#if you have problems with anything going on from here forward

[wirewitchviolet]

So I was already sitting down to ramble about something, and turns out this post and this big reply under it tie in pretty well, so, here we go.

There are enough bespoke issues trans people justifiably feel very passionate about, and enough different experiences different trans people have that it is damn easy to end up in a huge fight because one person tried to make a nice simple statement for a clueless cis audience, but viewed through another person's lens it reads like some kind of attack. And it certainly never helps that bigots are actively out there constantly trying to co-op messages and sew infighting that any statement no matter how clear and good WILL get weaponized.

Before I get into the above, the go-to example I was planning to use was "you don't have to transition to be trans." There's a ton of ways you can read that which are great and worth echoing. For instance, "hey, if you've worked out that people got your gender wrong, you are trans and can come hang out in the trans clubhouse and ask for advice and all that without proving it through medical intervention."

Or, "hey don't be a weird gatekeeping creep who only recognizes people's gender if they don't jump through a particular medical hoop like taking a particular medication or get a particular surgery, which might not be something they even want due to risks, side effects, or not seeing it as a problem to begin with, and/or might not be something they CAN do anything about, because the typical medical treatment would not work on them for any number of reasons/is prohibitively expensive/too socially dangerous to go forward with in their current situation/is only even done by like a couple dozen specialists in the world who are booked out years in advance and many of whom actively discriminate against all sorts of potential patients."

You can see how it's nice to have a short catchy phrase. BUT it's absolutely a reality that awful bigots these days are going with the wildly bad faith and not even remotely true reading of "it's OK to deny transition-related care to trans people, because they don't actually NEED it!"

And you know, regardless of where you're encountering this phrase, you should always bear in mind those points about being totally valid and welcome in the community without a signed doctor's note, and how it's completely valid to be, oh, a woman who's hung like a horse and proud of it and such women shouldn't be treated like they need to go see someone about that, give people the benefit of the doubt that they're using it in such a sense if there's any chance they are, and at the same time be on the lookout for bad faith creeps misusing it and taking whatever steps are necessary to prevent them from to or about any trans person again unless/until they somehow manage to stop being a hateful piece of garbage and somehow become a decent human being.

Phew. All THAT out of the, way, I take a fair deal of issue with seeing the comment above me saying "the 'not transgender' people in the poster are clearly intersex" because holy hell is that a bad faith reading. All the concerns regarding intersex kids following that jumping off point are super valid and worth mention, of course. Doctors are constantly looking at baby's junk, going "huh, that doesn't look right, lemme do a quick surgery I'm not even necessarily trained in to get this looking more like whichever configuration I personally prefer the aesthetics of here, that probably won't cause any long term memory problems or trauma and there's almost a 50/50 shot I'm guessing right about what this kid'll want things looking like down here in a couple decades!" And that is just incredibly messed up. As is the practice of just throwing, say, testosterone boosters at someone perceived to be a teenage boy who doesn't seem "manly enough" to someone, which is a general queer kid concern, sure.

But none of that is going on in this poster. What's going on is kids getting hit with puberty-related symptoms they do not want (specifically boobs beards and voice changes), clearly stating this, and asking for medical help to make them not happen. If we wanna play Occam's Razor with the kids plainly labelled as "not transgender," boys growing breasts is called gynecomastia and a quick Google search confirms that... it is completely useless as a search engine because it's giving me 20 conflicting reputable-looking sources ranging from 1% to 70% of teenage boys. Facial hair on cis women is also really freaking common, to a point where it being relatively rare if you're white specifically makes it feel more like a racism thing than anything.

The real thing to remember though is that the obvious reason this poster exists is to get people who are completely uneducated on any of this and have been steadily exposed to propaganda from transphobes for their entire lives to the point where they have a hard time imagining trans people as actual human beings to consider the concept of HRT from a clear perspective by taking us out of the equation for a moment and just making them try to empathise with kids dealing with some of the same stuff, and it has to make that point in less time than it takes someone to finish walking past this telephone pole or wherever else someone might place this. And... OK if I'm really honest it's probably still too wordy and reliant on people having SOME idea of what being trans even means, but it's pretty good within those restrictions! Don't overthink it! Really don't project stuff that absolutely is not actually on there onto it! Focus more on actual bigots and doing something about what they're doing than nitpicking people who are doing good effective activism work you'd phrase differently!

This is the first time i’ve seen a pro-trans poster in a long time and i hope whoever put it up is having a good day, it made me feel a little less alone.

Hamilton, New Zealand

[tiger333k]

there are a lot of people complaining about Arcane season 2, and yes, I get it, it is a bit rushed at times and it would do well if they did a little extra explaining on some parts but honestly it feels like people are just nitpicking sometimes

example: just saw a video about someone complaining about ep7 about Powder and Ekko getting together, and just, wtf??? yes, I know it's because of Ekko's tip that vi died and I know the characters should've it weird when Ekko woke up and just started pointing about things in the past that they really don't want to be reminded of... but if you found this a problem you really didn't watch the show. the main theme about this alternate universe is forgiveness, powder forgave Ekko (though tbh, it was really Vi's plan to go rob someone the whole time), vander and silco forgave each other etc etc. alt Ekko was slaving away at this project when Ekko (firelight) got thrust into his body. powder said it herself, genius and insanity go hand in hand, Ekko saying random things like this probably wasn't even a surprise. also saw a thumbnail where Ekko and powder were kissing and they put 'cheating' beside the image. hopefully I won't have to explain how stupid this is.

Ekko didnt just kiss powder and go 'I can fix jinx'. he doesn't want to change jinx into powder, he even admits that jinx has something good that powder doesn't, jinx's ideas can change the world. what Ekko learned from the alt universe and powder is forgiveness, to look at the past and move forward, leaving a few things behind, leaving behind hate, anger, for the present, for the future. he learned to forgive jinx, so they could build something new.

also adding the fact that it wasn't vi's death that changed everything, it was the act of a child, the fact that someone had been killed that points out how dangerous hextech is, and that's why it was never developed.

personal opinion here, I don't think it was just the death and the letter that changed everything, I think it was little details leading up to the moment silco forgave vander, the moment everything went right. it wasn't one spontaneous event that changed it. we don't know what happened in the alt universe, we don't know if the fight went differently, or if slico had done anything different... maybe he never developed shimmer, maybe he wasn't so set on revenge. we don't know, so maybe don't jump to conclusions so quickly?

another point: jinx didn't just magically lose her trauma because of Isha, dunno what you guys were thinking.

jinx in season one had obvious mental issues, and we always see her drowning out the noise with blaring music. the reason why she was like that was because of her internal conflict, of powder and jinx clashing. jinx was trying to forget the past, and powder was the one that kept remembering it. powder was the one that kept trying to insist it wasn't her fault. powder was the one that held on to everything, and jinx hated powder. and in S1E9 we see her let powder die.

she accepts that she is a jinx to people she loves. the voices stop calling her a jinx, because she already knows this. she accepts this. jinx ruin everything. jinx is a curse. it isn't a case where some kid comes in and changes everything, jinx isn't healed in season 2, she just accepts that she is a catastrophe.

the only thing Isha changes is that jinx learns to love powder through Isha, and maybe even lets a bit of powder come back through. and that's why, when Isha is thrown into Stillwater, the voices come back before jinx takes control again.

three: Caitlyn was done dirty, her entire character was ooc

no it was not. you just saw it through a different lens and decided you didn't like it.

like it or not, Cait has always been privileged. she goes where she wants, does what she likes because she has the kirramman family name to protect her. Marcus says it himself in S1, we just chose to ignore it because that's when cait was doing what we thought was right, investigating and helping Vi, although she was not an enforcer, had no right to be there, we liked it because, well, because we hate Marcus, and she was actually doing something right back then

till season 2, where she gasses Zaun, goes all hitler, and... acts exactly how she acted in S1. she does what she wants, goes where she likes, to achieve one thing: get revenge on jinx.

cait has never lost a parent, she has never learned to cope with such a loss, so she reacts in a wrong way, reacts so drastically that we feel is out of character, its not. we merely see her previous traits painted in a different light and y'all decided you hate it.

I could go on forever honestly, but these three points got on my nerves the most, so I decided to say something about it. there.

this is way too long, my god.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Rain Check? - Feysand Oneshot

Summary: 5 times Rhysand didn't take his shot, and the one time Feyre took too many

@carrieeve It's me! Hi! I'm your santa, it's me!

For the @acotargiftexchange, you told me you'd like an AU oneshot that was Feysand focused with a friends to lovers plot - I deliberated a long time over how best to bring that vision to life, and then after some light blog stalking, I saw that you're a fan of Jim/Pam from the Office! I started binging the show for research purproses, and a Feysand office romance was born! 🥰

I really hope you enjoy it! It's been such a joy quietly stalking your blog for these last many months, and I look forward getting to know you even more now that our identities are revealed! 💕

Words: 12k

Read on AO3

-

The first time Rhysand saw Feyre, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Only problem—so did every other man in the office. And they didn't exactly disguise their interest in the young, cute receptionist working on the fifth floor of their London skyrise.

After being propositioned by just about every single man in the office, including the ones who fell alarmingly outside her age range—a category which Rhys wasn't confident he was excluded from—he thought the last thing she needed on her first day was another colleague making a pass at her.

He offered a polite hello and welcome, but he intentionally waited until she survived her first week to strike up any further conversation. The chance opened for him when she walked into the break room at the precise moment he was filling up the kettle.

"Hey," he said, tipping the spout to gesture his hello. "Fancy a tea?"

"Oh." She glanced at the kettle, her bow-shaped lips popping open in what he could only assume was surprise. As if she'd walked into the break room expecting anything other than an electric kettle and a pod coffee machine. "I… didn't bring a mug."

"Well, Feyre, I'm not sure how they treated you at your last place, but here, corporate spoils us rotten with communal company branded mugs." Setting the kettle down on the base, Rhys flipped the overhead cabinet open, gesturing to its contents as if he'd unveiled a trove.

The dramatic flair earned him a polite laugh. It was cute, if a little forced. And he craved the chance to learn what her laugh sounded like when it wasn't given out of pity.

He gestured to the middle shelf, which deviated from the monotony of blue logo mugs. "If you do end up bringing a mug in, this is where you can keep it. Though I'll warn you, conversation gets stale here and that almost ensures you'll be asked for its backstory. I recommend bringing in something interesting, unless you want to end up like poor old Drakon."

"What happened to Drakon?"

Rhys gave a hearty sigh as he withdrew two mugs from the cupboard, shaking his head as he said, with the utmost solemnity, "He's known as the guy with a boring mug."

Her lips twitched. He thought that was a genuine smile she might have been fighting.

"If all I'm known for is having a boring mug, I think that's fine by me."

"Oh, believe me, you are far from the danger of that fate, Feyre darling—" the endearment slipped out before he could think better of it. He winced inwardly, trying to monitor her reaction in his periphery. Her brows lifted, and he continued on, hoping he could recover through the theatrics of setting the mugs in front of her, proclaiming proudly, "Because I'm gracious enough to let you use one of mine. Go on, take your pick."

The distraction paid off. Slip-up now forgotten, or so he hoped, Feyre leaned forward to read the print.

Then snorted. "This says Office Wanker."

He grinned. "That was my secret santa gift from last year."

Feyre lifted the other mug by its rather phallic shaped handle. The ceramic was dark green, with small white spikes pinched throughout to mimic a cactus. Feyre grinned as she read the white print on its side: Don't be a Prick.

"I'm sensing a theme."

"That was another gift." Rhys pitched his voice low. "Do you think they're trying to tell me something?"

"I think…" she bit her lip, her eyes gleaming with a mischief that told him she was purposefully building anticipation. "They might be mugging you off."

"That couldn't be it," he said, knowing his deadpan delivery was ruined. He could feel the stupid grin already plastered over his face and he couldn't help it. "My mother is adamant that I'm a delight. She says everyone likes me."

"I'm sure she's right," she whispered, with just the right amounts of sympathy and derision that Rhysand might have fallen in love with her right then and there.

He nodded to the two choices on the counter. "So which mug are you going with?"

"Oh—dear. Hmm. They're both such strong contenders." Feyre lifted the mugs, tilting and examining each with exaggerated scrutiny. Then she shoved the one with the phallic cactus towards him. "I think Prick fits you better. I'll go with Wanker."

"That's quite the statement to make in your second week," he said, eyes locking with hers as he accepted the mug, their fingers brushing just briefly enough to pass as accidental.

Pride warmed his chest when he noticed her cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. It was a similar shade to her lips, he thought. Which was a mistake, because he immediately needed to fight the temptation to stare at her mouth.

"Well," she said, withdrawing her hand, the movement a little stiff. A little uncertain. "At least I won't be known as a girl with a boring mug."

"That you most certainly will not," he purred.

The kettle clicked, steam billowing from its spout, and he was privately grateful for the excuse to pull his attention away lest he do—or more likely say—something stupid and inappropriate.

The entire office was flirting with her. If he escalated this beyond anything other than playful, inane small talk, she would think he was just another jerk trying his luck on the new girl. And really, isn't that exactly what he was?

Rhys lifted the kettle in offering. "So," he said. "Did you want tea?"

"Oh," she repeated. He would have teased her for it, this copy and paste exchange. Why did it keep surprising her that they were in the break room for tea? "No," she said finally, pointing toward the coffee machine. "I'm more of a coffee drinker."

"Ah," he said, pouring the water into his mug and tried to keep his cool as steam crowded his face. This whole time, he thought she was waiting for the kettle to boil. She could have been in and out of there in a minute if she just put the damn pod in.

But she lingered, watching him stir in sugar—which wasn't how he preferred his tea, but it offered an excuse for him to stay in the break room just a little longer.

"Do you—" he cleared his throat— "Do you know how to use the machine?"

"Yeah," Feyre said, waving the offer away. "I've got one like it at home."

"Ah, good."

He set his teaspoon in the sink, not in any rush to leave but faltering for a reason to stay.

If he could go back and do anything differently, Rhys would have chosen that moment to ask her out. Just for a coffee, to get to know each other. To explore what was already an obvious chemistry.

Instead he pinched the handle of his mug and nodded. "See you around then, Office Wanker."

Feyre waved. "Bye, Prick."

-

The bi-weekly sales team meeting was the bane of Rhysand's existence.

While he was being forced to sit and listen to Tamlin Spring stroke his own ego in front of the executives, Rhys knew his unattended inbox and phone line was being inundated with client inquiries that would prove a much better investment of his and the company's time.

Instead, he was trapped in an hour-long posturing session where each member of the team needed to prove to corporate that they were making enough money to justify their payslip. Something which Tamlin had been struggling with this month, though he was giving quite the performance about the value he had in the pipeline with his "nurturing prospects".

The door clicked open, and every head in the room swiveled towards the interruption.

Feyre stood there, one arm propping open the door, the other fidgeting with a sticky note. "Sorry to interrupt," she said with a wince. "I just have a note for Mr. Night. One of his clients is on line 6."

She waited until one of the executives gave her a nod of approval before scurrying to Rhys, her head ducked down. She didn't linger, pressing the sticky note into his hands, then disappearing as quickly as she'd come. He clenched his jaw when he noticed the trail of eyes that followed her.

Tamlin's gaze, in particular, dipped beneath her skirt-line, then back up. Twice. He shared a lazy grin to his left, not even trying to hide what he'd been doing. Worse, reveling in it.

"I should take this," Rhys said tightly, staring at the note in Feyre's hasty scrawl.

Office wanker,

Hope you're prepared to pay up.

"It's from my contact at Hybern," Rhys explained to the room. "I'm on the verge of closing this deal."

The executive gave Rhys a stiff nod of approval. Hybern had been a prospecting account for upwards of a year, until Rhys had taken over the lead two months ago. It was a big account, one he knew the execs were antsy to close.

Rhys had been waiting for Tamlin to finish fumbling his update to announce Hybern officially signed this morning. The choice had been purely strategic, an attempt to highlight the contrast between their performances after Tamlin tried to undermine him in the last meeting. And, admitedly, he'd been looking forward to the gratification of seeing Tamlin flounder in front of the execs he was trying so hard to brown-nose.

This was far more gratifying, though.

Rhys strolled out of the confrence room and returned to his seat, where he promptly picked up his desk phone and dialed line 6.

"Rhysand speaking."

"You thought I wouldn't do it," Feyre said in sing-song triumph. "You really thought I'd be too scared to do my job because of a bunch of serious old men in suits?"

Rhys blew out a stung breath. "Ouch, Feyre. Old?"

"Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you over your creaking bones."

"I didn't take you as a sore winner," he said, grinning.

"Doesn't matter what you took me as, because you know where you'll be taking me now? To lunch. And I'll be ordering something expensive."

He hoped she would. "Order whatever you want. A deal's a deal."

"Oh, I'm getting a side and a dessert."

"Better yet, why don't I take you to dinner? You can have the full course and drinks."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. One that prompted him to glance towards her reception desk, where he could see her pink lips part open. Her head swiveled towards him, brows merging to assess his meaning.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"We're celebrating," he said, evading the question. "I closed the deal with Hybern, you won our wager. Let's get drinks."

"Okay," she said. Her smile was shy. "Let's go to dinner."

"Tonight?"

She hesitated. "I… have nothing to wear."

"Blimey, Feyre. I didn't realize you'd come to work nude. A bit bold, don't you think?"

"Shut up," she said, giving an exaggerated eye roll to be sure he could see it across the room.

It was, perhaps, with too much severity that he rushed to add, "You look perfect."

The admission hung a second too long. Rhys cleared his throat before she could mull over the gravity with which he said it—meant it.

"Anyway, we'll leave together after work, yeah? I know just the place."

Feyre bit her lip. It wasn't the immediate agreement he was hoping for, but the pink flush rising over her cheeks was an encouraging sign.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll wait by the lift."

"Don't want them to see us leaving together?" He teased.

"Are you kidding?" She sounded horrified. "If they see us leave together, tomorrow there will be rumors that we're shagging."

"In rumor only?"

"See how well dinner goes first, Prick."

"That's not a no," he crooned, to which Feyre slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

He couldn't keep the dumb grin off his face, even once the sales team got out of their meetings and Tamlin plunked into the seat beside Rhys.

Tamlin scowled. "What are you so happy about?"

His voice was sour, even for Tamlin. Rhys figured the meeting must have gone south after he left. Ass kissing could only go so far when there's no money to be shown for it.

"I closed the deal with Hybern," Rhys said, deciding to capitalize on what was shaping up to be a superb day by rubbing it in Tamlin's face just a little bit. "Sending it through for approval right…" Click. "Now."

"Congrats," Tamlin muttered, mustering as minimal enthusiasm into the word as possible.

Rhys would have felt bad for the guy. When Tamlin first joined, Rhys had tried to take him under his wing, taking him on sales calls and feeding him solid leads that just needed a bit of nurturing. He'd thought they were something like friends until he'd caught Tam trying to poach his clients six months ago. When Rhys asked him to back off, Tamlin had gotten upper management involved, and things had gotten messy.

Since then, their relationship had regressed into this—Tamlin slumping back in his chair, frowning at his screen as Rhysand's closed deal started making the rounds in their sales channels.

The door to the CRO's office snicked open. "Hey, Rhysand. Can we talk?"

"Of course. I'll join you in a moment."

As Rhys slid out of his chair, he couldn't resist sneaking a glance towards Feyre. He was just doing his job at the end of the day, but he was good at it, and some juvenile part of his brain wanted her to notice.

Their eyes met. It always zapped through him, the sight of those bright eyes, like dragging his feet on carpet and touching something metal.

Feyre ducked her head, smiling shyly at her computer.

When he turned back, he saw Tamlin staring at him. Hard.

"What?" Rhys asked, straightening.

"The quirky little receptionist?" He snorted. "I didn't realize that was your type."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tamlin shrugged. "I'm only trying to warn you. I hear she's fucked half this office."

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, obscuring the fingers he curled into fists. He shouldn't let Tamlin rile him. He knew it was untrue, and even if it was, he wouldn't care. But Feyre would be upset if she knew that's what people were saying about her.

"Watch your mouth," Rhys said. "This is a workplace, not a locker room."

"Could've fooled me. I thought it was brothel when I first walked in."

Tamlin's head turned deliberately to Feyre, who's desk was positioned directly in front of the entrance. She was leaning over now, scribbling a note on her desk. At the angle, the cut of her top sloped low enough to show the tops of her breasts. The observation felt like stepping into Tamlin's mind, seeing Feyre the way he saw Feyre.

It was truly a shock to the system to feel repulsed by a sight of breasts—by Feyre's no less, which were magnificent in any other context. Rhys felted trapped between defending her, which would only validate Tamlin's suspicions and make her more of a target, or to let it slide and hope the bastard moved on.

"Each to their own, I suppose," Rhys said, brushing past Tamlin's desk. He slipped a hand out of his pocket to thrum his finger across the wood. "Hey—think they'll give me that promotion for the Hybern deal?"

The deflection worked. Like dangling car keys in front of a toddler, Tamlin's focus shifted back to the CRO's office.

He sneered. "Let me get back to work, Rhysand."

"Right. Right. That Adriata account, huh? Heard it's not going to well."

"Fuck off."

"So touchy," Rhys said, clicking his tongue. "I'm just trying to help. Maybe I'll give you some tips after my meeting."

Tamlin made a low grunt in the back of his throat, a sign that he was retreating into what Rhys and Feyre had dubbed 'beast mode'. Rhys actually preferred it when Tamlin was in beast mode. It meant kept his mouth shut and communicated through nods and grunts until his temper subsided—which, Rhys would argue, was much more effective communication than when his colleague attempted to use words.

It was a shame those sacred moments of Tamlin's silence would be wasted in the CRO's office. Rhys wasn't sure what to expect as he pushed the door open and poked his head inside.

"Come in," the CRO said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "I heard you closed the deal with Hybern. Many congratulations—I know that was hard won."

"They made me work for it," Rhys acknowledged, lowering onto the alabaster seat. "But I knew we'd close them in the end."

The CRO nodded. "You did good work."

"Thank you," Rhys said, bracing himself for the pitch. He knew he wasn't called in here for a congrats.

"You're a strong salesman," the CRO continued. "You have excellent people skills, and you're good at getting clients on your side."

Rhysand's brows rose. He didn't think he'd ever heard this much praise come from upper management before. He was still waiting for the catch.

"The deal with Adriata has fallen through," the CRO went on. That was corporate speak for: Tamlin wet the bed.

"That's a shame," Rhys said mildly. It wasn't his deal, and he wasn't exactly heartbroken to hear Tamlin fumbled a big sale.

"I know you have a contact there—Tarquin. You used to work with each other at your previous role. Do you think you could leverage that to recover the sale?"

Rhys paused. Adriata was one of the leads he'd fed to Tamlin through that acquaintance. He could have taken the deal himself, but he thought the new guy could use an easy win. It shouldn't have taken this long—nearly a year—to close the deal and it certainly shouldn't have fallen through.

"Adriata is Tamlin's client," Rhys said slowly. "If I helped close the sale…"

"You'd get the commission," the CRO said, hearing the question that went unspoken. "And the account will be yours. I just want this closed before fiscal."

In other words, before Monday.

Rhys glanced at the digital clock on the CRO's desk, calculating the time difference in his head. "Tarquin's based in L.A. Latest I can get him on a call is five."

"If you stay late and get this done, you can take Monday off."

It wasn't Monday he cared about. It was the date he envisioned with the pretty blue-eyed receptionist. He thought he would finally have the chance to take her somewhere nice and give this chemistry between them a solid chance.

Rhys bit the inside of his cheek. Feyre would understand, wouldn't she? With the commission he'd get from Hybern and Adriata, he could take her somewhere even nicer. Hell, he could take her out of London. Fly to Paris for the weekend. Amsterdam. Art museums. Anywhere she wanted.

"Okay," Rhys said, nodding. "I'll see what I can do."

After that, he returned to his desk. Tamlin was still in beast mode, ignoring Rhysand's existence and probably nursing his ego about the ruined Adriata deal. It offered Rhys the privacy to slip a sticky note from his desk and pass it to reception on the way to the break room.

Have to stay late tonight. Rain check on dinner?

-

The following Monday, Rhys took the day off.

And later that morning, he was waiting to meet his family for breakfast when he received a call from the police.

His mother, father, and younger sister had all died in a car accident on their way to meet him.

Rhys took the rest of the week off.

-

It was the day of the funeral.

He was sitting on a bench, staring absently at a flock of ducks wading through The Serpentine at Hyde Park.

He'd just gotten back to London and couldn't bear the thought of going home. So he'd come here, though it was a miserable, foggy day and he could feel the cold burning his nose, cheeks, and ears.

In some ways, the cold felt grounding. This pain was real. Fixable. So much easier to process than the intangible grief he was drowning in.

"Here I thought I was the only person in London mad enough to be out on a day like this."

It was just his luck to run into Feyre on today of all days.

Rhys knew he looked a mess. He wasn't trying to hide it. And he knew it was inevitable she would see him in his grief. Their company only offered five days of bereavement, after all. He'd be back at work on Monday, and he didn't anticipate being any less of mess than he was now.

When she appeared before him, hands settled on her hips, he wondered if this was how it felt to see a mirage in the desert. To glimpse salvation and know it was impossible to reach.

In the dull grey backdrop of English winter, she was a smear of vibrant color. She was wearing a sky-blue overcoat, buttoned over a cream turtleneck and brown suede trousers. Her cheeks and nose were frostbitten, like his own, and it made him feel strangely envious of the cold.

"You look like you're freezing."

Unlike Feyre, bundled in her coat and scarf and mittens, he wasn't dressed for the weather. He was wearing a black suit and tie, and though he'd brought an overcoat with him to the funeral, he was fairly certain he'd left it at the wake.

"I'm fine," he said.

A blatant lie. Usually he was better at those.

"Here." Feyre began unwinding her red knit scarf.

"No." Rhys held up his hands to stop her. "Really, Feyre, I'm—"

Dodging his weak attempts to deter her, Feyre unraveled her scarf and wasted no time hooking it around Rhysand's neck. The scent of lilac and pear coiled around him, constricting like the vise of a serpent.

"Keep it," she said. "It didn't really match this outfit anyway."

"I'm not sure it matches mine," he said, glancing down at the shock of red against his black suit.

"I don't know." Feyre leaned back to admire his outfit with a level of interest that had Rhys reconsidering his whole wardrobe. "I think you look nice with a bit of color."

"It's warm," he granted, pressing his palm to the soft fabric. The heat of her body was still there, though leeching by the second. "Thank you for lending it to me."

"Keep it," she said, taking the seat next to him. "Like I said, it looks good on you."

He could see what she was doing. She even raised her brows, practically taunting him for a response. Something like Clothes tend to look better off me, or it looked better on you.

The mask was in reaching distance. He knew the script. He just didn't have the energy to don the part.

Feyre tried to keep the concern off her face. The only problem was, he'd spent the better part of a year trying to learn how to read her. He knew her tells, and if he didn't, he could still see the crease of concern forming between her brows.

"Where have you been?" She asked, trying to sound casual. "The rumors are crazy, you know. You close the two biggest sales of the year on the same day and then disappear for a week."

Rhys offered her his best imitation of a grin. "Is that your way of saying you were worried about me?"

"You know as a receptionist, it's part of my duty to know all the latest office gossip."

"No gossip here, Feyre." He shrugged. "Just taking some time off."

Feyre frowned. Her voice was soft and devastatingly gentle as she said, "Rhys. It looks like you just came from a funeral."

"Didn't know them that well."

It wasn't that he didn't want her to know. It was that Feyre was one of his last shreds of brightness and he wanted to keep her firmly compartmentalized from this grief.

If he told her, she would worry for him. Every exchange in the office would be weighted. Different. He couldn't stand the thought of her holding him like shattered glass, the way everyone else in his life was doing.

And, most of all, he couldn't stand the thought of burdening her.

"I'm sorry," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric, as if trying to instill the depth of her conviction. "Even if you hardly knew them, I'm sorry if today was difficult for you."

"Difficult?" He said, the word strained. "No day where I get to see you is difficult, Feyre."

"Do you want to get a drink? You still owe me lunch, remember?"

Rhys pressed his hand over hers, squeezing tighter than he should. But in that moment, it felt like she was all he had to hold on to.

"Not today," he said. His eyes stung and he knew it wasn't from the cold. "Rain check?"

Feyre nodded. "Rain check."

-

Rhys went back to the office the following Monday.

Things returned to normal. Almost.

The equilibrium of his life had shifted, and normal looked a bit different. Less like living, and more like survival.

He didn't go up to the receptionist counter like he used to, armed with a hundred excuses just to talk to Feyre. He made his own copies. He scheduled his own appointments. He stopped playing mental games with Tamlin.

He just… stopped.

And everything else kept going.

That was the most overwhelming part. The constant, distinct sensation that he was being left behind because he didn't know how to keep up.

Feyre found new people to talk to in the office. Tamlin made different enemies. Corporate started taking an interest in other high performers. He felt like a shadow, an apparition haunting his own mundane life. And he only woke up once they were already burying him.

That was how it felt, anyway, when the news broke the office. Like handfuls of dirt tossed on top of his lifeless body.

Feyre and Tamlin are engaged.

He couldn't breathe. The weight was too much to claw through. Engaged? He didn't even know they'd been dating.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Rhys said to her in passing later that day.

"Oh." Feyre cheeks turned the same red as the scarf he kept in his bedside drawer. He supposed it was inappropriate to keep hold of it now. "Thank you."

"How long have you two been…?"

He was too much of a coward to even finish the question.

Feyre managed to fill in the rest, though. "About four months."

That was all? Christ, he could have been married to her four times over by now. If he'd been brave enough to ask her out on that first day.

But he sensed the way she braced herself for his response, and guessed people hadn't been holding back commentary about their hastiness to get down the aisle.

"Sometimes when you know, you know," Rhys said, reserving his own less-than-complimentary thoughts.

He could think of only one reason Tamlin was in such a rush, and the suspicion was too ego-centric to lend any merit to.

Feyre was a treasure. Anyone with eyes could see that. Even Tamlin.

When Feyre gave him one of her forced smiles, he felt it like another clump of dirt landing on his chest. There were many ways he'd describe his relationship with Feyre, but something it had never been was forced.

He'd hurt her, he realized. When he withdrew into his grief without explaining himself. He should have told her what was going on.

And now he'd lost her.

Rhys thrummed his fingers on the countertop. "Well, I should let you go back to work."

Feyre's solemn nod was the eulogy that finally sent him sputtering, wondering what on earth he was doing buried in this hole.

Tamlin was obnoxious, sure, but at least he was alive.

Maybe it was time to move on. Not just from his grief, but from Feyre, too. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd tried going on a date.

Not since she first started here.

With a heavy sigh, Rhys pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his cousin.

