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wardenparker · 1 day ago

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In the Still of the Night, ch 3

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Flirting, still a little awkwardness, blindfold, sensory deprivation, foreplay, oral sex (female receiving). Summary: Your day out with Zach gets more intense at every turn. Notes: Hopefully you're all enjoying the prolonged date as much as we -- and they -- are! (As always, chapter gifs are for the vibes, not to physically describe the characters.)

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

It isn't hard for anyone who sees you during the rest of the day to spot the dreamy couple out on a date. The older woman who shows you to your table at the restaurant Zach picked out for dinner gives you a wink in agreement that he's an absolute cutie pie and comes back a few minutes later with two glasses of wine and a candle for your table despite none of the others having one set out.

He had chosen a restaurant that was more local than tourist and had been thrilled when there was no formal dress code. Eager to sit down with you after so much walking and talk about more of anything and everything that has been the topics of the day. “So how did you start out singing?” He asks curiously.

“My elementary school had a chorus.” It might be the first time in hours you haven’t been holding hands, but you’re still smiling as you sit side by side with your wine watching the sun set. “I stuck with it because I was a kid and it was fun, then the dance lessons got added, and then as I got older I realized that I also liked theater. It became a combination.”

“So you were a theatre kid.” He nods in understanding. He hadn’t been, but he had been friends with some and understood the passion of performing even if he didn’t have it.

“That’s how I ended up in New York.” You tell him, expression twisting into something like regret. “Just another small town kid convinced they could be the next Broadway star. Obviously that didn’t happen.”

“But you tried.” He reminds you, leaning against your shoulder and wishing he could take away the sadness. “Some people never try.”

“I go between thinking that maybe I should have tried harder, and wondering why I ever bothered at all.” With that offer of support there, you lean against his shoulder in turn and shrug gently. “It is what it is, I guess. But…how did you start cooking?”

Zach sighs softly, knowing that it would eventually come up. “Actually, I just started cooking a few years ago.” He admits.

“You did?” That surprises you enough to turn your head and look at him more fully. “So it’s just at natural talent, then?”

“I guess?” He shrugs slightly. “I got a job working in a kitchen. Saved my life.” He tells you. “Threw myself into it and experimented as much as I could and read everything I could get my hands on.”

“So you stumbled into your calling.” There is something else there, something he doesn’t want to tell you, so you don’t push. “That’s wonderful, though. Some people never find what they’re meant to do in their whole lives.”

“It helps with my anxiety.” He admits with a self deprecating grin. “So I decided that it was the best thing for me. One day I’d like to have a restaurant. One that I can plan every detail, down to free meals for the homeless.”

“I love that.” Without hesitation, the idea is not only a kind one but one you can tell means a great deal to him. “Some places have a system where you can pay for meals for others in advance, too. System like that can be used to pay for extra supplies so no one ever has to be turned away.”

“That would be amazing.” He’s had benefited from that kind of system before, but not often. And he knows how uplifting a good, hot meal can be when you are down.

"You can make it happen." Something in your gut tells you that he can and he will, and even though you have no stake in it, you can't help but feel proud of him for that.

“I’m hoping.” He flashes you a grateful grin. Even your confidence in him sounds so sure when he’s always wondered if he can succeed. “The club on the ship has given me so many ideas.”

"I've been eating your ideas," you remind him with a grin. "And they're fantastic. You're really good, Zach. Any place would be lucky to have you and any team would be lucky to have you lead them."

“What about you?” He asks. “This has to be a stepping stone for you. I’ve already heard from the crew that you might have some head hunters after you.” One of the passengers was apparently connected in the music industry and had been in to the club several nights.

"If I do, that's news to me." Whatever murmurings Zach has heard, you haven't. But you would be lying if you claimed not to be curious. "I don't know, honestly. I think I would rather be a headliner in a little club than wave a rose in a Broadway chorus for the rest of my life. But the chances of either are relatively slim." You take a sip of your wine and offer him a smile, shrugging one shoulder. "In my dreams I'm getting top billing in the biggest musicals and you're running the most popular restaurant in the country. Ultimate New York City power couple."

“That sounds amazing.” Zach chuckles. “Actually, running this style club, I think it would work in New York.” He tells you. “A dinner club.”

"I know it's something that you see in retirement communities in Florida, but I have always loved dinner theater." His laugh is sweet and deep and rolls through you like a wave of joy. "This club is such a great gig for people like us."

“Yes it is, but imagine….” He sighs softly. “Creating a headliner show like you would see in Vegas, right in New York and pairing it with a daily changing menu like we do here.”

"New York would love a show like that." It sounds so doable when he says it. Like a dream you could reach for and pluck out of the sky.

“It would be sold out.” He agrees, flashing a hopeful smile. “One day, maybe if I had the right singer to run the show side of things.”

"I guess you're going to have to get to know some singers then, aren't you?" His bright smile is reflected right back at him, teasing as always but it's because part of you can't dare to dream this big for yourself. Only for him.

“I will.” He nods and shrugs. “Maybe hold auditions or something. Singing for your supper?”

"That's what most of us do." You agree, not wanting your smile to flicker at all even if the memories sting. "Sometimes literally."

Zach catches the change, the dimming of the light in your eyes and he knows that he’s touched on a sensitive topic for you. “I get it.” He promises quietly. “I think I gravitated towards cooking because I knew if I was making food for others, I would not have that gnawing ache of hunger ever again.” He licks his lips. “Food insecurity, the therapist called it.”

Your heart sinks, chest tightening, and you nod as you slip your hand back into his. "I wish I was more surprised to find out that more than a few of us have been there. But a job like ours...with guaranteed housing and meals and a way to save money for months at a time? It makes sense that it would attract people who have had it hard."

Of course you would be understanding. His eyes close as he nods, feeling a little choked up by the compassion in your voice and the understanding in your touch. “Absolutely. And I hate that you’ve had a moments bad luck.” He murmurs. “You deserve so much.”

"So do you." You squeeze his hand gently. "Bad luck doesn't make us bad people."

“Not at all.” His hand slips from yours and his arm wraps around your shoulders protectively. “Now - before we start choking up, what do you want to try?” He wants this date to be nothing but a lovely moment for you and he tries to steer the conversation to more positive thoughts.

Without saying another word about it, you turn your head to kiss his cheek and refocus on the menu in his hands. They have enough tourists in town that the menu from this restaurant has one-sentence item descriptions in English that simply tell non-Greek speakers the main ingredients of each dish. A quick glance around you shows you that everything here seems to be served family style, and you settle in Zach's side again happily.

"How does this sound?" You ask, pointing out the special. Gamopilafo. The menu says, with Arnáki Stamnagathi. "Greek risotto with lamb and vegetables?"

“That sounds amazing.” Zach groans happily and nods. “Do you want to get that and something else?” He doesn’t want you to share with him if you are just trying to make the bill cheaper, he can afford paying for dinner.

"It looks like it's family style? Maybe we can get another side dish to go with it so we can try more?" You shrug slightly, knowing that food was just a topic of some stress for both of you. "Sharing sounds nice. But not if you don't want to."

“I’m not opposed to sharing at all.” He promises, leaning in and nudging his nose to yours. “I’ll share anything with you.”

"Promises, promises." It's too tempting to have him close and not indulge in another kiss, but you keep it short and chaste in case Zach isn't too into public displays of affection. The half dozen or so kisses that you have shared today have been relatively private so you want to respect that for him.

Zach smiles, beams really. “What else do you want, baby?” The term of endearment slips out, but he doesn’t try to take it back or apologize. Feeling like it’s just the natural next step of this amazing day.

While the honest answer is him, that isn't what he's asking so you pull yourself out of the dirty thoughts you've been having on and off all damn day and look back down at the menu. In the top section there is something that lists cheese, fruit, bread, and flavored local olive oil, so you point that out. "Cretan charcuterie plate to start?"

“I think that’s a good idea.” Zach agrees and smiles at you. “We can see if we can come up with our own ideas for a board.”

"We'll have enough menu ideas for three new restaurants if we let our imaginations wander." Which is not a bad thing at all, but it does have both of you grinning when the waitress comes over to take your order.

Zach orders for the both of you, checking in with his eyes to make sure that it’s everything you want and hands the menu over with a pleasant smile for the waitress. Enjoying the knowing glances she shoots between the two of you. “I think that she thinks we are newlyweds or something.” He confesses quietly when she walks away. “What do you think?”

“Maybe.” Don’t be so you, you remind yourself for the hundredth time in your head. “I don’t know how many people come around here being cuddly on a fantastic day-long first date.”

“It has been fantastic, hasn’t it?” He muses, reminding himself that neither one of you has walked away or even been upset today. Not really.

“I think so.” There are clearly more things to talk about in your future, but today has left you optimistic that that future could exist. “I’m glad you do, too.”

“So, what’s your favorite type of wine?” He asks. “With charcuterie? Are you a white wine or sangria girl?”

“I’m a whatever wine you serve me kind of girl,” you tell him with an amused laugh. “But I do love sangria. There are very few things that aren’t made better with a glass of sangria or a margarita.”

“A margarita; huh?” He smirks. “Salt on the rim or sugar?”

“Depends on the flavor.” After all, your palate isn’t nonexistent, it’s just uneducated. “But usually salt.”

“A watermelon margarita is my favorite.” He admits. “Salt and sugar on the rim.”

“Salt and sugar?” That has you raising an eyebrow. “Color me intrigued.”

“It’s delicious.” He chuckles. “Goes with a hamburger or ribs. Drinks just like water.”

“That sounds incredible.” It sounds absolutely mouthwatering, actually, and you crack a grin. “Maybe I’m just really hungry.”

“Next crew party why don’t we do sliders and margaritas?” He offers. “I think you’d love it.”

“It sounds amazing.” You can agree to that without hesitation. “But I would also eat an old sneaker if it came out of your kitchen, so just know I’m always here for your food.”

“So boil shoe leather.” He pretends to make a note and laughs when you shove him playfully.

“You boil shoe leather and I’ll sing scales off key. Our worst work night ever.”

Zach throws his head back and laughs. The deep, belly laugh of a man who is completely convinced that it possible could happen and finds it up-roaringly funny. “You’re perfect.”

“You’re perfect.” He doesn’t need to know that a musical lyric sprung to mind instantly. He doesn’t need to know that you’ve been thinking it for an hour or more now. But you do hope he knows that the absolute affection shining in your eyes is honest and real.

He hums, not exactly able to take a compliment as well as he can give one. Instead he clinks his wine glass against yours. “To being perfect together.” He offers with a smile.

Neither of you take compliments well, you note with a smile, but drink deeply from your glass and enjoy a private smile that he unknowingly completed the thought of the song lyric in your head. “I know you’re supposed to wait until the end of the date to say it,” you set down your glass, thank the waitress when she brings over the first course, and restart your thought after a few seconds. “But I really think we should do this again.”

Zach’s heart leaps at your comment, happy that you have said that. “Well, of course we should.” He agrees, winking at you as he starts to dip a crusty piece of bread into the seasoned olive oil. “But I was thinking maybe we spend a little more time together on the ship when we can?”

"We could always skip the crew parties now and then to have time to ourselves." Following suit, you dive into the cheese board along with him. The cured olives and soft cheese are calling your name. "I wouldn't mind that at all."

“I mainly go to the crew parties to see you.” Zach confesses with a shy smile, offering you the dipped bread after he’s spread a bit of goat’s cheese on top of it.

"I–" Your eyes drop, your whole face heats, and you clear your throat before offering him an olive that you have stuffed with a pinch of soft sheep's milk cheese. "I go to the crew parties to see you."

Zach snorts and shakes his head. “We are pathetic.” He teases. “Mooning over each other and not even aware of it until Shane makes you take me a drink.”

"He tried to tell me," you admit after trying the bite that Zach made for you. Like everything else he's ever fed you, it's perfect. "I just...didn't really think I had a shot."

“He would always talk about you.” He huffs. “Making that crush I was suffering under nearly unbearable.” He smirks. “I guess he was hoping to push me into making a move.”

“And when you didn’t, he pushed me instead.” Which is a very Shane thing to do, really. He’s always been a little bit too cocky for his own good. “He’s like my big brother. So it makes perfect sense that he would meddle endlessly.”

“He basically adopted me once we became roommates.” Zach agrees. “He’s a good guy with a surprisingly big heart.”

“It took him a while to get there,” you acknowledge, not quite knowing how much of Shane’s story he had shared with Zach. “But now that he has? He’ll be damned if he doesn’t help everyone that he can.”

“Yeah.” Zach nods. “From what he’s told me, he’s completely different than when he was first sent away.”

“He showed me a picture once. Oh how he dresses and everything back then.” Just keeping the topic about appearance is lighthearted. That way you don’t dip too far into past seriousness. “Even if that was the only thing that changed, he really is a completely different guy now.”

“Jet black hair.” Zach snorts, shaking his head. “Dude has amazing hair now. I’m a little jealous of it.” Shane still has earrings, but he’s no longer sporting the goth edge he had back in his younger years.

“Do you ever think about growing yours out?” Zach still has short-trimmed hair that is probably a cinch to take care of, but he might look great with it longer.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve worn it long.” He admits, rubbing his hand up the back of his head. “Since high school.” He snorts. “But I’ve not given it a lot of thought, honestly. Why? You think it would look good longer?” He asks, curious about your preferences. Everyone has them, it’s like preferring clean shaven over a beard.

“I caught myself wondering once if your hair was curly when it grows out,” you admit, clearing your throat a little from being flustered. Admitting that you’ve wondered and daydreamed about him is a big step to your mind.

“Yeah?” A slow, pleased grin starts to stretch across his face as he turns back towards you again. “Daydreaming about running your fingers through my hair?”

“Maybe.” The huff in your voice is pure embarrassment, though you’re glad that he seems to like the idea rather than being weirded out by it.

“Then I have to confess something…” he drops his voice down to a whisper like it’s a secret. “I really love when the hairdresser runs her fingers through my hair when cutting it.”

It feels like a far more visceral tease than you’ve been giving him, and you can practically feel how soft his shirt hair is when your eyes flick up to it. “Noted,” you manage to huff out a second later, banishing the mental image of Zach beneath you as you card your fingers through growing curls.

He smirks and winks at you when you manage to look at him again, finding it incredibly empowering to know that you are on the same level as he is. Both of you wanting so much, but being too shy to reach for it. Someone will have to make a move, but right now, he’s enjoying the flirting and bantering.

Neither of you seem to care much that it takes longer to make bites out of your appetizer if you hold hands, enjoying the small show of intimacy more than anything else. You're loathe to give up that connection now that you have it.

Zach enjoys sharing with you. Often making bites for you to try, and he smiles every time you groan in pleasure.

“Just because I have no idea how to cook anything doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it,” you insist, and you’re laughing together when your waitress brings out your shared entree. The large and shallow bowl is obviously meant to be shared but is beautifully arranged — vegetables bringing color with the creamy risotto-like grains and tantalizingly seared and roasted lamb.

“Many blessings.” She is smiling at both of you as she puts the food down between you. “Happy marriage to young love.”

“Thank you.” Zach doesn’t correct her, beaming instead and bringing up your hand and kissing the back of it. If they believe that you are newlyweds, who are you to disclaim it?

Seeing him go with the assumption instead of correcting the woman makes your heart swell. There is something deeply soft and intimate about the gesture and you’re sure you must look so deeply entranced by your date that protesting wouldn’t do any good anyway.

“Soulmates?” The older woman asks, looking at the two of you with the pride of a grandmother.

Zach bites his lip, unsure of how to answer that, so he just wings it. “What do you think?” He asks, reaching out and caressing your cheek. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

"Very." The woman agrees, and with another proud smile she clasps both of your shoulders and heads off again to the kitchen with the purpose and speed of someone off to share vital gossip.

Zach smiles at you. “Well, I guess that makes us official.” He hums. “What do you think?” He asks, lifting a brow. “Want to be my girlfriend? Or should we jump straight to soulmate and wife?” He asks. “We’ve already gotten approval here.”

"It might be a little dramatic to show back up to the ship married." And yet you're grinning. You're absolutely beaming at him in a way that can't possibly be contained and for the first time today you don't want it to be. "But I love the sound of girlfriend."

“I’m sure we wouldn’t have been the first couple to have done that.” He doesn’t take offense to you ignoring the remark about soulmates. He’s seen you without sleeves enough to know that you don’t have his tattoo. You can’t be his soulmate, but he is drawn to you like he’s never been to another woman. “But girlfriend sounds perfect to me too.”

"I'm not one of those people that swears soulmates are the only possible relationship," you explain, as the two of you rearrange your little table to share your entree comfortably. The waitress had also brought you fresh drinks so the little table is loaded down with tantalizing options. "My parents aren't soulmates and they've been happily married for almost forty years. It's a great thing, but I always thought choosing your person yourself was more important than anything else."

“Interesting.” Zach is impressed and he nods. “I know that soulmates aren’t everything, but my parents were.” He tells you, smiling a little sadly. “They were probably the best relationship I’ve ever seen.”

"We both had good role models for healthy relationships. That's far more rare than it should be, I think." You note the past tense in his words but don't push, instead watching as he carefully serves the meal onto the two smaller plates you were given.

The lamb smells amazing and Zach is already drooling, imagining what he could make. “Are you ready to give me ideas?” He teases as he looks up from finishing plating.

"Dinner ideas?" You raise an eyebrow at him and pick up your fork, feeling bold with the help of the waitress who broke the ice and managed to make you Zach's girlfriend with a touch of cute teasing. "Or dirty ideas?"

“I accept all ideas.” Zach promises, his voice dipping down slightly, turning sensual.

"Fuck." Even just a quiet groan of frustration from you is enough to let him know exactly where you're at. Every single time he kisses you, you're convinced that you're going to soak through your shorts, and you no longer care if he knows it or not.

“I’ve been thinking about something.” Zach starts, forking up a bite of the risotto and trying it with a groan of approval.

"Tell me." There have been a few more serious topics touched on today without delving too deep, but you have faith that whatever it is that's on his mind won't be bad.

“We don’t have to be back on the ship until tomorrow morning.” The club is closed for the night while in port since the majority of the passengers are on shore. “What do you think about not going back tonight?”

"Like...find a little hotel?" Your fork is halfway to your mouth when you meet his eyes, seeing that there is the same spark of desire there as in your own. "That would certainly be more comfortable than using one of our bunks after we kick our roommate out," you agree, letting a grin crawl across your face.

“We don’t have to.” He stresses, not wanting you to feel like he expects to spend the night with you.

"I know." But you shrug with just a touch of guilt. "And if you want to wait that's totally fine. But...I definitely want to."

“I want to.” He is quick to reassure you of that. “I really want to. I just—” he bandied about for the right words. “Didn’t want to come off as pushy.”

"Pushy is normally my problem." you promise him. "The other part of Shane's whole 'be less you' advice was not rolling up to our first date and telling you we would make beautiful children." It's still of a hell of a way to come on strong so you laugh it off, but it's true all the same. "You've been anything but pushy, baby."

“You would have beautiful babies with Shrek.” He snorts, shaking his head. “My genes would have nothing to do with it.”

"Don't count yourself out." The grin on your face slides sideways and the two of you dig into your dinner in earnest. "Those curls of yours on a little baby? Cuties."

He blushes slightly, imagining how a baby with you would look. It’s a fantasy that he never even imagined being able to consider just a few years ago. “Only because of you. And most babies are cuties anyway.”

“They are.” That’s just a fact as far as you’re concerned. The two of you continue to eat for another minute or so before your mind catches up with all the possible consequences of that topic coming up and you almost stutter as you reach for your wine glass. “I’m—I’m on birth control, though,” you point out. Like he might think you’re trying to baby trap him on the first date just because you think babies are cute. “That’s…like I want kids eventually but I’m not crazy about it.”

This is happening. Zach swallows a bite of the deliciously fragrant and juicy lamb so he doesn’t choke. “Good. I mean, I would still want to wear a- birth control shouldn’t just be on you.” He tells you. “I’m clean, but I- it’s always good to- you know, uh, be safe.”

“I’m clean too, and if you feel more comfortable with a condom that’s totally fine, I just—” Who knows if more wine is actually a good idea at this point but you take about gulp out of nerves. “I didn’t want you to think I had any motivation for…you know…tonight, other than really liking you.”

He has to laugh at that, reaching for your hand and winking at you. “You’re focusing on your career. I don’t think that your grand plan is to be knocked up by the chef of the club you headline your first contract out.” He promises.

“Well when you say it like that it sounds silly.” And yet? A part of you is certain, beyond any doubt whatsoever, that if it happened you could be such a happy little family.

He smirks slightly and reaches over to brush off a tiny bit of sauce on the edge of your mouth. “So we both know where we stand.” He hums. “Let’s just relax and enjoy where our night takes us.”

******

With the sun set and your meal finished, an intimacy has settled over you and Zach as you sip your coffee together and listen to the busy streets of Knossos bustle with tourists and nightlife. Normally you would be part of that. You would be out with friends or searching out a feeling to get lost in — but today has been so thorough in proving that you can simply get lost in Zach that you don’t want to stray. Everything you could possibly want for your night is right here next to you. And it’s a type of calming feeling that you don’t know you’ve ever felt with another person before.

