re old enough to try to run away or rework the political structure of the entire city. Maybe that’s it. Make it to the books natural end, and you’ll wake up where you belong. It’s like when you get part of a song stuck in your head. Play the whole song, and it’ll get out.

Ok, I’ve trained most of my adult life for this- I can totally ace this trope! I just have to stalk the crown prince, act totally in love with him, and be a bitch to the female lead. Then my finance will leave me, I’ll do some crazy dramatic act to try to kill the female lead, and then I’ll be exiled or executed, and wake up to feed my cat. How hard can it be?

Hard. It’s very hard.

Where the hell did he go!? My fiancé, the crown prince Eric, was JUST HERE. I swear! He turned that corner back there and then went down this hall… at least I think it was this hall? Ugh! This is impossible! For someone with such loud shoes and an armed escort, you’d think he’d be easier to follow! Now my feet just hurt. They don’t make these fancy shoes to run around the castle all day. They’re meant to daintily peek from beneath my many skirts as I host a tea party or some shit.

Ok. I’ve got this! I’ll just peek into each room until I find him, maybe I can get a better feel for the layout, or maybe find his office and see if he has a schedule or a day planner or something I can use to make this whole stalking thing easier.

I begin snooping, and it’s a bit of thrill to be honest! Back in my real life, I’m the kind of person to hide a wrapper deep in the trash can if I’m babysitting, sitting on the floor playing a game on my phone after the kid goes to bed rather than “making myself at home” the way the parents insisted as they showed me how to access Netflix. I’ve never been a snooper. Now…. Well. It’s totally on brand for this character! I’m not me, I’m a psycho lovesick fool! I giggle a bit at that as my fingers trail over a shelf of beautiful pottery in some sort of sitting room.

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

I practically screech as my heart leaps to my throat and I whirl around, and see the very person I’d been searching for has snuck up on ME…. That’s so unfair!

“W-what? O-oh! Nothing! I was just- uh, admiring the pottery?”

I stutter out as I try to recall how to act like a human being while simultaneously trying to stop feeling my own pulse in my ears. The idiot has the nerve to LAUGH! Full on snort and everything!

“What are you doing in this wing anyways? Weren’t you meant to be out riding today?”

Shit. I was so busy trying to figure out his schedule, I didn’t consider maybe the body I was shoved into had a schedule of her own. Ok. Play it cool- I’ve got this!

“Yes, well, I decided I wasn’t in the mood and wanted to stay in today instead.”

His brows furrow

“Oh, but you love riding? Are you feeling ill? I can fetch the royal physician for you if you-“

“No! That’s- that’s quite alright! I simply wanted a change of schedule, that is all. Um… what about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He looked a bit surprised at that, and a small smile danced on his lips.

“I was just going to the library to do some paperwork, boring stuff really, and then of course our dinner at its regular time.”

I nod like that means anything to me. Ok think, if I were crazy in love with this man, what would I say?

“Would you like some company? Reading in the library sounds really nice, maybe we could have some tea as well?”

Ok. I’m already fucking this up. He looks confused…. God damnit …. I knew I shouldn’t have skimmed over those early chapters- but the translation was shit ok!?

“Well… I’d actually love that. But are you sure? You haven’t exactly shown interest in reading, and you’ve never requested something like this before…. In fact I don’t think I can recall the last time we’ve interacted outside of dinner or a scheduled social event in… well. Ever.”

Wait…. What? Isn’t my character like goo-goo-ga-ga over him? Are you telling me she never asks to just… spend time with her lover? They only talk during dinner and parties or whatever?

“Of course, I think it’ll be relaxing! Just lead the way!”

My brain is working overtime as I smile politely at him as we reach the library and I pretend to browse for books. I’m missing something here. What is-

Oh. Shit. That’s right. I’m supposed to be really insecure and awkward about him. That’s why she stalks him- she spends all her free time obsessing over this man from the shadows, threatening the competition…. Yet chokes up when it comes to how to act natural. Her inferiority complex is what drives her entire character. And then to him, they’re just two nobles in an arranged marriage who speak on dull subjects like the weather and horse rides…. And who barely interact.

This must have been a real big shake up, she always stays out of sight, they never run into each other by chance. And she certainly never would ask to sit and read with him…. Maybe watch him do his work from a hidden keyhole somewhere, but that’s right…. She IS more of a traditional lady with her hobbies. She was raised to be the perfect noble wife, so naturally, her hobbies include things like dancing, needlepoint, and horse riding. The only studies she’s interested in are etiquette and things that noble ladies are supposed to know.