Rhys: Drinks tonight? x

Mor: I already made plans with a friend. Unless you want to join us??? 👀 xxx

Rhys considered. He snuck a glance at Feyre, catching her in the act of tucking her unruly hair behind her ear.

The sight of her struck him like a punch in the gut.

Rhys: Is she single? x

Mor: I thought you'd never ask 😌 x

-

It was his first night out in… god knew how long.

He hadn't left his house much in the last few months, and truthfully it had felt good to fall back into the routine of caring about his appearance. Taking a shower, shaving, picking a nice cologne, styling his hair so it wasn't just a sad mop of curls.

He felt… good wasn't quite the right word. He wasn't there yet. But his head felt clearer, and the air felt crisp, and he didn't feel like he was on the verge of suffocating in his own dread.

It was progress.

"Rhys!"

He barely had time to turn before his cousin vaulted into his chest, knocking him back a few steps from the sheer force of her hug.

"You look good!" Mor pulled back, her eyes brighter than the last time they'd met. He could see her relief in them. "Really."

"You do, too."

"You have no idea how many times I nearly sent Az and Cass on a kidnapping mission." She slapped his shoulder lightly in admonishment. "We've been worried sick!"

"I've just been busy," he said, knowing it was a lame excuse but lacking any other armor. "I'm sorry."

Mor sniffed. "You'll only be forgiven if you buy me and my friend a drink."

Rhys scanned the crowd. "Is she here?"

"Yeah. She just went to the bathroom. Asked me to order her a G&T."

"Coming up," Rhys said. "Go find us some seats."

"I haven't told you what I want," Mor pointed out.

"House red. Biggest glass they have."

She grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I missed you—"

"No touching the hair," he said, batting her hand away. "Seats. Now."

"Okay, bossy."

Rhys rolled his eyes, but there was a smile twitching the corner of his lips. It was nice. The normalcy of bickering with Mor.

It was a busy night, despite being a weekday, so it took a while for the bar to make their drinks. Longer still, for Rhys to take up the precarious task of balancing all three drinks in his hands as he searched for the table.

He caught a flash blonde hair poking over the seat of a leather booth and grinned. There was another girl sitting beside Mor, a brunette, both of their backs turned as he rounded the corner.

And nearly dropped the glasses on the floor.

Bright blue eyes stared at him, wide and achingly familiar. Her mouth parted open into a gasp.

"Rhys?"

He was equally dumbfounded. "Feyre?"

Mor said her friend was single. It shouldn't have been the first thought to bubble up through his shock. But it was.

"How do you two know each other?" Mor said, the question nearly accusational.

"We work together," Rhys said, recovering enough to set the drinks on the table.

Mor's eyes widened. "Oh my god," she said, whipping her head to gape at Feyre, who was dropping her head into her hands. "Oh my god, Feyre!"

"Is something the matter?" Rhys asked, unable to pry his eyes away from the red stain burning along the dainty curve of Feyre's ears. She kept her hands over the rest of her face, but he could see peeks of blushing skin through the gaps in her fingers. How was it possible that she was the one mortified about this?

He could see the mischief spreading over Mor's face, and it made him nervous. "Oh," his cousin said, drawing out the vowel as she plucked her wine glass from the table. "It's just that Feyre darling here has told me all about the people she works with in her office. Neglected to mention names, of course, but I'm starting to put two and two together."

Feyre darling. Smug satisfactions coursed through him at the realization that Feyre had been telling Mor about him. Not Tamlin—or at least, not exclusively Tamlin.

Feyre retreated from her hands just enough to glower at Mor. She wasn't meeting Rhysand's eyes, which likely had something to do with her scarlet coloring. He'd made her blush before, but never like this—never the kind that spread over her throat and collarbones, too. For a distracted second, he let himself imagine dragging his lips across every inch of red skin, just to see how long he could make the color linger.

"Let me guess," Rhys said, knowing he should keep the purr from his voice—she was engaged, for Christ's sake—but his eyes never lifted from her face. "She told you about a devilishly handsome salesman who sits at the desk across from her?"

"Hmm." Mor feigned an expression of deep thought. "That doesn't ring any bells, no. Though I'm pretty certain she mentioned something about a giant prick?"

Feyre's lips twitched, the making's of a smile.

Until Rhys interjected, "I suppose I do wear tight pants."

"You're disgusting," Mor said, wrinkling her nose. Feyre made a sound like she was inclined to agree.

And it was starting to drive him crazy that she wasn't saying anything. Was still refusing to look at him.

He tried to tempt her gaze by dragging her gin and tonic across the table, pushing it towards her as he asked, "What else have you been telling my cousin about me, Feyre darling?"

Finally. Finally she looked at him. Those blue eyes were more wary than he was used to seeing, but still full of challenge. More so, as they narrowed.

"I didn't know you two are cousins," she said, artfully evading the subject.

"Would have kept the finer details to yourself, if you'd known?"

Feyre lifted her chin. "It's not nice to speak ill of someone's family."

"Oh, I'm sure your descriptions were scathing." He smirked. "Do you have a code name for me?"

"Yeah, Prick."

"I know you're more imaginative than that, Feyre. You probably gave her a physical description, too, hmm? Tall, dreamy eyes, dark-haired—"

"Swaggering, insufferable arrogance," Feyre filled in.

Mor shook her head in disbelief. "I should have known it was Rhys from that alone."

"You wound me," Rhys said, clutching his chest. "Both of you."

His cousin rolled her eyes. "I think you'll manage to recover." She turned to Feyre and tapped her half full glass. "Where's the bathroom? There's a cute brunette at the bar and I need to make sure my lipstick hasn't smeared."

Feyre studied Mor's makeup. "You're fine."

"Liar. You just don't want me to leave you alone with Rhys." She slid out of the booth, her white teeth on full display. "I think you two can play nice for five minutes."

"Your judgment is questionable as always, Mor," Rhys said, though it did nothing to deter his cousin from gathering her purse and striding towards the restrooms.

Leaving him alone with Feyre.

He reminded himself to take deep, steady breaths—a task which escalated in difficulty once he noticed the scent of her perfume. Lilac and pear, the same she was wearing the day of his family's funeral. The same scent which had long since faded from the scarf she'd wrapped around his neck.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for crashing your girl's night."

Feyre shook her head. "Don't be sorry. I knew you were coming. I just… didn't know you were coming."

"And that makes it worse?" He said, ignoring the pang in his chest that she would prefer a stranger's company to his own.

"It makes it… complicated."

"Complicated?" Rhys raised his brows. "Like how Mor asked me to come here to meet her single friend kind of complicated?"

Feyre sat up straighter. "Mor said what?"

Rhys winced. He hadn't meant to throw Mor under the bus. "Just for my own clarity, you are engaged to Tamlin, right?"

"That's also…. complicated."

"Complicated how, Feyre?"

She chewed on her lower lip. A habit he'd noticed at the office, and had sent him walking stiffly to the men's room more times than he'd care to admit.

"Tamlin asked me to marry him last night," Feyre said, her voice so soft that he needed to lean over the table to hear her over the loud atmosphere. "I didn't say yes. I didn't say no, either. I just… I wanted more time to think about it, I guess. But he announced it to everyone in the office today."

Rhysand's grip tightened around his whiskey glass. "That bastard."

"I don't know what to do about it," Feyre said, all in one exhale. Her shoulder slumped. "I feel trapped. If I back out now, it will be this whole big thing. We'll have to walk it back in front of the entire office and it will be so uncomfortable."

The last thing Feyre needed was a big reaction. He could see it in the way she braced herself across from him, holding her body taut as if she was a passenger in some unbridled vehicle, expecting to crash at any moment.

He managed to keep his voice calm as he said, "This isn't the kind of decision that you should feel pressured into. You should marry someone because you want to, not because you feel obligated."

Feyre shrugged. The gesture was resigned, like he wasn't saying anything she hadn't already said to herself.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted.

"Then I think that's your answer. If it's not a resounding, unwavering yes, then you shouldn't do it."

"Will it ever be like that, though?" Her voice was strained. "Do people ever actually fall in love and know that they want to be with that person forever? Without any question?"

Rhys needed to take a deep swallow of his whiskey before he could answer. "Yes," he said, feeling it burn down his throat—the admission and the alcohol and the words he just couldn't bring himself to say. "If it's the right person, you know. Without any question."

Her eyes bored into his, so deep he swore she could see straight to the quick of his soul, where he was still raw and healing and afraid to tell her what he should be telling her.

Don't marry him.

I love you.

Please, don't marry him.

He didn't know what he would do—he didn't know if he would survive—if he unmasked himself completely, revealing every gnarled, jagged edge of jealousy and love and fear, and she still walked away.

"You came here wanting to meet one of Mor's single friends?" Feyre's voice trembled a bit, as if she was also holding back too much, waning beneath the weight. "Like, to be set up on a date?"

"Yeah," he said, shame drying the roof of his mouth. It felt like a betrayal, though he couldn't explain why or how. "It's been a while since I've put myself out there."

Feyre looked down at her drink. "Sorry you got me instead."

If there was one thing Rhys couldn't stand, it was hearing Feyre apologize for something outside of her control. She was always doing that in the office—apologizing for delays due to broken printers and out-of-order lifts.

"I owed you a drink though, didn't I?" He forced himself to wink. To grin. To play the smug arrogance he knew she expected from him. "This is a much better twist of fate."

Feyre opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something else, when Mor saddled back into the booth, lipstick freshly re-applied. "So," she said, tossing a lock of curls over her shoulder. "What did I miss?"

-

Feyre did, eventually, call off her engagement with Tamlin.

It happened months after Mor's failed setup attempt. Months of listening to Feyre go back and forth with Tamlin in the office about wedding plans, holding his tongue while she was strong-armed through every decision. Months of watching her steadily grow thinner, quieter, duller.

Months of watching Feyre Archeron wilt before his very eyes.

He didn't know what the catalyst was, in the end. All he knew was that one day, he walked into the office armed with a stupid joke to try to make her smile, since she was doing less and less of it these days. And instead he'd met the stern face of their new receptionist, Alis.

So when Mor told him that she'd invited Feyre on their annual trip to their family cabin in the Alps, he'd had conflicting feelings.

One hand, he'd get to spend a week of uninterrupted time with Feyre, where they could deviate from their usual script of jammed printers and pleasant weather. And more importantly, he could finally, finally, enjoy her company without the threat of her impending engagement looming over their shoulders.

On the other hand, what was the appropriate buffer to give the love of your life time to grieve her relationship with the worst man you've ever met? Mor had told him, very sternly he would add, that all topic surrounding Tamlin were strictly off limits.

Did that include topics concerning the absence of Tamlin, and if or when she'd be ready for someone to fill that void?

He ached to tell her how he felt. Now that the Tamlin-shaped dam was finally removed, he was drowning from the weight of holding back years of confessions and unrequited feelings.

Their burden became impossible to carry the closer the trip became, to the point where he considered bailing simply out of fear that he wouldn't be able to control himself. Feyre deserved better than that. After all this time, they both did.

But his fears were unfounded when she walked through the door.

Rhys had long associated Feyre's presence with joy. Even during those agonizing months he'd loved her and believed she would be marrying another man. The sight of her walking into a room still filled him with joy.

Now, he was flooded with distress.

She was thin. He noticed she'd been losing weight in the months leading up to her resignation. But this was drastic.

Feyre looked as if her dread and grief were eating her alive.

He wanted to weep at the sight of what Tamlin had done to her. Weep, then take Cass and Az and three of their best baseball bats and—

"Feyre darling," he greeted, lifting from the sofa with a broad smile. "Look at you, out of work clothes."

"I'm surprised you recognize me in something other than a blouse."

"Well, I wasn't certain at first," he intoned, strolling closer to the doorway. Until he could see the snowflakes on her long eyelashes and every adorable freckle smattered over her nose and cheeks. "But that smear of paint always gives you away."

Feyre turned her head to Mor, her eyes widening as if to confirm, Do I really have paint on my face?

"Oh, ignore him," Mor grumbled. But she did lick her thumb and lean in to rub Feyre's cheekbone, which resulted in sputtered protest that his cousin happily ignored.

Rhys watched Feyre thrash against Mor's hold, a familiar fondness stirring in his chest. "It is nice to see you again, Feyre. I've missed you at the office."

"Why?" She snorted. "Because I was the only sane person there?"

"Precisely for that reason."

He opened his arms to her, and he was relieved that she didn't hesitate for a second to throw her arms around him. Rhys held her tight, trying and failing not to marvel at how fragile she felt. Some delicate, breakable thing.

What happened to the girl who proudly drank from an office wanker mug on her second week? Rhys knew she was still there, hidden behind layers of guilt and sorrow and what he suspected was the subconscious voice of a man who'd tried everything in his power to whittle her down.

"How is… everyone?" She asked, her diction stilted just enough that he knew who she was truly asking after.

He shot a help me glance to Mor, who immediately jumped in and admonished, "You both promised me no office talk!"

Rhys held up his hands. "Okay, okay. How about wine talk?"

"Why dear cousin of mine, how did you know that's my favorite topic?"

"Lucky guess," he said flatly.

He recognized Feyre's laugh. That hollow, polite sound that she used during her first week in the office, when she felt obligated to laugh at every bland, unfunny joke. Including his own.

It was enough that she was laughing—that she was trying to laugh again. And he resolved that if he could do one thing for her on this trip, it would be getting her to laugh. A genuine, shoulder-shaking, clutching-her-stomach-because-she-can't-breathe laugh.

Rhys turned his gaze to her, failing not to notice the dark circles under her eyes. "What about you, darling? Are you drinking wine these days?"

She grinned, though it didn't quite meet her eyes. "I'm drinking anything these days."

That seemed like too much to unpack when she was still standing in the entryway, the open door blowing a gust of cold air at her back.

It was instinct, the way he reached for her scarf to unravel her in the direction of the overstuffed armchair. If he was overstepping, Feyre didn't seem to mind. Her laughter was more breath than anything, but she indulged him by twirling on her toes, helping him to unwrap the rest of the scarf as if it were a choreographed dance. Though, with the way her balance wobbled at the end, Rhys didn't suspect they'd be competing on any dance shows in the near future.

"Careful," he said, bracing her elbow. "The nearest hospital is an hour away and in the next thirty minutes, none of us will be sober enough to drive you."

"You could always bundle me up on a sled," Feyre mused. He let go once she regained her balance and tried not to look disappointed when she retreated from his touch to curl up on the arm chair. "At least if I didn't reach the bottom, I'd be going out in style."

"Sledding!" Mor squealed, clapping her hands together. "Oh, yes, we should absolutely do that this year!"

Rhys shot his cousin an incredulous look. "If I recall correctly, our last emergency hospital visit was the result of sledding."

Mor poked her tongue at him. "Whatever. Cass probably thought it was as worth it for the photos alone."

Rhys explained to Feyre, "Last year, Cass face-planted a rock. Fucked up both his front teeth."

"He was so drunk he didn't even notice until he saw the blood," Mor added, rolling her eyes. "Az took a picture and Cassian made it his screensaver for like six months."

Feyre shuddered. "I think I'll pass on the sledding."

If he was honest, Rhys hoped she stayed exactly where she was for the rest of the trip. Safe, in that oversized chair, in front of the crackling fire, where he could already see some color returning to her expression.

His eyes swiveled to the basket of blankets tucked beneath the coffee table. He knew if he grabbed one for her, he'd be accused of coddling. And maybe he was.

Even so, he couldn't help praising, "Wise decision."

"Lame decision," said a deep voice, striding out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped far too precariously around his hips.

The cabin had four bedrooms, two on each side of the hall, with only one bathroom nestled in the center. No one was exactly thrilled to be sharing a single bathroom between five adults, though Cassian argued half the fun was trying to catch a glimpse of Azriel naked.

"Cassian I presume?" Feyre said from the armchair.

Cass grinned, striding forward on wet, slapping feet. The only thing that dissuaded him from dripping onto the carpet to go shake Feyre's hand—or offer some other, far less appropriate greeting—was Rhysand's sharp glare

"And you must be the renown Feyre Archeron." He slid Rhys a knowing grin that was begging for a punch. "I'll go get dry before the hall monitor gives me a detention for getting his precious carpet wet. But then, you and I have much to talk about."

Rhys couldn't give two shits about the carpet, though it was his parents' and it was cashmere. But he would prefer if Cassian could avoid flashing Feyre when she was only a few weeks post-break-up.

He needed things to go well so that Feyre would consider coming back next year. And the year after. And however many holidays it would take for her to consider that she might like to be part of this group.

And if that was all she ever wanted, that would be good enough. As long as she was happy again.

"Should I be scared?" Feyre asked.

"Of Cassian?" Mor laughed. "No more than you would be afraid of a big, slobbery puppy."

"It's Az people usually find scary," Rhys said, wandering in the kitchen to fetch the girls their wine. "But that's just 'cause he's quiet. Truth is, he's a big softie."

"More like he's got a big softie," Mor muttered.

Rhys straightened. "Pardon?"

"Are we talking about Az's dick?" Cassian called, scrambling back into the room. "Without me?"

The front door shut, diverting everyone's attention to where Azriel stood, a gloved hand still pressing the handle. He blinked at them, sighed, and then walked back out the front door.

"Wait, Az!" Cassian called, cackling as he vaulted over the sofa to get to the front door faster, narrowly recovering from flashing them by fisting the towel at his groin. He managed to catch the door before it closed, sprinting outside with his feet and chest still bare.

"Are they…" Feyre hesitated. "Together?"

It was a terrible time to have handed Mor her wine glass. She sputtered, choking on a mixture of wine and laughter that erupted over her clothes, the sofa, and the coffee table.

Feyre leapt to her feet to help. "Oh my god, are you okay?" She thumped a fist behind Mor's back as his cousin's laughter fizzled into a coughing fit.

Rhys, meanwhile, set Feyre's wine glass on a clean corner of the coffee table and returned to the kitchen to grab some paper towels.

"I'm sorry for—all of them, really," he called to her.

Mor, still wheezing, could only lift her middle finger broadly on his direction.

"To answer your question," Rhys said, coming back to Mor's side to divide layers of paper towel among the three of them. "No, Cassian and Azriel are not dating."

His cousin shrieked at the reminder, launching into another coughing fit.

"Thanks," Feyre said, balling up her collection of towels to dab them gingerly into the carpet. Red wine. His parents were rolling in their graves. "I, uh, think I put that one together."

"Cass just likes to push buttons. And Azriel's the most private among us, which leads to a lot of speculation," he sent Mor a pointed look, "among our group."

Mor, having mostly recovered from her fit, tapped her chest and croaked, "It's the greatest tragedy of Cassian's life that he'll never know if his dick is bigger than Az's."

"We spend every year naked together in a sauna," Rhys reminded her, raising his brows as if to say, what are you up to? Mor didn't usually indulge conversations about naked men to this degree. "Believe me, he knows."

"And?"

Rhys jerked his head, just to be sure he'd heard the question right. Feyre was looking at him with a glint in her eye. She was biting her lip, restraining a laugh just like she'd done on the first day they'd spoken to each other in the break room.

A habit she'd never broken, after all these years.

His lips twitched. "And, what, Feyre darling?"

"What's the outcome of this annual dick measuring contest you three apparently have in the sauna?"

"Why don't you join us this year and find out?"

"Am I allowed to bring my strap?" Mor asked.

The front door shut, revealing cold-flushed yet grinning Cassian and a bewildered looking Azriel.

"I don't know what conversation we just walked in on," Cassian said, "but count me in."

This was a nightmare. At least, Rhys thought it was a nightmare. Feyre, strangely, seemed to be enjoying herself and he thanked the gods that she had a good sense of humor about all this chaos.

"You must be Azriel," Feyre said, beaming at the dark haired male becoming a shadow at Cassian's back. "I've heard so much about you."

Azriel glanced toward the door. Rhys knew he was debating the merits of trying to make another escape. He'd probably already started his car by the time Cassian caught up and dragged his ass back.

"All good things," Feyre assured quickly.

Rhys didn't think he'd ever seen Azriel blush before.

"What happened here?" Cassian said with a low whistle, taking in the mess of wine-soaked paper towels. "It's too early in the evening for you to have forgotten where your mouth is, Morrigan."

"Har har." Mor stood up from the sofa. "Just for that, I'm stealing one of your hoodies."

"Didn't you bring your own clothes?" He complained.

"It wouldn't be a punishment if I wore my own."

"I only brought like two hoodies!"

"You should have thought about that before you opened your big, dumb mouth."

"At least steal one of Az's. He smells better than me."

"If you think so, maybe you should wear one of his hoodies."

"Mor—" Cassian groaned as she strode off into his room. "Mor!"

"I should have warned you they were going to bicker like this," Rhys said apologetically, perching himself against the armrest of Feyre's chair to, at last, hand her a wine glass.

"Oh trust me, bickering over sharing clothes is a staple of sisterhood. I'm used to it."

"That's right, you have two sisters don't you? Nesta and Elain." She looked surprised he remembered. "How are they doing?"

"Well. Nesta is this scary, big shot lawyer who eats suited men for breakfast and Elain is living the dream cottage core life with her husband, Lucien. You remember him, right? He was Tam's—" she winced. Like that name was a bruise she didn't mean to press.

"I remember him," Rhys said, trying to help her past the slip-up. "Redhead, right? Snarky?"

She snorted. "You could say that again."

"Does he treat her right?"

"Oh, like a princess." She rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't believe the way she has him wrapped around her little finger."

"I believe it," Rhy said. He wondered if he had that stupid grin on his face again, the one that proved just how wound he was around Feyre's little finger.

Feyre didn't seem to know how to respond to that, but she shrugged and said, "They're happy."

Rhys didn't doubt for a second Feyre was happy for her sister, but he could see the discomfort on her face at that admission. It couldn't have been easy to have a brother-in-law who was close to her ex fiancé. And he knew first hand how difficult it was to see someone else happy and have that reality feel so distant it was foreign.

"I'm glad," he said. "And I'm glad you could join us this year. It will be a relief to have someone sane in our entourage."

"I don't think that's fair to Azriel," Feyre said. "So far, he's been the most well behaved."

Az smiled. "The night is still young."

Rhys chuckled at Feyre's look of betrayal. "Like I said, darling. You're the most sane person here."

"Maybe that's what I'd like you to think."

He liked seeing something other than resignation in her eyes again. So much that he couldn't resist leaning forward, his voice ripe with challenge as he purred, "Then I look forward to being proved otherwise."

-

Despite his best efforts, Rhys couldn't convince Mor that it was a bad idea to take everyone sledding the next morning.

They were all nursing hangovers from a concoction of liquors that they'd made the mistake of letting Cassian combine into what he called 'Solstice Punch'. Rhysand had a blistering headache, which wasn't helped by Cassian's noisy attempt to make breakfast. With only four rooms, Rhys had drawn the short straw for who had to sleep on the couch.

Rhys groaned, burying his head beneath a pillow. "There is no way in hell that you're getting me onto a sled today."

"Even if you get to share one with Feyre?" Cassian teased. "You'll get to wrap your arms around her and—"

"Shut up."

"I guess Az and I will just get to enjoy her company instead," Cassian said smugly.

It nearly convinced Rhys to go, until Mor strode into the living room. "Feyre isn't coming," she announced. "She's not feeling good."

Rhys sat up way too fast. "Is she okay?" He asked, blinking away the black spots that burst in his vision.

"Calm down, white knight. She's just hungover like the rest of us." Mor looked at Cassian, frowning. "Maybe we should take it easy today."

"Fuck that. Az is already loading the car. You coming?"

Mor sighed. "I can't leave Feyre."

"Sure you can," Cassian said, grinning over her shoulder at Rhys. "Lover boy will take perfect care of her."

Rhys slumped back into the sofa, ignoring the jab. "You go, Mor. We'll take it easy today."

Mor pressed her lips together, consternation pulling at her brows as she flicked her eyes between Rhys and Cassian. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll go. Someone needs to babysit the idiots. You sure you'll be okay, Rhys?"

"Peachy," he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Now get the hell out of here so I can go back to sleep."

-

Rhys couldn't say how much longer he slept for. When he woke up, the cabin was silent. Someone had graciously left the curtains drawn, keeping the living room subdued in darkness and by the same virtue, making it impossible to guess how late in the day it was.

The heating had kicked on at some point, leaving him sweating beneath the pile of blankets. He kicked them off and shuffled into the hall.

"Feyre?" He called, stopping to listen outside her door. When there was no answer, he assumed she must still be asleep.

Rhys pushed into the bathroom, intent on washing off his sweat even if the bright fluroscents felt like a thousand needles shoved into his eye sockets. He groaned, fumbling half-blind as he jerked the shower curtain open and turned on the water.

It was only once he was under the water, steam billowing around him, that he felt his head begin to clear. And that was when he realized he left his clothes in the living room.

Rhys fell forward with a groan, resting his head against the damp tile as he debated the merits of retrieving his clothes now or waiting until he finished his shower. There was no telling if Feyre would still be asleep by the time he finished. At least if he left now, he could evade a potentially awkward encounter.

It took all of his willpower to step out of the warm embrace of water. More, to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist.

He opened the door gradually, peering through the crack to ensure the coast was clear before he hurried with wet, slapping footprints to where his bag rested beside the sofa.

As he crouched to unzip the top, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door handle turning. He froze.

The door pushed open. He knew he was doomed because whoever stepped through was far too silent to be a member of his family.

Rhys hovered in place, clutching his towel tight around the hips, internally debating whether it was better to let her know he was there or try to flee behind the kitchen counter before she realized.

"Rhys?" Feyre called.

Shit. It was fine, right? She'd seen Cassian in a towel yesterday and hardly reacted.

Slowly, he rose from behind the couch, prepared to play this off with a flirty comment. But as soon as he saw her, his brain deserted every word of the linguistic tongue.

"Oh!" She jumped, faltering to quickly re-secure the towel she had wrapped around her torso.

Rhys decided a Christmas deity must be trying to punish him. There was no other explanation for the ridiculous towel she was wearing, so short her breasts spilled over the top and if she bent, even the slightest, he would be able to see her entire ass.

Where on Earth had she found a towel like that?

Rhys needed to finish mentally reeling his tongue back in before he was able to shape coherent words. And once he did, they came out entirely too rough, like he was scraping them over sandpaper.

"Well, one of us is going to have to change."

A familiar blush was spreading over her chest, but Feyre did a good job keep in her expression composed as she quirked a brow. "I think that depends on who wore it better."

"I won't make any argument on that front," Rhys said. It was taking every ounce of restraint not to drink her in like this. "I'm just grabbing some clothes and I'll head into the shower."

"Or—"

How could such a soft, breathy word strike with enough momentum to take him off his feet? Rhys clenched his hand tighter around the handle of his bag, trying to will his blood flow back into his head.

"You could come join me?"

Fuck. Fuck. He'd never heard Feyre use the voice before—at least anywhere outside of his own fantasies. It was just rough enough to scrape him raw, wondering if he'd imagined the sultry undertone or if he was letting his own ego get to his head.

"Join you where, exactly, darling?"

"The sauna," she said. "I've just warmed it up, and seeing as you're already dressed for the occasion…"

This was how it must have felt to be ensnared by a siren. To see your every desire brought to life, just in reaching distance, and to know it would be your undoing.

There wasn't any scenario where he could go into a sauna with Feyre, alone, and keep hold of the careful distance he was putting between them. He couldn't think of a single outcome that wouldn't end with Feyre in his lap, panting beneath his touch. And he wanted it. So badly he would crash his ship to shore and gladly drown in the wreckage.

But he wanted her to be ready, too. He didn't want to be another man pressuring her into say yes, making her feel trapped. If he was going to kiss her, touch her, do anything more than flirt with her, he needed to do it in a neutral space, where she could leave if it became too much.

Rhys was careful not to let the pain show on in his face. He released his breath through his nose, quiet, measured.

"I think we should wait until we're better hydrated," he said. "I wouldn't want you passing out. Rain check?"

Feyre's smiled dropped. Rhys was starting to feel nauseous again, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach.

"Oh." Feyre said. He could hear her disappointment. "Okay. Maybe later, then."

Rhys held himself still as she hurried past, fleeing into her room. His chest pinched at the sound of the door snicking shut, as if a piece of his heart was caught in the doorjamb, begging for it to open.

With a sigh, he gathered his clothes and went back to his shower.

Feyre

Azriel, Cassian, and Mor had returned at some point in the late afternoon with a few nicks and bruises, but no broken teeth. Feyre was assured that meant it was a successful sledding trip. Which was more than she could say about her lazy day at the cabin.

She'd spent most of it in her room, with the exception of her brief attempt to coax Rhys into the sauna. After his mortifyingly polite rejection, she'd spent the rest of the day in her room until Mor came knocking.

"You okay?" She asked, finding Feyre buried beneath a pile of blankets.

This was ordinarily Rhysand's room. Which meant that everything in here smelled like him. Citrus and a dark, churning sea, threatening to swallow her whole beneath warm, chunky-knit blankets.

"Doesyercznlkmm?"

"What?" Mor stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Feyre pulled her head out from beneath the blankets. "Does your cousin like me?"

"Rhys?" Mor frowned. "Of course he likes you."

"No, that's not what I mean. You know how I feel about him, Mor. Sometimes I think he feels the same way, but then he just pulls away from me."

Mor glanced towards the door, her expression wary. She always grew a little evasive whenever their conversation skewed towards Rhys, and Feyre felt a little guilty for putting her in the middle.

"My cousin can be pretty guarded," Mor said. "He keeps his cards close to his chest, especially after his family died. But… Look in that box, under the bed."

Feyre's eyes followed Mor's gesture to the small gap under Rhysand's bed. Curious, Feyre extracted herself from the bed to fish out a small shoebox. She pushed the lid open, frowning when she saw a red scarf carefully folded inside.

"He took that here last year. Wore it everywhere. It was the first Christmas since his family died and I think it brought him a lot of comfort." Mor shrugged. "He wouldn't say where it was from but I have my suspicions."

Feyre ran her fingers over the soft wool, recalling the anguish on his face when she'd given it to him. She'd always half-heartedly wondered what happened to the scarf, but she'd assumed he'd thrown it out or otherwise forgotten about it.

Mor said, "If you want to know how he feels, you should just ask him. But I think you mean a lot to him, Feyre. Maybe he's just waiting for you to tell him how you feel."

Easier said than done. The last two years was a montage of chances where she could have told Rhys how she felt and didn't. It was always never the right time. He was working late or she was rushing out the door or he was grieving or she was dating Tamlin—or it was just safer to stay in this soft, liminal space between friendship and something more.

Walking away from Tamlin had been easy. Complicated, yes, but emotionally… All she'd felt was relief.

If it's the right person, you know. Without any question.