“That was probably the best meal I’ve ever eaten.” Zach rubs his stomach appreciatively and looks over at you. “Lamb on the menu for the club?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” You’ll eat anything he cooks anyway. But having it be a special memory between the two of you? That’s worth bragging about. “With those whipped carrots you made yesterday? Oh my god.”

“You liked those?” He grins, loving feedback as much as the next person and if it comes from you it makes it even sweeter. “I’ve been thinking about making it a soufflé and putting a topping on it. Similar to a sweet potato soufflé? What do you think? Too much?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a grin spreading across your face. “I’ve never had a soufflé before.”

“You’ve never had a sweet potato casserole?” His eyes widen. “You’re shitting me?”

You shrug weakly, yet can’t help but laugh at how strong his reaction is. “My dad hates sweet potatoes,” you explain between giggles. “We basically ate like toddlers in my house forever, because he only liked four or five foods.”

“Wow.” He chuckles. “So I know what I’m making you tomorrow.” He grins. “Roasted chicken with sweet potato soufflé, creamed spinach and a fresh cranberry compote.”

“We just ate.” Sure, your tone is complaining, but the teasing is clear and sparkling in your eyes. “Why do you have to make me hungry all over again?”

Laughing, he leans over slightly to pull his wallet out to pay. Having cash is something of a safety net to him, although he’s proud of the shiny credit card with a low limit as he builds his credit back up. Offers have started coming for pre-approval of credit limits, but he’s resisted getting one so far. He pays this card off every month like clockwork. “I’ll let you sleep it off first.” He promises.

A different woman comes out with your check and a small folded bag. She smiles when she sees Zach ready to pay, and hands you the bag. “Congratulations,” she explains in a thick but clear accent. “From my grandparents. They’re very flattered you chose their restaurant for your honeymoon.”

Zach immediately feels guilty. “No— nothing is necessary.” He promises, shaking his head. “We are happy to be here. The food was amazing.”

"It's just a few cookies," she promises, apparently charmed by the display of manners. "And we're always glad to have kind guests."

“Everyone here has been wonderful.” Zach smiles as he hands over his card. “Now we just need to find a hotel with people as wonderful.”

"You don't have a place to stay already?" The bill is easily and silently settled with the exchange of a few bills between them and the woman points down the beach to a three-story white building on the edge of the beach. "Dite is a beautiful hotel. Small. But very nice. And you will see the perfect sunrise in your room."

“What do you think, sweetheart?” He asks, turning towards you. “I think it sounds just about perfect, if they have a room available.”

“Small sounds perfect.” In fact, after the bustle of the ship, it sounds like a small relief. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

“I will call for you.” She offers. “Family.”

“That would be wonderful.” You look to Zach for confirmation. “The hotel is my treat. I promise.”

He huffs, frowning slightly at the notion of you paying and there is a grin on the woman’s face as she nods in approval. “I will go call right now and let them know you are coming.” She beams before scampering off.

“It’s okay.” Sensing a bit of hurt pride that you dismiss as typically male, you lean over and kiss Zach’s cheek. “You can buy our breakfast.”

He can’t tell you that it’s because he somehow still looks at someone paying for something – even if it benefits them – as a handout. That is way too deep for this date and probably means he needs to schedule a visit with the VA therapist next time he’s in New York. “Sounds good, sweetheart.” He hums.

It only takes a few minutes for the younger waitress to return, and when she does she is smiling broadly. To Zach she hands a slip with the name and address of the hotel. “They’re getting your room ready now,” she tells you both gladly.

“Thank you.” He smiles. “For everything.”

“Our pleasure.” She assures him, and trots off again after saying good night.

He turns towards you and gives you a searching look. “Are you ready?”

"Absolutely." Considering you can see the hotel from here, you don't mind walking. A stroll through the streets of the ancient city, hand in hand with your newly minted boyfriend? It sounds perfect to you.

Zach scoots out of the seat and holds out his hand to you. “Then let’s walk off this amazing dinner.”

The roads and the beach stretch on longer than you anticipate but the walk is welcome. You're most quiet, enjoying each other's company without the need to fill the air with idle conversation. You take in the city around you and the overwhelming number of tourists. The hustle and the bustle is beautiful, but something about the fact that you can be comfortable in the quiet with Zach brings and unexpected extra layer of intimacy to the night.

Walking hand in hand is intimate, serene. He doesn’t feel the need to make excuses or fill the silence, he just enjoys the way the smiles seem to be just for you as a couple, coming from others who pass you on the streets.

The hotel is clean and bright, and the extended family of the folks who owned the restaurant are as sweet as can be when you check in. They’ve put you in a top floor room facing the ocean and promise you it’s their best, and you and Zach take the stairs up after thanking them once more.

“I feel bad.” Zach muses. “They think we are on our honeymoon.”

“First dates can be just as special as honeymoons, right?” You offer as you make your way down the hall to your room. “I checked their rates online and it was the same as what we paid. So they’re not giving us big discounts or anything. If they had, I would have said something.”

“Good.” He feels better about that and his stomach twists in nervous anticipation. You both had stopped in a little shop where he had purchased a small box of condoms. They feel heavy in his pocket.

“Hey.” The leaden heaviness sits between you as you unlock the door to your room and push it open. Before you even make a move to step inside, you settle your hand on Zach’s arm and offer him a soft, reassuring smile. “Just because we want to doesn’t mean we have to tonight, okay? We can decide to just hang out and cuddle and sleep beside each other and it will still be perfect.”

“Are you having second thoughts?” He asks seriously, trying not to look disappointed, because he doesn’t want that to pressure you.

“Not at all.” You’re quick to assure him of that, pushing open the door and stepping inside. “You just seem…nervous? I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong.”

“Afraid of disappointing you.” He admits with a small huff of amusement at himself as he flashes you a grin. “It’s been a while for me.”

"Then I'm flattered you would choose me to be the one to break that dry spell with." It really is a vote of confidence from him, and you won't take that for granted. Despite the fact that you don't understand how in the hell anyone has ever let him go, you're glad to be the person that is here and ready to see all of the potential he has as a partner.

“I would be fucking crazy not to.” Zach snorts, shaking his head. “Baby you are gorgeous and kind, and everything I don’t deserve.”

"Hey now." You shake your head as you shut the door behind the two of you, flipping the lock and feeling the shiver of anticipation roll through you. But still, hearing him put himself down is the last thing you're comfortable with and when you turn back to Zach you slide your hands up his arms gently. "I wouldn't let somebody else talk about you like that, what makes you think you get to?"

“Habit.” He admits, biting his lip and reaching for your waist to draw you closer. “I’m working on it.”

"I'm here to remind you how incredible you are anytime you need." A strong support system means everything, you learned that the hard way. And you're more than happy to be that for Zach.

“Thanks.” There’s a bit gratefulness and quite a bit of amazement in his eyes as he looks at you. “You are absolutely amazing, you know that?” He asks. “You take my breath away.”

Your hands creep up his arms, sliding around his neck so your fingers can sink into his short, soft hair. "I'd be happy to do that for you literally, if you'd like."

“How would you do that?” He has a pretty good idea, but he wants to hear what you have in mind.

The hum that leaves your lips as you press your body against his is full of promise. "I'd start at the top and work my way down, of course," you tell him, bringing Zach down to meet your lips for a searing kiss.

He can’t help but groan, a grown man melting against you, but he’s already weak in the knees from the passion in just this one kiss. The sense of complete rightness that washes over him as his own arms band around you tighter and he starts to give back to you.

None of the kisses you had shared yet today had been allowed to be this deep. You were in public. You were sharing space with other people. And this is so intensely intimate. It would have felt wrong just to let other people see your naked heart out there on your sleeve. But when it is just the two of you locked safely away in the privacy of a hotel room? You would be a puddle at his feet if it weren’t for the uncanny strength of him holding you tight against his chest.

It’s not hard for his body to respond instantly. He’s already lived most of the day in a state of arousal just being around you. But with the length of your body pressed against his and your tongue coaxing his further into your mouth? He is rock hard and aching. Groaning slightly as he turns both of you towards where the bed should be based on the split second examination of the room earlier.

And just like that you feel ignited. The press of his body against yours as he steers you blindly through around the room is an errant spark that seems to catch on every inch of you. With one hand your fingers card and tug in his hair, nails grazing over his scalp. With the other you pull his shoulders to keep him impossibly close — feeling like you’ll forget to breathe if you stop sharing gasps with him between kisses.

You taste like sweet wine and cream. A perfect combination when mixed with something that is just…you. He can’t describe it, but it’s warm and earthy.

The backs of your legs bump against the bed frame, almost toppling you over and making you hang onto Zach all the more tightly, giggling into the kiss. “Oops,” You can’t help but laugh at how deeply uncoordinated it was, even as out of breath as you are. “Weak knees aren’t very stable, apparently.”

“Then we should lay down.” Zach suggests, grinning against your lips and starting to crouch down.

It doesn’t exactly take convincing. Not when every single time he’s kissed you today has turned you a soaking wet, needy mess. The fact that you finally get to do something about it is exhilarating and relieving all at once. “Hell yes,” you agree, nearly hauling him into the bed with you when you try to kiss him and move at the same time.

He laughs when you both nearly topple over, flopping down on your sides in a move that is not nearly as graceful as he had planned in his mind. “Eager?” He asks. Sliding his hand down your side to your ass.

“Oh, absolutely.” You smirk, but shift your leg ever so slightly so your thigh presses against the front of his shorts. “Just as much as you are.”

“Baby, have you looked in the mirror?” Zach groans, twitching under the pressure. “You’re a complete knockout and fucking sweet as pie.”

“As long as you like what you see, the mirror doesn’t matter.” What you see and what he sees looking at you will never be quite the same, so as long as he likes the version of you that he sees, you’re fine with it.

Zach doesn’t say anything else, he just slowly leans in and presses his lips to yours softly.

It’s such a sweet, gentle gesture that you melt deeper into the mattress. For that one moment there are no thoughts at all left in your head. It’s just Zach and the possibilities.

He follows you, body half covering yours as he lets the kiss deepen slightly. Not too much, but he squeezes your ass gently as he grinds into you.

The roll of his hips earns him a moan, and he swallows it up eagerly so you give him another and hitch one leg up to let him get closer.

He presses deeper into you, slotting his hips between yours as you open up and he gasps into your mouth when his hard cock presses against the heat of your core.

The heat in your belly flares hotter, wicking all the way Down your limbs, and you whimper again because you have no prayer of a coherent sentence or even word in that moment. There’s horny and eager then there’s whatever the hell you are as you grind your hips against his to beg for more.

It’s juvenile, but grinding against you over clothes while he kisses you is the height of eroticism right now. He groans into your mouth before breaking away, wanting to taste every inch of your skin.

He trails kisses along your jaw and throat, making your back arch and stealing your breath all over again. While he begins to travel south you tug at his shirt, trying to tear the damn thing off while your whole body aches for him.

Zach smiles against your skin, cutting his eyes up at you playfully. “You’re too impatient” he teases, pulling away. “Think I’ll blindfold you.”

You pout instantly, but the idea is intriguing enough that you raise an eyebrow at him. “Do I get to see you eventually?”

“Eventually.” He smirks, loving that you are going along with his little idea. “That way you can accurately judge how good I am.”

“I can’t judge your skills with my eyes open?” Delighted to have found him not so very vanilla after all, you let the hand you still have in his hair tug in his curls and grin when he moans.

“You might be overwhelmed by my good looks.” He chuckles and shakes his head. One of the things that made him suggest this is his tattoo. He didn’t want to have a ton of questions about it right now. This wasn’t the time for remembering the past, but enjoying the present.

“Is this a ‘hands off’ situation, too? Or can I at least still touch you?” There are plenty of things you’re willing to try out that you already know you enjoy that people might consider out of the ordinary, but the first time with a new partner you want to feel them in every way.

“You can touch me.” He promises. “I’m just feeling a little shy right now.” He jokes playfully, winking at you. “Don’t want you to get too scared.”

“You have nothing you need to be shy about, but I fully respect having a few hang ups. I’ve got plenty, too.” Reluctantly as you are to take your hands off of him, you reach for your belt instead — or rather, the long sash of fabric that you tied through your belt loops today because you thought it looked a little cuter than a standard belt. “Use this.”

“Are you sure?” He takes the fabric from your hands and holds it up to his eyes playfully.

“I trust you.” You trust him somehow inherently. As though it were as simple as trusting yourself. In a way that sticks in your chest and warms through you like hot cocoa in winter.

He watches you for a moment after pulling the scarf down from his face, “Okay.” He agrees. “I just want this to be something we never forget.”

“I can already guarantee I will never forget any part of today,” you promise him, shivering slightly with anticipation as he settles your former belt gently over your eyes.

He ties it firmly, but not too tight. If you need it off, all you need to do is slip it up your forehead or pull it down. The point of this is to be fun, to explore without judgement and he can’t do that if you are uncomfortable. “Hopefully that’s a good thing and it doesn’t go into your ‘worst dates’ catalog.” He jokes before he slides his hands down to the edge of your shirt to push it up your stomach and drop a kiss right above your belly button.

With every small touch now heightened, your skin tingles with the scrap of his calloused fingers and press of the feather-light kiss. “I don’t fuck on the first date unless it’s a really fucking good date.”

“Me either.” Zach smirks against your skin before he decides to nip your side slightly, laughing quietly when you jump and gasp at the grazing of his teeth. Instead of working down, he decides to work up and nuzzles just under the band of your bra.

One hand blindly makes its way to his shoulder again, grasping the thick cords of muscle there and reminding you just how powerful this broad man is that is being so tender and playful with you. At this point it’s Zach’s game — to explore and to pleasure and to discover — and every point of contact between you is a spark catching fire.

It takes just a second to discover that your bra hooks in the front, to Zach's utter delight, making it easy to unbind your breasts and capture a nipple in his mouth before your shirt is even off or your straps slid down your arms.

The heat and pressure of Zach’s mouth feels boiling even on this warm night, sending you gasping and cursing as you grip his shoulder tighter. If you get any wetter your shorts might outright dissolve, but he would probably consider that a bragging right.

Zach groans against your nipple, loving the little arch to your back, pushing your breast to his mouth more. Offering yourself up.

There is no steady rhythm to any of it as Zach works to take you apart piece by piece. He has a method in his madness, surely, but you are breathless and moaning as he reduces you to a human puddle on the bedsheets. While you can’t see him like this you can definitely feel him, and your hands tug at his shirt again to get that luscious skin-on-skin sensation as he starts to travel down your body.

He takes his time, learning the sensitive spots on your body and enjoying every soft sound he pulls out of your mouth. Until he is dragging your shorts down your legs.

It’s about fucking time says the impatient voice in your head as you squirm in the bed and lift your hips to help him move things along. He’s consented to take his shirt off, at least, so that warmth that rolls off of him in waves can seep directly into your bones. You whimper as the cool breeze of exposure hits your overheated cunt, dripping with need and aching for attention.

“Fuck, you look so pretty right now.” Zach groans at the sight of your wet lips, hair trimmed and manicured. You either were hoping that the night would end this way, or you were very meticulous about your grooming. He’s kind of hoping for the former even though he wouldn’t care if you had done anything. “Baby, you look good enough to eat.”

“Tease.” You whine, trying to sound huffy but only succeeding in strangling another moan when his breath ghosts over your swollen pussy. Even with his hands caressing your thighs, you’re squirming.

It’s been a long goddamn time since Zach has had a pussy in his face, but he loves the musky scent of your wet sex. Making him twitch and groan as he slowly spreads your lips wide for him to drag his tongue up your folds for that first, tantalizing lick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” With your back arching and your fingers tight in his hair, it’s so easy to lose yourself to one little taste.

He makes a sound of pleasure as he flicks his tongue over your clit and comes back for another pass. This time starting lower and letting his tongue tease your entrance before sliding higher.

If you weren’t blindfolded already you might have cum just from the sight of him. His lips and tongue explore while his hands keep you steady, holding you in place so the buck of your hips doesn’t unseat him before he can really get going.

He absorbs your sound, your taste. The very essence of your being, feasted on as he slowly and thoroughly licks through you like a meal he is savoring.

It’s a stunning combination of thorough exploration and eager enthusiasm that has you writing and moaning his name so quickly. You could have had a date yesterday and everything about tonight would already be better. Zach seems somehow to know exactly what you like without asking, reading your signals perfectly air pushing you higher and higher until his name is the only word on your lips.

Zach is completely entranced by the way you respond to his touch, never having a lover he feels so in-sync with. It’s like he’s touched you a million times before rather than just these last few minutes.

The whole world has stopped existing around you. It's just you and Zach and this bed and every new height of pleasure that he keeps building you to. The press of his hands on your hips, the deep push of his tongue, the sharp half-scrape of his teeth near your clit that he's discovered makes you gasp and moan.

“Cum for me baby.” He pulls away to gasp his plea, the need to see you fall apart about to rupture in his veins and make him go mad. His grip tightening on your hips and he dives back into your cunt with the desperation of a man starved that’s reached his oasis.

You don't have to tell me twice, you would say if you could swim through the thick mire of bliss to tease him. Instead, and much more true to the moment, you let out a sobbing moan and beg for just a little bit more to send you over the edge.

He hears the unspoken plea in your whimpers and opens his mouth wider to just devour you. Burying himself into your pussy where his nose is blocked by your mound as he pushes you over the edge and if he died in this moment, he would die blissfully happy.

Your back arches fiercely one more time, lifting your shoulders off the bed as you hit that sharp crest that explodes into your climax. All of your muscles tense and curses spill freely, interspersed with his name and moans entirely without words – until that crest becomes altogether too much, the thread mercifully snaps, and you fall back on the mattress an utterly satisfied puddle.

Zach is slow to pull his mouth away. Savoring the little tremors that race through your thighs and makes your pussy clench against his chin as he laps at your juices one last time before he lifts his head with a groan of satisfaction. “And just think, we’ve only started.” He hums playfully, knowing that the night has just begun.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Zach Wellison #Zach Wellison x female reader #Zach Wellison x you #Zach Wellison x f!reader #Brothers & Sisters #Shane Dio Morrissey #Shane Dio Morrissey x female OC #NYPD Blue #soulmate au #Soulmate Sunday #cruise ship au #first date

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mattsmiddlepartt · 1 day ago

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When words collide.

Warnings: arguing, cursing, angst, fluff if you squint, idk anymore.

Matt × !reader

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the soft glow from the overhead light casting sharp shadows. Matt leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching. You stood across from him, matching his tension, your arms stiff at your sides.

“I just don’t fucking get it,” Matt said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Why the hell didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I knew how you’d react!” you shot back, your voice trembling slightly.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” he snapped, his brown eyes narrowing. “Classic. Blame me for your bullshit!”

You huffed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I didn’t lie, Matt. I just... didn’t tell you right away. There’s a fucking difference.”

“Bullshit!” he spat, his voice rising. “If you’re hiding something, it’s a lie, plain and simple.”

Your throat tightened as his words hit, sharp and unforgiving. “Goddammit, Matt, why do you always have to be so black-and-white about everything? Not everything is some huge fucking betrayal!”

He pushed off the counter, pacing now, his hands tugging at his hoodie strings. “You went behind my back,” he said, his voice lower but no less cutting. “You made a decision that affects both of us, and you didn’t think I deserved to know?”

“It wasn’t your fucking decision to make!” you fired back, your anger bubbling over. “Not everything in my life has to revolve around you, Matt!”

That made him stop. He turned to you, his face twisting into something you’d never seen before. Hurt. Real, raw hurt.

“Wow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s how you see me? Some... controlling asshole who needs to know everything?”

You froze, your anger dissolving into regret as his words sank in. “Matt, I didn’t mean—”

“No, you fucking did,” he interrupted, his tone bitter now. “And you know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do try too hard to be involved. But it’s only because I fucking care, okay? Because I actually give a damn about us. But if that’s too much for you…”

He trailed off, looking away as his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

“Matt,” you said softly, stepping toward him, but he shook his head, holding up a hand.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I need a fucking minute. I can’t… I just can’t do this right now.”

You watched as he turned and walked out of the kitchen, his footsteps heavy as they disappeared down the hallway. The silence he left behind was deafening.

And all you could do was stand there, staring at the empty space where he’d been, wondering how something so small had spiraled into something so goddamn big.

____

Matt sighed, his shoulders slumping as he pushed off the desk. Slowly, he crossed the room until he was standing right in front of you. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes softer now, though the frustration still lingered.

“I hate this,” he muttered, his voice quieter.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Hate what?”

“Fighting with you,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s exhausting. And... it fucking sucks, okay?”

You felt your chest tighten, guilt wrapping around your heart. “I hate it too,” you said softly. “I hate that I make you feel like this. I just—” You paused, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You’re such a pain in my ass, you know that?”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite everything. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a walk in the park either, Sturniolo.”

That earned a faint chuckle from him, the tension in the room easing just a little.

For a second, the two of you just stood there, neither sure what to say. Then, with a sigh, Matt reached out, his hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice genuine. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I just... I hate feeling like I’m not enough for you to trust me.”