Well…. Shit. That’s so like me to already have fucked this up. But that’s ok. That’s ok- he’s going to meet the female lead and fall in love and so I just have to be the obstacle they need to overcome. Surely the details don’t matter too much…. It’s my first day in the job ok? Not everyone’s perfect!

I find a book that honestly actually sounds interesting, it’s historical, but it’s giving Hellen of Troy, the closest to a dark romance I think I’ll get from an academic personal library like this. I settle into what looks like the comfiest chair in the central area, and begin reading. The prince and I exist comfortably, the only sound being the scratch of his pen, and the occasional rustle of paper as he flips a document or I finish a page. We continue like this for several hours until he puts down his pen and clears his throat, getting my attention.

“I know it’s a long way from dinner…. But I was thinking I’d grab something light for a mid day meal and then take a walk about the gardens …. Would you care to join me?”

Honestly, some lunch and pretty royal gardens sounds like so much fun, so I agree. As we begin walking, I ponder how I can recover from all this.

You know what.. this can totally still go to plan. This is just me being the evil villain and sinking my claws into him! The female lead will appear, and I’ll reveal my true, nasty side to her! She’ll have to fight to save the prince from his marriage to me!

*insert evil laughter!*

“You’re smiling.”

“W-what?”

“A smile. It suits you. You’ve been doing that a lot today….. I like it.”

Ok and now I’m blushing. I go to reply when I suddenly find myself weightless for a moment, and then hit the ground with a hard thump.

“Ow! What the-!?”

My eyes snap up and glare at this pretty blonde girl who just rammed into me, and sent me flying

“Do you not know how to watch where you’re going!? Owww…. Ugh.”

Ok I’m sorry I’m usually a nice and understanding person but I’ve never been literally knocked over before! Who does that to a person?

Eric helps me to my feet and sends a reproachful glare toward the girl, asking me if I’m alright with most concerned look…. And the girl gasps and says,

“C-crown prince Eric! I apologize! I’d didn’t recognize you!”

She drops into a curtsy and lowers her eyes all demure and modest as if she hadn’t just bulldozed me. I send an incredulous look toward Eric…. She… didn’t see HIM? I’m the one she took out? He gives me an equally puzzled look and so I decide, you know what, fuck it. I’m this evil person in this world…. I need to act like it!

“And not recognizing his highness is an excuse for taking out the princess consort, soon to be crown princess? Are you blind or just daft?”

Oh my god I really just called someone daft! This feels like when you stay up late thinking all the witty comebacks you could’ve used against your high school bullies, except actually using them in the moment!

And Eric is being a sweetie and letting me handle this, waiting expectantly for blondie to answer me, just prompting her,

“Well?”

“Forgive me…. Princess consort…. You are right. My oversight in inexcusable. It appears neither of us were looking where we were going. I hope we can start fresh!”

I scoff- that’s it? Who does this bitch think she is? Yes, I was looking at Eric, but I was going a walking pace, who rounds a corner with so much force that you knock someone over?

Suddenly something clicks- oh shit! This is the female lead!!!! This scene happened in the story, just without the prince here. This is good, that means this is on track. Although I gotta say- I was much more on the female main characters side when reading it. Now, I just feel like she’s one of those mean girls in high school who’s not *technically* doing anything mean. Anyways- what was I supposed to say? That’s right.

“Yes…. Well. I’m sure we won’t be seeing much of each other anyways. If you’ll excuse me-“

Nailed ittttt…. Now her line?

“Well, actually…. My name is Lady Cressida, and I’ll be staying in the place for several months as my father is a foreign ambassador overseeing trade agreements with his highness the king. So I imagine we will be seeing *plenty* of each other. That goes for you too your highness! So please- forgive me, I look forward to getting to know each of you better!”

Oh that’s so cool, seeing her recite the lines from the story. But ok- I have a role to play as well. I scoff and grab Eric’s arm, pulling him behind me as I storm off, playing the part of entitled lover, stuck up and irritated at this ambassadors daughter who DARED to speak to my love.

Yea, this will work, Eric will think Cressida is a genuine sweetie, and see me as being the unreasonable bitch who’s refusing to accept her apology, or apologize for not looking where I was going either. And now I’m manhandling him- totally unlady like. God I’m killing this aren’t I? Minimum wage job and demanding cat, here I come!

What I don’t see, as I lead Eric by the arm, is the cold glare he shoots towards Cressida, before smiling down at our connected hands, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Part 2