"Right," Feyre breathed, nodding to herself. "Tell him how I feel. That should be…" Nerve wracking. "I can do that."

-

Rhys

When Rhys felt something soft wrapping around his neck, his first suspicion was that Az and Cass were pulling a prank on him. It wasn't uncommon to wake up from a drunken stupor in this cabin with a marker mustache and a few drawn-on dicks.

He was convinced when he felt the weight of a body settle over him.

"C'mon Cass," he mumbled. "Not now."

The body above him giggled. Light. Feminine.

"Does that imply Cass usually climbs into bed with you?"

Rhys opened his eyes to find Feyre's face hovering inches over his, her hair cascading around his head like a canopy. Her hands were at his chest, tugging a red scarf around his neck.

"What's going on?" He asked, not convinced he was awake. He didn't even remember going to bed, but the lights were off, so it had to be late. "What time is it?"

"You never gave my scarf back," she said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable answer to his question. "But you kept it all this time."

She was straddling his lap, her ass settled just above his groin. If he moved even the slightest bit, he would grind against her, and he couldn't deny the temptation crossed his mind.

"Are you drunk?" He asked. Which, as he thought about it, was a stupid question. They'd all been drinking—Feyre more than anyone. He had a vague memory of half guiding, half stumbling with her into his bedroom.

Which, as he sat up, was where he realized they still were. Not on the sofa. Christ, he must have crashed trying to get her to bed.

"Not any more than you," she argued. "At least I managed to stay awake. Pussy."

He laughed. "Did you really just call me a pussy?"

"Do you prefer it to Prick?"

"Not really. Though I'll admit, I am fascinated to learn what other filthy words you'd like to call me."

Feyre tugged at the scarf, drawing his face closer to hers. He could feel her breath against his lips as she whispered, "You'll have to earn them."

He fought a shiver at the invitation in her voice. "How?"

"Kiss me," she said, eyes fixing on his mouth.

He wanted to. More than he wanted to breathe. "We're drunk, Feyre."

Her eyes lifted to his. "Pussy," she said again, before grabbing both ends of the scarf and yanking it upwards, crashing her mouth to his.

Rhys shut his eyes, a guttural sound forming in the back of his throat as he slipped his arms around her back, pulling her tighter. It wasn't the kind of first kiss he'd imagined giving her. That had always been soft and sweet, an admission in itself.

This kiss was clumsy and urgent—two people latching to each other as if terrified the other would let go. Feyre wound her fingers into his hair, pulling with a grip he likened to someone hanging from a precipice, where every digit, every ounce of surface area, could be the difference between life or death.

"Feyre," he groaned, trying to pull away. She chased him, mouth crashing back to his, swallowing his protests, and he was simulatenously in heaven and hell. "Feyre," he said again, pushing lightly at her shoulders.

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away. He could feel her body trembling.

"Don't push me away, Rhys." Her voice was so small. "Please, don't push me away. Not again."

She might as well have reached into his chest and ripped his heart straight out.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, securing an arm around her back to keep her pressed where she was, her fluttering heart beating against his. "I'll sleep here. Just—let's wait until the morning, okay? I promise to kiss you stupid once you're sober."

Feyre tugged at her scarf as she thought about it. He knew she made her decision when she sighed softly and slumped into his body, resting her head against his chest.

"Rain check?" She asked, with a small yawn.

Rhys had never been happier to say those two stupid words. "Rain check."

[bulkyphrase]

Werewolf Steve Rogers: a rec list

For the last list of 2024, please enjoy some of my favorite fics about wolfy Steve. Features classic comics capwolf and MCU werewolf goodness.

The Law Runneth Forward and Back by Sineala (@sineala) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 11,798 words)

Summary: It's been three weeks since Tony saved Steve's life at Mount Rushmore, and they're not talking about it. It's going to drive Tony insane. But they've got bigger problems, because Nightshade has turned Steve into a werewolf. Again. And all Steve seems to want is to be near Tony. Also available as a podfic read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton)

Have Sunlight, Too, and Clover by chaosmanor, yamyamyam (Stucky, Explicit, 15,426 words)

Summary: Steve wakes up in the future, only to find that... everyone but him is part wolf now?! Hydra's attempts to replicate the super-soldier serum resulted in a virus that induced wolf-y features and WELP that went poorly. Now he's tracking down an actual full-on werewolf with the Avengers, y'know, to pass the time, when suddenly his body decides to wolf up after all. Dramatically. Meanwhile, that full-on werewolf they were chasing turns out to be oddly familiar...

More below the cut!

and I may never see the light by Effing (@effingunicorns) (Frostshield, Explicit, 8,111 words (WIP))

Summary: Steve is a monster hunter who's sort of but not really sleeping with the vampire next door. And then things get hairy. (Because every ship deserves more trashy monster AUs.)

A Matter of Language by DepressingGreenie (@depressinggreenie) (Thundershield, General Audiences, 774 words)

Summary: Clint is pretty sure Thor has been using some sort of magical mind reading to understand Steve. Also available as a podfic read by Akaihyou (@akaihyou)

(We Are Not) Monsters by lionessvalenti (Gen, General Audiences, 1,630 words)

Summary: Steve wakes up after his transformation to find he wasn't the only were-creature in the jungle that full moon.

A Good Man by quigonejinn (@quigonejinn) (Steggy, Not Rated, 1,541 words)

Summary: The one where the Super Soldier Serum causes lycanthropy.

You Know Where To Find Me by a_sparrows_fall (Stony, General Audiences, 31,307 words)

Summary: After an Avengers mission goes awry, Steve takes a leave of absence from the team, and he and Tony part on bad terms. But then Steve gets turned into a werewolf, and he finds his shapeshifting linked to his feelings about Tony, who’s had a terrible accident. If Steve never sees Tony again, will he be stuck in wolf form forever? A closely-canon compliant 616 Capwolf story.

Nights When the Wolves Are Silent, and Only the Moon Howls by Cluegirl, Defiler_Wyrm (@cluegrrl, art by @defilerwyrm) (Stony, Mature, 77,612 words)

Summary: “Could you drop all that stoic shit and be my freaking-the-hell-out wingman for just like, five seconds here?” Steve wasn’t sure he could think of anything he wanted less to do than to freak out about his wounds just then though, so he reached across his chest and gingerly patted Sam’s clenched knuckles. “It’ll be fine,” he promised, believing it. “Serum’s handled worse.” “You know, I actually believe you,” Sam allowed after a long second of glaring. “Which is deeply alarming, considering how much of your connective tissue I’ve touched in the last 4 hours. Now you wanna tell me what Russoff’s men did to you that made it look like you got mauled by a bear?” Steve flinched, then breathed the memory down to size. “Not a bear,” he murmured. “Wolves.”

Instinctual by mariana_oconnor (@mariana-oconnor) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 17,095 words)

Summary: The true effects of the super soldier serum are top secret. Only a few people know the truth - the serum turned Steve Rogers into a werewolf. Steve still hasn't found a way to tell Tony, even though they've been in a relationship for months. He can't bring himself to explain that he's a monster. But when they are clearing out an AIM base, that decision is taken out of his hands.

Work of Art by veryvincible (@veryvincible) (Stony, Mature, 5,656 words)

Summary: Tony smelled… off. Wrong. He smelled strange in a way that would justify the cold, Steve thought. There was a metallic layer to blood that Steve was used to smelling, and in Tony, that was distinctly not present. So, Steve concluded, Tony must have had an iron deficiency. Something to that effect, at least. He became faint without warning, he was chilly as the dead, and he was as pale as any man Steve had ever seen. - Tony Stark is a vampire. It's common knowledge, at this point. Somehow, Steve isn't aware of that little fact.

A Little Confused But He Got the Spirit by jellybeanforest (@jellybeanforest-a-go-go) (Stony, Mature, 3,298 words)

Summary: On their third date, Steve decides to come clean about his lycanthropy. Tony is surprisingly understanding, almost too much so. Based on a prompt by DepressingGreenie. For the 2021 Cap-IronMan Holiday Exchange.

Under the moon, I howl for you by captainstars (@capnstars) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 1,047 words)

Summary: Tony had been in quite a few fucked up situations in his lifetime. Being stuck in a cave together with Steve who had been turned into some kind of half wolf half man, while trying to maintain his secret identity, sure took the cake. —-

howling for you by starvels (dinosaur) (@starvels) (Stony, Explicit, 4,922 words)

Summary: Steve wakes up because the moon is screaming at him. He howls just once before he slips off the bed and slips out of his skin.

[the-busy-ghost]

Warning- this is a very petty post, but I think I'm entitled to at least one petty, pissed-off reaction every time I finish a classic novel that hit harder than I expected so take this as my quota for the year.

Also spoiler warning for a book that came out over a century ago but still, I didn't know the plot going in so don't want to ruin it for anyone else, if you haven't read it shut your eyes. (Also Local Tumblr User Going Wild Over Book Published a Hundred Years Ago That Everybody Else Already Read should probably be categorised as akey part of indigenous tumblr culture at this point).

Anyway I just finished the War of the Worlds and in between studying I've thinking about Themes and Motifs as you do, and idly looking for further analysis. I then accidentally ran into an article called 'A Quiet Place II Succeeds Where the War of the Worlds Failed' and:

Now I haven't seen any of the Quiet Place films, this is not a rant against them and of course everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But re: the ending of The War of the Worlds, I have to ask, did this guy somehow miss, uh, the entire point of the book or am I just utterly insane?

[kuromi-hoemie]

lmaoo not me on vacation missing my manager 😩 she's a real cup of sunshine omg.. i can Feel when we haven't had our one on one in a sec bc I'll miss talking to her and won't be as energetic bc i haven't had my fill for the week ૮ – ﻌ–ა ♡⁠ we work in different offices but it's really really nice getting to see each other in person sometimes too bc she's so so pretty and rly fun and sweet and gives incredible hugs 😔💕🥰

we always end up hanging out n talking way longer than we need to, last time she was like omg yeah let me hurry up n finish so u can do ur thing and i was like listen.. i am never rushing u i love having ur company u are always welcome to stay as long as u want i can just work right here ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა take ur time ♡⁠

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐘𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐙𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN TWO YAKUZA HEIRS ARE FIGHTING OVER WHO GETS TO MARRY YOU ?? ❞

✧ pairing: yakuza!satoru gojo x f!reader x yakuza!suguru geto

✧ summary: you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, inspired / dialogue / scene concepts taken from the manga “yakuza fiance,” (which the fic is named after), reader's age is ambiguous, but all are 20s+, violence (as expected from mafia / yakuza stories), blood, stsg have tattoos, implied satosugu (just a passing mention of dating briefly), stsg have sadomasochistic tendencies, a little ooc, switch! gojo (very sub gojo), switch! geto, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), double penetration, sex (p in v), creampie, poly relationship implied ending,

✧ wc: 18,476

“I don’t want to marry either of you,” 

And your statement is met with confused stares — and normally stares like this wouldn’t be terrifying to the average person, but these were not average men you were dealing with. 

Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto were anything but average — in many ways. 

Both were incredibly handsome — Satoru was blessed with a piercing blue gaze of the heavens and snow white locks that could stun any person into silence, and Suguru was no slouch either — with long inky black locks tied into a neat bun and his sharp features and his almost all too alluring smile — the two of them looked like they belonged to a modeling agency. Both were also brilliant, attending one of the best high schools in Tokyo, before going to the best university, leading in their respective specialities (Satoru studying physics, while Suguru chose literature). 

And, the two were both the heirs to two of the most dangerous Yakuza families in all of Japan. 

But right now, they are your biggest problems, personified. 

Their families were both vying for your hand in marriage — thanks to your meddling grandfather who shipped you off to Tokyo to get a would-be Yakuza husband — your yakuza family hoping to broker peace after decades upon decades of fighting with one of the other two biggest yakuza families around — the Gojo and Geto families respectively. 

“Excuse me?” Suguru speaks first, a single eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his crisp white button up. 

“I’m not here for this yakuza bullshit. I’m trying to live my own life — and I’m not in the mood to get swept along in my grandfather’s wishes for me to get married,” your hand is in your bag, fingers curled around your collapsible metal pole, “and I don’t care to know either of you, I don’t really care to stick around you — especially because all its earned me is the disdain of all the other students who have crushes on you — so how about we simply tolerate each other for this year?” 

Satoru whistles, “how disappointing,” his eyes raking over you from head to toe, “you’re worse than your reputation — we heard you were a stuck-up, spoiled rich girl that would do anything to get her way, but turns out you’re just normal,” he sticks out his tongue and makes a gagging noise, “how boring,” 

“Truly tiresome,” Suguru hums, his bangs falling in his dark gaze, “I was looking forward to a woman who could match up to us — maybe fuck me up, punish me, and strip away my dignity — type of girl who’d ruin my life, do you understand?” 

You stare at him, lips parted, brow furrowed, “What?” 

“In other words, we were hoping you were much more interesting than you were — as you are now, you’re just useless,” Satoru sighs dramatically, his pink lips curled in a smile, “bor-inggggg,” 

“You might as well go back to Osaka, or wherever it was you came from,” Suguru shrugs, hands in his pockets, as he pulls a cigarette and a lighter, “you could stay, but as it stands, you would be better off back home — maybe it would even start a war — that could be fun, Satoru,” he remarks, his grin growing more sinister by the minute, as he places the cigarette between his lips, and lighting it. 

“Let’s actually not be so hasty, Suguru. She could have some use,” he holds out his fingers to frame you between them, “could be worth something if we have her work at one of our families clubs — selling her body. She could make some use for us,” he says cruelly, “Otherwise, go back home, and let them know we’re the ones not interested in you,” he says, brushing past you along with Suguru. 

And you couldn’t decide which one of their smiles were the most bone chilling — and why you couldn’t quite find your voice in that moment. And you didn’t — not until you finally reached home, your phone ringing. 

“How’s it going, dear granddaughter?” you could hear the grin of the old coot even over the phone — and how could you tell him you wanted to go home now? You had hoped to go there to give two rejections — not earn two of your own. You hoped to stick out the year before leaving this place behind, if only to appease your grandfather. 

“I’m fine, but I think…I think I’m homesick,” you sit on the edge of your bed, hunched over, hand holding your head up, propped against your knee. 

“Why’s that? Did something happen?” 

“Nothing, I just—” 

“You’re not coming back home,” and your hopes fall, “one year, you have to stay one year no matter what. Don’t care if you have to fight with every bone in your body and fiber of your being — last a year,” 

“But why—” 

“Make those boys fall for you, and then break their hearts, heh — your grandfather is a heartbreaker and I know you can do the same,” and you know his lips are curled in a smile not too dissimilar to the two men you met today, “don’t forget where you come from — and what you’re worth,” and he cuts the line, as you stare at your phone, before tossing it away and lying back. 

Well, you know what you had to do. 

~~~

“Morning,” you know where’d they be — the only free period they had together that they spent in the dining hall with their entourage — including some girls who had been harassing you about how you knew the pair — ones you had suspected in fucking with your locker, smearing mud all over your shoes. A small retaliation for capturing their precious crushes’ attention.

The two heirs only stare for a moment — it had been two weeks since they had seen you, “thought I had gone home?” 

“Surprised you didn’t,” Suguru remarks, utterly disinterested from the look in his eyes, despite the smile plastered on his lips, “guess I lost the bet, Satoru,” 

You raise an eyebrow at Satoru, “you thought I’d stay?” 

“Thought you'd stay to take me up on my offer to sell your body,” he holds out his hand as Suguru slaps a stack of bills in his palm, “did you?” 

“I did actually,” your lips curl, as their gazes slide to one another, before you drop a bag on their table, “one kidney, 5,000,000 yen,” and you take delight in the smiles that slide off their expressions, as they stare at you, Satoru looking over the lip of the bag before you knocked it over and let the stacks of money spill over the table, “it took two weeks since it took a while to arrange and recover, but it was well worth it,” 

The pair only can stare — expression unreadable and words seemingly stolen from their mouths, as you only smiled down at them, your gaze digging into their faces like daggers.

Suguru’s eyebrows knit together, “How did you—“ 

“Friend of a friend,” you shrug, “I’ll have to be on a low sodium diet and probably do blood work a little more frequently but you were right about one thing — I was being weak,” you lift up your shirt to show the bandage on your side, their eyes wide, as they can only stare, “I won’t be making that mistake again,” 

And you place your foot up on their table, leaning in, as the mask slips from your face, and your anger surges forth, “listen here, you masochistic fuckers, I’m not scared of either one of you. I don’t care if I have to crawl home choking on my own blood, I’ll be sure you’re choking on each other’s as I drag you both to hell. I’m staying here, whether either of you like it or not,” 

“You can’t talk to them like that—“ one of the girls pipes up, her lips twisted in a frown. 

“I can talk to them however I want - do you know who I am? I come from a family just like there’s but we actually know how to cover up our crimes,” you chuckle, head tilting, “do you know how easy it’d be to get rid of you two?” Your gaze slides to the other girl, “it’d be all too simple — and trust me, I’d get my hands dirty if it’s the two of you,” your lips curl into a wide grin as you add, “after all, you guys did me the favor of dirtying my shoes already,” 

And the two blanch white, all indignance replaced with genuine fear — and you had never known someone could look at you as someone to be feared. 

And you didn’t know you would like it so much. 

You staple the smile on your face again, as the two heirs still sit speechless in their seats, eyes glued to you,  “Well that’s all,” you slide back, “I have to head to class—” 

But then your wrists are caught — pulling you back, as you find yourself pinned on either side by the two heirs, your body tense, before your gaze slides between them, “What?” 

“Marry me,” they both say simultaneously — and you gape at them. 

You are pushing them back, palms pressed against their chests, but find yourself met with two immovable objects, instead trying to squirm out of their grips. “What?” And their grips loosen enough for you to take a step back, but their hands remain around your wrists. 

“I have to have you,” Suguru presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand, dark gaze lidded as he looks up at you, and a shiver climbs up your spine, “I’ve never been so terrified or turned on in my life — it must be love,” 

Satoru is the same, mesmerized with eager words, “I want you to do what you promised, Princess — ruin my life,” Satoru’s lips curled in a wide grin, “want you to completely fuck me up, dominate my entire life — and there’s only one way to do that, marry me,” 

Suguru only scowls at Satoru, “You know Satoru, it’s very rude to propose after your best friend does,” Suguru’s gaze slides to him, “she’s mine,” and his other hand finds your shoulder, pulling you against his chest, even as you struggle against their grips, “her family reached out to mine first,” 

“Fuckers, I swear to god, let me go—“ but they act as if they can’t hear you, a current of possessiveness sweeping their thoughts away. 

“So what? Her family decided to ask for my hand — looks like yours wasn’t good enough,” Satoru only grins, pulling you against him instead, his breath warming your flushed skin, as you grimace, “and I’d make her happier than you ever would.” 

“Want to take this outside, Satoru?” Suguru’s glare sent chills down your spine, but Satoru’s lips split into a smile so wide, you were afraid his head would crack in two. 

“Why? Feeling lonely? Go by yourself,”

And finally you stomp on Satoru’s foot before elbowing Suguru in the stomach, drawing groans from both boys, as you stumble away from them, whirling to face them, “Don’t treat me like your goddamn property or that I’m a prize to be won,” your words slip like venom from your lips, “don’t ever fucking touch me without asking,” 

“Of course, we’re sorry,” Suguru only grins after, holding his stomach, but he still looks all too delighted, “you should reprimand us like the scum we are, isn’t that right Satoru?” 

Satoru nods, pouting, “Yeah we deserve more of a punishment,” and your skin crawls at their eagerness. 

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you two, but I don’t want anything to do with it,” you walk away, hiding your dumbstruck expression, but the two only followed you. 

“You can’t just walk away from us, you have to decide who you want,” Suguru calls after you, their long strides meant they caught up all too fast, and you’re armed with your collapsible pole now, pointing it at both of them. 

“Two minutes ago, both of you thought I was normal and boring,” your eyes narrow — was this another plot to just sell you to some club? 

“And I’m sorry about that sweetheart,” Satoru’s arm is around your waist again, while Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, “we were clearly wrong — and you have to take responsibility,” 

You stare at them, “for what?” 

And he’s leaning to whisper in your ear, “I’m so hard for you right now,” And you’re whirling on them with the pole, but they both expertly dodge your assault, before you’re hurrying away. But they let you go, watching after you with a grin. 

“This is going to be fun,” Suguru remarks, looking at his best friend, “I can’t guarantee I won’t kill you for her hand,” 

Satoru only smirks in reply, “You stole the words out of my mouth, Suguru.” 

~~~

It had been a week — a week of you trying skillfully to evade the two yakuza heirs. 

And you had failed. No matter how fast you left your classes, where you hid, where you sat — the two always found you. And now you have resorted to sitting outside to eat your lunch, being careful to avoid any stray glance of your presence. You sat, back against the building, as you held your head, bento box in your lap — how long until they would get the message? How long until they figured out you wanted nothing to do with them? 

Your grandpa had told you to make them fall for you, but you didn’t think you had too much more to do with how the two were following you around, dogging your every step. 

How would you last another year? 

You opened your bento — at least for once, you could enjoy your lunch without one of them— 

“There you are,” and your lunch nearly goes tumbling out of your lap, but you grasp it, keeping your food from spilling out of your bento, and you turn to meet the gaze of Suguru, leaning against the windowsill, “you’re a fast one, sweetheart,” his head tilted and lips curled in his signature smile. 

“How the fuck did you find me so fast?” you stare at him, brow furrowed, “it’s barely been five minutes, and this campus is huge,” 

“It’s the power of love, of course,” you cringe, and he laughs, bringing his knuckles to his lips, “oh rather, it’s the power of the tracking device I slipped in your bag,” 

And you blink, “You what?” 

He shrugs, “Well how else would I have found you so quickly? I’ll slip it in your shoe next time,” and he sighs, as you dig through your bag, before turning it upside down and letting your things spill out on the grass, “besides, there’s a good reason I’m tracking you,” and you find the tracker before stomping on it, digging your heel into it, crushing it into the dirt, “there’s been a kidnapping of another Yakuza heiress,” 

And your eyes flit to him, and he’s still smiling at you, “Who?” you continue to collect your things, shaking out textbooks and examining your things for any other hidden trackers. 

“You’ll learn tonight — come to the compound tonight — you’ve been formally invited by both my father and Satoru’s father,” and he’s hopping out of the window, fingers brushing yours as he hands you your pencil case, and he’s all too close now, his warm breath warming your lips. 

“And if I refuse?” and his lips curl in a smirk. 

“You’d be offending not only my family, but Satoru’s as well—” and he’s rising to his feet, offering you a hand, “and it might end in an all out war, but that would be just fine for us — would it for you?” 

You glare at him, taking his hand reluctantly, as he helps you to your feet, and you brush the dirt from your skirt and legs, “Fine, what time?” 

“After school, Satoru will be waiting by the gates for you,” he smiles, as he settles next to you, pulling out his own lunch, and you tilt your head, “oh are you curious about me? I have my own business to attend to,” 

“Is that what the other bastard is up to?” and he chuckles at that, taking a bite of his food. 

“Something like that.” 

~~~~

“Took you long enough, pretty,” the Gojo heir’s eyes drag over you like spotlights as he leans against the gate outside, the other students staring as you two speak, whispering as they walk by, slowing down to either catch a longer glance at Satoru or hear a bit of your conversation, “with being so quick to leave for lunch, I thought you’d be just as quick leaving the building,” and he’s offering you a drink from the vending machine that you reluctantly take. 

“Well, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to being a spectacle,” you grumble, as you power walk away from the burgeoning traffic jam that Satoru was causing, and he follows behind, “why do they all stare anyway? They know you're a yakuza, don’t they?” 

“Part of the draw,” he shrugs, the hiss of his own soda filling the air as he pops it open, “everyone wants what they can’t have, but don’t worry, I only have eyes for you, sweetheart,” you grimace as he sips at his soda, raising an eyebrow, “so what can’t you have?” 

You both finally reach the heart of the city, bustling with people left and right — the one thing you couldn’t get used to from the quieter life you led, “Some peace and quiet, apparently,” you adjust your bag on your shoulder in a tighter grip, if only you could lose him in this crowd and be done with all this shit, but it wasn’t that simple, and then it occurs to you, “did you put a tracker on me as well?” 

“Nah, I just used Suguru’s,” he smiles, as he downs the rest of his drink with his head thrown back, before crushing the can in his hand and tossing it away in the recycling bin nearby, “plus, I didn’t have time, been busy with other things, unfortunately,” 

“What things have you—” 

And you’re suddenly tugged into an alleyway, an arm around your neck and a hand clamped over your mouth, “Don’t struggle, it will only make it more difficult for you,” the man whispers in your ear, as another two men draw closer to your sides, “we’ll kill you if you do,” 

You can’t scream, but you don’t need to — because the man who grabbed you screams first. 

“Who the fuck are—” and he screams, his hands slipping from your side, the thump of his body against the pavement making you flinch, as you slowly turn to find Gojo, as he only glares at the other men, before his gaze slides to you, softening with a smile. 

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, come here,” and you swallow, before taking shaky steps to his side, and he’s pulling you behind him, “wait here,” 

It happens far too quickly.

Or maybe it’s just a blur now. Because now he’s beaten the three men into submission, their scarlet blood splattering against his uniform, the wet squelch of their flesh as he punches and kicks them, his shoe digging into their sides. He winds his fist back again. 

“That’s enough,” you say hoarsely, swallowing thickly, “they’re barely alive,” 

“More than they deserve,” he mutters, before sighing and grabbing one by his shirt, fabric straining against the dead weight of the man, and pulls him close, his hand connecting with his face as he slaps him awake, “You hear me? Listen,” he shakes him, until the man’s eyes blink open, bleary, “You see me? Don’t forget my face. You touch her again — and it’s the last thing you’ll see before the afterlife, got that?” 

“Yes,” the man slurs. 

“That’s my girl,” he jerks his head at you, “she’s mine and if you or any of your stupid friends or family see her, don’t talk or touch her, much less even look at her,” and his lips curl again, “or I promise my family and the Geto family will slaughter you — until there’s nothing left.” and he drops the man onto the ground, “let’s go,” he mutters, shaking the blood off his knuckles, before using the inside of his uniform jacket to wipe the rest off. 

“Your uniform, it's—” and he glances at the blood seeping into the fabric of his jacket and crisp shirt, and you’re digging through your bag, “I have my hand towel and some—” and he’s shaking his head. 

“I have a sweatshirt I can wear in my bag,” and he’s tugging off his uniform jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, and you can’t look away fast enough — not before seeing the tattoo littering his back. 

A large lion against his back, seemingly roaring, against a backdrop of bamboo, stared back at you, as your breath catches in your throat — he wasn’t just a spoiled heir, he was a real yakuza. And what he did to those men — his eyes met yours again, as he tugged the sweatshirt on, lips still in that ridiculous smile — it was likely the least of what he could really do to them. 

“Oh, sorry, guess I never told ya,” he pulls the orange sweatshirt down, pulling a pair of sunglasses on, and your horrified expression in the circular black rims stare back at you, “sorry for scaring you, sweetheart,” 

“You’re really—” you cut off, heart caught in your throat. Yeah, you had spent too much of your life surrounded by men covered in tattoos, but these two — their auras — were on another level that was simply — terrifying. 

“A yakuza?” he finishes, peering at you over the rim of his sunglasses, “Surprised it took you this long to figure out — thought you had that pieced together a while ago — what? I assume your family shielded you from that kind of violence — probably had guards on you 24/7 so no one would mess with you. Well you aren’t in Osaka anymore,” his fingers intertwined with yours, his larger hand engulfing yours as he tugs you along away from the alley, the faint groans of the men disappearing into the ambient noise of the city, “Stay close, princess.” 

And you flushed, biting your lip. There was a lot you didn’t know, but you knew you better learn — you spare one glance back at the alley — and quick. 

~~~

You both arrive back to the compound, as you’re funneled into a room, you get a glimpse of Suguru in an adjacent hallway, his clothes as bloodied as Satoru’s was, if not more. His dark eyes catch yours and his lips curl, as he holds his hand up as a greeting, mouthing, “Yo,” 

You’re shepherded away to sit, and soon enough, Satoru and Suguru join you, as you fidget in the middle of the room, the three of you sit on cushions, while another cushion directly in front of you. Your fingers can't help but toy with the ribbon on the front of your uniform — what if this was just a ruse to sell you off? Maybe they even found out about you selling your kidney? Anxiety swirled in your mind, dragging down your body to even the tips of your toes, your body buzzing and stinging with thoughts. 

“This really is just a talk to discuss the missing Yakuza heiress,” Suguru cuts through your thoughts, as you stare at him, slack jawed, and he only shrugs, leaning back against his hands flat on the floor, “you’re not hard to read, sweetheart,” 

“Besides, if we wanted to kill you, why not let you die in that alleyway?” Satoru chimes in, ever so helpful, as you glare at him, before his gaze slides to Suguru, “did you take care of that like I asked, Suguru?” and he nods, and before you can ask a question, the door slides open. 

Instead of the heads of the household, a yakuza comes in, sunglasses stare back at you, his dark brown hair slicked back, shaved on the sides of his head, as he stared down at the three of you, “The heads won’t be able to make it to this meeting — something has come up,” 

“Yaga, good to see you,” Suguru chirps, while Satoru only sighs, hands behind his head. 

“Glad to see you haven’t gotten yourself killed since you’ve been away, old man—“ and Satoru earns a fist to his head, “ow!” 

“Keep it up and you’ll get something worse than a whack to the head,” Yaga grumbles, taking his seat, “you must be the girl,” he eyes you up and down, “I’ll get straight to the point — the Akazawa heiress is missing. She’s assumed to be kidnapped,” he hands you a photo of her — shoulder length black hair, her eyes look past the camera, her head tilted downwards, but her hazel eyes pierce through the picture. 

“How long has she been gone?” Suguru asks, “any chance that she just ran off?” 

“There’s a chance she’s been sold off for a couple hundred thou,” Satoru remarks, crossing his arms, “people would pay a premium for a yakuza heiress,” and his eyes slide to you, and you glare back. 

“We don’t know — maybe she ran off, maybe she’s been sold, maybe there’ll be a ransom coming in at one point or another, or maybe she’s dead—” and you bite your lip, “but we can’t take the risk, especially since we have a similar heiress under our care now,” Yaga says, crossing his arms with a hefty sigh, “that being said, you’ll be staying at the compound until further notice— your things have already been brought here,“ you gape at him, mouth nearly hanging open, “and you’ll have Satoru or Suguru with you at all times — their schedules have been rearranged to have class with you,” 

“But—“ and Yaga shoots a look at you that silences your protests. 

“These orders came from the three heads, including your grandfather, would you like to defy them?” And your mouth clamps shut, your head falling. 