Your heart ached at his words. Without thinking, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. “You are enough,” you said softly, your voice muffled against his hoodie. “I promise, Matt. I just... I’m a mess sometimes, okay? But you’re the one thing I’m always sure about.”

His arms tightened around you, his chin resting on top of your head. “You’re so fucking annoying,” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words—only the warmth of someone who cared too much to stay mad.

You laughed, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “And yet, you’re still here.”

He smirked, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into his touch, your smile soft. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Always,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

And just like that, the fight was behind you. Because no matter how messy things got, you both knew that at the end of the day, you’d choose each other—again and again.

Tags!🌬

@chasekeithh @sophiabirlemm @delilahsturniolo @chrisfavoritewhore

Angst idea from!: @stvrnioloslvt ♡

First divider from!: @bernardsbendystraws I think!

#matt x reader #spotify #angst #angst with a happy ending #arguing #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

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mixxiew · 2 days ago

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cruise of love | hc

chapter one: king of the walkway

The steady hum of the cruise ship’s engines was a soothing backdrop as yn made her way down the sun-drenched promenade deck, her eyes glistening with excitement. This was it—her chance to explore the world, all thanks to the Semester at Sea program. With a tote bag slung over her shoulder and a camera in hand, she looked around, absorbing the moment while looking for her friends.

The salty breeze tousled her hair as she paused to snap a photo of the endless expanse of blue water. Everything felt surreal, like stepping into a dream.

“Out of my way” a sharp, impatient voice snapped, pulling yn from her thoughts.

She turned her head just in time to see a boy storming toward her, his designer sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a luxury duffle bag slung lazily over his shoulder. He didn’t slow down—didn’t even glance her way—before colliding into her with a solid thud.

“Hey!” yn stumbled back, nearly losing her grip on her camera. She caught it just in time, cradling it protectively as she glared up at the boy.

He stopped and turned, his face twisted in irritation. “I’m sorry are you talking to me?” His tone was dripping with annoyance, and his piercing gaze made her bristle.

She chuckled a little. “Yeah? You just bumped into me and almost made my camera fall, you should at least say sorry?”

He looked at her, slowly lowering his glasses just to have a better look. “And what are you doing standing in the middle of the walkway?”

“I’m sorry, what?” yn shot back, her voice rising with disbelief. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention!”

“Right, because I’m supposed to watch out for random people blocking the way” he retorted with a scoff, crossing his arms. His expensive white shirt and tailored trousers screamed wealth, as did the watch on his wrist that probably cost more than yn’s entire scholarship.

yn squared her shoulders, not backing down. “Random people? Sorry, I didn’t realize this was your walkway, Mr. Entitled.”

For a moment, he looked startled—like he wasn’t used to anyone talking back to him. Then a slow, amused smirk spread across his face. “You’re so bold for someone who clearly doesn’t belong here.”

Her jaw tightened. She knew what he meant, and it stung more than she wanted to admit. But she refused to let him see that. “And what exactly makes me not belong? The fact that I don’t walk around with a stick up my—”

“You should watch your mouth” he interrupted, taking a step closer to her, his tone turning icy though the smirk never left his lips.

“Why? Afraid I might hurt your fragile ego?” yn shot back, tilting her head defiantly.

His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses, and for a moment, she thought she’d gone too far. But then he chuckled, low and soft. It wasn’t friendly—more like he was intrigued.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer but still carrying that air of superiority.

“Why? So you can report me to the Cruise Walkway Police?” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

That made him laugh, an actual laugh this time, and yn blinked in surprise. “You’re feisty. I’ll give you that” he said, removing his sunglasses just to reveal sharp, intelligent eyes that studied her with interest. “Not what I expected from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” she echoed, her voice dripping with mockery. “You really love your vague insults, don’t you?”

He grinned, stepping even closer. “It’s not vague if it’s true. But fine—since you’re being so difficult, I’m Haechan.” He said it like his name should mean something to her.

“Good for you” yn said back. “I’ll make sure to write it down in my diary later.”

And after that she just turned around, walking away mad as hell while he just stared at her back getting away.

And for the first time in a long time, Haechan found himself intrigued by someone other than himself.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

masterlist | next

౨ৎauthor’s note: first chapter up!! hope you like it, there will be some written parts here and there just beautiful i love writing! 😄 hope you enjoy it! (yeah the enemies to lovers is just bc haechan doesn’t know how to express his feelings;)

౨ৎ taglist! @dlin3 @haechology @iamsimplyasimp

#haechan x reader #nct dream #leedonghyuck #nct 127 #haechan #nct #haechan x y/n #haechanff #haechan fanfic #nct dream ff #nct ff #nct fanfic #nct smau #nct x reader

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cinnaleaf · 1 day ago

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ESSENCE OF US - CH 14: HEARTBREAK ANNIVERSARY*

Please read responsibly. This fic will get hot and heavy as the story progresses, 18+ only MDNI | CH 13 | MASTERLIST | CH 15 [soon]

summary: a fleeting encounter with a mysterious Trent leaves you wondering if fate is playing a bigger match. your paths continue to cross in unexpected places as the fragrances around you mirror the growing tension between you. maybe it's just a coincidence..or maybe its destiny in the making.

warnings: drama, angst, fluff, smut, language, short smau, [redacted] wc: ~10.9k (sry lol) song inspo: Sweetness x Elmiene ft. Leon Thomas (fav song rn! so underrated) 💌: heavens gates are closed for me full stop no comma

“You’re gonna bite right through the pen cap if you keep chewing on it” Trent teased, breaking through the silence in the car. He glanced at you from the driver’s seat with his eyes crinkling in the corners as he caught you with the pen cap clutched between your teeth. You quickly pulled the cap from your mouth and held it tightly in your hand instead.

“Sorry..” you muttered, embarrassed. “I just..ugh. This whole thing feels weird. I just wanna do the creative stuff, y’know?” You glanced down at the folder in your lap. “This other stuff is...just not for me.”

Trent quietly chuckled as the soft pops of his gum filled the space between his words. “You sound like me when I’ve got media duties. ‘I just wanna play football’” he mimicked in an imitated complaining tone.

You slumped back into the passenger seat with your eyes drifting back to the folder on your lap like it was a ticking time bomb. “I just hate that I have to do this..” you admitted quietly. “It’s not like I don’t trust them but..” you trailed off, staring at the window while the car moved through the passing streets.

“Baby,” Trent spoke softly, cutting through your thoughts. He moved his hand from the gear shift to rest it above your knee. “You’re not doing this because you don’t trust them. It’s just to protect what’s yours, yeah? There’s a difference.”

You nodded, gnawing at the inside of your cheek. “NDAs just feel so corporate. Like.. ‘Hi, welcome back to work. Here’s some legally binding paperwork to remind you not to gossip and spill any of my secrets.’ It makes me look like a snob, right?”

Trent laughed and shook his head. “Nah, it doesn’t. It makes you look like someone who built something amazing from scratch and doesn’t want it wrecked by somebody running their mouth. If they have any sense then they’ll sign the paper without a fuss.”

“Maybe” you sighed, still staring at the folder that held the paperwork. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have for something that was light enough to blow away with the wind. “It’s not just about the store though... it’s everything. My life, my family...you. And if they’re leaking stuff…”

Trent gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, sensing your spiralling thoughts. “And that’s exactly why you’re doing this. If Ziggy didn’t catch them it could be way worse by now. First it’s believable rumours, then it’s ‘Trent’s secret baby mum spotted in Liverpool.’”

You snapped your neck at him, eyeing him with annoyance. “Out of all the things to come out of your mouth...why would you say that? That’s not even funny Trent..I’m sure there are girls lining up for that opportunity.”

“I’m just saying,” he added, laughing softly. “Better to nip it now than deal with stuff like that later. It’s not like you’re firing them or anything. You’re being smart about your business.”

Maybe he was right, but that didn’t stop the feeling of your stomach twisting from anxiety. You tilted your head back, staring at the roof of the car like it could give you some sort of divine intervention to avoid this whole mess. “This is going to be so awkward..” you groaned with your dread evident.

Your thoughts drifted to your assistants who had become such a big part of daily life at Les Notes d’Amour. Tara always had an infectious energy that made the store feel a little brighter. She was bubbly, and sometimes way too chatty for her own good. It wasn’t hard to picture a LFC loving uni student spilling something to someone without realizing how far it could spiral, whether it was accidentally or not. Ember was the complete opposite of Tara, and was often sharp, calm, and systematic. Her precision was one of the reasons you hired her in the first place. It was always like she was two steps ahead of everyone else, and you liked that since you were an overthinker. You knew you could always count on her to get things done while you were away. She didn’t seem like the gossiping type, but you didn’t really know much about either of them outside of Les Notes.

“Maybe I should’ve done this when Camille mentioned it” you quietly acknowledged as the storefront came into view. “Or maybe I should’ve just let her dad handle the hiring process. That would’ve saved me from this headache.”

Trent steered into a parking spot in front of the shop and cut the engine. “Nah. It’s better coming from you. Your store, your rules.”

His optimism was appreciated, but your mind was already racing as you wondered how the conversation could go. Would Tara burst into tears and make it more awkward than it already was going to be? Would Ember cross her arms and roll her eyes over something so trivial? Or even worse, would one of them get offended enough to quit on the spot?

You chewed on your lip, staring at the folder as if it could detonate at any second. You didn’t know what to expect, despite trying to come up with every possibility in your head. The uncertainty was the worst part of it. They weren’t just assistants anymore; Tara and Ember were an essential part of your business now. The thought of finding someone else to fit into your carefully built world felt exhausting if they took this upcoming conversation the wrong way.

“I don’t know if they’re going to take it well…” you trailed off, not wanting to open the car door and go inside.

Trent leaned over and unbuckled your seatbelt for you. His fingers brushed against your arm as he spoke softly. “You’re overthinking it baby,” he said. “It’s just to protect yourself and what’s yours.”

You nodded, but the thought of Tara breaking into tears or Ember giving you the cold shoulder made the knot in your stomach tighten. You were supposed to be teaching them how to make batches of Rêveur today, but the little folder in your lap could completely derail your plans for the day. With a sigh, you stared at the Les Notes d’Amour gold lettered sign through the car’s window before stepping out of the car, gripping the folder tightly against your chest. Trent followed a few steps behind you, giving you the space you needed to handle things on your own. When you walked toward the store, you could hear the faint sound of humming coming from inside. The sound of Tara’s bubbly energy already made you feel like your heart was about to beat out of your chest. It really wasn’t that all that deep, but in your mind it felt like the world was about to crumble beneath you.

The door jingled as you stepped inside and Tara stood at the counter, arranging a set of fragrances into neat rows, her glasses slipped down her nose slightly from the concentration. She glanced up when she heard the door and her face lit up with her usual bouncy enthusiasm.

“Oh! Hi, Y/N! Morning, Trent!” she chirped. “You’re early today!”

Ember was across the room, sorting through email requests for custom fragrances. She glanced over briefly, nodding in acknowledgement. “Morning” she said in her usual direct tone before returning back to her task.

Trent nudged your shoulder gently before wandering toward your workstation. He picked up a few of your scent vials and held them to the light, inspecting them like they were a puzzle he was trying to solve. He opened one and gave it a sniff, frowning curiously as if he was mentally cataloguing the notes of each vial. A boutique filled with delicate glass and the constant hum of creativity wasn’t his world, but somehow he fit in perfectly. It comforted you, even if the pressure of the conversation ahead felt heavier than ever.

“Tara. Ember..” you said, clearing your throat awkwardly as you gestured toward your office in the back. “Can we talk for a few minutes?”

Tara immediately froze with her hands hovering over a glass bottle. “Oh.. yeah, of course! Is everything okay?” Her voice was chipper, but you could sense the nervousness creeping into her tone. Ember pushed back her chair and stood up with her usual composure. “Sure,” she said simply, but her gaze flicked between you and the folder in your hands before she followed Tara to the back. You caught Trent’s eye as you passed him and he gave you an encouraging smile.

“You got this baby” he mouthed before turning his attention back to the vials.

The air felt suffocating as the three of you settled into your office. Tara sat down immediately and folded her hands nervously in her lap, while Ember leaned into her chair with her arms crossed. She had an unreadable, but not unfriendly expression. You set the folder down on the desk and took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to say while both girls stared back at you.

“Sooo. Umm..” you began in a shaky voice. Your hands were clenched together in your lap as you tried to will yourself to stay calm. “First off..I just wanted to say how much I appreciate both of you and everything you do. Both of you are an important part of this place. I mean that.”

Tara smiled nervously and Ember tilted her head, studying you like she was waiting for you to get to the point.

“But..” you continued in a hesitant voice. “Something happened recently. There’s been some information about me that’s been leaked online these last couple of months. Nothing huge..but enough to make me feel like I should probably set some boundaries..okay?”

Tara’s nervous smile disappeared as she fidgeted with the bottom hem of her top. “I– I swear I didn’t mean for anything to happen.” she stammered in a trembling voice. “I didn’t think it was a big deal at the time! I never wanted to hurt you or anything. I’m so sorry.”

Ember glanced at the folder in front of you, curiously. “What kind of boundaries are we talking about?” she asked in a calm but direct tone.

You opened the folder and slid two copies of the NDAs across the smooth surface of the desk. “It’s not about anything specific, really” you said, trying to sound as neutral as you could be, even if you were kind of lying.

“It’s more about making sure everything that happens here stays here. I just need to know we’re all on the same page and that anything you hear or see working here doesn’t leave these walls.”

Tara’s eyes darted to the papers in front of her and then back at you. “Oh my god. This is because you’re pregnant isn’t it?” she blurted out. “I only mentioned it in my group chat! One of my friends messaged SpillTheBeans after I said not to. I really didn’t mean for it to –”

“Tara I’m not pregnant” you cut her off with an awkward laugh, trying to diffuse the tension. “The only baby I have is this place. Which is why I need you to sign this paper.” You pulled out a pen, tapping the ballpoint against the signature line. “Just sign here and we’ll be good.”

Tara’s eyes went wide as she bolted upright in the chair. “Oh my god, I thought I was getting fired!” she blurted out, clutching her chest like the words were exhausting her. “I’ve been waiting for it to happen for days. I even texted my mum and asked her if I could move back in…she said no, by the way!”

Her rambling spilled out so fast you could hardly keep up. Even Ember gave her a side eye.

“What? I’m not…no. You’re not fired Tara” you reassured, trying to keep your tone calm despite her dramatics. “It’s not that serious. We can just move forward from it, okay? Just don’t let it happen again.”

Tara reached for the pen so fast she almost knocked it off the desk. “Yeah, sure! I’ll sign whatever you want girl!” she exclaimed while scribbling her name on the line. “You could tell me you’re actually secretly dating Jude Bellingham right now and I’d take it to my grave.”

“Um, no. That’s definitely not happening” you replied, trying not to laugh at the thought of you dating Jude in some twisted alternate reality.

Ember leaned forward next when Tara handed her the pen but her movements were slower. She picked up the pen and twirled it between her fingers to read through the paperwork before signing her name. “Yup. Seems fair” she replied plainly, sliding the paper back toward you. When you reached to pick it up, Ember’s phone vibrated against the desk surface. She snatched the phone quickly, trying to silence the buzzing noise.

“Sorry. Just my boyfriend making dinner plans,” she muttered before placing her phone into her pocket.

“Okay...I’m not that strict, Ember. I don’t care if you use your phone.”

Ember shrugged and brushed her fingers against her pocket to make sure her phone was tucked away. “He’s just.. really big on planning. Always wants everything figured out ahead of time.”

You smiled to try and lighten the mood. “Oh! He’s like me then? I always need to plan for everything.”

“Yeah something like that.”

Tara leaned forward to chime in eagerly. “My boyfriend is the total opposite. He’ll text and ask to grab a drink and then suddenly it’s a whole night out. Spontaneous dates are the best though!”

Tara was a yapper. You didn’t know why she was suddenly oversharing. Maybe it was to compensate for leaking rumours about you, but either way, your eyes were glazing over from her talking so much.

“Oh! Since we’re all booed up, we should do a triple date sometime!” she added, looking between you and Ember with excitement evident.

You raised your eyebrow and gave her a deadpan look that made her backpedal immediately. “Okay..okay. Too soon. Got it!”

“Very” you replied while laughing and shaking your head. “But speaking of planning things out…Trent and I are going away for a bit so I need to make sure everything’s running smoothly while I’m gone.”

“Oohh, it’s giving holiday vibes” Tara chirped with a smile. “Where are you going? Somewhere boujee like Dubai I bet. Be careful though. I heard the girlies go there to–”

“Yeah, no. Dubai’s not on the list. Definitely somewhere sunny though” you smiled back, keeping it vague because the last thing you needed was people leaking your location, even if you did just make them sign an NDA. “We just need some time to recharge for our anniversary. That’s why I’m gonna teach you how to make Rêveur today.”

Tara clapped her hands together excitedly while Ember scribbled down things in her notebook. “Finally! I’ve been dying to learn. It’ll be so fun to say I helped make Rêveur. Iconic.”

“Uh, yeah...fun. We have to get everything exactly the same every single time though. No shortcuts. If one thing goes wrong the batch will be ruined and people will notice, trust.”

Ember glanced up from her notebook with her pen mid air. “No pressure or anything, right?” she laughed. “Is there anything specific we should know?”

“Not trying to scare you,” you began with a reassuring smile. “But the oils can burn if you’re not careful so just keep an eye on them, okay? It’ll turn the whole batch rancid and you don’t want to smell that.”

Ember moved her pen across the paper, noting everything down with focus. “What’s the safe range?”

“Maybe 70 or 80 degrees” you recited, getting into your own element. “Anything higher and it’ll burn. Anything lower and it’ll separate. Just don’t turn the heat off completely unless it gets really out of hand.”

Tara was listening with wide eyes, but she looked confused as hell. “Wait..do we just..guess if it’s too hot or not? This is exactly why I switched my major to public relations. I’m more of a vibe person.”

“That...definitely explains a lot honestly” you joked. She cringed, catching your shade about the leaks. “Just follow Ember’s lead. She seems like she’ll be good at this.”

Just as you led them to the other room to start, Trent casually strolled in and gave you a quick kiss on the lips to which Tara let out a dramatic ‘aww’.

“So cute,” she cooed.

Trent leaned in close to your ear, whispering. “Fancy a train ride after this?” He pulled out his phone, showing the date at the top of his home screen, which featured a photo of your smiling face.

“Maybe” you dragged the word out, trying to push him away from you because he was starting to distract you. “Go stand over there T. Every time you distract me I mess something up. Move.”

“Damn” Trent drawled, stepping back with a grin with his hands up in defeat. “Didn’t know I was a hazard.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back, refocusing your attention on the task before you. “Okay!” you said, clasping your hands together while looking at Tara and Ember, who were now watching you closely. “Starting with the base note blend…”

Both girls nodded as you continued to speak. Ember jotted something down in her notebook and Tara leaned in, determined to follow along closely and learn despite her initial confusion earlier. You grabbed the first vial and smiled to yourself.

After this, I can really relax. Seriously this time.

The lesson went a lot smoother than you expected. Ember was quick to learn and caught on easily. Tara was a little slower but seemed to be enjoying herself and asking questions to make sure she understood correctly. You had original apprehension, but everything felt like it was under control this time. Once everything was cleaned up and instructions were finalized, you dismissed your assistants for the day. Tara waved with enthusiasm and promised to remember everything she learned. Ember gave you a quick nod and smile before heading out as she typed away on her phone and disappeared through the door.

An hour later, you and Trent pulled up to an area that looked nothing like Lime Street.

“T…I thought you said we were going on the train?” you asked inquisitively. “This is just a building. I’m confused.”

Trent looked smug as he parked the car. “I said train ride, yeah? I didn’t say where or how.”

You gave him a side eye while unbuckling your seatbelt. “Nuh uh. This feels like a set up. What are you up to?”

Trent laughed as he got out of the car and jogged around to open the door on the passenger’s side. He extended his hand out to help you. “Baby relax. You’re gonna love it.”

You took his hand and creased your brows while narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m not convinced. This looks like a place where someone would pull off a heist or something.”

“Nah. Nothing like that,” he reaffirmed while leading you to the building with your hands intertwined in his.

The moment you stepped inside, your skepticism turned into curiosity. The space was dimly lit and the faint sound of train wheels clicking on tracks played in the background. You adjusted your eyes and took in the sight of a perfectly crafted train interior that somewhat mimicked the train you took the day you ran into Trent for the first time.

Your jaw dropped. “No way…”

Trent squeezed your side, pleased with your reaction. “It’s an escape room.”

You spun your face at him, confused all over again. “An escape room? What does that have to do with–?”

“Look closer” he said, gesturing to a seat where a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses were carefully placed. “Ring any bells?”

The realization hit you like a freight train. “No. You didn’t…”

“I did,” his grin widened. “I figured it would be more fun than just taking the train again. Thought we could relive the day with a little twist, y’know?”

You looked around the room, your heart swelling with affection. “You had them recreate our meet cute? This is…”

“Romantic?” he finished your sentence smugly, proud of his accomplishment.

“Cheesy as hell” you corrected him, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “But I love it.”