“No, sir,” Yaga rises, leaving, but not before ordering the two heirs to show you where you’ll be staying, “and any real threats to you appear, and your classes will be made online and you will remain under guard in the compound,” Yaga adds before disappearing behind another door. 

“It won’t be that bad, Princess,” Suguru grins, as they walk you to your room, “now we can really get to know each other before we’re married,” 

“Don’t you mean before we’re married?” Satoru says, as Suguru only smiles back at him. 

“I would rather not marry you, Satoru, dating you for a week was enough—“ and Satoru opens his mouth to reply. 

“I’m not marrying either of you,” you rub your head, feeling the beginnings of a headache creeping on your temples — you barely could make it through the day with enduring the amount of insanity these two already inflicted, you were sure you’d murder one or both of them if you had to spend 24/7 with them, “we should be keeping a low profile from now on, not going out—” 

“Except for the dates we have planned,” Satoru says, offering you the key to your room, and you unlock the door, stepping inside. 

“Especially not for those.” And you slam the door shut and lock it. 

Your eyes take in the boxes that surround you, full of the things from your apartment, and sigh. 

Fuck, this really was your life now, wasn’t it? 

~~~

“Why are you staring at me?” you can’t ignore Suguru’s stare in the subway, even when you refuse to meet it. The light from the windows flooded into the subway, flickering as the carts sped by, as the two of you hung onto the grab handles. Your usual peaceful ride to university was now impeded by Suguru who stood by your side, his eyes seemingly glued to you. 

“I see that your left side is slower to respond than your right,” and you shift under his gaze, “that’s why your bag is always on your left side, so you can spot a threat easier and have a stronger grip, smart,” 

You raise an eyebrow, “How did you figure that out?” 

He shrugs, “From observation — I also move a little slower on my left — I even blink slower,” and you face him, staring into his eyes, trying to notice any difference between the two eyes. The only thing you could see is how pretty they really were — dark and lidded, not as bright or striking as Satoru’s, but just as mysterious. 

“I can’t tell,” you tilt your head, and he only smiles. 

“There isn’t a difference, but I got you to stare into my eyes, didn’t I?” and you glower at him, your remark cut off by the influx of people flooding into the cart. Fuck, you never had seen it this full before. You forced yourself not to cringe under the tight quarters — you could handle this, it wasn’t a big deal, even as the people sandwiched themselves all around you, anxiety biting at your nerves. And then you’re knocked around by the crowd as the cart jerks, but then, Suguru is pulling you lightly so your back is pressed against a wall and he’s caging you in, his body protecting you. 

Your breath catches — he’s so close, “You don’t have to—” and your gazes meet again, your breath catching, your bag caught between your bodies. He’s nearly pressed against you, the heat from his form seeps into your own. And he smells good, despite the sticky heat of the summer lingering — something musky but sharp at the same time — what was that scent? 

“You seemed uncomfortable,” he says, his hand holding onto the grab handle above, “this seemed like the easiest solution, especially so I can protect you — it would be much easier to shield you with my body this way,” 

“Shut up,” you grumble, as he chuckles, before you’re sighing, “I’m not used to taking the subway — I used to have a car that took me back and forth,” you chew your lip, “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t take care of myself,” 

“Makes sense to have you driven — as a yakuza heiress, they wanted precautions,” Suguru nods, his eyes sliding around the cart, “you never know,” 

“Is that why your eyes keep scanning the subway cart?” you raise an eyebrow. 

And his lips curl, “I did say I’d protect you with my life, didn’t I?” 

“Did you mean that?”

A chuckle escaped his lips, a noise that makes your breath catch, as the cart jerks again, pressing you both even closer, “I never say anything that I don’t mean, princess.” 

~~~

“Is following me around really necessary even after classes?” you hadn’t bothered to pull your usual disappearing act — it was counterproductive in multiple ways (the first being that either of them would find you and the second being you had to be glued to one of their sides at all times), “it’s not like someone is going jump from the shadows and kidnap me on campus.” 

“You don’t know that for sure, do you, princess?” Satoru drawls lazily, as he twirls his dinner knife around his fingers with a skill that said he’d done it a million times before — probably instead of doing the thing he was supposed to be doing, “a man comes up behind you while you’re studying or shopping, presses a weapon or gun to your side, just out of view, and he’s got the perfect hostage,” 

You raise an eyebrow, “You sound like you’ve done it before,” and the knife stops between his middle finger and pointer, the tip pointed at you, as he looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses. 

“Don’t get jealous, sweetheart, you’re the only girl I’d want to kidnap,” he leans forward and swipes a mochi from your plate — even though he had already ate his own — and you scoff, as you turn your attention back to your neglected dessert, choosing to use your brain cells to focus on your food instead of this psycho. 

“How lucky,” you mutter, as you stab your remaining mochi instead of your escort, “do the two of you have to take shifts like this? I’m surprised the two of you aren’t glued to my sides 24/7 together,” 

“We thought it was only fair the two of us split our time — and as much as I’d like to spend each and every hour with you, we both unfortunately have other responsibilities to tend to,” and he takes a bite of the mochi, “plus, this way, we get to spend time with you alone without the other interfering, and trust me, if I saw you with Suguru,” his lips curl, “I’d interfere,” 

“Well you don’t have to be worried about that, because I don’t plan on being with either one of you,” you reply, “I’m here to finish school and go home as soon as I can,” 

“You won’t be saying that once I make you fall for me,” 

You get to your feet, as you pull out your wallet — but Satoru waves you off, already pulling out his card for the waiter, “You’d have a better chance making me fall for you if you tripped me,” you roll your eyes, as you round the booth, and quick as a light, you trip right into his arms, your body bumping against his chest as his arms steady you. A hand tilts your face up to meet cerulean eyes filled with mirth, “did you trip—” 

And then you spot the chair leg you had tripped over oh-so-gratefully, “I don’t need to resort to those measures to make you fall for me, princess,” his finger traces your jaw with a featherlight touch, “I have plenty of other ways to do that,” 

You get to your feet properly and shove him away, as he chuckled, as you rolled your eyes, “Maybe in your twisted dreams, but—” And Satoru is tugging you away from the booth — a tight arm around you waist, as you stammer, “what the fuck are you—” 

“Guy’s been following you — just spotted him from a distance,” he murmurs, and your shoulders tense, resisting the urge to look back, “just keep walking with me, don’t worry,” his arm gently squeezed you, “won’t let anything happen to you, princess,” 

“Don’t call me that,” you murmur, as he leads you back inside the closest building, “where are we—” and he’s pulling out his phone, texting several people. 

“Getting us a ride in case I need to get you to safety, and letting Suguru know of the situation,” he offers you a small grin, “I could send you back, but that would be that and you will be on lockdown. Things might be getting a little more interesting from here — so it’s your choice, will you stay or go?” 

You considered your choices — you could run away from this, go back to the compound, but going back was a guarantee that you would be stuck 24/7 in the compound and stuck there for the remainder of your time here. And these two would take full advantage of that. Plus, your mind wandered to the girl who had been taken — you wanted to know more about what happened to her and why you were being targeted next. 

“Let’s go,” and his lips curl. The two of you round several street corners, Satoru’s arm remains tight around your waist, as he leads to a more and more secluded corner of the city, “is this the right move?” your hand wanders into your pocket, fingers around your collapsible pole. 

He sighs dramatically, “Do you have such little faith in me, sweetheart?” 

“Considering the two of you are insane, yes, I do,” and he clicks his tongue at you, “where—” 

And someone punches you, fist connecting with your left cheek as you stumble sideways into the wall of a nearby building. You hear the cock of a gun, your eyes catch sight of the weapon pointed at Satoru. You caught a glimpse as your eyes flicker open, several men stand behind him, all bearing weapons of some sort. 

Your ears ring, as you clutch at your head, as you struggle to get your balance, your vision in your left eye blurry from the impact,  “Come with me, and your girlfriend won’t have to watch you die,” you feel something warm run down your nose, and you touch it — scarlet stains your fingers. 

Fuck. 

Your eyes flicker back to where Satoru stands, eyes flickering to you, a shiver running down your spine at his hard gaze — not a hint of euphoria left — his lips a thin line, and his fists clenched, “I’ll fucking kill you,” his words leave in a whispered hiss, and quick as lightning, the gun is knocked from his fingers, and Satoru’s got him pinned down, fist winding back to punch his head in. The other men don’t hesitate to join the fray, just as Satoru doesn’t hesitate to take them down, blood spilling from their bodies as they fall one by one. 

You said you would be stronger — that you wouldn’t let this happen again. You weren’t some person who needed to be sheltered away. Your fingers clutched at the pole in your pocket, pulling it out, as you slowly uncollapsed it — you were a yakuza heir, just as much as these two were. 

One of them got up to shaky feet, lifting up his knife to stab Satoru from behind, “DIE!” and you slam into his side, hitting over the head with the pole — a grisly crack as the pole nearly snaps against his skull. 

“Fuck off and die!” the words leave your lips as you taste your own blood dripping from your nose. And you can feel Satoru turn to see you, eyes wide as he stares —  your words burn as much as your head hurts, as you wipe the blood from your nose. 

And the men are all down now, as Satoru walks over to you, and his fingers reach gently for your face, as he examines the blood dripping, “it’s just a nosebleed,” you say, and his gaze softens ever so slightly, before darkening, as a groan comes from the man that punched you. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your heart flutters at his gentle touch, the calluses of his fingers against your cheek, as he pulls tissues from his pocket to wipe the blood from your nose. 

And his eyes linger on your face for a moment, before he turns to the culprit, fingers clenched tightly around the napkin soaked in your blood. 

He drags the man up by the collar, shaking him, a gurgled groan leaving his bloody lips, “You might want to go, sweetheart — I have to make sure I let this one die for ever laying a hand on my woman—“ and you clasp your hand on his shoulder, shaking your head. 

“He’s half dead already — you don’t need to finish the job,” and he pouts, shaking the man again for good measure. 

“You said he should die—“ 

You shrug, “People like this aren’t worth the trouble of killing. And you don’t need more problems on your hands — so if you’re doing this for me, don’t bother. Let’s just go,” 

And you see his lips slowly curl into a grin, as he pulls you into a hug, arms around you waist, as he runs his fingers through your hair gingerly, “I didn’t realize you cared, sweetheart,” and you frown, “don’t want me getting in more trouble, huh? If it’s for you, I’ll oblige, but you owe me one,” and his fingers slide under your chin. 

“Oi, is the party over without me?” A familiar voice calls, Suguru walks over, several other Yakuza in tow, his sleeves rolled up, as he takes a once over of the situation, seemingly uninterested in the scum, his eyes falling on you and Satoru, lingering on the blood that still was trickling from your nose. His eyes narrowed, “which one—” 

“It’s already taken care of, Suguru,” Satoru rubs the back of his head, “but for your information,” he kicks the one who had punched you in his side, forcing him to roll over, a slight groan escaping his lips, “that’s the one who hurt her,” 

Suguru nodded, stepping over the bodies as if it was nothing more than a spill that had been yet to be cleaned up, as his hand brushes over your chin softly, drawing close, a sharp gasp leaving your lips when his fingers decide to travel to your nose, “It’s not broken, just bleeding, but I should still get her checked out at the compound,” 

“You?” Satoru furrows his brow, “you’re going to leave me—” 

“To clean up your own mess? Yes, I am,” Suguru smiles, “because it’s my turn to keep watch,” as he shows his watch, already well past midnight, “and I should be getting her back to the compound,” the two glare at each other, a tension settling over the scene that you were far too done with. 

You sigh, stepping past both of them, walking over the bodies splayed out on the floor, “Let me know when you both decide,” you yawn, hands in your pockets now, “I need sleep,” and Suguru follows behind, and you don’t see him turn to smirk at Satoru. 

~~~~

You swore someone was watching you. 

A presence loomed over you, hovering slightly, as you shifted in your sleep, a sigh parting your lips as you turned, still caught between in realms of deep sleep as you drifted in and out, eyes fluttering open a moment, and caught sight of a shadow. 

No, it was nothing. It was nothing. And then you’d wake to sunlight filtering through your windows, eyes fluttering open, but you would still wake with the lingering touch of someone else against your face. 

But each morning you’d check the locks, and it would be locked, with no signs of tampering — and you’d be left wondering if it was a dream or not. 

It had been like this for the last week — you’d sense a presence, for a split second of what you thought was consciousness, and then it would be morning again. 

And finally, you decided to stay awake, a knife you had pilfered away from the kitchen under your pillow. You let your eyes drift shut, drifting in and out of a half sleep, until you hear it. 

The slow slide of the door opening, and the soft close of the door behind. The person takes nearly soundless steps towards you, before leaning above you and you feel the faint brush of hair against your skin, before leaning back with a quiet sigh. 

Suguru?

And his fingers slide through your hair softly. He watches over you, quietly, until you turn to face him, eyes open. 

“You know it’s really creepy to break into a woman’s room in the middle of the night,” and Suguru blinks, before his lips curl in a small smirk, “and it’s even weirder when you just sit there to watch her sleep,” 

“Just trying to make sure you’re safe, sweetheart,” 

“In a locked room?” And he shrugs. 

“I broke in easily,” and you scoff, as he rakes his own fingers through his hair, “who else would keep an eye on you?” 

You sit up, crossing your arms, “Surprised you and Satoru aren’t in here,” 

“We take turns,” and you stare at him, as he leans back against the wall, “all we do is keep watch princess — would you have let us in otherwise?” 

You open and shut your mouth, before you find words again amidst the haze of frustration, “I’m not so fucking helpless that you both need to sit here and watch me sleep,”

“We have been doing this since the threats began nearly and you only noticed recently,” he points out, his eyes catching the faint light of the moon, as cautious and patient as Suguru was — his expression as indiscernible as a new moon was, “and it’s only because Satoru had gotten sloppy,” he shrugs. 

You rub at your temples, “you’re not the only one who is a yakuza—“ 

Suguru tilts his head, “Princess, you don’t know what it means to be one — not even your fingers have never been bloodied, and it should stay that way—“ 

Your fingers close around the handle of the knife as you lunge at him — you snapped. You were tired — tired of the men in your life running your life — your grandfather, these yakuza heads, and these two idiots — all of them treating you as if you were spineless. 

And you weren’t. 

His hand darts out — and it happens quickly. The knife clatters against the hardwood, and he’s pinned you underneath him. 

You glare, embarrassment licks at your cheeks like flames — you had placed your fingers on the stovetop and what were you expecting other than to get burned? You can’t meet his gaze, and you’re expecting another lecture or sanctimonious attitude, but instead, his fingers skim your cheek, “You should pick your battles wisely, sweetheart — because not all of them will let you off the hook,” and he leans close, breath warming your lips, as your eyes can’t help but squeeze shut. 

Only to wince after a sharp flick to your forehead. 

And his weight leaves you at once, your head turning to find him examining the knife you had stolen, “You should also choose a better weapon than a kitchen knife — especially one as dull as this one,” 

You scowl at him, “Well, how else will I defend myself?” 

And he smiles, shrugging, “Isn’t it simple? Use the weapons already at your disposal,” 

Your brow knots together, “What weapons?” And his hand is sliding the door open, as he casts one more glance over his shoulder, lips curled in that insufferable smile. 

“The ones sworn to you.” 

~~~~ 

“You’re staying home tomorrow from class,” the thermometer is plucked from between your lips, the white haired yakuza scrutinizing your room, cerulean eyes catching the pile of tissues you had failed to stuff properly in your trash bin, “how long have you had this, Princess?” 

You lay bedridden and pouting as you draw the covers over your face — you had not been feeling well this whole weekend, but you developed a fever last night. You thought it would be gone by the morning, “Just since this morning,” and he’s tugging the covers away, his brow wrinkled, and then you see it, bandages on his forehead, “when did you get hit on the head?” 

And he blink, fingers running through his hair, “This? It’s nothing,” and you raise an eyebrow, “if you must know, it’s just my punishment for taking you into the thick of things the other day,” 

Your brow wrinkles, “Who—“ 

He waves you off, “It’s not important — the important thing is that you get better — can’t have my future wife succumbing to the flu, now can I?” And you scoff. 

“I’m not your future wife,” you mumble, and you hear a small chuckle from him. And then your muscles begin to grow heavy, eyelids fluttering shut under the weight of exhaustion, and your skin feeling far too cold for your burning insides, “Gojo, I’m not—“ 

And you slip into darkness. 

You can feel the world around you move, the sounds of wind brushing against your skin, and the flicker of lights in your eyes. Your lips part, a desert inside your mouth with no oasis in sight, “where—“

A voice quietly shushes you, fingers raking through your hair gently, lulling you back to sleep. Was it your grandfather? No, he never coddled you like this. Not even he had his yakuza to look after. You were expected to care for yourself —- you couldn’t show weakness. 

Not as an heir — even if you were just a kid. 

And when you do wake for a moment, it’s with some prodding, a voice whispering for you to open your mouth at the press of a medicine cap to your lips, and your eyes flutter open to catch a glimpse of blue eyes — so you do, swallowing it with water. 

You fall into the arms of sleep again, only waking to your head slightly aching, and a distinct void in your stomach. You reach around blindly for your phone, and find that it’s still Sunday, nearly the evening. Your eyes adjust as your gaze spots the last glimmers of the sunset in the window. 

How long have you slept? Like four hours? You sighed, slumping back into bed, as you stretched. Your fingers pressed to your forehead, still a slight fever, but it was definitely lower. Maybe you could sleep for a bit longer, and you turn on your side only to find a familiar, not-so familiar sight. Your lips can’t help but curl a little. Again there is someone in your room, but instead as your eyes flutter open you see that Satoru has dozed off.

You hold back a chuckle, as you slowly get up, drawing a little closer. His head was against the wall, slightly tilted, soft breaths leaving his lips, arms crossed. He had a prescription medicine next to him along with a water bottle. Your fingers reach for the medicine, and you glance it over — seeing that it was prescribed earlier today for you. 

Your brows knit together, when did you—and then it comes back to you slowly — the lights, the sound of wind and cars — he drove you to a hospital. And his shoulder starts to slip 

And then you reach for him, trying to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. 

That’s when he grabs you — his eyes fly open, as he grabs you by the wrist, pulling you close, his hard topaz gaze cuts through you, until it slowly fills with recognition. His fingers digging into your wrist loosen ever so slightly, as he blinks. 

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” but his fingers don’t leave your wrist, “are you feeling better?” 

“I am,” you admit, as his other hand reaches up to brush against your forehead and then neck, sending hest crawling up your skin for a different reason. 

“Looks like the medicine worked,” he sighs, leaning back, “guess I can scratch beating up that doctor off my list,” and you furrow your brow, “it was a joke, Princess,” 

“Why did you take me?” You asked and he tilted his head, “I mean you could have had me looked at here, so why did you—“ 

“As much as my father pays for these services, they don’t work weekends, usually — we do have an on-call physician, but,” he shrugs, as his thumb brushed back and forth against your wrist, right where your pulse was, “I didn’t want to wait,” 

And your eyes slide to the bandages around his head, “but you couldn’t get that checked out?” 

“Worried about me? I’m touched, Princess,” and your fingers reach for the bandages and brush against his locks, “hey, you—“ 

“It’s coming loose,” you lean over and slide your hands until you find where it’s coming undone and tie it tighter, fingers brushing against his soft locks — noting the undercut you hadn’t noticed before, “there,” 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as your eyes meet his and your breath catches, your face an inch or two from his. And he looks different in the dark of the room, illuminated by the last vestiges of sun that were quickly fading into the night — softer. 

“Why did you take care of me?” And he blinks a moment, taken aback and he tilts his head, “someone else could have—“ 

“I wanted to,” he cuts you off gently, “why would I let someone else do it when I could? It was the least I could do,” and it was your turn to tilt your head, as he adds in a whisper, “I let you get hurt. I should have sent you home,” 

“If you had tried, I would have stayed anyway,” and he chuckles. 

“I know,” he murmurs, “and I know what it’s like to tough through things as if you’re invincible — as if nothing can touch you — and it’s only a matter of time until it does,” and your fingers brush against the bandages on his head, as you dare closer, less than a breath away. 

“Maybe I should make you take your own advice,” you whisper, and his lips quirk upwards in a smirk. 

“I’d love to see you try, Princess,” he adds with a grin, “you know I’d love to submit to you anyti—“ 

And you swallow the rest of his sentence with your lips, a chaste brush that leaves your entire body burning for more — a spark to kindling that you told yourself you wouldn’t start. But, your lips part his to see his soft gaze meeting your own, before finding your lips again, how could you not? 

“I’m going to get you sick,” you manage between kisses, lips meeting and parting, as he chuckles against you, a vibration sending a shiver that definitely wasn’t from your fever.

“You’re worth it, Princess,” but he kisses you one last time, noses brushing, before your stomach rumbles loudly in the relative silence of both of your soft pants. You flush, and he can’t hold back his laugh, as you smack his shoulder.  

“Shut up, I haven’t eaten since breakfast, thanks to someone,” and he’s still laughing as you try to smack him again, but he catches you by the wrist. 

“Don’t forget, I really like it when you punish me,” his lips press to your wrist, your breath catching for a moment before you hit him again on the chest regardless. And he laughs, leaning on his hand, “oh what will I do with you, sweetheart?” 

You scowl at him, rolling your eyes, “You can start by getting me dinner,” you grumble, and he repents, getting to his feet, “Satoru?” And he pauses, eyes flickering back, “thank you,” you manage, biting your lip all the whole, unable to meet his eyes or see the smile on his lips. 

“Anytime, Princess.” 

~~~~

You hadn’t seen Suguru or Satoru all week. 

Once a sought after rarity l, but now a foreboding concern. Satoru had been away on business — you didn’t care to know what, but you knew he’d come back only more clingy than ever. You chewed on your lip — especially after the kiss. 

Fuck. You kissed Satoru, you buried your face in your hands, what the fuck were you doing? Could you use the excuse that your fever had rendered you momentarily insane? No, Satoru would only crack a joke saying that he’s crazy for you too. 

What was your plan? You were only trying to bide your time for a year — not become further entangled 

You lay back on your bed, as you scroll through your phone — but Suguru was a different story. You heard from Satoru that he had returned. Yet now there was some random yakuza checking in each hour  — and even worse, keeping you confined to the compound. 

And a small part of you did worry for them as you tossed your phone aside — those fools may have death wishes but that didn’t mean you wished the same. 

You leave your room, sighing as you explore the compound. You had done your fair share of exploring, but you had never wandered into Suguru or Satoru’s quarters. You had been told by each of them where their rooms were, only for you to glare at them for providing you the implication. But now…maybe it was useful. 

You walked through the halls — seemed like most people were away at the moment. When Satoru had captured those people who had attacked you both, there was information learned about who was targeting you and of where that girl who was taken could possibly be. But it’s not like you were able to find that information out — unless you went looking yourself. 

Satoru and Suguru’s rooms were close to each other’s — but Satoru’s room was locked, as you tugged at the door to no avail. You glared at the handle as if it was the white haired idiot itself, before turning to Suguru’s door. 

You pressed your ear to the door, it was silent, not a single noise inside. You pull at the door and it opens. You step inside — the room is neat, a desk in the corner, along with a bed on the opposite side, but not much else. There were a few other things — a dresser with a few containers tucked beside it and a small bookcase against the wall near the desk lined with books on each shelf. 

It wasn’t what you expected — though you didn’t know what to expect. You stepped into the room, glancing around, as you approached the desk first. You rifle through the papers, finding nothing relevant — only papers from class and a few scattered notes that had nothing but addresses and initials scribbled. 

And then the door opens, you freeze, before you slowly turn to see Suguru, his clothes tattered, blood dripping from his arms and soaked through his white button up. His gaze is dark and heavy, until he finds your eyes, his brow wrinkled. 

“What are you doing?” no ‘sweetheart’ or ‘Princess’ — just a question. 

“I was looking—“ but you bite your lips, as you watch his shoulders slump, “what happened—“ 

And he draws closer, as you slowly take steps back, until he’s looming over you, his arm pressed above you, “Princess, you shouldn’t get involved in these things, unless you want to end up like this,” and the smell of death rolls off of him, the heaviness of his gaze could drag you down to the depths of hell — but you didn’t care. 

“Sit down,” and he blinks, before you’re pressing him onto the bed, “I’m going to get a first aid kit and some bandages,” 

“Sweetheart—“ but you’re already out of the room, returning with a first aid kit and bandages, “where did you—“ 

“Well after that first time Satoru and I got jumped by those people, I figured it would be good to stock up on things,” you pull out scissors and tape, and you dampen a washcloth you had stored in the kit with a water bottle you had grabbed. “Take off your shirt,” he hesitates, “getting shy?” 

Suguru’s lips curl, before he sighs, unbuttoning his shirt, “You know I rather you hurt me than take care of me,” and you scoff, as you busy yourself with preparing the materials to tend to him. 

“Well it looks like someone else already did that for you,” and your eyes meet with his bare chest, the red and black ink of his tattoos encroached onto his shoulders, but more than that — bruises bloomed on different parts of his body, scars from old wounds of various ages littered his skin, and dried and fresh scarlet clung to his skin from fresh cuts. 

You take the washcloth, slowly starting to run it over his body, the white cloth marred with his blood, he doesn’t flinch even as it cleans his cuts or wounds.  

“Why are you doing this?” And your eyes meet his, his amethyst eyes cut through you. 

“Because you’re hurt,” 

“Just because I’m hurt doesn’t mean you have to help,” you sigh, as you urge him to turn so you can clean his back next, the sight of his tattoo on his back unsurprising now as you continue to clean it. 

“Doesn’t mean you don’t have to either,” he gives a soft chuckle, “what’s your goal here sweetheart?” You urge him to turn again, as you begin to clean the blood from his arms. 

“Do I need to have a goal?” And he turns to face you, leaning even closer, as his black locks fall in his eyes. 

“Everyone has one — didn’t you have one for coming in here?” And your hesitation is all the answers he needs, “curious about what’s going on with those people after you, huh?” 

There wasn’t any use lying now, “Wouldn’t you be?” 

“I would be, but I wouldn’t get caught, now would I?” and you scoff, as his lips curl, “we have been tracking the group that we suspect has the heiress, and we have been interrogating the people that you and Satoru secured,” ‘secured’ — more like nearly murdered by the way Satoru acted. 

“And where were you?” 

He sighed, “Dealing with some loose ends — and some other business that my father had me deal with,” and he adds, “I had to make sure a message got out — so no one would ever attack you like that again,”

And why does your heart squeeze at the thought, “Why are you so willing to tell me?” And your hands begin to clean and wipe his palms. And you set the washcloth down, beginning to bandage some of the larger cuts and wounds, and his fingers intertwined with yours, as you glance up. 

“Because you deserve the truth,” he shrugs, “and even if I lie, you’ll figure it out, so why not tell you to begin with?” And he leans even closer, fingers skimming your cheek, “plus I don’t keep secrets from my future wife,” 

“I’m not marrying you,” but you don’t pull away, as he’s even closer now. 

“Well, you said never before — and I’ve worn you down to a ‘not’ — it’s only a matter of time,” and his words make you want you to pull away, to scoff at his words and leave, but you don’t. 

Why can’t you? 

“And I thought Satoru was the one full of himself—“ and his lips find yours, his kiss was more insistent, his fingers find your jaw, featherlight before it finds purchase on the back of your neck. You could taste the faint taste of blood, lingering on his lips, 

“And you also thought Satoru was a good kisser,” he smirks, as his lips ghost down your jaw, nose brushing against your cheek, as you pause — how did he— “well now you know what a good kisser is actually like,” 

Your eyebrows knit together, “Geto—” 

“Suguru,” he corrects you, he tilts his head, his thumb cupping your chin, and your lips find the other’s, his forehead pressed to yours. Then his phone rings, and the moment’s broken. He pulls away just as fast, as he turns to answer his phone, “Hello?” he listens, a man’s voice on the other end, “I understand, okay.” and the call ends, as he offers a smile to you, “I have to deal with some business, but I’ll be back later. And then it looks like I’ll be your escort while Satoru is away.” 

“What business—” but he’s brushing past you, going to his wardrobe to grab a fresh shirt, buttoning it swiftly, before pulling on another jacket, as he turns to glance at you over his shoulder. 

“You know better than to ask me that,”

“But you said you would be honest,” and he shrugs his shoulders, a smirk on his lips, as he heads out of the room. 

“I didn’t say when.” 

~~~~

“We have to tell her,” Satoru stood, hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall of the compound. Suguru clicks his lighter again, flicking it on and off — he had quit a few months ago when you had told him that you hated the smell. And he didn’t miss it, but he still carried the lighter — old habits die hard, “the pictures we got — they are getting better at tracking her without us noticing. And these other fires we’re being sent out to deal with — it’s leaving us with less time to protect her,”

“Do you have to?” Suguru asked, flicking his lighter closer, the silver outside glinting in the low light of the moon, “isn’t it safer for her to stay in the dark for now?” 

“Staying in the dark doesn’t mean she won’t put herself in danger one way or another without us knowing,” Satoru shrugs, “she said even if I had sent her home that day that those men were after her, she would have came after me,” 

Suguru gives a terse chuckle, “I don’t doubt that she would,” he sighs, gaze towards the inky darkness of the sky, dotted with faint stars that he couldn’t see but knew were there — just as these threats were, “if she found out that her grandfather was threatened too? There’s no way she would wait,” 

“So what do we do?” Satoru scratched the back of his head, “we could send her back home — she might be safer there than here,” 

“Her grandfather told us—“ 

“I know, but what choice do we have, Suguru?” he sighs, and Suguru can’t help but quirk his lips. 

“You know if we do this, we may have to fight her grandfather to stay engaged with her,” And Satoru smiles, shrugging. 

“I know, but we can handle it, can’t we?” Satoru leans back, “we’ll just have to fight him on it. Why? Are you afraid?”  

Suguru gives a short chuckle, “Since when have you known me to be afraid of anything?” And he turns his gaze towards the door, “so when should we tell her?” 

But they don’t notice that you’re pressed against the door, your fists clenched. And they were right about one thing — you wouldn’t wait. 

~~~~

CRACK! 

Fuck, your eyes burned as you tried to open them, the sharp pain in the back of your head radiating all over, as your eyelids refused to open. What happened? You tried to hold your head, only to have your wrists strain against something rough — rope? The fibers dig into your wrists as you try to stand, only to find them bound to something else. 

“Finally awake?” it was a woman’s voice — and your eyes still can’t quite open — fuck, this wasn’t part of your plan, “take your time, they said they wanted you in pristine condition so I can’t have you falling apart on me later on,” she scoffs, her footsteps receding away, and you could hear the quiet murmurs of other voices — men, by the baritone. 

Your eyes burned as you adjusted to opening them, still fighting the urge to flutter them shut under the pain. The dim light swung overhead, a warehouse from the bare floors and even barer walls and ceilings overhead, barely illuminated in the flickering exposed lightbulbs hanging over the middle of the room. 

“Where am I?” You choked out, voice wavering in a way that made you want to grit your teeth and chide yourself for the fear that seeped into your words. 

The quiet click of heels came closer, “Don’t recognize me? Well I suppose you never did see my face in person,” and you knit your brows together as she stepped closer, leaning in far too near for your comfort, “I should thank you for your efforts in trying to find out what happened to me. It made it far easier to kidnap you,” 

Her hazel eyes were even more startling in person. 

“The Akawaza heiress,” you stare at her — her hair had grown a little past her shoulders now, ends slightly curling at them, “I thought—“ 

“I was missing? I was,” her lips curled, running her sharp lacquered nails through her black locks, “but it was my choice,” the screech of chair legs scraping against the floor makes you flinch ever so slightly, as she sits in front of you, her legs crossed, “I’m being rude — how is your grandfather?” 

“Fuck off,” you spit, and she clicks her tongue. 

“And here I thought you had manners, but I suppose the city’s changed you, little princess?” she hums, leaning back, wood of the chair creaking as she did, “or maybe your boyfriends did,” you say nothing, scoffing, as she sighs, “or knowing your grandfather, you probably didn’t have any to begin with,” 

Rage fills your veins, lava bursting from them as the venom leaves your lips, “Don’t talk about my grandfather like that—” 

“Why shouldn’t I? You never cared for the yakuza before, right? Is your grandfather not included in that equation? Or maybe it was because he kept what he did behind closed doors, and never bothered to tell you the truth,” and you’re not fast enough to stop your brow from furrowing, and she latches onto it, “Oh he didn’t tell you, did he?” 

“You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” you murmur, and she laughs at your remark, her nails clicking against the forearm of the chair — lacquer on wood that began to grate on your nerves, “can you get to the point of all this shit? Why the fuck am I here?” 

“Because your grandfather is picking and choosing who he favors — and so I decided to take his heart, and I’ll only give her back if he gives me what I want — ” and then you see the way her lips curl and her jaw is cut, and it occurs to you. 

Your grandfather had said he was a heartbreaker. 

“You’re his granddaughter,” and she smirks, her nails falling still. 

“Do you see the family resemblance?” she leans against her hand, elbow against the arm of her chair, “it would be nice to meet you — if I didn’t have to possibly kill you,” 

“So you want to be the heiress? I never wanted to be one in the first place—” 

“Do you think that matters?” she scoffs, “what matters is the choice your grandfather makes —  and he’s chosen you — with no regard for the other children he has had,” her gaze falls downward, “do you know what it is like to watch your mother vye for the approval of someone who never truly cared for her in the first place?” 

Your gaze falls downward, “I don’t know,” you admit, “but is all this worth this? What do you think he will even do for me?” 

“He’ll meet my demands, and each hour he doesn’t, he’ll get another finger of yours,” she pulls a knife out, the blade glinting in the dim light, as she rises to her feet, your body straining back as she draws close to you, running the flat of the blade down your cheek, “should I start with your left hand or right?” she pulls the blade back, and you smile, “what—” 

And you lean your head back and smash your head against her own. The crack of your skulls colliding rung in your ears, along with the knife clattering to the ground, as you felt warm droplets ran down your face, and she stumbles back, clutching at her forehead, scarlet staining her face and fingers, “It’s funny you think that I came to you without a plan — how do you think I found you?” 

“It wasn’t on her own,” and a hand on her shoulder, before she’s pinned to the floor. Satoru’s eyes slide to you, a smile on his lips, as she’s struggling, trying to look for her men, “looking for your goons? Suguru has taken care of them by now, unless he needs my help,” 

“Akari isn’t the only one who likes to hear herself talk,” Suguru runs his fingers through his hair, “Satoru, you haven’t even untied her,” his footsteps echoing as he approaches you, bending down to pick up Akari’s knife. 

“A little busy at the moment, Suguru,” Gojo has Akari pinned with one hand, “unless you’d like her to get away,” and Suguru shrugs, as he slips the knife under your restraints and cuts them off, “are you doing alright, sweetheart?” 

“I’m fine, just my head’s aching,” and Suguru pulls a cloth from his pocket, wiping the blood from your face, your eyes closing and nose wrinkling as he does, “did you call my grandfather?” 

“Yeah, I don’t have a death wish,” Satoru replies as he hauls Akari up and hands her off to his associate to take her. 

You get to shaky feet, “Hold on,” you walk over, grabbing Akari by the front of her blouse, silk wrinkling under your grasp, “fuck with me or my family again, and I won’t be so lenient,” you shove her off, and then you add, “but I’ll talk to my grandfather about some sort of possible arrangement for your mother,” 

And then you wave the yakuza off and they take her away — assuredly to Kyoto to be dealt with by her grandfather. 

“Are you really going to talk to your grandfather about her?” Suguru asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s the least he could do since he caused me to be targeted,” you grumble, rubbing your wrists, as Satoru takes his suit coat off and places it around your shoulders, before a smirk pulls at your lips. 

Suguru tilts his head, smiling, “Well, how would he feel if he knew you got kidnapped on purpose?” And you shrug. 

“He doesn’t need to know that.” 

~~~

“I’m surprised you guys agreed to my plan,” you hiss as Satoru takes a damp cloth to clean the dried blood from your face, while Suguru is knelt, bandaging your ankles — their rough and bruised hands somehow still gentle, “I thought you would never let me wander into danger,” 

“Well, we knew we had to do something when we realized you were listening to us, didn’t we, Princess?” Satoru snorted, and you could hear the smile gracing his features — even with your eyes shut — “and this was the best way to ensure you weren’t hurt,” 

“Relatively,” Suguru adds, as he finishes bandaging one ankle, “did she do anything else to you?” 

And Satoru’s hand pauses as they both wait for your answer, and you shake your head, “No,” and Satoru pulls the washcloth away, your eyes fluttering open to meet two skeptical gazes, “really, I’m fine,” your lips curl after the two of them look away, Satoru turning to grab a bag of ice for your forehead, while Suguru busied himself with bandaging your other ankle, “is this threat the reason my grandfather sent me to Tokyo?” 

The timing had lined up — Akari had started the threats not a few months before — after she had reached legal age, the perfect age to contend for the position of successor to her grandfather. And by sending you here, your grandfather thought he was putting you out of immediate danger — but he didn’t know Akari would make her way to Tokyo. 

“More or less,” Satoru sighed, as you flinched when he pressed the ice pack to your head, the condensation from the bag already clinging and dripping down your face, “the geezer wanted to find the source of the threats against you—and by sending you here, to your potential fiancés—“ 

“I would be safe protected twofold by two of the biggest families—“ and you blink, pulling the ice pack away from your face, “the engagements — that’s why they were leaked — it was to protect me,” you mumble, “so that means—“ 

“You can go home if you want, Princess,” Suguru says, looking up at you, expression as inscrutable as it always was, “the engagements were only pretense,” 

“You both knew?” And Satoru sighs, scratching the back of his head, and why does it feel as if his nails are carving out a piece of your heart. 

“The old coot swore us to secrecy, we didn’t have—“ 

“But, everything, the two of you…the engagement—it’s over,” you say slowly, gaze falling downward. You should be happy, relieved, thrilled — you could go home, what you wanted to do from the start. You could get your own apartment or transfer to a different university—and leave this behind, a bad dream washed away by the events of a new day. So why? 

Why did it hurt? 

“Don’t tell me you’ll actually miss us, sweetheart?” Satoru teased, a force more than anything — bittersweet worded coated in a sugary sarcasm, “because I very well may propose here and now,” 

You almost scoff, but Suguru beats you to it. 

“A proposal now? Seems like finishing early isn’t what you just do in bed, Satoru,” Suguru scoffs, as Satoru shoots a glare over his sunglasses, “she’s only eager to get home now isn’t she? "If she isn’t so eager,” he adds, “then she would stop the one she wants from leaving her room, wouldn’t she?” 

And Suguru is slowly getting to his feet, while Satoru also turns to leave — and you don’t think—but you were sure that you truly hadn’t thought a single sane thought since you had arrived in Tokyo—

You grab at the fabric of both their shirts, fingers clutching at it, as your lips curled when they glanced back at you. 

“Who said either of you could leave?”

~~~

“You’re going to have to use your words,” you murmured, fingers ghosting Satoru’s jaw, a delightful shiver parting his lips as you smiled at him, sat spread at the edge of your bed, “what do you want?” You stepped closer, between his legs, daring even closer. 

“Sweetheart, you know what I—“ and a low groan leaves his throat as your fingers slide to the nape of his neck to tug at his snowy locks, “please—“ 

“I know you love this,” you murmur, leaning to press a kiss to his throat, smiling against his skin, “you said you wanted me to hurt you, so it looks like you’re getting your wish,” your eyes slide to the other, sat in a chair, “I know you like to watch, Suguru, so you must be enjoying yourself,” and you’re further unbuttoning Satoru’s shirt all the same — crisp white button up definitely creased and wrinkled as it fell open, tugged out from his slacks. 

Suguru’s fingers flexed against the grain of the wood of the armrests, his muscles taut, his lips a tight line that only matched the fabric of his slacks straining against his erection. The corner of his mouth twitches, and you smirk. 

“I didn’t hear an answer, Suguru,” and you’re placing another kiss on Satoru’s neck, a whine leaving his throat, while your eyes find Suguru’s amethyst gaze darkened to nearly black, his knuckles white against the wood, as you lean down to lick a stripe up Satoru’s neck, who bites his bottom lip. 

“I’d enjoy it even more if I could touch you, or me,” Suguru adds through gritted teeth, “Princess—“ 

And you click your tongue, “You had such patience when you were watching me sleep — so where’s that patience now?” Your fingers graze Satoru’s erection through his slacks, and his head is falling back, as Suguru shifts in his seat, not so subtly adjusting himself. 

You undo Satoru’s belt, unbuckling it with ease, as his cock slaps against his stomach, and you didn’t know it was possible for a dick to be pretty, but Satoru’s was — a deep flush settled over it, pearly beads of precum dripping from the ruby tip. And a distinct heat begins to throb between your thighs. 

“You can touch yourself,” you tell Suguru, his legs twitching to get up, “but you can’t cum until I tell you can,” you run a finger up Satoru’s cock, teasing the weeping tip, a groan leaving the snowy haired man’s lips, “strip, Suguru,” 

And he does, you hear the click of his belt, the sound of fabric rustling, as your fingers tease the slit of Satoru’s cock, gathering precum on your fingers, drawing a grunt from his lips. You can hear the distinct sound of Suguru spitting in his palm, his hand beginning to work at his own cock. 

“Both s’good for me,” you murmur, as you stroke Satoru’s cock in earnest, the quiet moans from both their mouths sending a ribbon of need to your already dripping cunt, “can’t wait to fuck you both, make you my toys,” and you’re pressing a kiss to Satoru’s tip, his pretty, pink lips parting, as his head rolls back again, “but you’d both like that wouldn’t you? Maybe I shouldn’t let either of you cum, make you beg me all night,” as your tongue traces his lovely vein up the side of his cock, “what do you think, Toru?” And your mouth finally closes around his dick, sucking hard that draws a hiss from his lips, fingers fisted in the sheets. 

And Suguru isn’t doing much better, the sounds of his hand squelching and the moans leaving his lips growing louder and louder. 

“Please, Princess, I’m close, I can’t—“ and you click your tongue, a pout on your lips, as you pull away your touch, “baby, I—“ 

“Can’t let either of you cum so fast,” your eyes slide to Suguru, his cheeks flushed a lovely pink that reaches even his ears, as his hand slows, his cock twitching in his fingers, “gotta make you earn it. It’s only right after all the shit you put me through right?” 

It’s a cycle, a cycle of you bringing them both to the edge of orgasm, only to tell them to stop. Their sweat slicked brows wrinkled, as you worked them up once again and again and again — you had lost track of how many times. 

“Please, please, sweetheart,” and you knew you could get Satoru to beg, but you didn’t think it would be this easy, and you let his dick brush against your throat, as you let him fuck your throat, hips jerking, “fuuuuck, I need to—” 

And you’re pulling your lips from his cock with a pop, glancing at Suguru whose black locks are beginning to come loose from their neat bun, more of a mess now than he had been fighting yakuza earlier, and all because of you. 

“Suguru? Wanna cum?” you ask, smirking as his gaze raises to meet yours, a desperate look that tells you everything you need to know, “be a good boy and tell me,” 

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, as pre drips down his knuckles, “fuck, Princess,” he’s shaking his head, “ I want to cum, please — I need—” 

And your lips curl, “cum for me,” you murmur before you’re wrapping your lips around Satoru again, his tip brushing against your throat, sucking hard, his fingers finding purchase in your hair. And he’s cumming hard, his hot release slides down your throat, nails digging into your scalp, nearly never ending — even as you pull away, his cum paints your face and lips, and drips onto your clothes. His cerulean eyes glazed as he looked down at you between his legs, a string of spit and cum connecting you to his cock. 

And Suguru was no better. He had cum hard all over his hand and the floor, his cock still somehow half hard, his body slumped back in the chair, as his chest heaved. His hair tie had long fallen away, his long black locks brushing against his shoulders. 

You lick your lips clean of Satoru’s cum, wiping the rest away with the back of your hand, “Made such a mess,” you tsk, as you get to your feet, slipping off your shorts and shirt, before leaning down to kiss Satoru, and he’s still sensitive by the way he jolts against your touch, before melting into it, his tongue parted your lips with ease. And fuck, you hoped he couldn’t see how wet you were — nearly dripping down your thighs at this point. 

And you’re pulling away, your thumb dragging down his lips, as his teeth try to catch the finger between them, but you’re too quick. You turn, a smile on your lips, you make your way over to Suguru. 

You’re wiping up the mess on the floor with your shirt before kneeling, “made such a mess, Sugu,” and he’s staring at you through half lidded eyes, his fingers brushing your cheek, “did I say you could touch me?” 

“You never said I couldn’t,” he murmurs, and god, his voice is far gone, raw and nearly guttural, as his fingers found purchase in your hair, “and I think I earned it after your little performance—“ and he hisses when you lean in, tip of your tongue teasing his slit and licking the dripping cum off his half hard cock, “fuck—“ 

“Not yet,” you smiled, as you started to lick his cock clean of his cum, “but maybe if you’re good,” he grunts as you sink is cock into your mouth, tongue swirling around his length, licking and sucking — and fuck, he was already twitching in your mouth. 

And then he’s easing you off his dick with a tug of your hair, and you’re glancing up at him, a question on the tip of your tongue, but he’s swallowing it with a kiss, as his hands slip down your body to haul you nearly into his lap. Calloused palms find their way to your hips, squeezing lightly, as he pulls away, cupping your chin with his thumb. 

“Suguru—” and you yelp as he picks you up with ease, placing you in Satoru’s lap whose hands wind their way around your waist, his fingers already beginning to tease your hardened buds through your bra, a gasp leaving your lips, as Suguru placed his on your neck with a smirk as he murmurs:

 “Let me show you how good we can be, sweetheart.” 

~~~~

“Tell us what you want, princess,” Satoru murmured in your ear, his warm breath doing nothing to help the needy heat between your thighs, the one that Suguru was knelt between, his large palms spreading you before him, “is she as wet as I think, Suguru?” 

And Suguru catches your gaze, a wicked smile on his lips as he replies, “Wetter, she’s a mess, aren’t you?” you bite your lip to stop a whimper from leaving your lips as his fingers graze the growing wet patch on your panties. And your squirming only makes Satoru grunt, his erection pressed against you, the friction doing little to help either of you. 

“Fuckers,” and Satoru clicks his tongue, a smile on his lips as he turns your head. 

“Think I have a better use for that mouth of yours, sweetheart,” and his lips find yours, right as Suguru toys with the elastic of your panties, snapping it against your skin, Satoru swallows the small noise that escapes your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth as it does. 

And god, you already can’t even think straight. 

Satoru’s fingers are pushing up your bra, teasing your nipples, as Suguru pressing a kiss to your dripping cunt through your soaked underwear. 

“So pretty,” Suguru murmurs, and Satoru’s lips part from yours, gaze darkening as he drags his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, and he tugs your drenched panties down, “and your cunt is even prettier, isn’t it princess?” 

And you were — your gorgeous pussy was glossy with your pre, dripping all over his fingers when he parts your messy folds, “Bet she’s even tighter, isn’t she?” Satoru murmurs, as his dick twitches against your ass, “

You whine as his words warm your aching pussy, your eyes flickering downwards, as Suguru’s lips graze your inner thigh, and you already know Satoru’s pouting. 

“You’re taking your goddamn time, Suguru, when do I get my chance?” He grumbles, nose brushing against your neck, as you can’t help but chuckle. 

“You got your turn, and now it’s time for you to watch,” and your giggle turns to a soft gasp when his lips press a kiss to your clit, “and sweetheart, can’t wait to see how you’ll punish me for this later — because I’m not stopping until you beg me to,”

Your lips part with a reply, but he pulls a moan from your lips instead as his tongue drags up the length of your weeping entrance. God, fuck, how did you taste this good? His tongue flicked against your puffy clit, drawing lazy circles, your slick already drenching his chin and lips. 

“So fucking good, baby, s’good f’me,” and your fingers are threading their way into his dark locks, pulling him even closer, his lips closing around your clit to suck, “could live in this pretty cunt,” he grunts, the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance. 

Your head falls against Satoru’s shoulders, a groan fell from his lips as his cock dragged against your ass, your slick drenching his thighs and cock alike, “can’t wait to sink my cock into you, fuck,” Satoru murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt rang in his ears, and he could imagine how wet and warm you’d be once he sunk into you, inch by inch. 

And he couldn’t wait — he needed to do something. 

Satoru’s fingers found their way down your body, tweaking your nipple before one large palm dragged slowly down your front, until he found your clit right above Suguru’s face. 

“Toru,” you gasp, as his fingers pinch your clit and Suguru glares, pulling his lips away for a moment, only to sink a finger back in insteas, drawing a moan from your lips, “Sugu—fuck—“ 

And it’s too much, one more touch and you’re cumming, body falling back into Satoru, as Suguru fucks you through your orgasm. Your release runs down their fingers, as Satoru lifts his hand a moment to lick his fingers clean. 

God, you’re too pretty for your own good, Satoru’s eyes drag over you — your kiss ruined lips, skin shiny from your sweat, and the way your eyes were lost in an endless pool of lust. 

“Suguru was right, you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” Satoru grin, gently turning your head, and you’re panting, nose wrinkling ever so slightly at his words, and he tuts, “don’t believe me? Well I can fix that,” and his lips find yours again, letting you taste yourself, swallowing your moans, as Suguru continued to finger fuck you. 

Suguru’s finger stretches you open, fluttering, knuckle deep, as your precum drips down his fingers. 

“Remember who’s fucking this cunt, sweetheart,” and Suguru is, another finger parting your needy folds, and between Satoru rubbing your clit and Suguru’s fingers curling to find that one spot, drags against your insides, “fuck, how are we going to fit, Satoru? She’s still so tight,” Suguru grunts. 

You pull your lips from Satoru’s, a whine leaving your lips, “More, please, I need—“ and a third finger joins the other two — but it’s not Suguru’s. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking soft,” Satoru groans, pressing soft kisses to your skin, only serving to make you keen at their touch, and your walls flutter around their fingers. 

“Fuck, we’re trying to fuck her open and she just keeps getting tighter,” Suguru grunts, while Satoru’s lips find your earlobe, sucking, just as he adds another finger, a moan escaping your lips again. 

Suguru’s fingers fuck at a steady pace, fucking deeper and deeper, while Satoru’s are faster, pistoning in and out while dragging against your walls — and it’s not long until they are working you up to a second orgasm, it’s too fucking good — and they both find that spot in you that has you seeing stars. 

“I’m g’nna—” and Satoru finds your lips in a sloppy kiss, saliva slipping from the corner of your mouth. And you cum, even harder, your swollen folds clamping down on their fingers as they continue to fuck you unendingly through your orgasm. Your lips pull away, only to moan their names, again and again, until they finally slow down. 

“Good girl,” Suguru murmurs, pressing sweet kisses to your thighs, while you come down from your high, walls flutter around nothing at the praise, while Satoru nips at your neck right above your racing pulse. And your eyes find Suguru lazily palming his weeping erection, as you lift your bare foot to rub against it, making him hiss, while you rub against Satoru teasingly. 

“Don’t forget who’s in control,” you kiss Satoru again, before biting his bottom lip, and he’s melting into your touch, “and, you were good,” your foot rubs against Suguru’s cock again, drawing another pretty groan from his lips, “but now it’s time to be obedient.” 

And they are — as you have Satoru sit back against the pillow lined headboard, because if it was anything you knew now — Satoru loved to be controlled, while Suguru liked the illusion of control, even if he didn’t have even a bit of it. So you have Suguru kneeling behind you, as you climb into Satoru’s lap, a small groan leaving his lips as your cunt grazes his hard cock. 

“Such a good boy, aren’t you, Toru?” your fingers run through his hair — and god, his undercut was so fucking hot, as your fingers found his cock, letting the tip tease your soaked folds, as you line yourself up, “tell me what you want,” 

“Fuck, princess, y’know what I want,” and a whine leaves his throat when you let his tip sink into you, only to pull out. 

“Come on, nothing else to say? You always love running that mouth, don’t you? You wanted this, wanted me to ruin you, didn’t you? Well here we are,” you hum, as you press a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth, “beg me,” 

And his dick twitches, painfully hard, and the words spill from his lips, “Please, please, sweetheart, use me, use my cock as a toy, want you to fuck me so bad, make me yours—” and you’re sinking onto his cock, his length parting your folds, as moans fall from both of your lips. And he bottoms out, your hips meeting his as you do, and you can feel every vein, every ridge, every inch notched inside your walls. 

“Toru, fuck, s’good, s’big,” it feels too fucking good, and he’s so long — god, he was brushing against places you never even dreamed of reaching. And your pussy clenched at the thought of how deep he would go when he would start thrusting. 

“Sure you have space for me, Princess?” Suguru leans back over to press kisses all over your face, before finding your lips in a heated kiss, “might be too tight of a fit,” his nose brushing against your cheek. 

“I’ll make you fit,” you murmur against his lips, your hands against Satoru’s chest, as you shift to cup his chin, “get behind me, Sugu,” 

Suguru smirks, slipping behind you, pressing himself against your back, dragging his cock teasingly against you, “So needy — you’re worse than Satoru,” and Satoru makes a noise of protest, but your walls flutter, making his back arch, “want me inside you, sweetheart?” And his tip teases at your entrance, brushing against Satoru’s cock, causing all three of you to moan, “tell me how much you want us to fuck you, how much you want both of us inside you,” 

“Fucker, I swear to god,” you turn your head, your glare undercut by the desperation on your face, “just fuck me— 

And Suguru sinks into you, your head falling back against him, as both of their cocks stretch your cunt out. You were so fucking full. And the way your walls clenched around them was nearly enough to make them cum. Their groans come in unison. 

“Fuck, Princess, you don’t have to break our dicks off — we’ll fuck you again,” Suguru grunts, his rough palms sliding to your hips to squeeze them. 

“S’good, sweetheart, so fucking right for us,” and you can’t think straight with the two of them inside of you, and you’re moaning. 

“Please, move—“ and they oblige, beginning to fuck you. You moved against Satoru, riding him as best you can, while Suguru fucked you from behind, his balls slapping against your ass. 

Suguru drives into you at a steady pace, causing you to rock against Satoru, your hips pressed against his, as they both drive deeper and deeper into your wet cunt. 

“S’good, so pretty,” Suguru presses sweet kisses to your neck, while Satoru’s eyes flutter open to meet yours, “I’m close, Satoru—“ 

“Me too,” Satoru manages, and his hips begin to meet your thrusts, “you gonna cum for us princess?” And he finds your gaze, the fucked out expression enough to nearly make him cum right there. 

A whine leaves your lips, as they continue to fuck you, and you know you’re so close. And then they find that spot in you again, and you’re falling apart, lips parted in a moan, both their names on your lips. You clamp down on them, toes curling as you cum, and neither of them can last. Their hips stutter as they give sloppy thrusts, until they both cum, 

They groan your name as they spurt their thick cum inside, notching themselves as deep as they could, continuing to fuck their cum inside you with messy thrusts. 

A whimper escapes your lips between pants, as your arms and legs shake from your position, utterly fucked out. You three stay like that for a moment, both of their sweet nothings they murmur to you falling on deaf ears.

And then finally they are shifting you onto the bed, pressing soft kisses to your face and neck, as your eyes flutter shut. There’s shifting on the bed, as one of them leaves for a moment, and you make a noise, only to be reassured that he’ll be right back. 

Your eyes finally flutter open to find Satoru and Suguru cleaning you up with a wet washcloth, and your gaze finds both of their own. Your lips curl at the sight of them, their gentle gaze enough to make your heart ache. 

“Come back,” you whine, and they both chuckle, as they begin to finish drying you off, before tossing the washcloth into the wastebasket, and crawling back beside you. They help you pull a shirt on, before settling in. 

“So needy,” Satoru murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, even as he buries his face in your chest, his warm breath tickling you as you run your fingers softly through his white locks. And Suguru presses himself to your back, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, his arm around your waist, and yours resting on top of his. 

“What will we do with her?” Suguru mutters, and you can hear the smirk in his tone. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, your eyes beginning to feel heavy, as you give into the warmth that enveloped you from their bodies, as it lulled you to sleep. And your lips curled into a smile, a smile that had you wondering right before you slipped into sleep—

When was it that you fell for them? 

~~~~

You couldn’t do this. Not to them. 

That’s what you had decided come morning — waking up between entangled limbs and soft breaths against your skin — how could you? You felt Satoru shift closer to you, as you leaned into his touch, running your fingers through Suguru’s black locks. You were addicted to their touch only after one night, and now you had to spend the rest of your life without it. 

It was the only way. 

This whole thing was ridiculous to begin with — you never cared to be involved in the yakuza to begin with. You wanted a normal life — or at least as normal of a life you could have with who your grandfather was. You had never expected to end up wrapped up in all of this — and in both of them. 

But you didn’t know if you could choose between them — and you knew, you had to. It wasn’t fair to either of them — not when they had asked you to choose last night and they had indulged you in both of them. And now, you didn’t want to let either of them go. 

So you had to let both of them go. 

You shifted slowly to sit up, Your fingers traced Satoru’s cheek lightly, as you toyed with a strand of Suguru’s hair. They both still stayed fast asleep, quiet snores filling the silence of the early morning, deep in the embrace of sleep after the events of last night and the last few weeks. You didn’t want to be someone like your grandfather — you didn’t know what you wanted and that was enough of an answer wasn’t it?

The two shift in their sleep, and your body grows heavy, your back still aching from last night, as you lie back down beside them, running your fingers over both of their arms. 

Even if you had your answer, you didn’t have to face it for another few hours. And their bodies shifted, Satoru burying his face in the nape of your neck, while you rested against Suguru’s chest. This was enough — enough to last you a lifetime, wasn’t it? Your eyes fluttered shut, sinking slowly back to sleep. You had told your grandfather you’d break their hearts — 

—but you didn’t know you would be breaking yours as well. 

~~~

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Satoru narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms, as Suguru stepped aside to show the empty room you had left behind — a bare husk with nothing left behind, not even a note. 

It had been a day. 

When Satoru had woken up beside you, he could have sworn he was still dreaming, even as he grazed your skin gently with the back of his knuckles, he still couldn’t quite believe it. And when he spotted Suguru pressing kisses to your cheek, he knew it was real. 

“How long have you been awake?” Satoru raised an eyebrow, “it’s not fair to have your fun while we were asleep,” 

And Suguru rolled his eyes, as he rubbed the back of his knuckles gently against her cheek, “I just woke up, and all I did was kiss her, you idiot,” 

“Not fair, that means I have to kiss her too,” Satoru murmurs, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead and cheek, and one even to your nose. Your nose wrinkles in your sleep, and Satoru’s lips quirk upwards, “she’s so exhausted from last night still,” 

“She is,” Suguru hums, as he tilts his head, “what are we going to do about last night?” 

Satoru pauses a moment to consider, “Well, what is there to discuss? She chose us both, didn’t she?” Satoru leaned close to you, to press a kiss to your head. 

“She did,” Suguru props himself up with his elbow on his side, “I thought you weren’t one to share,” 

And Satoru shrugged — he wasn’t one to share, he wanted what was his to be his alone, but with you — the more people to protect you, the better, “If it’s what makes her happy, I don’t mind,” and he adds, “and I don’t mind if it’s you that I’m sharing with,” 

Suguru raises an eyebrow, a chuckle on his lips, “Is that so? Well, good,” as he runs a finger through your hair, “because I feel the same.” 

But Satoru supposed you didn’t. 

“When did she—“ 

“My father told me she contacted her grandfather this morning, and let them know she was leaving — and her single request was to send us away on business so we wouldn’t be able to stop her,” and Satoru gives a bitter chuckle. 

“So that’s it?” Satoru crosses his arms, “why did she—“ and he cuts himself off, “have you tried to call—“ 

“I’m blocked, I assume you are too,” Suguru shook his head, a silence settling over the two of them that Satoru chose to break. 

“Do we go after her?” And Suguru pauses, his brow wrinkling a moment, before he sighs, shaking his head. 

“If she comes back, it has to be her choice,” Suguru slid his hands into his pockets, “otherwise, we’re back to square one,” and he adds, “and I don’t think I can go back after last night.” 

Suguru steps away, heading back down the hallway, and Satoru follows. 