“Thought you might” he said, tugging you toward the seat with the hoodie. “Let’s see if we’re smart enough to get out of here.”

The first clue was tucked into the hoodie pocket. It looked like the same hoodie Trent wore the day you met him. A slip of paper read:

What starts with the sun but ends with the moon?

You groaned, holding it up for him to see. “Okay..what does that even mean? The sky?”

Trent smirked and leaned against the seat like he knew the answer, but didn’t want to give it to you just yet. “Nah baby. Just think about it.”

You glanced back at the clue, still confused. “Um, I am thinking about it..I really don’t know. A sunset? Time?” You threw out ideas, suddenly remembering the cheeky comment you made about his hoodie and sunglasses that day. “Wait..is it an eclipse thing?”

“Close. Think simpler.”

Your mind churned before it finally clicked for you. “A day!” you blurted out. “Starts with the sun and ends with the moon.”

Trent nodded, grinning as he reached into a luggage rack to pull out an envelope. “I knew you would get it eventually.”

You snatched the envelope from his hand, rolling your eyes. The second clue had a small calendar drawn on it with a single number circled – 22. The day you first met.

“Okay. Too predictable Trent..”

“Is it?” he asked. “Could just be the start of a combo…”

The two of you scanned the fake train car, piecing together the rest of the lock combination from the small details that were hidden throughout the room. There were train tickets tucked into a seat pocket, coordinates of London and Liverpool printed on a travel map, and a tiny key taped underneath a windowsill. After solving each clue, you ended up with 2206 as the final code.

“2206. What’s the 6 from?” you wondered out loud.

Trent smiled as he punched the code into the lock box near the door. “That’s the platform the train left from. London to Liverpool..platform six.”

Your jaw dropped again as the lock box opened. “How do you know that? You didn’t even get on at that stop.”

Trent shrugged and pulled you into a quick kiss. “That day is burned into my brain forever. Had to do my research.”

You shook your head and ran your fingers along his jawline lightly before opening the next compartment. “You really went all out for this. Kinda scared of what you have planned for our official anniversary.”

Inside the compartment was a miniature bottle of a fragrance. “Musk” you said, sniffing the vial thoughtfully. “This was in the escape room? T, did you take this from–”

“Nah, I had nothing to do with that one.” he interrupted, holding his hands up. “Just the universe messing with us again.” He took the bottle out of your hand and sniffed it. “Maybe we could add it as one of the last ingredients? And make it unisex so anyone can wear it..”

His suggestion made you smile while you watched him analyze the scent in a similar way he did with bergamot that fateful day on the train. “That’s...actually not a bad idea. But we need one more to balance it all out.” You didn’t have your notebook with you, so you quickly pulled out your phone to type it into your notes app. You reached for Trent’s hand to intertwine it with yours to pull him along to the next clue. “I can’t believe you had them do all of this for us..”

As you turned the corner, the scene shifted to a football themed section. There was a goalpost, a whiteboard, and lockers lining the wall. Trent’s eyes lit up instantly and you knew you lost him to his competitive side.

“Aight” he began, cracking his knuckles and stepping forward. “My time to shine.”

You stifled a laugh. “Baby you’re not on the pitch. It’s just an escape room.”

Trent smiled as he took in the sight of the room. “Doesn’t matter. I’m still gonna win.”

Amused by his determination, you egged him on. “Okay vice captain. Lead the way.”

The football themed section had Trent written all over it. The lockers were labelled with Liverpool legends like Gerrard and Dalglish. On the whiteboard, a series of Xs and Os formed a tactical setup with a question written above it:

What year did Liverpool win their first European Cup?

Trent snorted and crossed his arms, like the question was something ingrained in his memory. “Easy. 1977. Rome. Borussia Mönchengladbach.”

The board beeped as a hidden compartment clicked open and revealed a small key. You scoffed at him in disbelief. “How do you know that? You weren’t even born yet.”

“History baby,” he replied. “Can’t wear the badge without knowing where it came from.”

You handed him the small key, shaking your head. “Nerd.”

“Maybe. But I’m a nerd who just unlocked the next step.”

Trent slid the key into a lock on the side of a locker and the door swung open to reveal a small podium holding a mini golden football. Another note was propped up beside it that read:

Score a goal, but don’t forget to hit the crossbar first.

“Oh here we fucking go” you muttered. “They’re really feeding into your ego now.”

Trent grinned as he pulled you in for a kiss. “You could be supportive like a normal girlfriend…”

You laughed and cupped your hands around your mouth to slip into your best commentator impression, mocking him with your support. “The man with the golden touch..stepping up to the challenge of a lifetime.”

“Keep it up and I’ll miss on purpose.” he teased, setting up the ball.

“You won’t” you shot back. “I’ll boo you…”

Trent lined up his shot and took a few steps back. The ball sailed into the air and struck the crossbar with the only type of ease your boyfriend could accomplish.

“WOW WHAT A HIT!” you yelled, jumping up and down like you were in the Kop. “Alexander-Arnold with a stunning strike!”

Trent turned, grinning ear to ear as he pointed at you. “You’re not bad at that…but it’s not good either. Gotta work on the commentator voice.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and moved over to the makeshift goalpost. “Okay. Let’s try this then. I’m the keeper now.”

Trent gave you a curious look, wondering if you were serious, but when you didn’t move, his look turned into amusement. “You gonna try to stop me? Alright. No mercy baby.”

You clapped your hands and bounced on your toes like you saw keepers do on match days. “I’m channelling my inner Alisson Becker. You’re not getting past me T.”

Trent set the ball down again and shook his head at your antics, but he was enjoying every second judging by the smile that hadn't faltered from his face. He took a few steps back, focused and ready while you spread your arms dramatically across the goal.

“And it’s Y/N L/N in goal!” you yelled in your best – yet below average, commentator voice. “Can she keep Trent Alexander-Arnold from clinching the game?”

“Not a chance,” Trent whispered under his breath, smirking. You really thought he would take it easy on you but he didn’t. He didn’t have to try too hard and the ball flew into the net easily. You lunged for it, trying to make the save, but your foot did something weird, making you tumble to the floor and land on your side, groaning. Trent jogged over, trying and failing not to laugh as he crouched beside you.

“You okay baby?”

You rolled onto your back, squinting up at him while rubbing your hip. “Fuck. How does Ali do this? He makes it look so easy.”

Trent reached out a hand to lift you to your feet. “You have the heart for it..I’ll give you that.”

You took his hand to let him pull you up as you brushed yourself off. “Next time I’m saving it.”

“Next time, huh?” He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close. “We’ll see. It’s game over for now, though.”

The final compartment snapped open with a thud, revealing a small envelope. Trent grabbed it, beaming as he opened it up. Inside was a handwritten note:

Congratulations on finding your way out! Here’s to your next adventure together.

Alongside the note were dinner reservations on the date of your official anniversary. You weren’t familiar with the restaurant, but the name sounded familiar – Lovebirds. Next to it, an itinerary to go to St. Barts, featuring photos of a private villa with direct beach access.

You blinked at the papers in Trent’s hand, struggling to process the details. “Wait..what is this?”

He turned the envelope toward you so that you could see it better. “Dinner plans for our anniversary. And St. Barts.” he confessed with a smile, still not faltering. “Private villa, just you and me. Direct beach access and no distractions.”

“You planned all of this?”

Trent laughed and folded the papers to tuck them back into the envelope. “Well I had some help, but yeah. Thought we deserved something special.”

You threw your arms around him and gave him a kiss. “I don't even know what to say. You’re too sweet.”

“Don’t say anything,” he murmured into your hair. “Just show up in your bikini.”

You laughed, pulling back to look at his face. “I love you..and I’m really glad you sat next to me on the train that day.”

Trent’s eyes softened as he played with the necklace around your neck. “Same here. I can’t imagine living life without you baby. I love you too.”

The two of you made your way back to the car, hand in hand as the sun started to set over the horizon to create a cotton candy sky. “What's next?” you asked.

“Let’s go eat and figure out where the night takes us?” He recommended. “Unless you wanna make another perfume note in the car..”

You burst out laughing and swatted at his chest. “You’re such a boy.”

---

The next few weeks passed by way too fast, but they were filled with happy milestones. When Ezzie and Ziggy’s 16th birthday rolled around, it was celebrated with Trent’s family instead of your parents. His mum and dad took over hosting duties and transformed their home into a comfortable space that was overflowing with kind heartedness and laughter. Celebrating with them felt more natural than it ever did in the cold confines of your parent’s picture perfect home. Trent’s parents took your siblings in without any hesitation, and treated them like they were their own children.

The day of their birthday kicked off with Ziggy’s signing day. He officially joined Liverpool’s U18 team. The dimpled grin on his face was infectious as he showed off his new kit. The back of his shirt proudly displayed “L/N” in bold lettering and the number he chose: 16. You assumed he chose it because he signed on the day of his birthday, but you really didn’t know for sure.

“Sixteen huh?” you mocked as he spun around in the room to make sure everyone could see. “Let me guess...some deep meaningful choice about this being your year or something?”

Ziggy was enjoying the attention and smirked. “Nah, not everything has to be deep. I just like the number.”

“He’s lying!” Ezzie interrupted. “It’s because Trent wears 66. He just changed one number.”

Ziggy glared at her and flung the kit to lay on his shoulder. “Damn. Just let me have this.”

“Bubby..” Ezzie said sweetly, tilting her head as she used a childhood nickname that always wound him up. “You can have it. Just not without me calling you out first.”

Before your brother could retort, Dianne’s voice floated in from the living room. “You two..let’s save the bickering for later. We’re celebrating, remember?”

Trent’s dad popped his head into the kitchen, tongs in hand. “Z, you think you have what it takes to make first team one day? Come outside, let’s see if you can get past me.”

“You? You’re too old.. I don’t wanna embarrass you at your own house.” Ziggy scoffed, heading toward the garden in disbelief. “You’re not even the best defender in this house right now.”

“That would be me,” Trent chimed in, leaning against the fridge while smiling.

“Nah, it’s me.” Tyler cut in, walking in the room with Marcel trailing behind him. “I’d be out there instead if I didn’t give it up for you.”

Marcel snorted. “Bro you haven’t defended anything since I was a baby.”

You stood next to the counter, slicing a piece of cake. “A family full of stars here, huh? Football, fashion...and whatever Tyler is claiming these days.”

“Aye” Tyler interjected. “I’m a dad. And I work.”

“Do you? Because the girlies are saying PLG is a money laundering scheme” you raised your brow, genuinely asking and not trying to throw shade...or maybe you were throwing shade.

The whole house burst into laughter, Marcel’s being the loudest of all despite not doing much more than Tyler. You took a bite of the white chocolate raspberry birthday cake, savouring the sweet flavour while everyone scattered around the house to do their own thing. Your anxiety still existed, but seemingly melted away once you were surrounded by the people you cared about the most. You took another bite of cake, surveying the warmth and love filling the house.

I could get used to this. This is nice.

The days following the twins birthday were a blur of activity. Ezzie’s modelling career was in full swing, and her first campaign with Miu Miu took off. Your sister’s face now adorned billboards and screens in New York, Paris and London. She was kind of iconic for someone who had just turned 16, and you were living for it. Your mum had definitely ate her words, rightfully so.

Meanwhile, Camille was splitting her time between Manchester, Paris, and Barcelona. Her relationship with Jules grew stronger with every passing day and the two of them were officially the most fashionable couple you knew. Camille’s voice hummed through the phone one day as you shuffled around your newly expanded wardrobe in you and Trent’s home. You were partially listening while you went through your clean laundry, trying to place everything in their new spot.

“I think Jules might be my soulmate” she gushed with her voice tinged with dreaminess that was very out of character for her. “I’ve been planning out outfits for the next month and he just gets it Y/N. He even coordinates with me sometimes. Who is this man?”

You froze mid fold, barely believing your ears. “Camille? Camille Saint-Clair??” you said slowly, dragging out her first name and surname for emphasis. “Is this my best friend? Soulmates and coordinating outfits with a man is crazy.”

She groaned but the dreaminess in her voice was still unmistakable, the girl was in love. “Shut up. I just– I may be falling for him a little. But I’m still me.”

“Anyway,” she added, trying to switch the subject back to you. “What about you and your lover boy? Where are you two going for your anniversary?”

You filled her in on Trent’s surprise escape room debacle and the upcoming trip to St. Barts, to which she simply responded:

“Don’t get pregnant. Use your butt..or mouth. Seriously. There’s an epidemic out here and the world doesn’t need anymore Aquariuses or Pisces.”

You giggled and shook your head. “Isn’t your dad a–” “Yeah, he is.. so trust me when I say that. Use your butt girl.”

Before you could fully recover from Camille’s out of pocket advice after ending the call, Trent walked into the bedroom shirtless with a towel slung over his shoulder from just getting out of the shower.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, stretching his arm behind his head as he sprawled out on the bed.

You made your way to the bed and sat on top of him. “Camille,” you smirked, grazing your hands over his toned abdominal muscles. “She gave me some interesting advice for our anniversary.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Nooo” you sang, leaning over to kiss him. “I think we’ll have enough time for me to use all three holes.”

“Three holes? Huh??”

Before you could explain, Trent’s phone rang with a FaceTime call. You glanced at the screen to see Jude’s name flashing across the screen. You groaned and picked up the phone to answer, turning the phone toward Trent’s face, but Jude started talking before either of you could speak.

“Aye! What’s good bro? What are you up to?” Jude’s smile filled the screen.

“Just chilling,” Trent replied, sitting up slightly with his hand palming over your thigh, gently massaging your soft skin. “Why? What’s up?”

“Mate, I’m scheming. Me, Jobe, Toby – lad’s night out at the club. You down?” Jude waggled his eyebrows for emphasis, already sold on his own plan.

Trent shook his head. “Nah. Not tonight man.”

“Bro come on,” Jude groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance. “It’s been ages. Don’t do me like this. I’ll keep the girls away so Y/N won’t get mad.”

You cut in with a pointed tone. “Jude..he’s not going anywhere tonight.”

Jude squinted at the camera, trying to figure out where your voice was coming from, but he didn’t realize you were the one holding the phone until you turned the phone back to your face. “Y/N don’t tell me you’re one of those girls. He’s a grown man..let him have some fun.”

“Jude it’s the night before our anniversary” you noted firmly. “Fun doesn’t include babysitting you lot.”

“Babysitting? I’m not a child” Jude protested. “Well..maybe Jobe is but I’m capable of looking after myself.”

“The child in question can drive and cook..you can’t.” you quipped, turning the phone back to Trent. “Tell him, T.”

Trent laughed and shook his head. “Sorry man. Boss has spoken. You understand.”

Jude sighed dramatically, acting like somebody had just broken his heart into a thousand pieces. “Fine, ditch us for Y/N. But don’t come complaining when you realize what you’re missing. Proper memories being made without you, for sure!”

Trent smirked, raising his hands higher on your thigh which made you erupt into a fit of giggles. “I’m good with the memories I’m about to make. Next time though.”

“Ah, fair. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Happy anniversary by the way!”

At Les Notes d’Amour, things had fallen into a pleasant rhythm that you were comfortable with. Ember and Tara managed to keep the Rêveur production on track without any hiccups. There were no other unexpected leaks, no missed steps, and no drama – just the way you liked it. There were a couple of moments when Tara’s bubbly personality led her into long tangents about footballers or her latest obsession with matcha boba. You occasionally had to step in with a gentle “Tara.. focus,” but overall, the shop felt stable in their hands.

With your anniversary creeping closer, you found yourself balancing preparations for your trip to St. Barts and figuring out how to celebrate with Trent before your flight. You hadn’t given him the watch yet, saving it for the perfect moment.

But today was the day.

You stood in front of the mirror that night, adjusting your dress. As you zipped it up halfway, you heard Trent’s footsteps behind you.

“Need a hand?” he asked in a low voice.

You turned a little to look at him through the mirror. A flashback of him fucking you while you watched in the mirror flashed across your mind. “Are you offering to help or to undo it? Because last time you said you were going to help…”

“Both” he replied instantly, stepping behind you to slide the zipper the rest of the way up. His broad hands caressed your sides and he scanned your figure in the mirror. “We’ll just save the other part for later. Or we can have a quickie…”

The warmth from Trent’s breath tickled against your neck as his hands lingered on your waist to pull you flush against him. The smell of Rêveur and your perfume wrapped around you to create the most perfect, intoxicating scent that paired amazingly well together. His eyes met yours in the mirror and darkened, filled with a mixture of love and carnal desire.

“Don’t” you warned, swatting his hand playfully. “We have all night and next week for that.”

“I’m just appreciating the beautiful view” he said smoothly, running his hands up and down your sides. He leaned in closer to the crook of your neck, inhaling softly. “You smell so good. What did you decide to name this one?”

You smiled and adjusted the petaled drapes falling across your shoulders. “It’s called Vanille Étoilée.” You caught his gaze in the mirror and continued. “It means starry vanilla in French. Sweet like honeyed vanilla, warm like amber, but soft enough to stay on my skin for a long time like the stars in the sky. Thought it was fitting because it compliments Rêveur pretty well..”

“Vanille Étoilée” he repeated. Surprisingly the French words rolled off his tongue with ease despite his scouser accent. “I like it.” Trent dipped his head down to kiss the corner of your jaw and trailed the kisses down to your collarbone. “Smells…” He paused and placed another kiss on your skin while inhaling you again, “so fucking good.”

You turned around to press a hand to his chest and stepped back. “Okay..enough. You can’t just jump straight to dessert. Have some decorum.”

Stepping into Lovebirds felt like stepping into an ethereal fairytale. The outside world was replaced with an atmosphere that was enchanting. Golden lighting pranced off lush greenery that framed the private alcoves scattered throughout the room. Each one was designed to give diners a sense of secluded romance. There were ornamental branches stretched above with interwoven leaves and lights to give the ceiling a romantic glow. You could hear a subtle twine of acoustics playing a gentle tune to add to the ambiance.

Trent’s hand rested on the curve of your back and his fingers grazed the exposed skin. “This place is nice” he murmured in a whispered tone as his gaze shifted from one part of the room to another.

“Yeah, it is. The name is really fitting innit?” you replied, glancing up at him with a smile. The place truly did feel like it was designed with soulmates in mind. There were multiple details that echoed the love and connection shared between lifelong partners. You followed the host as they led you to a table nestled beside a trickling indoor fountain.

The table may as well have been a piece of art itself. There was a delicate feather motif that ran along its edges and two menus were placed neatly on top of silky soft cloth. Both menus were embossed in gold lettering with your names, which caught you by surprise. Trent definitely had used up all his creativity with the escape room idea, so there was no way in hell he had any part in the decor for the table. But if it wasn’t him..who did?

The waiter approached minutes later with a carefully balanced tray of artfully crafted drinks.

“Good evening” he began with a warm smile. “To start, we have two cocktails inspired by our esteemed guests.” He set a golden hued drink in front of Trent first.

“This is the Golden Hour. It has a blend of whiskey, ginger beer, and a touch of citrus, topped with golden edible flakes. It’s got strength and finesse, much like Mr. Alexander-Arnold’s touch on the pitch.”

Trent tilted his head, amused and curious as he lifted the drink to inspect it. “Golden Hour?” he mused, swirling the drink slightly to watch the edible flakes diffuse across the liquid. “Can’t argue with that.”

“And for you” the waiter continued, placing a glass in front of you. “We have the Moonlit Muse. It’s a delicate mix of lychee, vanilla vodka, and champagne served with an iridescent shimmer. Sweet and complex, inspired by your work and artistry as a perfumer.”

You took a sip, feeling the sweetness of the lychee and fizziness of the champagne intertwine to create a perfect start to the evening. “This is incredible” you complimented with a smile. “Thank you!”

The food was just as impressive. Trent opted for a ribeye steak that was charred to perfection and served with truffle butter, garlic mashed potatoes, and seared shrimp. Your dish was a salmon fillet plated with saffron and champagne cream sauce that rested on a bed of wilted spinach and buttered baby carrots. There was a garnish of edible flowers on the plate, making it almost too pretty to eat.

The chef approached your table shortly after you both finished eating. She was dressed in a cleanly pressed chef’s coat with her name embroidered elegantly on the chest. She clasped her hands in front of her.

“I hope the evening has been everything you hoped for lovebirds” she cheered in a joyful tone.

You blinked, staring at her for a minute before you realized she was the same chef from the private cooking class you had with Trent the day you made things official. “Wait..you’re the chef from the class we took last year!”

Her smile widened and she nodded. “Yes, that’s me. I didn’t think you would remember.”

“Of course I remember!” you exclaimed, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over you. “We nearly burned down your kitchen with our nonsense.”

“Best date we ever had so far. Hands down.” Trent added, smiling back at the chef.

“I can’t thank you two enough” The chef spoke proudly. “The night the video went viral I started getting all sorts of requests for catering, private events, cooking classes and it just snowballed from there. When this space became available.. I couldn't resist it.”

“Wow” you breathed, glancing around at the beautifully curated space with new appreciation. “That’s really amazing. This place is stunning.”

“Thank you” she responded sincerely. “I owe you two more than you know. That night wasn’t just a turning point professionally. It reminded me of why I love what I do. Seeing the joy on your faces that night..even covered in flour, was a reminder of what food can bring to people. I just wanted to say thank you..for everything.”