No, Satoru thinks, sparing one glance at the empty room, before pulling the door shut, neither could he. 

~~~

“Why did you come back?” You set another box down, wiping the sweat from your brow, your grandfather simply watching as you brought your things back into your room. 

“What a warm welcome,” you scoff, as you head back out to pick up another — the other staff had offered to help, but you had waved them off, lifting another box, your back still aching — and now you were starting to regret it. But you knew if you didn’t do something to distract yourself — your phone taunting you on the top of your desk — you’d do something you’d regret. 

And you’d already filled your quota for the next six months at least. 

“Don’t get me wrong, kid,” the geezer sighed, as he watched you bring the last of the boxes in, “I’m glad you’re back and the matters are all settled — but,” he tilts his head, “you seem more miserable than before,” 

“I’m just tired,” you reply, but his furrowed brow says he’s unconvinced, as you grab a box cutter and begin to open up the boxes, beginning to sort through your things, “and still trying to wrap my head around the fact you lied to me,” 

And he sighs, “this isn’t about me right now — it’s about you—“ 

“How convenient,” you mutter under your breath. 

“You’re in love, aren’t you?” And you can’t help but freeze for a moment, until you force yourself to continue unpacking, pulling out some of your clothes from the box, “which one is it?” 

The question stabs between your ribs like a well thrust sword between the ribs, finding the center of the problem — along with your heart. 

“Gramps—” 

“So it’s both of them?” and you whirl on him, your eyes narrowing, and he chuckles, holding up his hand, “I didn’t spy — I just took a guess,” he sighed, as he pulled out your desk chair and took a seat in it, “and it looks like I was right,” 

You swallow, your eyes falling to the floor, “I didn’t cheat, if that’s what—” 

He laughs, “I know you aren’t like me, little one,” he leans back in the chair, hands folded in his lap, “you aren’t one to lie — because I know there’s more you hate than liars,” and his gaze grows a little sadder, “And I’m sorry I had to become one of them,” 

You grit your teeth, “I’m not mad at you — I’m just—” you choose your words carefully — because you’re angry, you were upset — upset that he felt as if he couldn’t trust you, “wondering why you didn’t tell me the truth,” 

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, “My past isn’t something I’m proud of, and I wanted to deal with it without involving you,” he sighed, “after everything with our family — I didn’t want to give you another reason to distance yourself from me,” 

“Lying to me isn’t a better option than that,” he rubs the back of his head, “you have to make it right for Akari and her mother — as well as if you have any other kids—I don’t need to know,” you add, when he opens his mouth, “it isn’t fair to them,” and it would be no fairer to not choose between Satoru and Suguru. 

“You’re right,” he raises a brow, “is that the problem? You can’t choose between the two of them, eh?” and your gaze refuses to meet his, “have you talked to them about it?” and your silence serves as an answer, “then I think you should take your own advice and talk to them about it,” 

“What will that do?” you murmur, “they still will want me to choose—” 

“Do you know that for a fact?” he crosses his arms, “I think you owe it to them and to yourself to talk to them, and to your grandfather who can’t stand to see you this miserable at home,” 

“Do you think it will change anything?” and he shrugs. 

“Maybe it will or maybe it won’t,” he tilts his head, as he pulls out his phone to call you a car, “but if it’s a chance for you to be happy, isn’t it worth taking?” 

~~~~

“I want to marry you both,” 

And again, your statement is met with confused stares, as you had all but pulled up to their compound and entered to find them seated together discussing business in a side room — and their stares were still anything but average — but to you now, they meant so much more. 

“Not marry you right now, but maybe eventually,” adrenaline was surely pumping through your system, right? That’s probably why your hands were shaking and your mouth was dry, but even so you knew you needed to say it before they spoke, “I’m sorry for leaving the way I did. I told myself after we first met I wouldn’t be a coward, but I was when I ran away, and I don’t have any excuse,” you swallowed, “but I know what I want — and I want both of you, as selfish as that feels,” guilt crawled up your throat at the statement of that sentence, as if begging you to swallow the words that spilled from your lips back up, “and I don’t know how either of you feel — but if we were to do this, I would want us to be honest and—” 

And the screech of their chairs takes you aback, and you felt your cheeks burn, was this it? 

But instead of brushing past you, they stand in front of you, one of them tilting your head upwards to meet their gazes. 

“Took you long enough, sweetheart,” Satoru’s lips curled, his hand cupping your cheek, “I know we said we wanted you to hurt us, but not like that,”

“Sent us away just to ghost us,” Suguru clicked his tongue, his fingers still under your chin, “I’ll have to plant a tracker on you again,” 

You shake your head, “Wait, what? Are you both okay—” 

“We did say we’d kill the other for your hand, but,” Suguru presses a kiss to your forehead, “But now we realize the more eyes watching you, the better, and,” he shrugs, “we don’t mind sharing if it’s just with the other,” 

“And I know you’ll prefer me sooner or later,” Satoru adds, earning a glare from Suguru, as you only chuckle, “Suguru is always so grumpy—ow!” Suguru smacks on the back of the head, as the black haired yakuza wraps his arms around you, pressing your back to his front. 

“And you are always too busy running your mouth,” Suguru replies, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “sure you can handle both of us in your life?” and you pull Satoru close too, letting his lips brush yours, before turning and pressing a kiss to Suguru. 

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourselves that?” you say, as the two of them wrap an arm around you, “I am supposed to ruin your lives after all.” 

✧ a/n: so this has been a longtime coming. i was supposed to be working on prof geto (5) + my nanami celebration fic but this took over my life and wouldn't let go until i finished. so i hope you guys enjoy!! and this is my reminder why i don't write multi partner scenes like this often because its....difficult. thank you to @gaylatteart for reading and putting up with me <333

✧ taglist: @midmourn, @whore-for-hawks, @ekaterinatepes, @satoryaa, @mandysfanfics, @sodoney, @sukunasfavoritehole, @kazbrkker, @satorugirlie, @itsbokutosjuicyass, @santos4, @levanadragoneel, @talkativetranscendant, @abiiebibie, @simply-a-s1mp, @jolynelovesrain, @deegausserr, @xxemmarldxx, @biancaness, @satoniko, @ackermanbby, @rintoriss, @kentocalls, @marionettte, @bear-likes-mushrooms, @forest-hashira, @catsgomurp, @k1t0u, @rat-loves, @forest-fruits-jam, @wishingforanother, @roseified, @spider-fan72, @caelestine-the-caelicatto, @gojolvrr34, @chosobun, @chuuyasboots, @nanamis-baker, @hanxyy,

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[entitled-fangirl]

Direwolf.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's direwolf is spoiled by the reader.

A/n: Based on ask! Also I'm running a fever, so I'm praying this makes sense

Masterlist

.....................................

"Perhaps it was an idiotic thought from the start," Cregan mutters as he views the sight before him. 

His sweet wife sat on the ground of the dining hall, lavishing their dire wolf in affection. 

Well, Cregan's direwolf.

Well, it was supposed to be Cregan's. 

He had found the wolf not long before he became the Lord of Winterfell. Now, after almost seven years with the animal, their bond was inseparable. 

So when Cregan's wife joined the mix, Cregan was nervous.

But she had a love for Dark Night, as did the large beast for her. 

"I find it sweet," the Maester said with a light smile. "It is important the two get along, isn't it? Better than fighting for your attention, I'd wager."

"That's the thing," Cregan sighed. "Neither of them needs my attention. They're content on their own."

The maester chuckled, looking at the sight of the woman and wolf before excusing himself.

Cregan walked to the pair, holding his hand out to his wife. "C'mon, sweet girl."

Y/n looked up with a smile and took his hand, brushing off dust from her skirt as she did so. 

Dark Night let out a low coo, sitting up and nuzzling at her thigh.

"Seems I'll have to fight for even a moment with you," Cregan smiled as he tucked his face into her neck.

She let out a soft giggle. "Don't be so upset, Cregan. You know you always have my heart."

He chuckled with her, pulling away and leading her to the dining table, pulling out her chair before sitting across from her. 

The two talked of mundane things as usual: their day, the problems of the North, ideas they had, anything and everything. 

Finally, Cregan tilted his head with a furrowed brow. "What are you doing?"

She looked at him with wide eyes, as if caught in a horrid lie. "N…nothing."

He simply stared, his hands resting atop the table. "Are you feeding Dark Night under the table?"

She reaches to pick something off of her plate, lowering it below the table. "No?"

He leaned back in his chair with an incredulous look and a chuckle, "You little minx. He eats enough, you know that."

"Well, yes, but," she gave a shrug. "He just looks at me so pitifully, I cannot say no."

She reached up to grab more, but Cregan stopped her, "Don't."

She paused, "Cregan-"

"-Do not spoil that damn dog. He is fine."

Before long, Dark Night's large head weighed down on Cregan's lap from under the table, a longing look in the animal's eyes. 

Cregan looked down at him with a tight lip and a shaking head, "Your methods may work on our sweet girl, but you will get nothing from me."

The wolf nuzzled in more, trying to get Cregan's attention still. 

Finally, Cregan waved his hand out at the wolf, "Get. Go on. You have already been fed today."

Dark Night accepted the defeat and left the dining hall, an obvious annoyance in the way he walked. 

"Now," Cregan sighed. "Let us try to speak again."

…

A few hours later, Cregan entered their chambers in pure exhaustion. 

The day had been longer than he had hoped, and he wanted nothing more than time with his wife.

Seeing her curled up on the sofa next to the fireplace warmed something inside of him. 

He came from behind, leaning down to place a kiss on the crown of her head. 

She hummed, looking up from her book. "Hello, lovely."

A small whine sounded in the room.

Cregan's brow furrowed as he scanned the room for his wolf. 

"Why is he on the bed?"

She leaned forward, looking over her shoulder to see that the wolf had indeed found a comfortable place on their bed. She shrugged, "He was there when I got here. I didn't have the heart to move him."

Cregan gripped her shoulders from behind, gently massaging them. "I've had this wolf years, and never has he even been allowed the notion that being upon the bed was allowed."

She smiled as she looked over her shoulder at Cregan this time, "He's been so wonderful today. Let him stay."

He leaned down to her ear, a teasing smile across his face, "Why should I?"

She let out a hum. "Please, Cregan."

"Please what?" He teased.

Her head leaned back against the back of the sofa, "You know what you're doing, Lord Stark."

He smirked, leaning up and moving to the bed, "Up."

Dark Night lifted his head to look at Cregan.

Y/n immediately gets off of the couch, "Cregan."

"I mean it," he complains. "That dog cannot run this castle." 

"He's not," she comes as she moved to Dark Night, petting his fur.

"My love, he-" Cregan froze completely, eyeing the dog. "A collar? You've bought him a collar?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Perhaps."

Cregan crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling for a moment as he bit the inside of his cheek in thought. "Gods, you're gonna be the death of me."

"He's being so sweet, Cregan. Look at him!"

Cregan looked down, seeing his sweet wife practically laying on the large animal.

He shook his head, a large smile coming across his face. "As long as there is still room for your husband."

"Oh, always, Cregan."

…

Cregan woke up in the night, pulling at the blanket that would not move. He leaned up on his elbows, seeing the giant dire wolf that laid on his wife's feet, holding the blanket down underneath him. 

Cregan heaved a great sigh, but inside, he really didn't mind.

He was glad the two greatest things in his life cared for each other. It made his occasional absence to the Wall less guilt wracked. 

He knew they'd keep each other warm until he came back.

.....................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath, @yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LEAVING LIPSTICK STAINS ON LEVI

fem!reader, sfw, fluff, you leave lipstick all over levi before a mission and the scouts find out, just something super cutesy & short while i work on some longer pieces hehe, pls ignore errors lol, 1.3k words

“promise you’ll come back in one piece?” you say, smoothing the wrinkle between levi’s brow with a kiss. 

he glances up at you from under his lashes, crinkling his nose as a short, breathy laugh escapes him, one he tries to subdue. still, he can’t deny the happiness that slips onto his features, not when joy is so fleeting because of the life that the two of you live. 

cold hands run across your back, down to your hips as you straighten his collar, kissing his sharp cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “i’ve made it this far, haven’t i?” levi mutters, squeezing your sides gently before shifting you off of his lap.

he lifts you, sets you on the edge of his desk, causing some of the papers that erwin had dropped off earlier to crinkle. a smile graces your lips as levi stands, stretching his limbs behind him, the chair pushing away from the desk with a creak.

“i’m going to be late because of you,” levi remarks, eyes narrowed playfully, but he gives you another kiss on the lips, lingering there like it’s painful to pull away.

“then stop kissing me.” your hands splay across his chest, but you don’t push him away, feeling his heart beat under his ribcage, the melody that you will always come back to. still, levi tugs your hips forward, slots in between your legs, and kisses you even deeper. “it’s time for you to go, captain levi.” 

a heavy sigh weighs against your mouth, his exhale warm as he pulls back. “sounds like you want me gone.” 

“of course i don’t.” your voice softens as you play with his fingers for a moment, before he's tugging them away gently, withdrawing from your figure. “i'm going to have to find someone else to sleep next to while you’re away."

normally, you would’ve been going with levi and the rest of the scouts, but an injury from your last mission prevented you from going on any more for a few weeks. 

levi snorts, putting on his jacket, fixing the leather straps across his chest. “is that all i’m good for? killing titans and keeping your bed warm?”

you make a face at him, then shrug, half-hearted as he stares back at you with amusement. then, you laugh, cheerful and free; you know levi will come back to you. he has no other choice. 

levi makes his way towards the door. 

“levi?” 

he turns, the lipstick stains still visible on his cheek, dark against his pale skin. for a moment, you wonder if you should tell him—if he’d be mad if you didn’t. 

but then you remember he’s going to meet with a squad of fifteen year olds that have all almost died alongside him. if they really have a problem with their captain being loved by you, then they don’t care about him as much as you thought. 

you smile and shake your head, voice holding just enough mischief for levi to notice. “just be safe. i love you.” 

he softens. there are times where levi is hesitant to say the words, still worried you will be taken from him. but this is not one of those times. not when you will be separated for days, his life once again in danger. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

within ten minutes, levi is down to the first floor, pushing into the room where the members of his squad are already waiting. 

he’s only a minute late, but he feels like they must have been waiting for hours, the way that they are all gawking at him with wide eyes, connie’s jaw faltering slightly. “everyone here?” levi asks, doing a quick scan of the room, counting heads like he’s their babysitter. 

no one says anything. eren’s eyes look like they might bulge out of his head, and jean covers his mouth, looking away as him and sasha let out a stifled giggle. 

levi’s mouth draws into an even thinner line. “what the hell are you snickering about?" he grumbles, looking at each of them individually, wondering who will be the first to confess. 

their eyes dart away dramatically, faces red. even eren, who is normally more obnoxious than the rest, seems to have run out of words to say. 

his eye twitches; levi wonders if connie’s head might burst, or if sasha’s laugh will rip out of her first. 

“well?” levi asks again, snapping, already tired of this mission. a hot cup of tea sounds nice, in bed next to you.

armin, as usual, is the one to speak up when no one else has anything intelligent to say. “well, sir,” the blonde says, gesturing towards his own face. “i think…”

levi touches his cheek, remembering all the places you’d kissed him earlier, wearing that pretty black dress and your dark lipstick. a sigh leaves him when he pulls his fingers away, the tips coming back, smeared with a deep red. 

he should've known.

“i see," levi says, staring for a moment, before meeting eren's eyes, his lips finally widening into a grin.

“ooooh," eren sings, his expression smug as mikasa elbows him, her own features pinched tight. "the captain’s in looooove."

levi knows they are expecting a reaction, a spectacle of the fact that he adores you. but he’s never kept it a secret, and he’s certainly not ashamed of all the things he feels for you. 

“and what if i am?” levi asks instead, pointedly staring eren down as the rest of the scouts watch the exchange. “honestly, i am surprised no one noticed sooner.”

eren’s jaw falters a bit; a small wave of silence falls over the scouts. you and levi don't make a point of hiding your relationship, but really, levi shouldn’t have been surprised that no one in his squad was observant enough to notice. 

or so he thought, anyway.

historia’s smaller, high-pitched voice breaks up the quiet, repeating your name back to him, as if affirmation that you’re the one he kisses goodnight. a silly question really, considering levi has never looked at anyone else with the same kind of tenderness. 

“it is her, isn’t it?” historia asks, smiling softly. “i only know because you’re always holding hands under the table when you think no one can see.”

levi raises his eyebrow. “clearly we were wrong about that.” though, of all the things to notice, he thought it’d be the way you kiss him after every mission, the way he’s harder on you than anyone else because he doesn’t want to lose you.

eren shrieks your name like he’s never heard it before, and levi is starting to wonder if the boy actually is an idiot. his old squad had known immediately; petra caught you sneaking up to levi’s quarters when you thought everyone else was asleep, kissing him on the cheek when you thought everyone's back was turned. 

it’s been a long time since then, he supposes. maybe the years have taught you subtlety. 

“how long have you been together?”

��does she actually like you?” 

“do you—” connie makes a lewd gesture with his fingers. “you know.” 

“connie!” jean shouts, whacking him on the back of the head. “what do you think! dumbass.” 

“hey!" connie says, rubbing his head. “geez. i just can’t picture it.” 

"i’d rather you didn’t." levi’s face turns sour, disturbed by a room full of teenagers discussing his private and romantic life. “bring it up again and i’ll leave you outside of the wall on the next mission.” he pauses, crosses his arms with an exasperated exhale. “and she likes me just fine. at least, she has for the past five years.” 

“five—” 

a new wave of questioning starts and levi pinches his temples, shakes his head, the red smear of lipstick still on his face.

levi almost wishes you could’ve been there to field the questions instead. you’ve always been better with the kids, connected with them a lot easier than levi had.

even if it was would’ve exposed his lovesick eyes, the tiny lift of the corner of his mouth when you were around.

he’s never been very good about hiding it anyway.

[pomefioredove]

Can we have more of snuggles for hire please?! > <

YES always. I need more cuddle content

part one (leona, tweels, vil)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ snuggles for hire (encore)

summary: first years try helping you out with your touch-starved problem type of post: blurbs characters: rook, idia, silver additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, rook is rook as usual

"Really? That's it?" Ace scoffs.

"So, they haven't been hugged in a while. Okay? Neither has Deuce,"

Deuce glares. It's almost menacing. "That's not true, and you know it! I get lots of hugs every time I visit home!"

"I do, too. But that's just the thing, though, ain't it?" Epel says. "They don't have no home to get hugs from."

The huddle of first years goes quiet. Some days, you become such a part of their world, they forget you're really not from it.

"...Okay, point taken," Ace sighs. "But they have Grim! And he only stinks like, half the time!"

"If memory serves, Grim usually sleeps on the floor..." Epel says. "Poor prefect, all lonely. Now even their sleep is suffering 'cause of it!"

Jack rubs the back of his neck. "It must be tough, not having anything to look forward to,"

Another melancholy silence. Finally, Ace stands, hands on his hips.

"Well, let's do something about it, then. There are tons of boys at this school- one of them should be willing to help,"

You were slouched over your desk, dozing off over an essay you hadn't even started yet, when your door flies open.

"Prefect!" Epel shouts, his eyes wide with panic. Immediately, dread sets in. Had someone else overblotted? Was Grim in trouble?

"I'm sorry! I was looking for Vil, but he found me first!"

Huh? "What do you mean b-"

"Oh, Trickster~!"

That question answers itself. In a blink, Epel is gone, bolting before he could get dragged into this. Rook lets himself in, smiling as if he'd just won a million thaumarks.

"Ah, there you are~! I have been waiting for your call!"

You blink. "...Hi, Rook. What?"

He slides his hands under your arms, and lifts you like a cat. You remind yourself that he's much stronger than he looks.

"How my heart ached, watching you suffer! But I had to be patient- I had to wait for your call, Trickster! And when I heard Monsieur Pommette was looking for someone to come to your aid... I knew it had to be me!"

Rook sits you in his lap, squeezing you as if you were a small, cute animal. Which, to him, you sort of were. "Now, rest. I will comfort you!"

"Rook," you say, smothered in his arms, "This really isn't necessary."

"For your health, it is," he boops your nose. "Bonne nuit, mon ange."

With the way he's cooing and cuddling you so closely to him, you know there's no getting out of this.

...Not that you're complaining. He's right, after all. And you're really just grateful that he decided to break in while you were awake.

You're still going to have to kick Epel's butt for it, anyway.

"I already told you, I don't have a problem,"

Ortho Shroud beeps at you. "Incorrect. Your hormonal levels and kinesics indicate you've been sleeping poorly," he says. "...And the other first years were talking about it."

Of course, you sigh. Ace and Deuce. "It's not that bad,"

"Then perhaps you would be interested in solving another problem?"

He brings you down a long, cold hallway, and stops at a door. You hadn't been inside Ignihyde before, but with all the tech stuff, you figure there's some kind of freaky sleep machine in there.

You raise an eyebrow. "I dunno. The technology here is pretty weird,"

"Not that kind of problem!" Ortho opens the door with a giggle. "Idia, look who's here!"

To your surprise (horror? delight?) there's no sleep machine. Just one wide-eyed, blushing, terrified Idia Shroud.

By the look on his face, you can tell he knows just as much about this as you do. He and Ortho exchange glances, having an entire silent conversation while you awkwardly stand in the doorway.

Finally, Ortho looks at you: "Idy has been having similar troubles with sleeping,"

"Ortho-"

"I thought you might be able to help each other!"

Idia looks about ready to crawl under his bed and hide. You look between the two.

"Is he okay?"

"Oh, don't worry! He always gets nervous around pretty people!"

He makes a noise like a deflating balloon. Ortho giggles. "I'll see you later!"

He leaves, and a whir and a thump follow him. You stare. "He took the door knob,"

Despite all the awkward staring and blushing and groaning, you end up in the same bed, anyway, lost in a tangle of limbs that is somehow both awkward and comfortable. Idia is a lot warmer than he looks. And a very, very clingy sleeper.

You'll both lament about how terrible it was to Ortho in the morning, and you'll both leave out the fact that if it really were so terrible, one of you could've just slept on the floor.

But... you didn't. And you won't tomorrow night, either.

When you told your friends you'd been summoned to Diasomnia, they looked at you as if you'd just said your exact time and place of death.

Ace and Deuce whisper-shouted something about "not telling him", but you didn't ask. You weren't worried about Malleus, after all.

...Except that the person waiting for you in the lounge isn't Malleus.

"Oh... hey, Silver. Did you...?"

You hold up the summons, and he nods. The way he's avoiding your eyes is almost... shy. Bashful.

"Sebek came back from class yesterday yelling about you... he made it sound like you were dying," Silver says, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"...But if it's just insomnia, I can help."

You blink. "Oh... I appreciate it, but..."

...You can't bring yourself to finish that sentence. He just looks... tense. This isn't exactly an offer he makes to most, after all.

You're just special.

And you need that.

You sit beside him in comfortable silence. The lights in the Diasomnia lounge are already dim, and it's as quiet and solemn as ever. Silver guides you into a soft position against him, your head on his shoulder, his head on yours, his arm around you, and he falls asleep.

Maybe it's just the exhaustion finally catching up to you, but it's surprisingly easy to follow his lead and fall asleep against him.

You dream of him that night.

[hoshifighting]

staff!jeonghan

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, fame problems, paris trip, idol!reader is a sweetheart with her staff team, teasing, hair pulling, makeup smudging hair destroying sex, face slap, paris sex.

staff!jeonghan who started way back when your career was just taking off. you were still fresh, the kind of new that had people curious but not quite sold on the idea of you making it long term. jeonghan wasn’t even supposed to be sticking around. dude was just a freelancer, floating between gigs like it was nothing. hairdresser one week, stylist the next, maybe even photographer’s assistant if he felt like it. didn’t care much either—just did his job, got his check, and dipped.

he was there the first time you came in for a shoot, thinking, oh, here we go again, another idol who doesn’t know shit about shit, and probably treats their staff like trash. honestly, he didn’t expect anything from you. he had his walls up like crazy. you’d been doing this for, what, a hot minute? and you were already getting attention, which just made him think, “yep, this one’s probably the snobby kind. won’t even acknowledge us when she’s walking by.”

but then you went and did the most surprising thing—like blew his expectations out of the water kinda surprise. you saw him—no, not just like saw him, but like saw him. took a minute to actually chat. asked how his day was, if he needed anything while he was running around fixing the stage lights or whatever. you even remembered his name by the end of the first day, which? yeah, idols usually don’t bother with that.

fast forward a couple months, and jeonghan’s still hanging around. he didn’t plan to stay, but something about you changed that. it wasn’t even the work, really. it was more like you made things different for the whole staff—hairdressers, makeup artists, stylists, all of them. you had this habit of, like, breaking all the usual rules. you’d bring coffee for everyone in the morning, none of that half-assed, "just for my personal team" bullshit, you made sure everyone was taken care of, because they take care of you as welll.

then there was that time when you randomly called up your manager one day like, "hey, i’m taking everyone out to eat after the shoot." and jeonghan was standing there, trying not to look too surprised, but inside he was like, who the hell does that? especially in this industry where staff usually gets a handshake and a “thanks for your work” at most. while you’re out here throwing cash around to make sure your team is happy. it’s wild.

he remembers the first time you handed out those holiday bonuses. it wasn’t even from the company’s budget either; it was straight up from your own wallet. like, your money. you didn’t even make a big deal about it, just casually handed out envelopes and said, “merry christmas, you guys.” you should’ve seen their faces—everyone was shook, even him, and he doesn’t get surprised that easily. it was one of those moments where the room just, like, collectively inhaled. there was silence, and then someone—probably one of the stylists—goes, “y/n, this is... you didn’t have to...”

and you? you just shrugged, all casual, like it was no big deal. “nah, i wanted to. thank you for taking care of me, you make part of all of this too.” you pointed to the stage.

jeonghan couldn’t even look at you right for a second because it was, like, damn, okay, she’s for real. that was the moment he decided he wasn’t just gonna treat this gig like all the others. working with you? yeah, it felt different. and not in some sappy, fairytale shit kind of way, but in a “maybe there are still people in this industry who aren’t complete assholes” kind of way.

“so you’re sticking around, hannie?” you asked him one day, catching him off guard while he was fixing up your jacket right before a stage performance.

he smirked, his usual cocky, nonchalant self, but there was something softer underneath it. “guess i don’t have a choice. you make it too easy.”

he was your go-to guy now, the one you trusted with everything, from making sure your hair wasn’t fucked up during press tours to giving you a reality check when you were stressing over the dumbest things. and he liked that. he liked being the one you leaned on when you didn’t wanna bother anyone else.

but it was more than that too. you were just different. the way you treated people, the way you made sure everyone around you felt seen, felt valued? it wasn’t fake. it wasn’t for show. it was you. and jeonghan? well, he wasn’t the kind of guy to stick around just for anyone. but for you? yeah, maybe he’d go the long haul.

jeonghan was always there, like a constant shadow that somehow made everything feel lighter instead of heavier. as your career blew up, he didn’t just keep pace—he matched your energy, your needs, every twist and turn that came with your fame. whether it was press tours, backstage chaos, or those ridiculous interviews where some clueless host would try to push your boundaries, he was always ready.

you’d be in the middle of a tv show, mind racing, and then there’d be a subtle shift. jeonghan standing just offstage, watching with a sharp, gaze of his. and it wasn’t like he had to do much—sometimes just a look was enough to let you know he had your back. like that time they tried to switch up your routine last minute, making changes that didn’t sit right with you. you didn’t even need to speak up, though. before you could say a word, he was already stepping in, throwing that effortless, yet somehow intimidating smile toward the team. “nah, we’re sticking with the original plan. my artist doesn’t do changes without notice.”

“your artist,” you’d hear him say that a lot, like a protective label stamped right over you, like you belonged to him—not in a possessive way, but in a way that made you feel safe. secure.

it wasn’t just about the work either, not even close. jeonghan made the loneliness that came with fame feel less suffocating. that part of fame nobody talks about—the part where you can’t make real friends anymore, where every new person in your life feels temporary, transactional. except him. he was loyal.

when you had those long, grueling days full of photoshoots and interviews and events, and all you wanted was to escape, jeonghan was the one who made sure you still had a piece of normal.

like that one time in paris. you were there for a fashion show, sitting front row with all these industry giants who couldn’t care less about anything but themselves, and jeonghan was right beside you, but afterward, when it was just the two of you, he was the one who dragged you to some random hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street, far from all the cameras and flashing lights, ordering too much food and laughing at how terrible your french was.

“you know, you’re lucky you’ve got me,” he teased, watching you struggle with the menu. “otherwise, you’d be stuck ordering water and bread for the rest of the trip.”

you elbowed him playfully. “i’m just trying to be cultured, okay?”

“sure, sure,” he snickered, but the grin on his face was soft, like he was glad to be there with you. “leave the culture to me.”

he was there on the quieter days too. you’d be at home, no schedule to follow for once, just free. but that freedom? it felt empty when you didn’t have anyone to share it with. jeonghan got that. he’d show up at your place without even needing an invitation, like he just knew when you needed him there. sometimes he wouldn’t even knock. you’d just hear the door click open and his familiar voice, “you better not be working in there.”

you’d laugh, shouting back from wherever you were in the apartment, “i’m not, calm down.”

next thing you knew, he’d be on the floor of your pristine living room, surrounded by lego pieces because, for some reason, that’s what the two of you did on your days off. it was ridiculous, really, two adults crouched over colorful plastic blocks, but it made you feel like a kid again, like before everything got so complicated.

you’d crouch down next to him, watching his hands move, and without thinking, you’d wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. it wasn’t even romaaaantic, more like instinct. jeonghan had this way of making you feel safe, like you didn’t have to be the perfect version of yourself all the time. you could just be you. and hugging him like that, clinging onto him like a koala, it was the only way you knew how to show him just how much he meant to you.

“you’re clingy today,” he murmured, but there was no complaint in his voice, just that familiar teasing.

“you’re soft,” you shot back, squeezing him tighter, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his cologne was subtle but always the same, something that reminded you of quiet, peaceful moments, like this.

he tilted his head a little, catching your eyes “oh, yeah? not what you said last time.”

you puffed your cheeks out, crossing your arms dramatically, the sulk settling in. “i’m done being clingy with you, jeonghan.”

he grinned like he was waiting for that exact reaction. it’s almost like he lived for these moments—when you’d pout and try to act all tough, but really? he knew exactly where this was headed. you weren’t fooling anyone, especially not him.

“oh yeah?” he tilted his head, gaze dripping with amusement as he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “you sure about that?”

you tried to hold firm, but the way his voice dropped a little lower, teasing. you shifted your weight, crossing your legs under you on the living room floor, avoiding eye contact. “mmhmm. you’ll see.”

jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, leaning back and watching you with a glint in his eyes, like he was just waiting for you to crack. “you’re too cute when you sulk, y’know that?”

your heart fluttered, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek, determined to keep up the act. “whatever.”

he moved closer, a hand sliding around your waist, tugging you just enough so that your body leaned into his. “nah, don’t pout, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing lightly against your jaw. “we both know how this ends.”

and he was right. because, every time you tried to act like you were done with him, like you were going to keep your distance, it only ended one way—with you wet underneath him, a needy mess, begging for more.

like that first time in paris. paris had done something to the both of you. it was supposed to be a normal night, just you and him hanging out after the fashion show. nothing special, just another city on the endless list of places you’d been together. but somehow, that night went different. the second the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, you’d scarcely made it through the door before his hands were on you, grabbing, pulling, claiming.