The waiter appeared again, carrying two perfectly risen soufflés. The delicate tops were dusted with powdered sugar and you could smell the faint aroma of chocolate wafting through the air. The chef grinned as she set the desserts in front of you. After taking a quick photo with the chef, you could finally dig into your soufflés.

“Enjoy lovebirds! Happy anniversary!” the chef cheered, holding a hand over her heart dramatically as she walked away to head back to the kitchen.

You scooped your spoon into the airy dessert. “Mmm, finally! This was so worth it. Best soufflé ever.”

Trent nodded in agreement, savouring his first bite. “Third time’s the charm, huh?”

After finishing dessert, you turned to Trent with a sly smile and reached into your clutch to pull out a carefully wrapped box. You slid the box across the table toward him. “This is for you..”

Trent’s curiosity piqued as he grabbed the box and unopened it with care to reveal the watch with the midnight blue dial and moon phase indicator. “Damn. This is nice!” he excitedly yelled out while clasping the watch onto his wrist. “What’s this thing on here?”

“It’s a moon phase indicator. So you don’t have to google when the full moons are anymore.”

Trent looked up at you, his brown eyes filled with adoration. “Not gonna lie. This might be the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

You rolled your eyes, assuming he was doing too much over a silly little watch, even if it was expensive. “T..it’s just a watch. I don’t think–”

“Nah. Not just a watch” he corrected you, calibrating the moon phase indicator with his hand. “I feel like I’m always buying gifts for everyone else..so this is nice. I love it. I love you.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile and stop the happy tears that were threatening to spill over your lash line. “Aww baby. Don’t make me cry in public. I love you too.”

Trent leaned over to give you a tender, soft kiss on your lips before pulling back, both of you smiling like idiots at each other. You giggled awkwardly and looked around.

“Sooo..um..where’s my gift?” you questioned him jokingly. “Not that this dinner wasn’t amazing but..”

Trent smirked and leaned back in his chair. “It’s at home. It’s being set up as we speak.”

After another hour of conversation, you finally headed back home to see what Trent had planned. When you made it back to the house, you hopped out of the car before Trent could even put it in park mode.

“Close your eyes,” Trent instructed you as you made your way into the house. You closed your eyelids while he led you up the stairs. “Don’t look yet.”

“I’m not looking!” you yelled, but you were willing your pupils to see through the thin skin of your eyelids.

“Alright, ready?” Trent spoke softly into your ear and positioned you in front of the bedroom door.

“Yes..” you replied impatiently, itching to open the door yourself. “Can I look?”

Trent nodded but he forgot your eyes were still closed, so you both stood there awkwardly for a minute before you spoke up again. “Umm..Trent??”

“Oh shit! I forgot.” He laughed, opening the door. “Yeah, open your eyes baby.”

When you opened your eyes, your breath caught. The bedroom was decorated with balloons that hovered near the elevated ceiling. Illuminated candles softly flickered and danced across the wall to cast shadows that felt alive, like they were celebrating along with you. The bedside table had a rose bouquet that was so large it was almost falling over. On the bed, a collection of gifts were neatly arranged in wrapping paper of your favorite colors, topped with curled and tied ribbons.

Your hand flew to your mouth and your eyes filled with tears. “Trent…”

He leaned into you to kiss you on your cheek. “Happy anniversary baby.”

As the scene washed over you, you traced your fingers over the silk ribbons on the gifts. “I only got you a watch and you did all of this? T this is way too much..”

“Nah, it’s not. Just showing how much I appreciate you.”

Smiling, you sat down on the edge of the bed and grazed your fingers over a smaller box that was tucked behind the others. “What’s this one?” you asked, reaching for it.

Before you could lift the lid, Trent’s hand shot out and snatched the box away from you with a quickness that caught you off guard and made you frown. “Nah! Not that one. You can’t open that yet.”

This box in particular was the engagement ring he was keeping hidden away for another year or two. Whoever was responsible for the setup must’ve accidentally mistaken it for an anniversary gift, nearly ruining the night all together.

You creased your brow and stood on your tippy toes to reach it. “Why not? What’s in it? Let me see!”

“Nope” he laughed as he moved it further out of your reach and nestled it into a drawer. “You’ll ruin the surprise.”

“What surprise?” you questioned him, trying to reach toward the drawer without him realizing, but he was faster than you. He gripped your hand mid air and pulled you into him. You instinctively put your arms around his shoulders and his lips found yours to silence anymore of your protests. You pulled away from him, grinning as you bit your bottom lip. “You’re trying to distract me from that box…”

His face nestled into the crook of your neck and he nibbled on the skin above your collarbone. “Is it working?”

Your hum of approval melted into a soft sigh as Trent’s lips continued to brush against the delicate curve of your neck. With each kiss, he trailed down slower to map out coordinates of love. His hands trailed up from your hips to the bare curve of your back under the silky fabric of your dress. He thumbs padded massaging circles on your skin that made it hard to think about anything other than the feeling of him against you.

“Maybe…” you mumbled in a quiet voice.

“Good” Trent continued peppering you with kisses. “Let me finish distracting you then.”

Trent’s hands traced over the zipper of your dress, slowly unzipping it until the silky fabric was tossed to the floor. “You’re so fucking beautiful” he muffled against your skin, brushing over the laced trim on your panties.

“You’re talking too much” you whined, arching into him to silently beg for more than what he was giving you at the moment.

“Yeah?” His fingers hooked under the lace trim, pulling them down to reveal your slick core. “You want more?”

You nodded, “Please.”

Trent kissed his way down your stomach, nibbling on your skin with his hungry lips. When he finally reached your pussy, he paused, glancing up at you with a cocky look while licking his lips.

“Trent” you panted, gripping the sheets as his breath fanned over where you really wanted him. “Don’t tease me. I need you..”

“Ah..so impatient” he smirked, kissing your inner thigh. He flicked his tongue out, licking a stripe between your pussy that made your back arch off the bed. “Let me hear you baby.”

“Shit” you gasped, gripping his head with your hands as his tongue started working against your clit in a slow, intentional pace that had you squirming and arching underneath him.

“Stay still” he commanded, gripping your thighs to pin you in place. You tried to comply, but you couldn’t stop trying to push your hips against him to chase your high.

The flicks of his tongue and pressure from him lightly suctioning your clit made you moan his name loudly and buck into him. Just as you were about to reach the point of no return, Trent’s phone rang loudly on the bedside table, cutting through your bliss immediately.

“Fuck me” you groaned, pulling a pillow against your face in frustration.

“We’re getting to that part…” he joked, already pulling back from your core to glance at the screen. “It’s Jude.”

“I really don’t care who it is,” you snapped, pulling at his arm to bring his attention back to you and the orgasm you desperately needed. “Do. Not. Answer.”

He pondered for a second like he was torn, but then the phone started ringing again and you could see the gears turning in his head. “I’ll just tell him I’m busy real quick.”

“Trent,” you warned in a dangerously low voice. “I swear if you answer that fucking phone right now…”

“Alright! I’m not answering it” He declined the call, tossing the phone aside. “Happy now?”

“Ask me again after you make me c– oh my god, yesss” your words quickly turned into moans of pleasure as he dove back in, tongue on your clit and fingers curling and thrusting inside of you.

“You taste so fucking good” he whispered, still lapping against your clit with vigor. “Cum for me baby.”

You whimpered his name when his tongue danced against your clit faster. You felt the pressure build and snap all at once before you could warn him, but he didn’t remove himself from your clit and kept licking until you were squirming from overstimulation.

“Mmh, T..I can’t” you begged, pushing against his shoulders. When he finally rose from your core, he licked his lips and trailed kisses back up to your lips.

“You good?” he asked, kissing your neck. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to fuck me” you replied, pulling at one of his belt loops so that he would get the hint to take his clothes off. His clothing quickly joined your dress on the floor and he stroked his dick a few times before pushing into your slick folds, slow and steady so that you could adjust to the girth before he started moving.

“Goddamn” he muttered through tight teeth. “You’re so fucking tight. Relax baby.”

“I can’t” you moaned back, gasping for air in between thrusts. “F-fuck. I’m gonna cum again.”

The desperation you had for him made him laugh, stroking his ego as he stroked into you, but it quickly turned into a groan when you rolled your hips to meet him thrust for thrust.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep doing that.” he stuttered, gripping your hips to guide you. “Fuck, baby. Just like that....good girl.”

The wet, slick sounds of your bodies moving in tandem filled up the room, dramatized by your breathless moans of pleasure. The tightness in your core threatened to snap and Trent’s movements became more frenzied as his fingers gripped deep into your skin.

“I love you. I love the way you fuck me” you needily moaned, trying to push him over the horizon. “Cum in me. Please Trent? Fill me up.”

“Shit” he hissed, faltering his hips for a split second to force himself to slow down. “I can’t baby. We said–”

You rocked up against him so more of his cock filled you. The way his jaw clenched in concentration and the way his body shook let you know he was fighting against the inevitable. “Pleaseee. I want it.”

“Fuckkkk” he groaned, holding you in place as he tried to gain control. He moved his hips more slow and shallow. “You’re squeezing me.”

You whimpered and raked your nails down his back as your pussy began to flutter and milk him. “Oh my god, I love you” you moaned over and over again as you came undone around his dick. He filled you up shortly after, his control shattering like glass with one last groan.

“I love you too” he muttered between a kiss attack on your lips. “You’re my everything..my forever.”

“Is that so?” you cooed, wrapping your arms around him to cherish the moment.

While you were enjoying your alone time with Trent, both of your phones were being bombarded with calls and notifications. The internet was set ablaze once again. A little too literally this time around:

SpillTheBeansUK 🚨 Y/N L/N, girlfriend of Liverpool star Trent Alexander-Arnold, is at the center of chaos tonight after her boutique Les Notes d’Amour burned to the ground in suspected arson. Arrested? None other than her assistant Ember F, and her EX-BOYFRIEND Aaron C – a shady ex-businessman who’s now dating Ember. 😳🔥 Coincidence? We’re not so sure… 👀

astrologychica99: omg remember when that tarot reader mentioned the tower card in the comments? THEY WERE RIGHT!!

PerfumeObsessed32: does this mean my bottle of rêveur isn’t coming?? i’ve been waiting!!!

BaddieFromBrum: not y’all worried about your rêveur order when her shop just literally burned down.. you’re so unserious

ELovesChaos: whoever’s writing her life needs to chill. give her a break i beg!

EauDeGossip: imagine finding out your ex and your assistant are plotting against you? i’d be in jail!

FragranceFanatic89: does anyone know if she’s okay? is she safe?

MadMadness: so ember went from assistant to arsonist?? girl.. seek help!!

DidUCatchIt: can we talk about the name ember? the signs were there people!

scousergirl4lyfe: if I was Y/N i’d never trust a single soul again..like ever. not even trent

IconicAndTired: not STB becoming the BBC of mess 😭 i live for this page

WriterPlsChill: WTF?!?!

4AMTHOUGHT: end of an era 💔😭

What was supposed to be a peaceful and quiet night before a romantic holiday, was cut short by frantic banging on the door. Trent froze and looked around, not expecting anyone at this hour. “What the fuck?”

“Who is that?” you asked, startled by the sudden noise.

“No fucking clue. Did you order something?” he asked back, taking a quick glance over his shoulder.

“No...”

Both of you quickly sat up to get dressed in more comfortable clothing but the banging didn’t stop. While descending the stairs, muffled voices became clearer – more familiar to the ear. Trent unlocked the door cautiously, only for it to fly open with Camille and Jude barrelling in.

“Are you okay?!” Camille’s voice cracked as she reached for you, wrapping you into her arms tightly.

“Huh? I’m fine! Why are you acting so weird?” you asked with a pounding heart.

Jude’s usual playful personality wasn’t there and was replaced by a serious expression instead, like he took pity on you. “Mate..she needs to sit down” he whispered to Trent, who was looking increasingly tense.

“For what? What’s going on?”

Before Jude could answer, headlights and blue flashes from a police car flooded through the windows in an ominous pattern.

When the uniformed officer arrived at the door, he stood solemnly in the doorway. “Is Y/N L/N here?”

Your mouth went dry. “Um..yeah. That’s me” you said softly, stepping forward despite Trent’s attempt to hold you back.

“Sorry to inform you Miss L/N..but your store was destroyed in a fire tonight. It’s been ruled as suspected arson.”

The words hit you like a bus. You weren’t able to process the sentence the officer just delivered. “My store?” you whispered, repeating as if that would make the truth hurt any less. Your knees wobbled and Trent’s arm shot out to steady you. “No…” you added, voice trembling. “That’s not possible. I was literally just there the other day.”

The officer glanced at Trent, hesitating before continuing. “I’m sorry Miss L/N. There’s no saving it. The building is completely gone.”

The moment he ended his sentence the air was knocked out from your lungs. You felt nothing. Suddenly your legs couldn’t support you anymore. You collapsed into Trent’s chest and a broken cry tore from your throat. You felt your heart shatter into sharp shards that could never be repaired or mended. “No, no, no” you repeated, clinging onto Trent to keep you tethered to reality, but his presence didn’t do much to stop the slurry of cruel, twisted dark thoughts emitting from your brain.

“Baby breathe” Trent coached in a low, shaky voice. “I got you.”

You couldn’t do that. Every breath suddenly felt like you were inhaling smoke, suffocating under the weight of words that just kept getting worse the more the officer spoke. Les Notes d’Amour – the place you poured your entire heart and soul into – was reduced to nothing more than a pile of smoky, pulverized ash. All thanks to a series of carefully crafted events that was supposed to be your ‘serendipity’.

It didn’t seem like that anymore after the officer said the names.

“Aaron Caldwell was arrested at the scene, along with Ember Flanagan. Your other assistant, Tara, was found safe at home.”

Your body immediately went rigid. “Aaron?” you croaked, pulling away from Trent.

The officer nodded with a grim expression. “Yes ma’am. It appears he and Miss Flanagan conspired on this together.”

He wasn’t supposed to be able to get to you again, or so you thought. Camille told you she made sure of it. His name carried so much pain that you vowed to never say it again, but this whole situation caught you off guard.

“He wasn’t supposed to..” you whispered in a broken voice. “He wasn’t supposed to be able to get to me again.” You turned to Camille who was now frozen with tears in her own eyes. “Camille you promised me!”

Her face looked guilty, but she had nothing to be guilty for; it honestly wasn’t her fault.

“I didn’t know about Ember,” she stammered. “I didn’t know they were together. I’m so sorry.”

Her apology didn’t register in your ears. Nothing did. Your chest heaved up and down as the panic finally set in fully. Every bad memory, every moment of manipulation and betrayal crushing you all at once. You couldn’t see nor could you hear. All you felt were the walls of life encasing you in misery now that your dream had erupted in flames. You heard distorted voices of Jude, Camille, and Trent trying to comfort you, but their voices barely registered over the one screaming at you in your mind.

Camille crouched in front of you with tears streaming down her face. “Y/N..you’re not alone, okay? We’re here.”

Of course her words were meant to be comforting, but it only made things worse as the ache in your chest grew tighter. “I don’t care!” you screamed, yanking your hands away from hers. “None of this matters anymore! He ruined everything! This would’ve never happened if I never–”

“Baby stop” Trent’s voice was breaking now too. He pulled you into him again, whispering against your ear. “He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s arrested.”

You pulled away, tears streaming down your anguished face as you stared at Trent with a broken, jaded expression. “I’m not talking about Aaron” you choked out, raw and heavy.

“I’m talking about you.”

thank you for reading! please leave thoughts in my inbox 💋🤍

song inspo:

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5-puthyyy · 3 days ago

Text

You're Looking A Little Green

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 5k

Summary:

Rio waits a moment, sniffing deeply then sighing out and nuzzling her nose to Agatha’s skin. Gods, she missed this scent of dark Magick, of lavender and honey, of maple trees and something so distinctly Agatha. “Tell me you want me.”

Agatha’s jaw tightens, though her head movement opens up more of her neck for Rio. “I don’t.”

The Green Witch chuckles, her soft lips brushing against Agatha’s sensitive skin. “Ah, ah, ah…what did I just say? No lies,” Rio’s hand digs into the curve of Agatha’s hip, “Tell me you want me…and not her.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Rio's drawn to the powerful Magick of the hex and finds Agatha flirting with a powerful witch that isn't her. I cannot be blamed for the filth that follows

WARNINGS! -- (18+ ONLY) SEXUAL CONTENT, CHOKING + BLOODPLAY + BREATHPLAY

Rio Vidal did not feel. She simply came into existence, filled with a singular purpose to collect the lost souls of the dead. Death was not made to feel. But, Gods, if anyone were to challenge the very rules of the universe, to disrupt the natural order of all things? Of course it would be Agatha Harkness. Who else?

She has to call it love because Agatha’s love is all she has ever known. It is cruel and gentle, angry and serene, it is wicked and sinister and everything in between. And Rio could not get enough of it, enough of her torturous little witch. It was one thing to use the Darkhold and hide from Death. Besides, she enjoyed the chase, the hunt, being the predator running after its prey. But what she could not stand was this.

Rio was drawn to the raw, chaotic magic of this place – what kind of all-powerful Green Witch would she be if she could not sense it? – and was unsurprised to see Agatha had found her way here too. Her clever girl could always sniff out power, always greedily eager to take as much as she could.

“Ridiculous,” Rio scoffs quietly, watching through the window of Wanda’s living room. She could do nothing but watch, the anger in her belly brewing into something even darker, dangerous, twisted and ugly. Jealousy.

That is one of the many emotions she had not felt until Agatha and she can wholeheartedly say it is the absolute worst one. Her black heart can stand heartache, can stand betrayal, can stand the endless torture of Agatha’s glare of hatred because those feelings had to come from somewhere. It has been a form of comfort to know after all these centuries she can still affect her witch, still make her feel, just as she makes Rio feel.

Jealousy is ugly. It makes her feel ugly, inside. It takes a blow at her security and makes her question herself, whether she is good enough for Agatha, whether the witch has decided to move on from her to someone solid, something real, something tangible and within her grasp. It is what she deserves, after all. Despite the playfulness, the chase, the books of history the two have together, Rio could never shake off the belief that Agatha will never truly want her for all she is. She cannot. Agatha hates that she wants Death, and that hatred will fester until there is nothing left. No love, no hate, just indifference.

“Do you really?” Rio recalls the first time Agatha told her how she felt for her, the two of them having floated around each other for weeks, a youthful, anxious mess, “Do you really love me, Agatha? Me?” Rio asked, voice shaking, hands trembling as she held Agatha’s blushing cheeks.

The witch sighed, a sound deep and upsetting that struck Rio uncomfortably. “I fear I do.”

Fear. She feared it, hated it, did not want to feel what she felt. And Rio? Rio had not wanted a single thing since the beginning of time until she looked into Agatha’s eyes and decided she could not go on without having her. She loved her, wanted to be consumed by her, felt nothing but her.

It wasn’t until…until Nicky that it went terribly wrong and Rio saw their relationship for what it was. Agatha could not force her feelings to disappear, so she did, and she made it perfectly clear that she did not want Rio. But with their feud and many fights that inevitably led to Agatha’s teeth biting her lip until they tasted like copper, Rio realised that Agatha needed her. And Agatha hated Rio for it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rio is pulled out of her dark thoughts by an angry voice she cannot help but smile widely at.

“Hello, my love,” She greets Agatha smoothly, huffing as the angry woman grabs her by the arm and guides her across the lawn, around another house, and then into the quiet privacy of her four walls, “Hmm,” Rio takes in a deep breath of relief, her bones feeling more at ease in Agatha’s home. She can feel the thrum of her lover’s Magick in here, “I like it here. It tastes like you.”

Agatha grunts angrily, shoving a fist against Rio’s chest as the Green Witch licks at the air with wild and wide eyes. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? It is so on-brand for you to show up here and ruin everything for me.”

A sinister smirk splits across Death’s face. “Now why would I sit back and let you have all the fun?”

Agatha grunts yet again, this time stepping towards Death with a raised pointer finger. “This is more than just fun, Vidal, this could be–The power she has is–You know what she is. You can sense her Magick. This could change everything for me,” Agatha stutters her way through the sentence, clearly taking a more calculated route against this witch. Rio can see how serious this is to her, and she honestly had no plans to ruin it. All she wanted was to see her.

With soft eyes, Rio steps forward, her fingers daring to brush down Agatha’s jaw. “You are all I sense. Your Magick is all I ever want to taste.”

Agatha sucks in a sharp breath at the confession, never quiet growing used to Rio’s blunt nature. There are never any lies here, never a nervous thought that blocks the truth from tumbling out of her mouth. The honesty was always refreshing. But in moments like this, all it does is make Agatha want to kiss her until Death herserlf needs a breath of air to stay alive.

“Not now, Vidal,” Agatha replies coldly, forcing her eyes away from Rio’s impossibly sad ones. The power those eyes have had over her…

“Why don’t you want me?” Rio asks with a frown, crossing her arms over her chest, in typical Rio-fasion.

Agatha can’t help but scoff. “What is wrong with you?”

Rio’s face suddenly hardens in realisation, forcing distance between them as she steps back towards the door. “Do you want her? Is that it?” Rio doesn’t know why she asked. The very idea of answer that says to ‘yes’ has her first imagining she has insides and those insides are twisting like snakes.

“I want her power.”

At that, Rio growls a terrifying noise, deep and dark. “You want her! I saw the way you looked at her in there, Agatha,” She accuses, unable to shift the images out of her head. She watched them through the window: she cannot forget Agatha’s easy smile, so carefree and playful; the light touch of Wanda’s hand brushing Agatha’s hand; the blush tinting Agatha’s cheek.

Her witch suddenly smiles knowingly, eyes low as she tilts her head. “Oh, honey…” she mumbles in fake sympathy, holding Rio’s chin in her hand, “You’re looking a little green,” she spits out, her hold tightening.

Rio gulps, always being one to submit to that storm in Agatha’s deep blue eyes. “Well, I am the Green Witch,” she mutters rather weakly, huffing at the flash of amusement reflecting back at her.

“You are.”

Rio straightens her back. “I am.”

“You’re Death.”

She glares darkly. “I am.”

“Her power is no match for yours.”

Rio growls, teeth snapping at the woman still holding her chin like a pup. “It’s not.”

Agatha raises a brow “No?” she says infantalisingly.

“No being is more powerful than me,” Rio declares, flipping the two of them around.

Agatha gasps as her back is pushed against the front door. “So act like it,” she demands, raising a leg until her thigh is pressed against Rio’s, “Sulking at me, pouting like a sad puppy…” Agatha pouts mockingly, cackling at Rio’s huff and glare, “Here I was thinking you couldn’t get more pathetic chasing me around when I clearly don’t want to be found.”

“Oh yeah?” Rio’s eyes flick to the basement where she knows Ralph’s dead body is, “Explain him,” she asks with a smirk. This has always been their game. Kill, collect, fuck, over and over again, because that is the only line of intimacy Agatha is comfortable with, all Rio can take.

“I kill because I want to, not because I want you.”

Rio can see the quiver of her lip, the twitch of her brow. It’s subtle but she knows her witch by now. “Hmm…” she hums before leaning in to breath against Agatha’s ear, “Okay, Agatha. Have it your way. Be in control.”

Agatha wavers at this, suddenly shoving Rio back. “I am,” she defends herself, marching off to the kitchen.

Rio follows, keeping enough distance to make Agatha uncomfortable. She knows how much her witch hates being observed. “Sure you are.”

Agatha spills the water she tries to pour into a glass, grunting in frustration as she slams her fist against the countertop. “Are you that jealous?” She snaps her head to Rio, turning on the attack, “God, you’re so desperate you need to tell yourself this lie to fuel that delusion in your head. I do not kill for you, Rio. I have not killed for you in deca–”

“Do you remember the first time?” Rio interrupts her casually, leaning against the fridge door, “You were so nervous to present me with that old witch’s soul. A gift, you said, remember? For me…” Rio’s words slip out like honey, sultry and smooth, “Courting Lady Death herself, you said.”

Agatha scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. “I say a lot of things.”

“And not a single lie. Not to me,” Rio manages to lower her voice even more, almost down to a whisper. The husk is something Agatha always struggled to resist, but she does her very best to deflect.

“How would you know?” Agatha snaps defensively but Rio sees right through her.

“Hmm,” she hummed, stepping close enough for her nose to brush against the back of Agatha’s pale neck, “Tell me.”

Agatha sucks in a breath. “Tell you what?” she whispers back, nails digging into her palms as a last resort, screaming inwardly to keep her hands to herself.

Agatha’s jaw tightens, though her head movement opens up more of her neck for Rio. “I don’t.”

At those words, Agatha allows one moment. Just one moment of vulnerability where she holds Rio’s freezing cheek in her hand, lets Death lean into her touch. She sheds a cold layer away from her harsh eyes, the last cloud of the storm fading to bring forth the Sun. Rio takes it all in, soaks as much of Agatha as she can before the inevitable goodbye.

“Show me,” Agatha says instead, breaking the silence as she pulls Rio’s face close to hers, “Show me why I should want you.”

Rio has never been one to back down from a challenge; a soft smirk stretches her lips before she finally attaches their lips together. She can count the exact amount of hours, weeks, years since their last kiss. Agatha was in her leather phase then, her hair curled with a rebellious purple streak. Each first kiss ignites that same fire within her, just like the first time they ever kissed all those centuries ago.

“I will never tire of kiss–”

Agatha rolls her eyes at Rio’s interruption. “None of that today. You want to be jealous? Show me just how possessive you can get.”

Rio frowns at this, brushing her nose against Agatha’s softly. She misses her dearly, so intensely that her hollow chest aches from being far from her.

Agatha can see the conflict written over Rio’s face and knows the one thing she can say to flip that switch. With a wicked smirk, she shoves Rio’s chest again hard enough for her to stumble back.

“If you can’t, I’m sure Wanda wouldn’t mind helping her neighbo–”

Before she could even finish, Rio’s hand gripped her neck and shoved her against the fridge. A filthy moan escaped her throat before she could control it, which would typically please Rio but the Green Witch could see nothing but red at this moment.

“Say her name again, Agatha. Go on.” Rio plays with her prey, fingers tightening their grip as her other hand dug painfully into Agatha’s side.

“Mmm, why, I’m tempted, so tempted,” the witch teases, chuckling darkly with purple swirls in her eyes, still trying to take back a little control, “If you don’t fuck me hard enough, I may even think about her.”

Rio slams her lips to Agatha’s in a brutal, angry kiss. She shoves her invading tongue into the witch’s gasping mouth with no warning, attacking, claiming, swiping every surface she can. Every action screams possessiveness; she needs Agatha to know who she belongs to, who she will always belong to.

Nails scratch along Agatha’s stomach as she pulls her shirt up, lifting until it’s covering her face. Before Agatha can take it off, Rio’s lips are already attacking her new skin. She mouths at the top of her full breasts still covered by a forest-green lacy bra.

“Wow,” Rio suddenly chuckles, pulling the strap with her teeth until it snaps back against Agatha’s reddening skin, “You wore this for me. You knew I was coming the moment you killed that man, didn’t you?”

Agatha huffs, finally dragging her shirt over her head, her hair a dishevelled nest which makes her look even more alluring. “Oh, you wish,” she denies, but her eyes say otherwise, refusing to hold contact with Rio’s for more than a second.

The Green Witch remains consistent in her gaze, twisting her head to catch Agatha out in her movements. “You expect me to believe you just happened to be wearing my favourite colour?”

“It happens to be Wan–” Agatha’s words are swallowed up by Rio’s tongue again, this time paired with hands that rip her bra to the ground and immediately squeeze as if claiming her new territory. Agatha knows Rio will take her right then and there if she wanted to, but she was still wary of this sitcom reality and how much of this Wanda can really see. She did place her runes very carefully but that witch’s power is unimaginable chaos. “Maybe we should–”

“Shut up,” Rio’s tone drips with authority as she pinches Agatha’s hard bud. Her face flickers to her true form for a moment, the dangerous look being enough to send a quick heat between Agatha’s legs.

Agatha utters no other word, just a frustrated groan at herself for reacting this way to Rio. It’s a hopeless feeling knowing there was nothing that made her weak but her.

“Spread them.”

Agatha clenches her jaw as she reluctantly spreads her legs apart. Rio sends a pleased smirk her way, those chocolate eyes darkened with desire.

“Good girl.”

Agatha bites her bottom lip hard to suppress the downright pathetic moan, but a whine slips out widening Rio’s already cocky smile. The embarrassed witch turns her head away but Rio forces it back with a flick of her fingers, black and green tendrils of Magick finally making an appearance.

Runes won’t work on her. Agatha found that one out the hard way a few decades ago, a rookie mistake which ended with Agatha tied in the air, high and not-so-dry. But that’s a story for another time.

Agatha arches her back into the touch, making an executive decision that if she is to play with Rio, she will be the one manipulating Death into doing what she wants. “I’m always good for you, sweetheart. Why don’t you feel how good I am?” Agatha husks seductively, biting her bottom lip in the way she knows drives Rio to madness.

Death pants at the shift, feeling Agatha spread her legs further apart, begging for her touch. “Wicked…” Rio mumbles as she buries her face in Agatha’s chest right between her breasts. The woman is quick to push them together, using herself to gently push Rio over the edge of control. “Fuck, you’re sexy,” Rio moans into her chest, licking, biting, sucking as she claims her. It only takes a moment for her hand to leave Agatha’s hip and slither between her legs. She teases over the lace, both of them sighing at the first touch.

“That’s right, baby, feel me, take me,” Agatha chants and pants, covering Rio’s hand with one of hers. The latter presses her thumb to Agatha’s clit, leaning back up to swallow her gasp. They kiss languidly as she lazily trails her thumb up and down, feeling Agatha get wetter by the second as their tongues glide together. Gods, she loves kissing this woman. Kissing Agatha is the closest Rio will ever get to Heaven.

Soon enough, though, Agatha’s patience runs thin and she shoves her own panties to the side. Rio feels that slickness on her fingers immediately, growling into Agatha’s lips. She bites at her wicked witch’s bottom lip once in punishment before descending to her knees.

Agatha tries to resist making a comment, really, she uses all her willpower. But Rio looks up at her with such adoration, eyes as wide as a puppy’s. It’s so pathetically cute.

“I knew you’d end up on your knees for me. You always do,” she tries to soften the blow with a gentle finger brushing the hair out of Rio’s eyes, but it does nothing to soothe the now angry witch. Suddenly, Agatha’s hands fly up, wrists bound against the fridge with Magick. “Come on, play fair.”

“You want to talk about fair?” Rio huffs, shaking her head as she decides not to tread on this topic. Instead, she focuses on the glistening mess in front of her. She drags Agatha’s panties to the floor, practically salivating by the time she’s done. Though she wants nothing more than to have that delicate slick on her tongue, she needs to punish Agatha, needs to make her want her, make her beg.

Rio starts slow with a wet, delicate kiss to the inside of Agatha’s thigh. It immediately quivers at the touch, Agatha attempting to spread her legs further to entice the tortuous witch into giving her what she wants. But Rio remains strong, grounding herself with the taste of Agatha’s slick that dripped down to her thighs. She glides her tongue over, moaning at the taste, circling her skin, painting out her name over and over again. The moment Agatha growls in frustration, Rio’s there to bite down hard enough to bruise, silencing the witch. It’s a warning, a shout to be patient or else.

“Will you be good for me?” Rio asks as she looks up, her eyes dilated and high on the power she has over Agatha.

“I thought you called me a good girl,” Agatha rebuttals, voice trembling slightly though still filled with sass.

Rio pretends to contemplate for a moment. “I suppose I did. But I think a real good girl would beg. Wouldn’t you agree, sweetheart?”

Agatha doesn’t bother hiding her reaction to this, bursting out into laughter at the audacity. Her? Beg? She hasn’t begged for Rio since before– “No.”

Rio lifts a brow, fingers tightening around Agatha’s thigh. “No?” Agatha stands firm in her answer, a seriousness in her eyes that Rio can’t help but shake her head at. Her stubborn little witch. “Fine, Agatha. Have it your way.”

The first swipe of her tongue transports Agatha to another fucking universe. Blue eyes immediately disappear into her skull; her heart catches up in her throat at the sensation; her legs lose all control and she’s sure she’d be on the ground if it weren’t for the Magick binding her wrists. She has always been loud, proudly so, and this is no different. Screw Wanda. Let her hear.

“Fuck, yes, fucking finally,” she whines, moans filthily, rolling her hips to the rhythm Rio sets.

Fuck control, Rio thinks. Fuck it all; this is real power. Having Agatha like this, hearing her like this, being the one to string these sounds out of her. This is fucking power.

She slides her tongue expertly through Agatha’s folds, circling her clit but refusing to touch it yet. She teases as much as she can, feeling gush after gush of wetness and bringing her tongue back down to lick up as much as she can. Her tongue traces along Agatha’s entrance, teasing for a moment, waiting, waiting…

“Rio,”

Her name. Her actual name, not Vidal, not Death, not sweetheart or baby or whatever diversion. Rio.

Without a second to waste, she thrusts her tongue up, immediately moaning at the throb of Agatha’s tight, wet walls.

“Rio, fuck, oh fuck, don’t you dare stop,” her goddess of a witch moans above her and Rio looks up with eyes filled with worship. What she would do to this woman, for this woman, what she had already done. She will spend eternity wanting nothing but her.

Rio thrusts, twists, curls her tongue until Agatha is writhing, rolling her hips, begging with her body. She waits until that moment, until she tightens just so, before Rio pulls back completely.

Agatha immediately groans at the feeling, almost predicting it. Her groan twists into a frustrated, angry scream, face and cheeks red, eyes wild as she glares down. “Fuck you!”

Rio’s eyes darken as she slowly ascends. “Watch your fucking tongue,” she warns, voice low, controlling.

Agatha leans towards the danger. “Why don’t you make me?”

“I think you’ll beg me to make you.”

Agatha laughs at this again, her need to retain control and protect her ego too high. “This again? I’d sooner let you leave me like this than beg for you to–” Her words catch in her throat as soon as she feels something familiar pressed against her thigh. Agatha doesn’t need to look down to know what it is.

“Cat got your tongue?” Rio smirks that fucking smirk, victory already in her eyes. “You know which one it is?”

Agatha gulps, her teeth pressed together hard. Of fucking course she knew which one it was. It’s the only one Rio would use. Dark green, deliciously thick, just long enough to hit that one spot that sends Agatha over Mount Everest, and, the most important part…it’s enchanted.

Rio can feel every little touch.

“You sure you don’t want to beg?” Rio tempts her again, this time adjusting between Agatha’s legs so the length of her strap presses against Agatha’s slick heat. They both grunt at the feeling, their mouths an inch apart.

Agatha breathes in a laugh. “You’ll be the one begging in a minute, hun.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rio pants, starting a slow grind. It was a calculated risk, snapping her for this strap to appear. It drove the both of them mad, Rio already feeling her grip over her self-control loosening. Agatha felt so fucking warm, so wet. Rio’s mind is filled with memories of her heat, nights spent pressed so close together she’s shocked their Magick never somehow merged them into one. She craves that closeness with her again.

Agatha twists her hips as subtly as she can, trying to get it to slip in as Rio distracts herself with dirty thoughts. “Don’t you want to feel me, baby? Don’t you miss it? Miss…me?”

Rio groans, the sound a mix of pain, want, sadness, joy, everything. Agatha makes her feel it all. She pulls back suddenly, eyes wildly pulsing with desire as she looks over Agatha’s marked body.

Agatha recognises that look of possession. “That’s right, sweetheart. If you want me to be yours, all you have to do is take me.”

Rio only had one card left up her sleeve, and it better fucking work because Agatha uses her words to play Rio like a fucking fiddle. She knew exactly what to say, when to say it, and what it was going to get her. Using her bodily strength this time, Rio unbinds Agatha’s wrists and spins her around. Within seconds, the witch is bent over the kitchen island, back arched, legs spread obediently for Rio.

“Shit.”

Rio smirks, immediately dropping a hand to spank a pale cheek. Agatha moans loud and open, greedily pushing her ass back for more. Rio gives her nothing, though, only scraping her nails along pale skin.

“Rio,” Agatha warns through gritted teeth, gasping as Rio teases her with the head of her strap. It presses against her entrance, pushing that tiny bit through before pulling back completely. “Rio!” she scolds, feeling desperation crawl up her throat. She wants to be filled by her so badly, craves it, misses it dearly. It’s always been her darkest, deepest desire, to be taken and used, treated like meat and bones by Lady Death herself. And that fucking witch knows it.

“You know what to say, Agatha. Good girls get what they want.”

Rio teases her strap again, grinding her teeth together to hold back her own moans at the feeling of that wet slick dripping over her head. It’s so simple for Agatha to say one word, one fucking word just so Rio could sink into that heat and never fucking leave. Gods, she loves her stubborn witch.

“Fuck, okay, just fucking fuck me! I want you to fuck me!” Agatha yells out, fingers gripping the edge of the island, turning whiter by the second.

With that, Rio thrusts hard, deep, whimpering at the sudden tightness, moaning with her lover as she screams in pleasure at the invasion. But she stills after that.

Agatha feels so fucking full, hasn’t felt this full in years; it’s exhilarating, it’s endless pleasure and pressure, it’s that maddening stretch that has her panting like she’s in heat. But Rio won’t fucking move. “Move. Fuck, Rio, you can move, baby,” Agatha says, reassures, letting Rio know she doesn’t need a moment of adjustment.

But the Green Witch has outdone herself today with her tricks and self-control. “I don’t think I heard you say it yet,” she husks, chuckling wickedly into Agatha’s ear as she presses up against her. Her hips are too close to Agatha’s for the witch’s hip movements to do anything and it has her almost sobbing in frustration.

“Rio,” she pleads, her tone sounding far less controlled, the sass almost gone completely.

“You have two choices, my love,” Rio risks her choice of words, knowing so when Agatha freezes completely, “You can either say the magic word now, or I can fuck you until you’re screaming and leave you just as you’re about to–”

“Please,” Agatha breathes out, so soft Rio almost misses it. Rio freezes, not expecting Agatha to give in that easily. But Agatha takes her lack of response as a want for more, and she can’t risk the second option. She can’t. “Rio, please, I…I need you, my love.”

My love. Love, love, love…

Rio breathes out shakily, failing at shoving the feeling inside her chest away. She embraces it instead, gripping Agatha’s hips with strong, controlling hands. “I got you,” she whispers soothingly, pulling her hips back, groaning at the delicious drag of those tight, wet walls. “I got you, baby.”

Agatha won’t sob, she won’t, but she’ll shake, and she’ll whimper and whine, and she’ll bite down on her hand so fucking hard she draws blood. She lets her body go, trusting Rio’s hands to hold her, to control her hips, her pleasure. It feels like she’s floating as Rio rolls her hips over and over again, moaning behind her, whispering soft praises. It must be Magick, she thinks, to feel this way. To feel so free yet controlled at once.

She moans greedily at every thrust, begging for Rio to go, “Harder, fuck, please,” and “Faster, just like that, fuck, please don’t stop,” as she’s pushed closer and closer to the edge. She was close enough with Rio’s tongue inside, but this? Being filled and stretched to her limits, and hearing Rio’s loud, untamed moans of pleasure behind her knowing she can feel every inch of Agatha wrapped around her soul? Nothing could beat this feeling.

“Tell me,” Rio suddenly demands, her mouth to Agatha’s ear, panting filthily, biting on her earlobe. “Fucking tell me, Agatha,” she growls into her ear, teeth sinking into her neck, tongue licking the blood, lips sucking until she’s marked bright and red.

Without another thought in her head, Agatha pants as she’s pushed back and forth by Rio’s hardening thrusts. “I want you.”

“Again,” Rio demands, groaning as Agatha’s walls tighten at the authority in her tone.

She’s weightless, her mind knowing nothing but Rio, her body feeling nothing but Rio; Rio’s strap buried deep inside her, stretching her walls so painfully good; Rio’s nipples, hard as they brush against her back; Rio’s hand suddenly creeping up and around, gripping her throat giving her that thrill of danger. All she can taste is Rio on her tongue, Rio’s Magick, Rio’s hot breath against her neck, can smell the scent of death and soil, fresh grass and the smallest hint of jasmine. She knows with every bone in her body that she belongs to Rio and she always will. She cannot escape Death.

“I want you,” she pants, her tone leaving no room for doubt, “I want you, Rio, I want you, only you, always you, I want–” She’s unsure if she can’t speak because of the intense wave of pleasure that hits her when Rio’s other hand sneaks between her legs and thumbs at her clit, or if the pressure of Rio’s grip around her back took her breath away. All she knows is Rio.

The ringing in her ear doesn’t cease as her eyes roll to the back of her head, body shaking, trembling as Rio ignores her, continues thrusting as hard and fast she can. In Agatha’s haze of pleasure, she realises Rio’s using her to chase her own high and that only pushes Agatha over the edge again. She can’t stop falling, can’t stop the guttural, almost animalistic moans from echoing in the space. The only thing that grounds her is Rio’s safe hands, Rio’s erratic, high moans as she thrusts faster and faster until her hips still, pressed to the brim inside Agatha’s pulsing walls.

Her eyes close at some point. She’s still in the same position, Rio’s still buried deep inside her. But she’s holding her, still, face pressed into the back of her neck as her body shakes gently. She’s crying, Agatha realises. And she blames this moment of vulnerability for the tight, sad feeling in her chest at the sound. She knows how badly her love wants to be with her, knows how much it is killing her to be apart, knows of the torturous pain.

Agatha sighs, pressing her cheek to the cold marble of the island.

Death comes for us all.