“thought you were gonna keep your distance,” jeonghan had teased as he pressed you up against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, making your knees weak.

you were already panting, feeling the warmness of him beaming off his body. “shut up, hannie.”

he chuckled against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you, making you gasp. “aww, so cute when you’re needy.”

and fuck, were you needy. by the time he’d pushed you onto the bed, tugging at your clothes, you were already whimpering for him, already soaked.

he’d dragged you to the edge, rough hands all over your body, pulling, squeezing, leaving marks everywhere. your hair had been perfect for the show, all sleek and done up, but that shit didn’t last long. the second he had his fist tangled in it, pulling your head back, it was ruined. thrusting into you from behind, his cock splitting you in half with each brutal thrust. “such a fucking mess.”

you’d tried to keep quiet, biting down on the pillow as your body rocked with every movement, but every time you let out a whiny moan, jeonghan was right there to mock you for it.

“aww, hannie’s being too harsh?” he cooed, as he tries to sound sweet. “hm? poor baby can’t take it?”

you’d only moaned louder, your body trembling as he slapped your ass, the sting making you cry out. he’d leaned down then, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “use your words, sweetheart. tell hannie how bad you want it.”

you couldn’t even speak, just a mess of broken moans and gasps as he kept slamming into you, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room. and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, when you were right on the edge, that’s when he did it. his hand came up to your face, smudging the glitter from the show as he slapped you—not enough to really hurt. he is a careful guy.

“fuck, y/n, look at you. such a pretty little mess,” he groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he pounded into you from behind, relentless. “you gonna come for me? c’mon, baby, let me hear it.”

you whimpered, nodding, your mind spinning as his cock hit that perfect spot over and over, making you roll your eyes, drool, everything u had right of. but just as you were about to cum, he pulled out, leaving you empty and desperate.

“aww, no no no, not yet,” jeonghan cooed, a wicked grin on his face as he turned you onto your back, pushing your legs open wide. “hannie’s not done with you.”

your heart pounded, your entire body aching for release, but you didn’t dare move. he was in control, and you knew better than to push him.

“what’s the matter, baby?” he leaned down, his lips brushing over yours as he teased you. “too much?”

you shook your head, barely able to get the words out. “n-no… please…”

his smirk widened, that wicked glint in his eyes making you shiver. “please what? gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

you whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets as you looked up at him, desperate. “please… fuck me…”

“good girl.”

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Instacrush

max verstappen x reader

Content warnings: unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, dirty talk, language, daddy kink, pining, flirting, possessive behavior, one bed trope,...

Word count: almost 7k 

Note: I'm gonna add a smau at the end so keep reading!

My masterlist

The engagement ring on your finger suited you perfectly. It wasn’t overly large or flashy, but the single diamond gave off a subtle, delicate sparkle. It was beautiful and felt just right, symbolizing the love and unity of marriage. When you looked at it in the light, you almost thought you could feel the love Max had for you.

If only that were true.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” you asked, sitting down at the table across from Max.

“So we can practice and make sure we seem like a real couple,” he replied.

You sighed, your gaze once again drifting around the hotel room. There was a small sitting area, a dining space connected to a kitchenette, one bathroom, and a bedroom. You had already pointed out the single bed, and Max, ever the professional, reminded you that part of the assignment meant you were expected to share it. After all, this was a couple’s retreat. It wouldn’t have been a problem—if only you didn’t have a crush on him.

If only it were that simple.

You were completely enamoured with Max Verstappen, the handsome three-time F1 World Champion. Instacrush wasn't something you experienced often, so he took you by surprise. It was the first time you met him on your first day at work. You were so caught up looking around the paddock, so excited for your first time ever set foot in the land of speed. You were just an intern working in the social media department. Landing a job during the global economic recession was a dream come true for you, not to mention, working for such a big and top-tier team like Red Bull. And that’s where you bumped into him, his can of Red Bull splashed all over your new team uniform. And honestly, you didn’t remember much since you were busy looking staring at his eyes. The bluest eyes you have ever seen. It was like the water in the ocean in  Maldives that you once saw in some travel magazines. It was pathetic to fall for him so hard and quickly. It had to be some sort of karma or divine intervention that you were with him in a hotel room.

Just the two of you.

“You know,” he began, wetting his lips as he leaned back in his chair. You blinked, only because you didn't want him to call you out on staring. “You don't have to look so miserable to be here. Is my company that terrible?”

“What? No. Max, you aren't a terrible company,” you promised, slumping a bit in your chair. The last thing you wanted to do was upset him. “Just been a bit since I've been in a relationship and I’m kind of rusty,” you said. 

“I’m just not sure I’m the right one for this job,” you added.

“You’re perfect for this job. Why would you think otherwise?”

You froze like a deer in headlights, even as his compliment warmed your heart. It meant a lot that he thought you would do the job well. But how were you supposed to answer that question? That you adored him and it would be torture to pretend to be with him for a few months just to back to being coworkers after?

“We should practice,” you suggested instead of giving him an answer. The backstory wasn't overly elaborate, but you had to get it right.

He leaned forward, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Did someone say something to make you think you wouldn't be good for this assignment?” He asked in a low voice. “Because I'll straighten them out.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from whimpering. The thought of him putting someone in their place to make you feel better was swoon-worthy. “No, Max. No one said anything. You're right. I’m good for this,” you said before you added, “We’re good together.”

You couldn't read the look he gave you and it became more difficult not to squirm under his gaze. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning back and clearing his throat. “So. We’re engaged. Going to a resort for a much-needed vacation. We’ll have to mingle with some of the guests in between investigating the owner. One of the first questions will be how we met.”

With an exhale, you recited, “We met at the track. Both slammed into each other. Both said sorry at the same time”

“And you gave me your hands for me to get up,” you smiled, making a show out of reaching for the glass on the table. “Our fingers touched first. Our eyes met second.”

“And we immediately befriended at first,” he smiled.

Your heart swelled. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world when he smiled like that. “We did,” you said, trying to blink the longing from your eyes. “We went on that reserved dinner with the team and talked a bit about ourselves.” 

It was all the truth, except for the fact that you guys were never more than friends since he was with Kelly, and you. Well, you were just you, there’s nothing really special about you for him to like. You aren’t those supermodels he used to date, nor have the skinniest body type, you are chubbier, with red hair and freckles across your cheeks. Before accepting his request to be in a PR relationship with him just so he gets along with the image of not being a notorious playboy who drives a fast car as an occupation, you did ask him WHY YOU? WHY NOT SOME OTHER GIRLS? AND LET’S BE HONEST ANY OTHER GIRLS WHO ARE PRETTIER WOULD DIE TO FILL IN THE JOB, SO WHY YOU? He just stood there looking at you once again with the deepest set of blue eyes that made your knees go weak, We are friends so this is what a friend should do, right? Help each other out. And y/n I really need your helping hands now. 

“Even proposed to you at the same restaurant,” he said, gesturing to your left hand. “But I actually got the ring after our first date because I knew I wanted you to be my girl,” he said with such conviction that you found it hard to breathe.

The way his eyes softened as he gazed at you, you found yourself believing him for a moment. You had to stay rooted in realism though. The point of the mission besides the actual mission was to act as if you two were crazy about each other.

Not that you had to do any acting on your part.

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand back from the glass. “If only that were true,” you said, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger. You weren't cynical about love, but this whole thing was a reminder that you were single and alone. 

The silence between you two was deafening, filled only by the sound of your own heart breaking. You longed for his words to be true, for him to truly want you as his girlfriend. But deep down, you knew it was all pretend. Your fingers fidgeted with the ring again, a constant reminder of the lie you were living. The weight of the situation was almost unbearable. 

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Heat crept up your neck. You shouldn't have said anything. “I mean, what a briliant story you have in mind,” you replied to avoid saying you wanted to be his girl.

“Well, it was true, y/n.” 

You pulled yourself from your thoughts when he said your name, which sounded like it melted on his tongue. It made you press your thighs together. You needed to stay professional. 

“Most of it only, Max. Anyway, enough of that. Let’s move on,”

Max looked unsatisfied with your response, his blue eyes searching your face. He could tell you were deflecting, which was both attractive and frustrating. “Okay then. How about we move on to the next part of our relationship? The first date.” He leaned back in his chair and you mimicked his movement. 

“Ah, our first date,” you said, the memory bringing a smile to your face. “It was a classic dinner-and-a-movie type date, right?”

Max chuckled at your summation of your first date. “Yeah, it was pretty basic, but it was our first date,” he said, his voice low. “I wanted to keep things simple and focus on just the two of us. No fancy restaurants or anything like that.”

You recalled how nervous you were leading up to the date, spending hours trying to figure out what to wear and worrying about what to say. In hindsight, you didn’t need to have been so worried.

“But you looked beautiful that night,” Max continued, a small smile playing on his lips. “You always do.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart quickened at his compliment. How was it that Max Verstappen, F1 World Champion, and certified heartthrob, could say something so casually that made you feel like the most beautiful woman alive? 

“Thanks, Max,” you said, your cheeks starting to heat up. You twisted the ring on your finger, your nervous habit making its appearance. “You looked pretty good yourself, if I remember correctly.”

Max chuckled softly, his eyes fixated on your hand. “Are you nervous, Schatje?” he teased, a playful sparkle in his blue eyes. “You’re fiddling with your ring again.”

Your cheeks flushed even more. You should be used to his teasing by now, especially after the time you two had spent together recently while preparing for this PR mission. And yet, every time he called you darling, your heart would do somersaults in your chest. 

“No, I’m not,” you denied, knowing how unconvincing you sounded. “Just… practicing my part, you know. For the acting thing.”

Max’s eyes darkened slightly as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the armrest. He knew that you were avoiding something, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

He began to recite the next bit of their cover story. “What’s our favorite couple activity?”

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the mention of couple activity. "Well," you began, your voice shaky, "our favorite couple activity is definitely cooking together. It's a great way for us to bond and spend quality time together." 

“Well it must be you will be the chef and I’m your assistant then, since I couldn’t even boil an egg to save my life, Liefje.”

Max's self-deprecating comment took you a little by surprise. You were used to seeing him as the confident, world-class athlete on the track, not as a hopeless cook in the kitchen.

You chuckled softly at his admission. "Well, I guess you'll have to stick to being my sous-chef then. I can teach you a thing or two in the kitchen."

Max groaned exaggeratedly. "I suppose I'll have to stick to fetching the ingredients and looking pretty," he joked.

You rolled your eyes playfully at his remark, unable to stop yourself from smiling. "Yes, you can be the pretty one, Max. I'll do all the hard work in the kitchen."

He chuckled, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. "Well, I guess I should be thankful that I have a gorgeous girl doing all the cooking for me, then."

His compliment left you feeling warm and tingly, but you tried to brush it off and stay focused on the task at hand.

"But you have to promise me one thing, Max," you insisted, trying to maintain your composure. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for your condition. "What's that, Schatje?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

You leaned forward a bit, your eyes meeting his. "You have to be my personal taste tester. Gotta make sure everything is just right."

Max chuckled at your condition, a smirk playing at his lips. "Ah, so I'm not only your sous-chef, but I also get the privilege of being your taste-tester?" he teased.

You nodded, a sly smile of your own on your lips. "That's right. You'll be my human guinea pig. No complaining, just eating." Max groaned dramatically, pretending to look disappointed.

Despite his initial reluctance, Max couldn't help but smile at your cheeky request. "Okay, okay, I'll be your taste-tester on one condition," he countered.

Your curiosity piqued, you asked, "And what's that?"

Max leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours, "You have to give me one of your special desserts afterward."

You laughed, surprised at his audacity. "Oh, now you're pushing it, Verstappen," you quipped. "But I suppose I can throw in a dessert for you, as a token of my appreciation for your taste-testing services."

Max leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. "Deal," he said, a playful grin on his face. "Let's hope your cooking skills are as good as your baking, Liefje."

“Why don't you have a boyfriend?” He asked suddenly.

The switch in topic jarred you. “That’s. I’m. What? How is that relevant?”

It wasn't smooth, but it was better than blurting out that your hopeless crush on him was one of the major factors.

“I’m curious,” he shrugged.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to answer. Truth be told, your life was dominated by work, leaving little time for relationships. But if you explained that to Max, he'd probably just call you a workaholic and laugh. He was the epitome of work hard, play just as hard.

"I don't know," you finally said, trying to sound casual. "I guess I just haven't found the right person."

Max scrutinized you but didn't press the topic further. Instead, he took a sip of his water, his eyes never leaving your face. Max wasn't buying your nonchalant attitude. He leaned back in his chair, still watching you closely. "I don't believe you. You're a beautiful woman, and yet you're single."

The compliment caught you off guard. Coming from Max Verstappen, the three-time FIA Formula One World Champion, it was a lot to take in. Trying to keep your cool, you retorted, "You don't have to flatter me, Max. I know I'm not some supermodel or something."

Max's lips curled up into a sly smile. He leaned even closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Who said anything about comparing you to a supermodel?" he teased.

You felt your heart skip a beat at his proximity. He was even more attractive up close, with his sharp features and those intense blue eyes. Despite your best attempts to keep your cool, you found yourself blushing again.

"Come on, Schatje," Max said, his voice dropping an octave. "Just tell me why you don't have a boyfriend."

The intensity in Max's eyes was almost overwhelming. You fidgeted nervously in your seat, feeling increasingly flustered under his gaze. Why was he so insistent on this topic? You tried to come up with a witty retort, a clever way to deflect, but your mind was drawing a blank. His intense gaze made it hard to think straight. "It's not a big deal, Max," you finally managed to say, your voice betraying your growing nervousness.

"Bullshit." He leaned back in his chair, studying you once again. "You're avoiding the question. There must be a reason why you don't have a boyfriend."

Max's persistence made you feel inexplicably flustered. He was so adamant about knowing the reason behind your single status. You wracked your brain, trying to come up with a convincing answer that wouldn't give away your secret. But the more you fidgeted and avoided his gaze, the more he seemed to be onto you. "Come on, y/n,” he coaxed again, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his legs. "Just give me a straight answer."

Max's smirk widened as he saw the effect he was having on you. He could tell he was making you nervous, and that only made him more determined to get the answer he wanted. "You're making this even more suspicious, you know," he said, his voice laced with gentle mockery. "The more you avoid the question, the more interested I become."

There was something about the way Max said that that sent a shiver down your spine. Was he just teasing you, or was there a hint of genuine interest in his voice? It was hard to tell. "You're relentless, you know that?" you mumbled, trying to cover your nerves with sarcasm.

Max chuckled, clearly enjoying how much he was getting under your skin. "I can be very persistent when I want something."

Max's admission sent a flutter through your stomach. He was relentless in his pursuit of an answer, and it was both frustrating and exhilarating. You fidgeted in your seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. "And you always get what you want, don't you?" you retorted, aiming for a tone of sarcasm.

Max chuckled at your attempt at sarcasm. He seemed unfazed as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixated on you. "I do, usually," he agreed. "But you're proving to be quite the challenge, y/n."

He took in your flushed cheeks and shifting eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

Max's gaze seemed to pierce through you, reading your every reaction. "You're blushing like a schoolgirl, Schatje," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

His observant nature was both impressive and irritating. You tried to compose yourself, to appear unfazed by his words. But the more he teased, the more flustered you became.

The sound of your phone ringing snapped you both out of whatever spell you two were under. “Shit,”  you muttered, “It’s Christian. I better-”

“Yeah, you should answer that,” he said, “I think I'm going to call it a night. It was simply lovely to have such a conversation with you, Lief”

You watched as Max stood from the table, a smirk still tugging at his lips as he stretched his arms over his head. The way his shirt pulled tight against his muscles didn’t escape your notice, but you quickly turned your focus to your phone. Christian’s name flashed on the screen, a reminder that despite the playful teasing and lingering tension, you were still on assignment.

Clearing your throat, you answered the call, doing your best to sound professional. “Hey, Christian. What’s up?”

Max lingered by the doorway to the bedroom, his blue eyes still watching you as he leaned casually against the frame. The man was frustratingly calm and composed, as if he hadn’t just spent the last several minutes flustering you beyond belief.

“Just checking in. Wanted to make sure everything’s running smoothly with you and Max,” Christian’s voice came through the speaker.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you replied, glancing at Max again. He raised an eyebrow, clearly hearing the conversation. “We’re just going over the cover story. Making sure we’re on the same page for tomorrow.”

“Good, good. Remember, we need you two to look convincing as a couple. This retreat is high-profile, and we can’t afford any slip-ups. Play the part, but don’t overdo it,” Christian said.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Got it. We’ll be convincing.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, you ended the call and set your phone down, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Max was still standing in the doorway, his gaze soft but unreadable.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost concerned.

“Yeah,” you replied, though your heart still raced from the earlier tension. “Just… trying to make sure I don’t mess this up.”

Max pushed himself off the doorframe and took a few steps closer to you. “You won’t. You’re doing great, Schatje. Better than I expected, actually.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was more behind his words than simple encouragement. But you couldn’t afford to let your hopes get the better of you. This was a job. Nothing more.

“Well, I guess I should get some sleep too,” you said, standing up from the table. “Big day tomorrow.” Max nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to the bed in the other room. “Right. About the bed…”

You froze, realizing that you had been so caught up in the conversation earlier that you hadn’t given the sleeping arrangement much thought. But now, with the two of you standing there in a hotel room alone, the reality of sharing a bed with Max Verstappen hit you like a freight train.

“I can take the couch,” he offered quickly, sensing your hesitation.

“No, Max. It’s fine. We’re supposed to be a couple, right? Couples share beds.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice wavered slightly.

Max’s lips quirked into a small smile. “True. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You shook your head, summoning what little courage you had left. “I’ll be fine. It’s just sleeping. No big deal.”

Max didn’t argue, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable. He gestured towards the bedroom. “Ladies first.”

You swallowed hard and walked towards the bed, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Max followed close behind, and as you both climbed into the bed, the space between you felt like an ocean. You were hyper-aware of every movement, every breath.

Max lay on his back, one arm resting behind his head, while you kept to your side, facing away from him. The silence was thick, the air filled with unspoken thoughts.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Max,” you replied, your voice tight with nerves.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall asleep. But the warmth of Max’s body next to you, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all too distracting. You tried to push the thoughts away, reminding yourself that this was all pretend. That Max Verstappen didn’t see you as anything more than a colleague helping him out.

But as the minutes ticked by, sleep continued to evade you, and you couldn’t help but wonder—what if?

What if this wasn’t just pretend? What if Max felt the same pull, the same unspoken connection that you did? What if, somewhere in the midst of this fake relationship, something real was beginning to bloom?

You shook your head at the thought, frustrated with yourself for even entertaining such a ridiculous idea. Max was a superstar, a world champion, and you were just… you.

But as you lay there, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing beside you, it was hard to ignore the tiny spark of hope flickering in your chest.

Maybe—just maybe—there was more to this story than either of you realized.

You shifted slightly in bed, careful not to disturb Max, who was still lying quietly beside you. You glanced over at him, only to find that his eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly, turning his head to look at you.

You shook your head, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze. "Too much on my mind, I guess."

Max smiled faintly. "Same here."

There was a brief silence between you, and in the quiet of the night, it felt like the weight of unspoken words was suffocating. You wanted to ask him if this was all just a game to him, if he felt the same tension you did, but you were too afraid of the answer.

Instead, you settled for something safer. "Do you ever get tired of it? The pressure, the constant spotlight?"

Max turned his head fully towards you, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes. It’s part of the job, though. I’ve learned to live with it. But yeah, there are days when it gets overwhelming."

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I get that. It’s hard to find balance when the whole world is watching."

Max's eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like the walls between you two were crumbling. "Yeah. But it’s not all bad, you know? There are people who make it easier."

You looked at him, your heart fluttering at the implication of his words. Was he talking about you? Or was this just part of his charm?

Before you could respond, Max shifted closer, closing the small gap between you. His proximity made your heart race, and you held your breath as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"You make it easier, y/n," he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. There was no more pretending, no more acting for the sake of the mission. It was just the two of you, lying in the dark, and suddenly, it felt like everything you had been holding back was on the verge of spilling over.

"Max," you whispered, your voice trembling as you struggled to find the right words.

But before you could say anything more, Max leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. You imagined Max kissing you before, but didn’t think it would ever be so soft. His lips barely brushed against yours, but it felt like the beginning of something more. It tempted you like nothing else ever had. He must’ve felt it, too, since he deepened it. You melted. You surrendered. You never really stood a chance before him. 

“So, you like me? Was that why you kissed me, or, ” You asked when he pulled back a little to gaze at you. “I’m sorry. I just need to hear you say it because I really like you and have for months. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said that because we have a whole acting and pretending thing ahead and now you know and I don't want it to be weird.”

Your mind almost shut down when he gave you a full-blown smile and said, “Yeah, I like you. I thought it was obvious. I tried dropping little hints, talking about your smile and teasing you.” He said. “You know Kelly dumped me because I remembered your coffee order when we were at the hospitality not hers,”

You stared at Max in shock, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. Kelly dumped him over... you?

"You remembered my coffee order?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max chuckled softly, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek as he held your gaze. "Yeah," he replied. "Every single time. It wasn't something I planned to memorize, but I guess I couldn't help it. You’ve always been in the back of my mind, even when I didn’t realize it." You blinked, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of emotions. All the late-night conversations, the teasing, the moments when his touch lingered a little longer than necessary—it all clicked into place. He wasn’t just playing a part. He liked you. Max liked you.

"You really are an idiot," you said with a breathy laugh, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. The tension between you two, the unspoken feelings, had been weighing on you for so long, but now everything felt so clear.

Max grinned, his face inches from yours. "Takes one to know one," he teased, his lips brushing against yours again.

You leaned into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back. This time it wasn’t tentative or cautious. It was everything you had been holding back, all the feelings you had suppressed because you thought it was just part of the job, part of the act.

But this was real. You were real.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. Max’s forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your hands.

"Guess we’re going to have to make this mission even more believable now, huh?" Max murmured, his voice filled with that same teasing warmth.

You smiled, biting your lip as you looked up at him. "We might have to practice a little more, just to make sure we’re convincing enough."

Max laughed, a sound that sent warmth coursing through your veins. "I think we can manage that." 

A moment passed before you giggled, happiness blooming in your chest. Max Verstappen liked you. Wanted you. “Please do,” you breathed, pulling him back down for another kiss.

He groaned, ravaging your mouth as he moved on top of you. His knee pushed your legs apart so he could settle between them, swallowing down your whimpers when he pressed his growing hardness against your pussy. He ground his hips, your panties soaked as his tongue tangled with yours. The man kissed you like he had something to prove.

Like he wanted to own you.

His muscles rippled as he leaned up and grasped the bottom of your nightie. The vision of him above you like this was now engraved in your mind. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

Sleeping with him was moving fast considering you just confessed your feelings for each other, but you didn't care. “Don't stop,” you whispered, quivering as he tugged the fabric over your head.

Your hands moved up to cover your chest before he gripped your wrists. “Are you trying to hide from me?” He questioned, his smirk playful in comparison to the uncertainty in his gaze.

You didn't want him doubting himself or your want for him for a second.

“Maybe? I mean, look at you and look at…”

You wouldn't knock on your looks since you were generally confident in your appearance, but the driver was an entirely different level of gorgeous. “Don't,” he whispered, releasing a wrist so he could cup your breast. You arched your back and any uncertainty in his eyes before faded when a moan escaped your lips. “You're so fucking beautiful.”

The praise almost made your eyes water as he brought his head down, losing focus when he swept his tongue across your nipple. Your eyes fluttered shut as he did it again, a wave from a sea of ecstasy crashing over you. Your heart thudded faster, addicted to the feel of his sinful mouth, suckling gently as his hands continued to explore. You writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. "Please,"

He chuckled, the vibration making your breast hum in his mouth. "Please what, baby?" He asked, his free hand moving to your other breast, pinching the nipple gently. You whimpered, your hips bucking against the floor. "Please touch me, please kiss me, please fuck me,"

“You are such a needy baby,”

"His hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs and spreading them apart. He settled between them, his breath hot against your core. "You want me to touch you here?" He asked, his fingers gently caressing your folds through your underwear."

“You’re the reason I don't have a boyfriend,” you whined, your fingers twisting in his hair. Why did you say that?

He paused, lifting his head to look at you with a mix of confusion and realization. "Because of me?" He asked softly. "Because I'm always around, and no one else can compare?" He slid a finger underneath the fabric, touching you for the first time.

His finger traced your slit, gathering your wetness before pushing inside gently. You let out a sigh of relief, your hips tilting to meet his finger. "Is that it? Is that why you don't have a boyfriend?" He asked, curling his finger inside you, rubbing your g-spot. 

“Y-yes… It's you, has always been you, Max.” you gasped.

He added another finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. His voice was low, filled with a dominance you'd never heard from him before. "So, every time you went on a date, every time they kissed you, it was me you thought of?” 

His fingers moved faster, curling and rubbing against your g-spot. "And every time they tried to touch you, hold your hand, it was my hand you wished was there instead?" He asked, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles. "Is that it, baby?”

But what can you say more besides moaning at his touch. 

He grinned wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours. "You can't speak because you're so turned on, thinking about me instead of them. Isn't that right?" His fingers continued to pump in and out of you, his thumb pressing circles onto your swollen nub. "Say it.”

But you’re not thinking straight. You’re not thinking straight at all when all he did was teasing you like that.

He growled, his face hovering over your core. "Say it, or I'll stop." His fingers paused, buried deep inside you. You squirmed, your hips bucking, silently begging him to continue. "Say it," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

“Max” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

He tsked disapprovingly, prying your legs apart with his broad shoulders. "Not until you say what I want to hear." His golden eyes bore into yours, filled with desire and determination. "Say, 'Only you, Max. Only you.'" His fingers remained motionless. 

“Jus’ need you. Need you to make it better. ‘M yours Daddy, only yours.” 

His expression softened, and he rewarded you by moving his fingers again, crooking them inside you. "Good girl," he praised, his voice gentle. "Now, wrap your legs around my shoulders. I'm going to make you come with my mouth.”

You eagerly wrapped your legs around his shoulders, locking your ankles behind his neck. He lowered his face between your thighs, his breath hot against your wet flesh. "You're so ready for me, baby," he murmured, his thumbs spreading you open. "So swollen and needy.”

And without further teasing, he pressed his lips to your clit and sucked. Hard. His fingers curled inside you again, hitting that perfect spot. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. "Oh god oh god oh god,"

Max smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue. "Feel good, baby?" he breathed. His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions. You didn't know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Max flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking. "You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?" His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the sheets and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside.

The act surprised your lover almost as much as it did you-not quite, but almost -upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him. When you whined a loud, protracted, 'FUCK!' he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this. Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Max knew you were close. He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else's. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

 "Come on my face, Liefde. Show me what a good girl you are.”

And suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his head you feared you might snap it in two.

He slowly licked you clean, his gaze never leaving yours. "You taste even better than you look," he murmured, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He leaned in close, pressing his forehead to yours. "And you look... like a masterpiece.

You took his face in closer and sucked your arousal off his tongue. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his, where your juices had no doubt collected too. That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Max could’ve wanted.

Max's eyes widened in surprise as you sucked his face clean, his hands instinctively coming up to hold your head in place. He groaned into your mouth, his own arousal spiking at the filthy, careless way you were using your tongue.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth to explore and taste every inch of it. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer against him, letting you feel the hard length of his cock pressed up against you.

“I need to fuck you now,” he said.

His voice was rough with desire, his patience worn thin. He reached between your legs, grabbing your thigh and tossing your leg over his shoulder. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. "Hold on, Schatje,"

He slammed into you with no warning, burying his cock deep inside your pussy in one brutal thrust. You cried out in surprise and pleasure, your walls clenching around him as he fills you completely. He grabbed your other thigh, holding you in place as he started pounding into you with ruthless intensity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Max kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his dick wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking Schatje, so good at taking my cock.”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Max wanted you.

"Shit, you were made for this, weren't you baby? Made to take my load." He's so lost in the way you whine, telling him he's right and he knows it when he feels the way your body clenches and flutters around him.

He pistons his hips, fucking you with abandon, his balls slapping against your ass with each brutal thrust. He reaches up to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly as he snarls in your ear. "Gonna fill this fucking pussy up with my cum, mark you as mine.”

His grip on your thighs tightened as he continued to pound into you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. "Not till I say so, baby. You gonna wait for me, aren't you?" He grunted, his own release barreling down on him. 

“Daddy, faster, please, harder, feels so good!” You were practically sobbing, loving the way he was splitting you open.

“I'm Gonna cum, daddy! Can I cum?” Max practically growls, not missing a beat while still thrusting in you.

He grunted approvingly at your desperate pleas, his face contorting with effort as he held back his own release. "Not... till... I... say... so..." He punctuated each word with a powerful thrust, his voice harsh with command. "Look at me, baby. Look at me when you beg."

You preened, the walls of your pussy clenching around his length. “Please, daddy.” 

“Jesus, you’re making me so wet. You’re such a little whore for me.”

“I’m your whore. Always, daddy, please!”

His face contorted with pleasure as you finally gave him what he wanted. "Good girl," he hissed, his pace becoming frenzied as he finally let himself go. "You're gonna take it all, aren't you? Gonna take every last drop?" 

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-you-daddy-I'm gonna-" 

“ I’m 'yours sweet girl, all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum daddy" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Max right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair now disheveled. 

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course Liefje" Max presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

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yourusername first day at work, welcome to the playground - newbie.

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user1 what a dream job 😭

user2 I wanna be there toooooo 😭

urfriend my baby's dream finally came true

yourusername wish me luck bestie

user4 what is your job?

yourusername i'm the new intern in social media for RBR

liked by redbullracing, yourusername, landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 3,962,028 others

maxverstappen1 this new (intern) social media manager has me doing all sorts of weird things, apparently the fans like me doing this…I’m yet to be convinced 😂 might need a long nap after this.

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username12 fyi we absolutely love photos like these 😂

landonorris I nearly fell off my chair laughing after scrolling through this post 😂😂😂

username13 thank you the new intern for convincing max to bless us with a world of meme worthy content, i beg for more

username14 he has no idea how much we love seeing this side of him does he???

username15 pls promote ur new intern to be ur lifelong admin @/redbullracing

redbullracing let me ask my boss first ferrari we still have open position for the new intern, wanna join? redbullracing back off mercedesamgf1 or u can work for us instead, why be an intern when u can be our new admin for a very demure, very mindfull team! username16 are they battling for the new intern 😂 username17 on track and offtrack battle

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 26,882 others

yourusername life lately as the new intern at @/redbullracing

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username18 so u r the new intern that blessed us with so much max's meme

yourusername no need to tks me 🤗 username18 u r so pretty, might be my new wife

username19 oooooh max's in the like

username20 aww so cute

username3 the outfits slay

landonorris uhhh 

username21 WHAT ARE YOU EOING HERE maxverstappen1 she's not on ur team, mate landonorris so i can not say hello to her ???

yourbff you are so effortlessly gorgeous please 😫 and whose hand is that wifey

username22 wtf is max and lando beefing in the comment

username23 shut the f up she's a swiftie OMG i need a challenge with max and checo with taylor

yourusername working on it, but these two know nothing 'bout the pop culture 😭 username24 OMG the devil works hard but u gotta work harder girl

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, yourusername and 1,826,882 others

redbullracing Taylor Swift 1 - 0 Chestappen

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maxverstappen1 do not shame ur drivers publicly like that

redbullracing we do not 🤗 landonorris how can they not know about THE TAYLOR georgerussell63 i would have won this charlesleclerc if the ferrari's challenge could be this easy

username30 they cant even score a point

username31 OMG Chestappen

liked by 826,882 others

f1wags new wag alert!!! This might be the new gf of Max and she also works for Red Bull too

username32 OMG is she y/n the old intern now admin

f1wags that's her

username33 i follow her too and she is soooooooo pretty

username34 her new ideas for all their challenges are cool too

username1 😒😒

username2 BOOOO👎

username3 so it’s official then huh?

username13 BODY IS TEAA

username24 HOLYYY

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and 3,344,234 others

maxverstappen1 i think this called hard launch and yes this is my new gf @/yourusername took all the pics since she thought i'm not very good at it

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[mysicklove]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐃

DAY 16: PILLOW HUMPING + PHONE SEX

With: Tamaki Amajiki

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Sub! Top! Tamaki, bottom! gn! reader, praise kink, slight breeding kink, reader is a slight tease and tamaki is trying not to pass out from embaressment, fantasies, creampie in fantasy Y/N? does that need a tag?

A/N: another fic i STRUGGLED with. idk whyyyy.

Tamaki knows he shouldn't be doing this. He knows that if anyone ever saw him, he would be deemed a weirdo, a pervert, really. But it was just so hard. 

It's not fair that you left him alone. Its not fair that you made him miss you until his heart ached. It's not fair that you havent touched him in longer than three weeks. Its not fair that he is here, straddling a pillow, while you probably aren't even thinking of him at all.

The whole thing makes him fume red. Humping a pillow was as desperate as it gets. His hand wasnt doing it for him anymore, he needs to move his hips, pretend he is fucking something. It was bound to give him more satisfaction. Or he hoped it did, but it doesnt change the fact that it was embarrassing.

The pillow was soft, but sturdy, and held a bit of stability. It wouldn't crumble against the sheets with each thrust, nor be too feathery to really feel anything. A good pillow – it will work fine.

He wears one of your shirts. An oversized one, that seems to drown him with the fabric. It smelled like you, and he has to refrain from pressing the collar of it against his nose. It would only turn him on more, and thats not what he needed right now.

Tamaki's hands tremble as he adjusts himself. He flips the hem of your shirt upward to give himself a view of his thin cock. Its red, and pulsing, ready for him to begin moving. He brings his hands up to his face, covering it with the back of his palm. “So embarrassing,” He whines into the empty room, but not moving from his position on top of the pillow.

He stables himself, and then very hesitantly drags his hips forward. The bottom of his dick grazes against the pillow and he takes a deep breath. Its soft, slightly cold from the lack of human contact with it, but he doesnt mind warming it up. He grinds himself forward again, his two hands gripping at the front of the pillow to slightly pull it up, giving him more area to brush himself on.

He whimpers, closing his eyes and falling into a steady pace. It's not as pleasurable as he wanted it to be, and it was driving him insane. But he liked the feeling of riding something, and he pretended the pillow was you. The thought spurs him on, and his pace begins to pick up. The movements of his hips are short, quick, and he slightly bounces on it. Tamakis breath becomes short, and he sighs into the open air, throwing his head back and humping whatever surface of the soft fabric he could. 

A couple minutes go by and he was on the verge of crying from frustration. It barely made him feel any better, and he was going to have to be here for awhile if he wanted to cum. He grabs onto your shirt and brings it up to his nose, inhaling your scent and groaning into the fabric. It made him feel a bit better.

Suddenly, he hears the familiar vibrations from his phone. He was getting a call, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk to someone. But, he wasn't one to ignore something that could be important. So, he leans forward and flips over the phone. When he sees your name with an abundance of heart emojis that you typed in for your own contant info, his eyes light up.

He inches toward the answer button, but pauses for a second, realizing the position he is in. It was definitely not appropriate to talk to you like this, but he wanted desperately to hear your voice. It was gross and pathetic, but didnt you say you like when he acts pathetic? Besides, you could definitely fix his problem. You know exactly what to do to make him feel good.

So he answers the phone, and waits for you to speak. 

“Hey love,” You hum through his phone, and he almost whines out from that alone. He glances back down at his cock, a glob of precum dripping down pathetically onto the pillow. He covers his face in embarrassment.

“Hi Y/N,” He mumbles into the mic, staring at his fingers, and doing anything he can to ignore his cock. He wants to ask you for help, but how? Even after all this time of being together, he has never voiced his sexual wants and needs. It was just too hard to, and besides you always seemed to find out his desires one way or another.

“Whatcha up to?”

Tamaki pauses. Lying was definitely not one of his specialties, and to you? He was a goner for sure. He goes silent for longer than 30 seconds. “Tamaki?”

“Something I shouldn't be doing,” He whispers, falling forward to rest his cheek on the mattress. He still lays straddling the pillow, but now his cock was trapped between his stomach, and the pillow. 

A slight giggle comes from the phone, and he gulps, ignoring the way his dick twitches. “Are you doing something naughty?”

Naughty. Such a childish word, but it was the perfect adjective to describe his situation. It made him feel small, and strangely it brought comfort to him. He nods into the mattress, his hips moving without his permission, and continuing their grinding movements.

“You've gotta speak up for me, love.”

He may be shy, but he would never dare to not listen to a command. “Yes. Sorry.” 

“Yes what?”

He lets out a small whimper, barely audible over the phone. “‘m doing something…naughty.”

The dark haired boy squirms on the bed, listening to the way you inhale sharply. His hands begin to travel downward, but he stops himself before he could start stroking himself off. “What are you doing, love?”

He goes silent for a couple seconds, and he continues to shift around the bed. He gulps and looks down at his leaking cock, and then away. “I’m….I’m humping a…pillow?”

You let out a dramatic, slightly teasing gasp. “So dirty, Tamaki!”

He wants to curl up into a ball and die from embarrassment. He knows you are just poking fun at him, but truly everything about this was so humiliating. “I-I know! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just miss you so much!” He warbles into the mic, wiping away a stray tear before it could fall.

He was so unbelievably cute, and his plea made your heart throb. “S’alright, relax, love. I miss you so much. So so much,” You reassure, closing your eyes to listen to his breathing. ‘

You hear a sniffle on the other end of the phone. “Why are you crying?”

You expected to hear a response declaring how much he missed seeing you, or having you around. Or maybe how lonely he felt. What you didn't expect was for him to say, “‘m not crying! Im frustrated because I cant cum!”

Tamaki being blunt about his needs was unheard of, and the shock of it made you bark a laugh. He shakes his head into the mattress, but begins his humping again. You already knew at this point what he was doing, and he was already as embarrassed as it gets, so he rather search for more pleasure than wither is his own misery. 

“Well are you doing it right?”

He pauses his movements. Was there a right or wrong way to do it? His horny brain was screaming at him to just get any sort of friction from the white item, but was there a better way to do it? To feel more pleasurable? “I-I dont know…”

“Aren't you pretending that I'm the pillow?” Your words make him yelp, and you hold back a snicker. You were right of course, but the fact that you knew about it made him want to dig himself a hole to hide in.

But nevertheless, his hips havent stopped their movements. Its a slow pace, just enough to make his breaths heavier. “Yeah,” He breathes into the mic, so quite that you almost missed it.

You hum to yourself, hand traveling over your own body to get yourself in the mood. “Then you need a hole to fuck, dont you, pretty boy?”

The statement causes him to lose his breath and he can't think quick enough to find a response. You continue on, “Put two pillows together so that you can get friction on both sides of your pretty little cock. It will feel so much better,” You encourage, and his eyes instantly travel to the extra pillow just inches away from him. He gulps, but grabs onto it, and places it under his lower stomach and on top of his dick.

“N-Now what?”

“It's not rocket science, silly. Fuck it now. But make sure to keep the pillow beneath your stomach, so that the hole is tighter.”

He blushes at his stupid words, but instead focuses on your advice. He pulls out, and then pushes himself back into the two soft cushions. He groans out, and sets the phone on speaker and places it next to his face. This was way better, and he needed to focus.

You hear his breaths get quicker and you smile. “There ya are. Does it feel better, Tamaki?”

He uses his hands to push the pillows together, creating a even smaller hole. But he nods at your words, staring at your profile picture with tears in his eyes. “W-Wish it was you. Not as tight…Warm.”

You hands travel toward your pants at the words. “Yeah? Use your imagination, love. Pretend that's me, what do you want to do with me?”

His whole body caves over on himself, and he bucks his hips frantically. His face is a bright shade of pink, and he wears a wobbly, but content smile. “Wanna—Wanna….You to tell me what to do,” He whines out, fingers dragging along the beds sheets, wishing it was your back.

You snicker at him, not surprised by his words. “You are hopeless, Tamaki. So submissive, its so cute, you know that? You know how cute you are?”

He covers his face with his arm, moaning and whining into the soft skin. “Stop it…” He mumbles half heartedly, loving every drop of praise from your mouth.

“You love it,” You tease, and he secretly nods into the bedsheets, but not daring to tell you. “Alright, let's have you cum, hmm? Can you close your eyes for me?”

His eyes flutter shut before you could even finish your sentence. “‘kay.” 

“Good job,” You murmur, and he gulps, nuzzling his face into the bed, pretending it’s your chest. “Now move your hips for me. In and out, yeah?.”

He doesn’t have to do much, considering that he has been doing this exact same movement for the past couple minutes now. He doesn’t say anything, afraid you may poke fun at him again. “Tamakiiiii,” You purr, “I need to hear a response.”

“Sorry. Yes, yes, I‘m doing it. Promise!” He splutters, trying to maintain a steady pace of breathing. It was feeling so much better with both sides hugging him, but your voice was definitely helping as well.

You let out a breath, and smile. “Good boy. Now, tell me, what are you imagining. Wanna hear the specifics, love.”

He whines at this. He didnt want to expose his thoughts; you would definitely think he was weird. A pervert who cant go a couple weeks without cumming. “Nooooo,” He whimpers, eyes still shut. “So embarrassing.”

Your voice turns commanding in an instant. “Oh? Stop moving then.”

Unwillingly he listens, his body so used to listening to your commands, that he doesn't even process what you said until he stopped his hips. He groans into the sheets, and feels his cock twitch within the pillows. It doesn't want to stop. “Noooo,” He complains once more, hating the way tears begin to build up, and threaten to spill over his closed eyes.

Your heart throbs at the small whimpers he lets out, and your strict tone seems to melt away. “You have to listen if you want to cum, baby. I know its embarrassing, but I want you to feel good. Dont be shy, I won't judge you.”

You hear a sniffle from the other end of the phone. “Okay. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. C-Can I move now? I'll tell you my…my fantasy.” 

You hum encouragingly at him, and he takes it as a yes, slowly beginning to move his hips again. He sighs at the softness, nodding his head to himself. But, he doesn't get too lost in his pleasure, he has to hold up the end of the bargain. “I-Im pretended the pillow is you.”

You roll your eyes slightly, a grin on your face. He was obviously nervous if he was stating the obvious. “Yeah? Are you fucking me nice and hard?”

Your words are so lewd and he fumes red at them. “U-Um…Yeah. Y-You feel so good.” Referring to the makeshift hole as you, makes him feel slightly bad. He knows you are may more than that to him. But it was obvious that you were trying to initiate some sort of phone sex, and he didn't want to ruin the moment.

Your fingers travel down to your pants, and you finally get comfortable. You begin to touch yourself, trying to imagine yourself into his fantasy. “So deep Tamaki,” You purr, sighing into the mic.

His eyes widen for a split second, but he quickly shuts them again. At your words, he finds himself thrusting himself deeper into the hole, mewling out as pre covers the soft fabric. He finds himself imagining you beneath him, grinning up at him with a flushed out, but cocky grin. 

“Fuck,” He whispers gently to the image of you. “I missed you so much. So so much.”

“Missed you too,” You murmur, throwing your head back slightly. “Doing so well for me.”

His hips stutters at the praise, and he gulps. Whenever you praise him, it sends his head spinning, and he loves it more than anything. “F-For you. Only for you!”

The position he was in was so lewd. His mouth slightly gnawing on his hand, his hips thrusting into two pillows, and his body a bright shade of pink. The bed was even creaking from his intense movements, but he didnt seem to care. “P-Praise me…More, please?”

“You're doing so good. Making me feel so good, Tamaki. Are you going to make me cum?”

He nods his head frantically, loving the idea more than anything. To make himself cum was one thing, but making you feel good enough to cum was a whole other thing. It made the service sub in him preen, and his thrusts are more desperate now. He imagines you shivering, and moaning into his neck, maybe even leaving scratch marks down his back. “Yes. Yes, I'll make you cum. I'll make you feel so good, please!”

You smile lazily at the wall. “Such a good boy. I'm so lucky to have such a pretty and obedient boyfriend.”

A wobbly smile is tugging at his face, and he feels like a schoolgirl. Giddy, and nervous around you and your voice. He swears the fantasy becomes more surreal. The pillow seems to be hugging him just how you would, and in the back of his mind he can hear the slapping of skin upon skin. “I love you. I love you so much, you feel so good. I can't hold it much longer!”

“Aw are you going to cum already?” You tease, feeling your own high approaching rapidly.

At the words he lets out a dramatic whine, feeling guilty. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Y-You just…oh god. Feel so good!” He warbles, shaking hands gripping onto the phone. He spreads his legs out wider, finding a new position to thrust his hips. His hair begins to stick to his head, and with every breath, a moan slips past his lips.

You are on the same page, hands moving quicker to hopefully match his high. “Its alright. Im going to cum to. Are you going to cum inside me? Wanna fill me up?”

He heaves at your words, hearts in his eyes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. He did desperately. It was way better than pulling out, or cumming into the condom. “Please! Please!”

His moans are high in pitch now, and his pace is sporatic. They are frantic though, and the entire bed shakes with his fierce movements. 

“Good boy. Cum inside me then,” You purr directly into the mic, and his eyes fly open when he cums. He lets out a high pitched scream, and bites his hand to try and stay quite. The boys hips ram into the pillow, and his thoughts are cloudy, thinking about how deep he must be cumming in you. His whole body is shivering in pleasure, and he wears a small smile.

You cum a moment later, shaking and sighing, but not making as much noise as your beloved. You didnt mind, his high pitched moans and screams were cute, you just wished he got over that stupid need to bite his hand whenever he cums. It muffles them way too much for your liking.

Post nut clarity hits Tamaki like a truck and his face turns a bright shade of red. Asking you to praise him, and even begging to cum “inside” you? Humiliating.

“I know what you are thinking, love. Dont be embarrassed. It was fun. Good. What lovers do,” You reassure, knowing his anxiety gets the better of him. 

He takes comfort in your words immediately, slightly nodding to himself and trying to think of something else to hopefully die down the embaressment. He feels exhausted, and instead focuses on that. He pulls out of the pillows with a sigh and brings the phone to his face to begin wishing you goodnight.

His eyes widen when he realizes something, and he lets out a dramatic gasp.

The sound makes you perk up, and you are on immediate alert. “Whats wrong?”

“Oh no. This is bad. What do I do now?” He begins to mumble, eyes scanning across the bed.

“What? What happened?” You question more frantically now, pulling the phone closer to your ear.

It goes silent on the other end for about thirty seconds. He pulls away the two pillows and gulps as his stares at his own product. This was bad. Truly a problem.

“What am I supposed to sleep on tonight?”

It takes everything in you to not hang up on him.

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[cllightning81]

Red Bull? Really?

Summary : You're dating the three time world champion that's in a championship battle with your twin brother. However, you haven't told him about the relationship

Pairing/s: Max Verstappen x Norris!Reader

Word Count :

Masterlist Max Verstappen Masterlist Want to be included in my tag list? Click HERE

You and Lando always had a good relationship. You didn’t have any twin telepathy, but that didn’t mean that neither of you couldn’t tell what was going on with the other. That was why Lando now knew that you were hiding something from him just by your body language. 

You were in a serious relationship with his on track rival where the rivalry was just heating up second by second. How could you come clean about that? It was bound to break your relationship with Lando and Lando’s relationship with Max. 

While all the commentators assumed the races would be what broke their relationship off track, it was about to be you. You had spoken to Max before the summer holidays and decided that before you left to go on holiday with him, you’d confess to Lando. 

Your original idea was just to text Lando from another room in his house while he was streaming so that his reaction couldn’t be too extreme but Max told you not to do that and that he was your brother. He wasn’t going to be too extreme. 

How wrong Max was about to be. Another debate you’d win. 

Lando had just finished streaming and was now coming downstairs to get some food that you’d cooked – in hopes to butter him up – you smiled over at him as you answered a text from Max F about a project you had coming up together. 

“So” Lando said, sitting down on the couch opposite you. You could feel your heart rate starting to rise knowing that you actually had to tell him now. Having previously told him, you needed to talk. 

“You can’t lash out” You started, and he raised his eyes. You really wish you had done it your way and just locked yourself in the bathroom so he couldn’t get near you. 

“That’s not a good start Y/N” You bit your lip, looking over at him briefly 

“So I’m dating someone” You whispered as Lando sat forward a little with a smirk crossing his face 

“Do I know them?” He asked, and you nodded slightly as he raised his eyebrows, getting a little more suspicious now. 

“Look, it was never my intention to hurt you. When we first started seeing each other, it was before anything ever happened. You’ll always be my brother before anything else. Please don’t do anything harsh” You rambled, stopping due to the knock on the door. You quickly took it as your chance to leave the conversation, hoping that Lando and yourself could forget about it. 

Except when you answered the door, your problem was, stood at the other side of the door. You let out a long breath, letting him into the house. 

“Max! I was just about to find out who Y/N is dating. You can join me” Lando hummed as you closed the door, taking a deep breath. You could see the smirk crossing Max’s face 

“Erm yeah Lan I think I’ll finish this conversation when we’re alone” You wandered off to your bedroom despite Lando’s complaints. 

You hadn’t brought up the conversation again to Lando and had quickly avoided any conversation he brought up. 

That was until you were, stood in your own house, Max was, sat on your couch scrolling  through the TV, trying to find something for you both to watch. 

“Kindje” (Baby) Max called as you poked your head through from the kitchen with a smile 

“Yeah?” You asked, walking over to him standing between his legs. 

“Movie or TV show?” He asked, looking up at you as his arms wrapped around your waist

“Let’s go TV show. Movies are long and boring” You answered, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, and he nodded, pressing a kiss back to your lips. Pulling you on top of his body so that you were straddling his lap. Your head resting in the crook of his neck breathing in his scent as one of his hands rubbed circles on your back 

“Still avoiding the conversation with Lando?” He asked, and you nodded 

“You and him keep getting your elbows out on track. I think that would make it worse” You sighed. It would make it worse. Lando and Max were violent on track enough as it was. You couldn’t imagine Lando’s violence if he found out about you and Max. 

“How about we abandon the TV show, go to bed, and just cuddle?” He suggested, and you nodded. 

“That sounds like a plan,” you hummed. Max stood up within one move, one of his hands hooked under you to carry you to the bedroom. Normally, you stayed at Max’s house however, Max decided to come over to your house tonight to surprise you. 

Max settled you on the bed before getting settled in next to you. Your body curling into his as he wrapped his arms around you. The silence was nice. Max’s hand under his shirt that you were now wearing drawing, comforting shapes on your back. 

You were both getting comfortable and about to fall asleep when there was a loud bang followed by someone shouting your name however, it didn’t compute who it was. 

“Y/N. Where are you?” Lando shouted, and that’s when it hit. Lando. You and Max both quickly jumped up as you glanced at Max, shutting the bedroom door as you walked to the living room to avoid Lando walking into the bedroom. 

“Lando it’s late” You complained, and he just shrugged. 

“And? I’ve got exciting news” He shrugged as your rolled your eyes. Lando’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at you from his spot on the couch. 

“What? Is that a red bull shirt?” He asked loudly as you glanced down at the top you were wearing. Shit. Fuck Max for not owning any other shirts. 

“I erm. I borrowed it from Checo and just never gave it back when I spilt coffee down myself that one time” You lied. It was a really obvious lie. The massive 33 on the top gave that away. Lando started to take a couple steps away from you, falling over the couch as he did. You couldn’t help but laugh a little after all he was your brother. Lando glared at you 

“Look Lando. I’ve been trying to tell you. I just didn’t know how. Please don’t be mad” You whispered 

“How long?” He asked quietly 

“About five months” You whispered, looking down as he continued walking towards the door, not saying anything loudly, just shaking his head and muttering to himself. “Lando please” you looked over, and he quickly opened the door and left slamming the door behind himself. 

You sat on the couch, dropping your head into your hands as a pair of hands wrapped around your body. The tears slowly falling down your face as Max’s hand rubbed your arm softly, pulling your body into his 

“It’s okay kindje” He whispered, holding you close despite you trying to push him away “Hey don’t fight me. I’m not going anywhere no matter how much you fight me” You were too distressed to understand what Max was saying. 

You’d hurt your brother. That’s the worst feeling that you’d ever felt in your life. What hurt more is the fact he didn’t even say a word to you. You never expected him to be happy about it, but you expected him to maybe say something to you. 

You didn’t want Max’s comfort. You felt like you didn’t deserve Max’s comfort, not after the harm you just caused your brother. You deserved to feel the harm as well. Siblings never mind twins were meant to harm each other. 

A couple weeks later, at the next Grand Prix, Lando still wasn’t talking to you. You’d phoned him a couple times a day, texted him multiple times a day, and even attempted to show up at his house. Max stepped in after a week also trying to speak to Lando. You’d even went through your family to try and speak to Lando, but he wasn’t having it. 

Now Max had convinced you to come to the Grand Prix just so that you wouldn’t be in the house moping as he had said. And well, in all honesty, his cats were little devils, and they could manage a week or two with a cat sitter.

Max’s hand rested on the small of your back as he spoke to the driver thanking them for driving you to the hotel. As you were about to walk in Max spotted a guy standing just off the side to all the team members and other people turning to you with a sly smile before his hand dropped and he walked over to the guy. Who clearly backed out of just asking Max to sign something, but you liked how even though he was prepared, he still respected the privacy. 

Max soon walked back over his hand, going back to resting on the small of your back as you smiled up at him 

“Ready kindje?” He asked, and you nodded with a smile 

“Think so” You hummed, walking into the hotel with him and up to the room he had been assigned. You were hoping that Lando was going to be here, but deep down, you knew that they had their own hotel sponsor and would probably be staying there, but one could wish. 

Max had also been invited to an event with sponsors, and after a lot of convincing, you decided to go with him. It was better than being stuck in a hotel room alone and there was free food which did work out as a bonus because those savings don’t last long when you refuse to let your boyfriend pay for your things wanting to be independent. 

Now, getting ready in the hotel room for the event, deciding on just a simple dress that matched Max’s suit. Your hair, in the simplest style you could do and make up just simple as well. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to put effort in and more that you just didn’t have any effort. 

Trying to get Lando to talk to you had taken up most of your energy and effort. There was nothing else for you to give, and you needed a break to reset that. Max walked up behind you in the mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist with a smile 

“You look beautiful” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your neck. You turned around in his arms, wrapping your own arms around his neck 

“And you look very handsome” You smiled, looking up at him. 

“Are you almost ready to go? The car is downstairs waiting” He smiled, and you nodded 

“I just need some help putting this necklace on, then I’m all finished” You smiled, holding up the necklace that you were planning on wearing. Lando had bought you it when you both turned 21. It was a matching one with one of his bracelets. 

Max carefully took the necklace out of your hands, and you lifted your hair up. Gently resting the necklace upon your chest before tying the clasp at the back of your neck. You smiled at Max through the mirror, and he couldn’t help but smile back. 

You were still in pain, but you couldn’t deny that Max was making that pain go away day by day. 

A short drive later, you and Max were not at the large ballroom for the event. Filled with sponsors for all ten teams, drivers from all ten teams, along with team principles and other important members of the teams. 

You weren’t even looking for Lando knowing that he’d just ignore you. Instead, you found yourself talking to his teammate and his girlfriend. You and Lily had always gotten along from the second Oscar joined the team, having many things in common. 

“How was your summer break?” You asked Oscar, knowing his plan was to go back to England however you hadn’t seen him since 

“It was nice. Typical British weather, but you know. Couldn’t have asked for a better time” He smiled, turning to look at Lily, who could only smile at her boyfriend “How was yours?” He asked, and you took a deep breath 

“It could have been a lot better” You replied 

You had thought Max was away talking to Cristian and Checo until there was a large hand settling on the small of your back. When you turned your head, Max was smiling down at you 

“You couldn’t have saved me?” He asked, and you shook your head slightly 

“No, unfortunately, I couldn’t have. I thought you were with Checo and Horner” You shrugged, and he shook his head. 

“No. I got dragged into a conversation with the Pirelli guy and some other sponsor” He replied, and you giggled. Leaning back into his warm touch. Max finally looked up to see who you were talking with “Oh hey Oscar” He smiled, and Oscar only nodded his mouth slightly ajar. Lily had a sly smirk on her face that only you picked up on. 

“Are we still on for padel?” Oscar finally asked, allowing the boys to get into their own conversation so Lily could drag you away to the bar. 

“Oh my god! What’s that?” She exclaimed, and you bit your lip 

“The reason Lando’s being such an ass to me” You replied before ordering a drink for both you and Max

“Ah so that’s what his mood is all about” Lily nodded, understandingly as you nodded turning to look at her. She still had that smirk on her face “So” She dragged out as you raised your eyebrows at her 

“So what?” You asked

“So what’s he actually like behind closed doors?” She asked as you leaned your back against the bar with a small smile 

“Lils he’s perfect. Like honestly so perfect” You sighed, looking over to him. It didn’t help that he currently looked very good. Although he always did, that suit was just doing something for him. 

“Wanna share more?” She asked, and you hummed tapping your nose 

“Nope that’s all the information I shall share” You smiled, picking up your drinks before walking back over to Max and Oscar. You spotted Lando talking with a sponsor as you handed Max his gin and tonic. His arm wrapped around you as you leaned into him with a slight smile. 

“Enjoying yourself?” He whispered, leaning down to kiss you 

“Better than your cats” You shrugged, and he faked offence, holding his chest as you giggled 

“They’re menices!” You exclaimed, and he shrugged a little 

“Yeah, I guess that’s true” He smiled, leading you back to the table you were due to be sat at. Pulling out your chair allows you to sit down before sitting down. You turned your head to look at Max as you placed your drink on the table 

“Is he still ignoring you?” He asked, and you nodded slightly, looking over to where Lando was now sitting “Shit. I didn’t mean to bring it up like that” He sighed, resting his hand over yours as you shrugged a little 

“It’s fine. I just wish he’d get over it even just to say hello. He’s still my brother” You sighed, looking up to thank the waitress as she brought over the food for the table you were sitting at. 

Back at the hotel room the alcohol in your system had made you forget about the whole situation with Lando and Max had taken your phone so that you wouldn’t answer any of Lando’s texts now that the alcohol had made him realise what was going on. 

Max had helped you get ready for bed before getting in next to you. Your head rested on his chest as he wrapped one arm around you, the other resting on your waist as he drew shapes on it. 

“It doesn’t matter what Lando thinks as long as you're happy. Please never forget that Schat (darling)” He explained. You nodded along with his words 

“I’d be happier if Lando had anything nice to say” You looked up at him from his chest as he leaned down, pressing his lips to your own

“He’s been texting you but I think you should look at them when you’re a little more sober as much as I know you’d sleep better reading them but I’d rather you have a clear mind reading them” He explained as you looked up at him pulling away from his lips 

“Have you read them?” You asked, and he nodded 

“I did. I figured reading them before you would help me comfort you if needed” He explained 

“You don’t need to explain love. I just wanted to know” You replied, pressing your lips against his. Moving so that you were laying between his legs, your head still on his chest as both his arms wrapped around you, sliding under your shirt, allowing him to draw shapes on your bare back. 

No matter what, Lando ended up saying you were more than happy being wrapped in Max’s arms. Maybe it’s time for Lando to feel what you had felt. 

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[zg0nuwa]

𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 ; “𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬”

had this silly little thought where you ask miguel a bunch of questions about the multiverse

miguel o’hara x gn!reader

warnings ; this is stupid, miguel is confused, mentions of pregnancy/having a kid, my spanish knowledge is below zero so i used google (feel free to correct me)

“ what did you just ask me? ”

“ i asked what would happen if two people - ” you were pestering miguel with questions about the multiverse for the past hour or so. at first it was a basic conversation regarding what were canon events and how are they established, how the portals work and all the other boring stuff.

“ i heard you the first time. just- where did you get that question from? ”

“ don’t tell me you’ve never wondered how it would work if for example we were to have a kid. like, we’re from different universes. i’m just curious what would happen to the kid in this predicament. ” if you were anybody else he would probably just glare at you and go on with his work but due to your position in his heart he just stood there, absolutely mortified at the example you just provided.

in all honesty you weren’t even that much into the topic but being able to bother miguel just a little and watch him scrunch up his nose whenever you mentioned something that would probably classify you as mentally deranged was your favorite hobby.

“ dios por favor dame fuerza*. no, actually i’ve never thought about that. also that example was really uncalled for. ” he thanked his past self for making the office so dimly lit. if it was any brighter in here he’s 97% sure you would be able to see how his neck and ears go all red.

“ so you admit you don’t know what would happen? ”

“ sí, ahora ¿podemos cambiar el tema?* ”

“ okay, okay… there’s actually one more thing i was curious about. ” miguel only sighed and looked at you with an unimpressed expression.

“ should i be scared? ” at this point he had no idea what to expect, in fact he kinda expected anything. and his imagination was not helping him. you looked up at him with those big pleading eyes that at the same time were full of mischief.

“ if, for example, we were to start dating, would that make me you know… kind of a pedophile..? ” there was an awkward silence and the look he had was to be described only with the sentence “what the fuck”

“ what on god’s green earth are you talking about? ”

“ i mean, you’re from year 2099 right? and im from 2023 in my universe. so that would kind of suggest that technically i would be in my 40s or 50s when you were born right? that just… kind of weird to think about i guess? ”

that, he did not expect in any of his wildest scenarios.

“ i’m going to lose my fucking mind. ” he slumped forward hiding his face in his hands.

“ aw come on miguel! it’s a genuine problem i’m thinking about here! ”

* god please give me strength

* yes, now can we change the subject?