Well…she comes for Agatha the most.

masterlist + guidelines

this is so filthy im embarassed anyway

#agatha all along #agathario #agatha x rio #agatha harkness fanfiction #agathario smut #agatha x rio fanfiction

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gaybearwedding · 9 months ago

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hi hi hello i have been gone forever due to various reasons such as “work” and “mental illness” and “having developed a kpop hyperfixation that has been occupying most of my attention recently” but i need everyone to know that i saw off book live twice last week (in philly with a friend and then in nyc with my girlfriend) and it was truly so everything. i didn’t get many pictures but i did get a few and none of them are very good but one of them is of jess’ amazing stool balancing act and that’s all i need really

#flow of the rings a volcano story i love you forever and ever #tryin’ the musical i love you also #also i asked a question during the talkback at the philly show :]#if it gets released as an episode and you hear someone named will asking about the hedgefrog logo that’s me <3 #i want to be active on here more i miss it #i’m thoroughly enjoying being a little unhinged about kpop with my friend bee (the one i saw the philly show with actually)#but it does make a little sad that i haven’t been as fixated on zach and jess lately #they are still everything to me though don’t get it twisted #it’s very much a Special Interest TM so i will probably have other z&j phases #but regardless i do enjoy this silly little corner of tumblr #and i love that pibe has like Actual Fan Content now it’s beautiful #and i AM going to finish and post my malpal fic i PROMISE i just. don’t know when 😭#accidentally wrote an essay in the tags whoops #anyway i can’t promise i won’t disappear again but i’m gonna try to be more active #mine #off book #play it by ear #pibe #zach reino #jess mckenna

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loderlied · 8 months ago

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mmm essay about sally and kid gort in the tags (cw for child abuse, mentions of suicide, animal cruelty and a murder attempt. i always hope i don’t have to say this but just in case: i don’t excuse or condone any of her or gort’s behaviour at all.) this is literally not even touching upon everything i have to say because i hit the fucking tag limit lmao. NOBODY READ IT’S BAD BRAINSTORMING I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT OUT SOMEHOW

#thinkin too much about gortie side characters again.#sally this time and why she specifically talks about him the way she does #like dravo is obviously still shitty but to me he was. ‘just ‘neglectful #while sally actively hated and even felt terrorised by her own child #like. it’s not like i don’t understand her at all.#imagine you and your love don’t have much besides each other and your shop and you get pregnant and ready to raise a child #only for it to not be a child he didn’t and doesn’t cry ever and he learns everything so much sooner than most but then he never calls you #his parents and it’s not just a petty thing kids do sometimes you feel that he doesn’t see you as family and the worst part is that you #agree deep down #and as he gets older he doesn’t have any friends and actively rejects the notion of the entire concept #but then as time passes you hear about how he has entire groups of children following him and then several of them commit suicide #and that thing coming to sit with you and dravo at the dinner table says that he did what you did last week when the axe to chop wood broke #and you discarded it and got a new one #and he has these habits of ripping out flowers and making sure that they don’t regrow #and then you hear rumours about a friend’s daughter’s cat disappearing and think nothing of it #until you visit his tree house a month later and find a declawed cat and birds with clipped wings and crushed bugs that he keeps fondly #and then you see him with other children and they don’t know and his face is different and body language is entirely different #and were it not for the fact that you know better you would never see anything but a normal child #and you know that you are one who painstakingly brought this thing that should not be into the world and so you decide to end it all one da #and go to him as he’s asleep with the knife shaking in your hand #but he cries when you’re above him! screams at the top of his lungs!#so you beg for forgiveness even though you don’t deserve it through tears but as soon as the knife is put away you see the act drop and fee #his clever fingers having twisted your brain inside and out and you know that you can do nothing #and so the opportunity arises to at least remove him out of your life if not everyone’s lives and you take it immediately.#but you heard him talk. how he will close his fist around the world one day. and you know that it is not a matter of if but when.#like. imagine that. jesus dude.#like i hc her as someone that is messy and does not know a lot about life and she certainly wouldn’t have been a good mother but the love #or at least desire to love is there somewhere. and believing that having a child is really the only somewhat meaningful thing she can do #with her life. she’s not some hero or rich or anything of note. so there’s a lot obligation and not genuine desire for family here.#but she never really got the chance to be an actual mother in the first place so. who knows what that might have looked like

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tonycries · 4 months ago

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Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) - G.S.

Synopsis. Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, pànty-stealer! roommate! Gojo, annoyances-to-lovers, he’s REALLY down bad, vírgin! Gojo, oraI (fem receiving), màle màsturbation, pining, face-sítting, jealousy (his side), fírst times, unprotected, creampíe, teary Gojo, pànty-gagging, HEINOUS things, pet names, aIcohol mentions, swearing.

Word count. 8.6k (whoopsies)

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week hehe <3

“Damn…” you sigh at the glaringly empty drawer, rubbing your eyes as if that would make a difference - maybe even magically materialize a fresh pair of panties in front of you. “It’s the second time this month.”

Or was it the third?

But, alas, standing around in your bedroom on a Sunday night does not give you the answers. Or any extra underwear.

Which is why you find yourself making a beeline for the bathroom - teeth gritted, stomach flipping at how very, very exposed you felt underneath the thin fabric of your shorts. Cursing everything from the building’s rundown old washing machine to Gojo’s stupid smile when he took away your laundry basket.

You could’ve sworn you saw your last pair perched right on top of your pile of old clothes, all flimsy and an obscene red that stood out amongst everything else.

Seriously, how hard would it have been to lose that thing? Maybe you could bother him into buying a new washing machine for-

“Woah there-” Before you know it, you’re crashing face-first into a wall? Pillows? Gojo - unfairly shirtless. “Now, what’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart?”

The lack thereof.

Maybe because you can’t say that, maybe because of what looks - feels - like miles upon miles of milky, sculpted skin, you’re instead settling for an extremely eloquent, “Nothing I uh-” But whatever excuse catches in your chest as you raise your face - still smushed between two large pecs - up, up, up and-

Oh.

It’s not like you’re seeing something new - far from it, actually, unfortunately for your poor heart.

And at first, you’d thought it was some strange habit - hell, maybe the guy just didn’t like t-shirts. But it was around the fourth or fifth time he’d forgone one that you realized Gojo Satoru was just a tease. A no-good, insufferably smug tease that just loved to catch you ogling him.

But, well, at least the rent was cheap.

Though, you weren’t exactly complaining about the view either…

Because lo and behold stood the infamous campus sweetheart - you knew about fourteen people who’d kill to see this exact sight. Gojo’s cloudy hair tousled, tiny droplets of water twinkling like diamonds against the bathroom light. Bouncing off his rippling abs, his strong arms circling your waist to stop you from falling backwards. Holding you too fucking close against the white towel slung low on his hips. His skin damp, smelling so delicious-

“Gojo, did you use my body lotion?”

“Awww–” he whines, finally releasing his grip on you. “You were supposed to admire me some more.”

You scoff, eyes darting over broad shoulders - partially to search for your laundry basket, partially because you really couldn’t handle looking right at a shirtless Gojo Satoru any longer. “As if. Get out if you’re done.”

“Damn, woman. Feisty.” Gojo lets out a deep chuckle - smooth and cocky - when you’re hastily shoving him away from the doorframe. “If you wanted to put your hands on me that bad then you jus’ hafta ask, y’know~”

It was way too late for this.

“Hilarious.” you deadpan, though you let go of where you were gripping Gojo’s arm like it burned. Immediately stepping behind the bathroom door before he could make you lose whatever’s left of your sanity, “Next time you hog the bathroom m’gonna smash those ugly new sunglasses of yours.”

He’s pressing his foot between that gap in the door to stop you from closing it, “Oi, don’t think I don’t see that glint in your eyes, sweetheart.” Yeah, the glint in your eyes that told you if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under already. Which only makes him grin wider, “You’re telling me you really weren’t checkin’ out the most sought-after man on campus jus’ now?”

Huffing in frustration, you cross your arms, “I don’t see Geto Suguru anywhere.”

“...you take that back right now. I’m the pretty best friend.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not. Isn’t that why you’re still single?”

“Th-that’s not- fuckin’ Suguru? Really? Most people would kill for a look of this-” Gojo gestures at his bare torso, and once more you’re reminded that those absolutely awful protein shakes he makes every morning aren’t just for show. “-and you’re getting it daily.”

You reach out a hand, Gojo chest hot underneath your touch. He seizes up instantly, ears tinging red as you muse, “Yeah.” Only to push him fully out the doorway, “I just wish you’d shut up daily, too.”

With that, you’re shutting the door with a resounding slam! Feeling only slightly guilty until you hear Gojo’s squawks of protest from outside, “I really don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist.”

Right. Panties.

Something just a tad more important than recounting exactly how many abs Gojo Satoru had.

You let out a shuddering breath, clamoring to find that spare laundry basket you’d forgotten in here earlier today. Shuffling through through the soft clothes, hoping, praying to find-

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Fuck.

Somehow, you’re hiding away your body lotion that night.

---

“Now, listen here, sweetheart. I know you look fuckin’ gorgeous in everything but-”

“Satoru.”

“But that-” he whirls around, pointing a long finger accusingly at the boxers you’d improvised into sleep shorts. Spitting venomously, “-that I cannot allow.”

You’re rolling your eyes at your roommate’s theatrics, forking through your pancakes while he monologues to himself more than you. “Why does it even matter? It was just for yesterday.” you mutter. “I didn’t have any clean uh- panties for the night n’ this worked.”

Thankfully, since the fresh laundry this morning, you’d found two more of your panties - courtesy of a very smug Gojo handing off your clothes. Ah, it felt like the universe itself was smiling down on you.

But oh if you thought the great Gojo Satoru was having a breakdown before then you weren’t prepared for when you lifted your gaze off the kitchen table. Only to meet his - eyes wide, a pretty pink blush coloring his cheeks, lips gawking and stuttering around what looked like a silent, “P-panties-”

You raise a brow, “What’s got you this worked up, Gojo?”

“Nothing.” he clears his throat, “Absolutely nothing at all. Panties? I love- er, wait no-”

“B-besides-” you bristle at the way his heavy gaze was now turning to flit between your face and down below. Dangerously. “They’re not even yours so I don’t know why it matters.”

This seems to snap him out of his little reverie, and he’s immediately standing up straighter, brows furrowing. He continues, in a much more serious tone than before, “They’re his?”

You stab your breakfast with a bit too much vitriol than necessary, looking at Gojo with narrowed eyes, “If you mean the one my ex left behind then yes. Who else?”

Your ex wasn’t good for much - and Gojo seemed especially hostile towards him because of his distaste for your little living situation. But, hey, at least the guy was helping you out at this time. Albeit unknowingly.

He’s raising his hands in mock-surrender, shuffling back into the kitchen to work on the rest of those “world famous” Gojo pancakes. “Nothing nothing.” he hums, and maybe it was how sleep-deprived you were - running on a few too many assignments due today and a few too little panties - but you think Gojo’s voice has a bit more bite to it than usual. Jaw clenching as he plows on, “Of course that fucker- in my- our apartment, too. Fuck-”

A spatula is suddenly mere inches from your face, Gojo brandishing it in front of you like a weapon as he declares, “We’re going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture today.”

“Gojo, I-”

“We-” he cuts you off, delicately placing another pancake on your plate - a little truce. So close now that it reminds you of last night - you could feel his minty breath on your face, count every long, sultry eyelash of his. “-are going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture n’ I’m paying. That’s final.”

And of course, in true Gojo fashion, you can barely get a word out before he’d immediately ducking out of the kitchen. You almost let your lips curl into a smile, hit with a sudden wave of endearment as you hear Gojo’s long legs padding urgently down the hallway to God-knows-where. Maybe he did know when to be-

Smack!

You jolt as you’re hit with a pair of boxers - fresh ones, thankfully, that you recognized from all the clothes you’d rummaged through last night - plopped unceremoniously onto your lap. Jaw dropping in disbelief when you look up to meet Gojo’s devilish grin.

“Next time-” he winks, motioning at the fabric you were poking in concern now. “-wear mine.”

The talk of Yaga’s lecture hall that morning was of a pair of burned boxers found right outside your building, everyone speculating what the poor guy had done to have his presumed girlfriend make an example of it like that.

For you, however, the only thing running through your mind was whether or not you could count properly.

Because surely you remembered it correctly when you counted two new underwear this morning - that gauzy black one and the deep red? Two. Definitely not the singular, sad piece of red fabric laying on your bed after breakfast today? Two. The only one you could find even after scouring through your whole bedroom.

So where the fuck had that other one gone?

---

(8+ new messages)

Do not answer (roomie)🧿🧿: Hurry up ive been lurking inside that lingerie shop ya told me you liked n’ now the old ladies here look like they wanna eat me alive ＼(º □ º l|l)/

im boooored, gonna stand still n’ start blending in with these mannequins if you dont hurry up istg

Hurry

HURRY

HURRY THEY THINK IM SUSPICIOUS

PLEASE THEYRE GONNA ESCORT ME OUT

┬┴┬┴┤･ω･)ﾉ i literally SEE YOU outside

BITCH STOP LAUGHING-

No sooner are you letting out a cackle at Gojo’s rapid-fire texts, you’re looking up to see the man himself being walked outside by two security guards. Squabbling heatedly in a way that had them heaving out long sighs - which, honestly, you felt a stab of relatable empathy for.

“-I swear I’m not a creep I’m jus’-” Gojo’s bickering dies on his tongue as he catches the sight of you walking closer to the commotion. Closer. Taking your sweet sweet time, eyes just barely glazing over him before- you’re walking away. “Hey!” he calls out, stopping you in your tracks. “Now, don’t you dare-” Before turning back to his wary escorts, “I’m with her.”

They exchange a look between each other, and no matter how much you’d like to pretend the scene had absolutely nothing to do with you - you’d rather Gojo doesn’t get banned from the mall altogether.

“He’s right.” you drone out, one hand grabbing Gojo’s, the other forcing his head into an apologetic bow. Hissing to the side so that only he would hear, “Unfortunately.”

The two security guards now seem more amused than anything at your strange dynamic. One of them raises a brow, muttering, “Well…this one’s certainly a handful.” Turning around to head back to their stations, “Ya better keep a tight leash on your boyfriend.”

You sputter, eyes wide, “Oh- he’s not-”

But it’s too late - they’re both swiftly out of earshot, most likely more than happy to hand over the public nuisance off to you. And Gojo’s looking to you with a smug smirk, voice dropping about an octave deeper as he breathes against your ear, “So, gonna take your boyfriend to help out with lingerie shopping, sweetheart?”

Oh. God.

This was going to be one long day.

“I’m only here because another one of mine disappeared, y’know.” you hiss, rifling through all the options before you. “Which really has me wondering why-”

“H-hey! How about this one?” Gojo interrupts, shoving a lacy set right in front of your face, his voice just a bit louder than what was appropriate.

You sigh, catching the eyes of a few disapproving older women around you. “No this is-” But running a thumb over the fabric makes you bite back an insult. And for all how brash Gojo was, maybe his panty selection wasn’t awful. It was a flimsy little thing, gauzy and light blue - the type you’d typically wear on a night out. You meet his boyish grin, admitting, “...not bad.”

“See?” he laughs - eyes glinting with delight as he piles on a few more in your basket. “N’ if you’re impressed with that then you’re gonna be proposing to me when you realize it’s exactly your size-”

You quirk a brow, “How do you know my size, Gojo?”

And this makes his body stiffen, large shoulders squaring up, throat bobbing as he answers,“Uh? Experience?”

Oh, right. You’re rolling your eyes, fighting off a weird little stab of irritation. This probably isn’t the first time he’s come here with a girl, anyway.

And yet, despite however much of an alleged “catch” Gojo was, he’d - perhaps mercifully - never brought anyone over. You don’t know why, but you didn’t really want to question it.

“A-anyway.” Gojo’s airy voice cuts through your thoughts. And he’s plucking up a few more sets of lingerie for you to sort through, “Can’t let these one, two, three- six lovely lil’ things go to waste now, can we?” At your look of confusion, he chuckles, guiding the two of you to the counter now. “Suguru’s holding a party at his place tonight, how would you like to do the honors of being my cute plus one?”

“I’d rather go with Yaga.”

Though, you really can’t say no - not when Gojo’s flashing you that black card as he pays for everything in an instant. Not when all he can prattle about on the way home is how gorgeous you’d look together at Geto’s party - how you’ll have to beat everyone off of him with a stick (to which you reply that you’d no sooner do that than beat him with a stick.)

Not when he sits outside your bedroom door as you get ready later that night. Insisting on keeping you company even as you slip out of your towel. Looking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t peeking in before eagerly turning to grab at one of your new set of silky white panties- only, they weren’t there.

Strange.

“Hey, Gojo…” you call out, looking underneath your blankets for where you might’ve thrown them about after trying them on. Under your bed, in your drawers, anywhere. “-didn’t we buy six sets?”

“Huh? Dunno, I didn’t count. Just wear the blue one.” he whines, ushering you to hurry up from outside. Face burning because shit, this was you and you were inside - still wrapped up in only that sinful little towel. Oh, would the painful death really be worth it if he happened to accidentally look around? “S’pretty and y’know what else?”

Your voice was muffled as you hastily put on your clothes, “What?”

“It matches my eyes.”

Really strange.

---

Thankfully for Gojo, you didn’t go with Yaga to the party - nor did you find your lost pair of panties, sadly, but that wasn’t too much of a concern for him.

And here he was - one hurried Uber ride and about several billion death threats from you later. Wishing that you’d actually just acted on one of them because fuck at least then he wouldn’t have to be watching from across the room as some bastard from the university basketball team tried to chat you up.

Gojo can’t even hear the way the girls surrounding him were giggling about something or the other, alcohol making his tongue a little heavier, eyes a bit glassier.

Nothing like the way that other man was drinking in that polite smile on your face. Tilting your head to face forwards and- God, why won’t you just look at him instead?

Would that guy still look at you that way if he knew you were wearing lingerie matching his eyes right now?

“Not gonna entertain your fans?” Geto’s voice rings through his whirlwind thoughts, eyeing down the forgotten crowd in amusement.

“When have I ever?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

He lets out a knowing laugh, “Yeah, you little vir-” Turning into a coughing fit when Gojo elbows his best friend straight in his stomach. “Anyways.” Geto gestures with his drink in your direction, as if Gojo hadn’t seen - as if it wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. “Well, your lil’ roomie there seems to be popular, too, huh? Star player of the basketball team n’ all.

He clicks his tongue, slumping further against the thumping wall. “So? I’m taller, and more handsome.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that?”

“Y-yeah?” he sputters.

“Well then why aren’t you over there with her?” Geto hums, lips curling. “Looks t’me like even she doesn’t like him that much so why’re you being a pussy over here? Always sneaking around stealing her-”

“Shut up-” And Gojo knows he’s riling him up, he knows that Geto wants to see a little drama - maybe finally shut up his pining over the one girl he’s wanted for the past year - and couldn’t have. It’s a trap. But Gojo can’t stop his head from snapping between you and his best friend’s sly smirk. Slurring indignantly, “Of course I’m fuckin’ handsome, n’ taller. I’d make a better boyfriend too and-” He trails off at the sight of that loser leaning in - but more importantly that tiny furrow in your brows, your hands on his chest softly keeping him at bay. “-and m’gonna go over there n’ prove it.”

“Ah, that loser’s gonna thank me later.”

And, hell, Gojo could barely even walk. Barely even think straight as he’s parting the stuffy living room, ignoring whatever whispers and titters were following him.

“I said no-”

“Hey, sweetheart.” you jump when someone - Gojo - creeps up from behind you. Large build hanging off your own when he nuzzles his face into your neck. And you could feel his toothy grin on your skin, “Missed me?”

Your face burns, “I uh-” Angling your face as dignifiedly as possible to face your roommate, “Gojo, are you drunk?”

“Drunk on you, yes.”

“What the-”

The man in front of you pipes up - shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. “Didn’t realize you were taken. My bad.” Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but under the scrutiny of Gojo Satoru. His big arms tightening around your middle - when did they even get there? “I’ll just uh- get out of your way, man.”

“Mhm, by the way,” Gojo puffs up his chest a bit, clearly towering over the other man - ha, take that Suguru. “Nice loss against Kyoto last week, real knee-jerker.”

You smack Gojo’s chest at his rudeness, to which he only smiles wider. Watching the other man being swiftly handled away by another apologetic member of the basketball team.

“Gojo.”

And before you can react, Gojo’s dragging his pretty plump lips along where that light blue band of your bra was just peeking out, murmuring lowly, “Love it when you scold me like that.” Still refusing to let go of you despite the jealous looks thrown your way, “Let’s go home, my girl.”

Oh, the look on your face was priceless.

He just wished he could fish out his phone and record, or maybe even tell Geto to take a picture - help him make it his wallpaper. And he did - over fifteen times, in fact, as the two of you helped drag him away from the thrumming party. Geto doesn’t listen, of course, and you neither do you - grumbling out a slew of profanities underneath your breath that makes the Uber driver look at the two of you weird.

And yet, Gojo’s biggest issue right now was trying to climb up these fucking stairs - not when they were trying to run away from him.

“I swear to God, Gojo-” you huff, chest heaving under the weight of walking - well, more like dragging - your roommate up to your apartment. Knees wobbly - maybe at the intensity of his cologne, maybe at the way his biceps were flexing on your shoulders, probably at how fucking useless he was. Damn lightweight. “You better cover my rent for the next year for this.”

“Of course I will~” his hot breath tickles your ear, “Anything for m’girl. I’ll take care of us forever, don't you worry your pretty lil’ head.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the way your heart clenches - just a little bit. And if you’re slamming open Gojo’s bedroom door with a little more force than necessary, well, at least he’s a bit too impaired to nag at you about it.

He bounces lightly when you throw him on his plush mattress, giggling softly, “You should just join me, y’know. Have a little sleepover.”

“Drop dead.” you monotone, not even daring to look back at him while you shuffle through Gojo’s shirts. Throwing one over your shoulder at him, “N’ wear this, I just know you’ll complain about messing up your favorite button-up tomorrow morning.”

“Aww, you always take care of me so well, my girl~”

That familiar little nickname makes a shiver run down your spine, and it’s all you can do to concentrate on shuffling through Gojo’s drawers in search of his shorts. Absent-mindedly reaching for the lowest drawer and-

“Wait!”

You jump, whirling around to catch Gojo sitting up ram-rod straight on the bed, eyes wide, hand reaching out as if to stop you. Swallowing thickly, you ask. “Gojo?”

And he jolts - like the very sound of your voice is sending electricity zapping through his veins. Abruptly scrambling off the bed before resting two hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you away from the drawer. “My shorts are uh- in my wardrobe, heh. Sorry about that.”

Furrowing your brows at the sudden twist, you squirm in his grasp to look at the drawer again. Failing - when Gojo keeps his grip steadfast, “Why’re you acting so-”

“How about we order take out? My treat?”

And that night, tucking yourself into bed, you should be falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You should be caring less about that strange little outburst of Gojo’s inside his room. You should have realized sooner - those light blue panties you’d worn tonight were gone. No longer in your hamper of old clothes.

And there was only one thing to do.

---

Gojo thinks he shouldn’t - fuck he knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t even want to- well, that last bit was a lie.

Gojo Satoru first met you about a year ago, when you’d come knocking at his door asking about his ad for a roommate. It was more because he was bored inside this big apartment by himself than anything, really, but here you were all gorgeous and sweet, flashing him a smile that was burned into his mind for the rest of the week, at the very minimum. How could he ever say no?

And when you’d taken to walking around the apartment in those slutty lil’ shorts as a way to get back at his perpetual shirtless-ness? Thin panties just peeping out of the low hem?

God, it was everything he could do to not run to the bathroom with each little glimpse. He was fucked, so very embarrassingly fucked.

He just never thought it would get to this point - the first time had been an accident, honestly. When your laundry had gotten mixed up with his. Surely he didn’t remember having such a cute pair of pink panties in his closet? And surely it didn’t mean anything if he just-so-happened to stash them away, right?

At least, that’s what Gojo told himself the first time. And the second. And the third. And shit, it was a bit of an addiction now, and within a year of rooming with you, he’d accumulated a drawer stuffed guiltily with exactly what he shouldn’t be having.

Gojo Satoru - insufferable campus sweetheart, the dreamy first place on everyone’s To-Fuck list - had been hoarding away your pretty panties. Like the pathetic virgin he pretends he isn’t.

And so here he was - that dirty little drawer flung open, pants pulled down just enough, one hand flat on the flat surface to steady himself, while the other fisted desperately around his swollen cock - and one of your panties.

“F-fuck, sweetheart.” he’s hissing, body shuddering in lewd little tremors at that torturous drag of fabric down his length. Squeezing at his thick base, moving fast - filthy up, up, up to thumb along the end of his sopping slit. “Feels s’good- too fucking good hngh-”

Such a pretty, wet gasp escapes him when your soaked, absolutely ruined underwear catches on his veins, tangling around his sensitive shaft. And he’s biting his lip, trying not to make a noise when he threads through the mess down below.

“Oh fuck, yer killin’ me even when you’re ngh- not here.” he breathes unsteadily, weaving the sticky fabric around his long fingers. Tight - just how he knew you would. “S’like you know what you do t’me with these.”

They were your blue ones, this time - the ones from just last night. The ones you were wearing not even a full day ago. And Gojo has them wrapped daintily around his rock-hard cock, stark against the blushing red at his fat head. Already so drenched in precum as he fucks his fist.

“Y’looked so p-pretty with these, sweetheart.” he groans over the wet fwip! fwip! fwip! Eyes rolling to the back of his head with each long, feverish stroke. “So pretty being mine. Ngh- so pretty in my- fuck.”

Slam!

He’s hitting his palm facedown on the wood, knees buckling, eyes scrunching shut with pleasure.

And that ruined, utterly depraved part of Gojo wonders whether next time he should steal your bras too? Have the full set of you proudly wearing his color like some secret little slut for him.

He’s letting out a ragged little laugh, oh how cute you’d look all confused. Nipples hard through your flimsy excuse of a t-shirt while you looked around for them. While you asked him for help.

Oh, just the thought of that has Gojo’s red, furious cock beading glossy drops of precum at his tip. Leaking a sinful, slippery sheen down his wrist. “Ah.” he lets out a guttural groan when his angry dick twitches in his hand, falling onto his elbow on the drawer. Not having the strength - or the sanity - to keep himself up anymore. “Look what you’ve-” Gojo’s eyes catch sight of a flash of red inside, sounding so wrecked. “Look what you’ve done.”

And those obscene red panties are snatched up by his free hand in a second, not even a second wasted before Gojo’s bringing them up to his face.

Fuck.

“Look what you’ve done. Look how ngh- filthy you’ve made me.” he whines, muffled. Hips fucking up in quick, uncontrollable little thrusts into his closed fist. Voice a pitch higher as he spits out embarrassing little accusations, “How pathetic. Gettin’ fuck- gettin’ off to this? Me of all hah- people like this? Can’t imagine how f-fucking mad you’d be.”

Would you figure out it was him? Would you look in his drawer again? Teach him a lesson or two about being such a pathetic little pervert for his roommate.

Maybe - just maybe - if Gojo plays his cards right, gets on his knees and begs for mercy, then you’d let him keep his little treasure.

He throws his head back in a humorless little laugh when his aching hand slows down to languid, unforgivable tugs. He had time, anyway, your classes ended late today. Torturous - exactly the way he imagines you’d drive him mad. “Heh- wish this was you.”

You’d be so much meaner, pressing down on that little divot at his tip, flicking teasingly like you were trying to fuck out something delicious. You’d be running your nails down his achy veins, running your soft palms around his painful balls.

You’d whisper, “This all you got, Toru?”

“Oh fuck!” Gojo moans, raspy little sounds of what sounds like your name filtering through the crevices of his fingers, your panties. “Fuck fuck fuck- gonna cum.” he whines. Heavy balls smacking back into his thighs with each thrust into your imaginary hand. How he wished you were here. He’s managing to wrench his eyes open to spy down at his sloppy cock - needing to see how your cute lil’ panties would look painted all white for him. How he wished you- “Gonna-”

Oh. Fuck.

You.

“Aw, why stop now, Gojo?”

You’re leaning against Gojo’s open bedroom door, flashing him such a sultry little smirk. Your voice almost a purr when you echo, “I said…” Before taking two long steps to where he stood frozen, “Why stop now?”

Gojo lets the damp fabric held up to his face drop in guilt - yet the other stays firmly wrapped around that hand cock of his still in hand.

“S-sweetheart what are you- why-” And perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has terrorized this planet, he’s speechless. Worry-bitten lips sagging open stupidly, “I- this is-”

You cut him off, “So you’re the panty thief.” So close now that Gojo’s dick was throbbing at each heave of your chest, the way you were squeezing your thighs together. Eyes sliding down his body to rest at the mangled mess of your all-new panties around his painfully hard cock. “I knew it.”

“I can explain-”

“All those times pretending to help me?” you bat your lashes in a way that makes him gulp. Words dripping with the same tease he’d imagined in daydreams just like this. “When you were the pervert stealing my panties? Are you even ashamed?”

Gojo flushes an innocent pink, excuses tumbling out of those pretty lips immediately. But they sound like lies even to him.

“This- ngh-” he’s rolling his hips forward when you slide a smaller finger down his arm, between his pecs, almost the way down to those tufts of white. “Fuuuck- y-you’re not mad? Are ya the devil herself cuz you’re gonna- ngh- kill me this way.”

Humming, “Class was canceled, but of course - don’t hah- stop on my account, Gojo.”

“Toru.” he’s gasping out, a low moan wrenching out of him when he’s bowing his body into his fist again. Squeezing - almost warningly - at his hilt. “C-call me Toru. Please.”

And fuck he could’ve cum right then and there at that devilish little smile you give him, biting down on your lower lip - inches from his that it felt like you were biting down on his. Maybe you were, shit Gojo didn’t even know right now.

“Toru.”

That’s all it takes for Gojo’s lips to be crashing onto yours. Biting back a little whimper at the messy clash of teeth, of spit, because one taste of your candied lips and he was already so addicted.

“Mmpf-” Gojo gasps, chasing hotly after your lips. Eyes half-lidded to watch the snapping of those delicate strings of saliva, “You’re- you’re so-” And he’s way too impatient to get out his words, licking heatedly at the slit of your mouth. Over and over and over- “As bad as me- ngh-”

“Are ya sure about that?” you grin, cunt clenching at your roommate’s pained grunt when you pull away. “Because look-”

And the both of you are stuck on the way Gojo’s moving again, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like he didn’t even feel the way his leaky tip was smearing along the front of your sinfully short skirt.

“Can’t help it.” he whines, kissing down your neck. Hips urging forwards to slip up the thigh-length fabric, and when you don’t pull away, Gojo drags your skirt up, up, up with his pulsing length, “You don’t know what you do to me- fuck.”

His jaw falls slack, ogling at the sight of your pretty pussy on full display for him. Already so glossy with your sweet sweet juices, needy between your restless thighs. Bare.

And this might be the first time he’s seen a cunt in real life but Gojo already knows - he already feels - that she’s gonna be the death of him.

Sharp teeth nip at your bottom lip, tugging. “What the fuck-” Gojo breathes - more to himself than anything. “What the fuck what the-” Bringing down his free hand to run the pads of his long fingers along your puffy folds, as if to confirm whether this was real. “-fuck! Going out like this? You’re even dirtier than me, huh?.”

“What can I do?” Sliding your arms around his broad shoulders, palms running along the heated skin. Back arching to grind down on his hand, “Someone stole all my panties.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, because Gojo doesn’t hesitate for even a second before he’s bringing his dripping wet fingers up to his lips. Smoldering eyes looking right into yours when he pops them in his mouth. Sucking them dry.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.”

In a split second, you’re being splayed out on Gojo’s king-sized bed like such a slut. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw. And it happens so fast that you almost think you’re seeing things - but, no, the way you’re bouncing against the silky sheets was real. Your skirt bunching up at your waist was real.

Gojo’s hazy gaze getting stuck right at the spot between your legs was real.

“Shiiiit.” he murmurs, low and gravelly, like he’s moving through molasses. Stalking towards your trembling figure as if hypnotized, “Oh, she looks even prettier this way.”

You shuffle in embarrassment, pressing your thighs together, “Toru-”

But he doesn’t hear you, instantly scrambling onto the bed. “No- no no no no no-” Just wrenching your legs apart with his hands. “No, you don’t get to hide th-this from me, you don’ know how long I’ve waited for this. How much I’ve imagined-”

You’re gasping when he runs the tip of his index between your sopping wet slit, coating his fingers in your juices once more. Teasing. “N’ so wet. This all f’me? God, can’t even- ngh-”

“So eager.” you mumble, fingers threading through Gojo’s soft locks to pull him in so close. To drag him towards where you needed him the most. “Why don’t you jus’ shut up- N’ put that big mouth of yours into use somewhere else?”

His eyes widen, words a whisper, “C-can I?” He doesn’t wait for your response before flipping the two of you so easily. Having you toppling precariously on his lap now, “Can I really? Never done this before.”

Never?

It’s not before he lets out a shy huff, that you realize that you said that out loud. “So what? S’that bad?” Two large hands groping and kneading your ass to keep you in place, “Ya didn’t actually ngh- believe all those stories on campus, did ya?”

Squirming at the feeling of his massive girth rubbing up against your swollen folds, “D-doesn’t matter.” You grit out, “You can…”

And no sooner are you seeing Gojo’s megawatt smile, you’re already feeling it between your thighs. Being wrestled up like some glorified ragdoll, dragging your sloppy cunt all the way up to straddle Gojo’s pretty face.

“So, this is what she ngh- looks like.” he whines, hot breath lapping at your quivering pussy. “Shit, she’s so wet I could almost-” You’re gasping when the man below you simply sticks his awaiting tongue out, admiring your pussy while letting your syrupy sweet slick drip! drip! drip! down his throat. “This all f’me?”

The only thing you can give him right now is a needy little whine - which makes Gojo kiss the fat of your ass with a sharp smack! Biting his lip at the way it jiggles against his hand, “Tell me, where did my feisty girl go?”

That lewd little nickname has you scoffing in pathetic frustration, your grip searing on his scalp when you force his obscene mouth closer. “Y-you seriously need to-” Pulling, “-shut up, Toru.”

And oh, you’d played right into Gojo’s devilish hands. This was exactly what he wanted - to have his face stuffed between your limp legs, ready mouth meshing messily with the folds of your dripping cunt. “There she is.” he moans, the tip of his tongue slurping up the sloppy dredges of your slick. Carding between your pussy lips, “Oh- fuck there she is. Yeah use me like that- use me.”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute and you wonder how. Because Gojo was lapping at your cunt so feverishly, everywhere - from your inner thighs, to your folds, to just around the circles of your sloppy entrance like he wanted to taste it all. And couldn’t decide where to go first.

“T-Toru.” you let out a honey sweet mewl of his name when the tip of his nose is rubbing against your clit. “There. Right there-”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head when he easily locates your sensitive nub. Wrapping those ruby lips around your clit to give an experimental suck.

Shit, he could almost pass out from how heavenly you look on top guiding him. Your entire body jolting with each roll of his hot tongue, giving him such a pretty view of your tits up your silky shirt. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all into his mouth when he toys with your pulsing clit.

“Oh fuck!” your hips are darting away with each zap of electricity sent down your spine.

Which, for Gojo - who’s only ever dared to dream up this moment on those lonely nights - isn’t enough.

“Know m’new to this, sweetheart, but stop bein’ nice n’ fuckin-” He’s pulling on the crease of your waist, dragging you to rest your entire weight on his face - his mouth. “-sit.” You’re keening when Gojo forces you to collapse on his soft tongue, bullying past your puffy folds and into that sloppy ring of muscle. Jus’ barely dipping past the resistance, “I said use me so fuckin’ use me. Don’ care if I can’t breathe - if I fucking suffocate- ngh- m’gonna die if you don’t just sit.”

“Fine.” You cry out when the curve of his tongue is molding into your gummy walls, pushing recklessly past. Not even fucking easing you into it before he’s fucking you on his tongue. Calculated, mean little thrusts in search of all your sweet spots. “No half-assing then, m’kay?”

Though, you had the feeling that he would do anything but.

“Good, now keep still.” he’s scolding, one hand starting up again in those slow, satisfied tugs on his length. “Please keep still.” And the other dancing between your legs to push a finger inside your snug cunt. “Mmm it’s a tight fit, can feel ya clenching around me. Ngh- always wondered how it’d feel- where that would be.”

Blinking away the haze in your eyes, you look down at where Gojo was already locked on you, “Th-that?”

“That.” he breathes into your cunt, voice reverent as he speeds up. “S’your pussy gonna tell me where your good spot is? Gonna help me ngh- learn?”

And to your embarrassment - and Gojo’s smug satisfaction, it only takes a few more hurried strokes of his tongue before he’s nudging against your g-spot. Both the texture of his tongue and his long, cold fingers curling to assault the poor bundle of nerves.

Your body bows deeper as if on auto-pilot, “Oh- fuck! You fucking- hngh”

He’s snickering at the way you’re so responsive, cock hard - and only swelling girthier in his fist with each adorable moan falling from your lips.

“Oh yeah? There? Ya like this?” he moans, “Ya like shutting up the ngh- p-pervert that steals your panties with your cunt?”

Getting faster. More attuned to his feral need.

Lips smacking in tempo with those obscene squelches, you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his cheeks hollow. Fingers still so rapid, moving to make out and toy so messily with you clit - untimed, sloppy but fuck did you love it.

“Y-yes.” you’re shoving his mouth guiltlessly deeper. Letting his long tongue explore every crevice and inch of you. Sloppier. So, so filthy. “Love it- fuck- you’re such a fast fucking learner.”

“I know.”

There was that cocky Gojo Satoru you were used to, lips curling into a strawberry pink smile around your clit - all glossy and sweet with a sheen of your slick. Making such a mess of the lower half of his face, his chin, shit, all the way down to his jaw.

“M’close-” you choke out at the sight, “M’so fuckin’ close- gonna- gonna cum on your tongue, Toru.”

“Look at you ruining me.” his words hit you hard on your sensitive cunt, sending shockwaves up your arched spine. Obscene little smacks of his lips following your barely-lucid mewls.“Absolutely defiling me. Are ya proud of nghhh fuck- yourself?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a strained, “Yes! Yes yes yes yes- God, m’so close, Toru/ Gonna cum m’gonna-”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming at first, just that you’re riding Gojo’s unfairly pretty face in harsh grinds - just the way he liked it. Jaw grinding against your cunt, chin hitting you with each slutty jerk of your hips, letting you use him all you want to ride through your high.

And his fingers are digging into your hips, stopping you from pulling away even when you were snow. Even when you’re sobbing in oversensitivity. So painfully good.

“Ngh- T-Toru–” you’re slurring out, his name thick on your tongue. “M’not gonna cum on your dick if you k-keep hah- acting this way.”

Only then does a pussydrunk Gojo Satoru raise his bleary eyes back up at you. Giving you a strained little grunt of acceptance, before parting ways with your pussy with a lingering, wet kiss on your clit. Barely-audible as he whispers, “Gonna see ya soon.”

You don’t have the time to think about his newfound addiction. Because in all of three seconds, he’s plopping you back down so prettily on his lap. Purposefully feeding your sopping wet slit his weeping red tip.

“Please.” Gojo’s usually-arrogant grin has fallen into such a pretty pout with one graze of his length sandwiched between your folds. “I did good, right? Please ngh- so I th-think if I made you cum then I get to hah- fuck you how I want.”

And it’s not that you didn’t appreciate it before - but looking at his thick tip pushing up against your cunt right now has you recognizing that shit, Gojo is massive.

Fat head blushing a pretty reddish, leaking so messily down, down, down those glistening veins at his side and to the creamy ring at his base - from when he’d cum, just from eating you out, you realize with a jolt. His girth so intimidatingly thick, long enough that you know you won’t be walking for a week straight, at least. All throbbing and angry with every second he isn’t buried to the hilt inside your cunt.

Gojo Satoru is massive.

“Like what ya see?” he echoes your thoughts, a soaked thumb coming down to pry apart your glossy folds. Grinning at the way your hole was already so needy and clenching around nothing. “Think m’the ngh- perfect size for this pretty pussy?”

Through it all, you find it in yourself to muse, “Only one way to find out. Gonna let me be your first, Toru?”

And then he’s pushing in, shallow, high little gasps bursting from his lips with each inch being bullied into your plush cunt.

“O-oh fuck-” Gojo can’t stop himself from taking a good look at the way your pussy lips are bulging around him. Jaw dropping at the way your greedy entrance is only sucking him up more and more - trying to bite off more than you can chew with the way he was in so deep but barely even halfway in yet. “S’too good- oh my god- fuck I think m’gonna die. Is it s’pposed to feel th-this good?”

You’re running a hand gingerly through Gojo’s mussed-up hair, smoothing down the sides sticking up where you’d been pulling on it. “S’alright, Toru.” you soothe, letting him grind up into you. Trying to fit more - all of it. “You’ve got it- you’ve hah-”

You let out a pathetic little whine when his tip kisses your cervix, legs flexing around his toned waist.

“Oh- ohhh fuck-” he’s barely able to string together coherent sentences now. Eyes falling till their half-lidded, body moving before his mind when he pulls yours stuck to his. “S-soo good n’ I haven’t even- oh!” His voice goes a few octaves higher when Gojo finally starts moving. “How can- it feel this good, hng-”

And shit for being inexperienced, he was fucking up into you so mean. Just in short little thrusts up like he was trying to fuck you even deeper - trying to squeeze inside more of himself impossibly.

“Some- ah- some more, Toru-”

He listens, and the stretch - fuck. Gojo wasn’t even trying yet, but his girth was already massaging your gummy walls so dizzyingly good.

“Y-you’re so- ngh-” you graze your lips across his in what can barely be called a kiss. Too messy. Too depraved. “-so deep.” Sliding a hand about midway down your stomach to press down, “Can feel you all the way in here.”

Your words are sticking to Gojo like a second skin, driving him so fucking mad. Hips smacking up into you deep until his heavy balls were slapping your ass, sculpted pelvis crashing into yours.

“Stop talking.“ he spits, “Stop talking stop talking stop- talking.” Each word is punctuated by a desperate, messy stroke. Pushing you further and further up Gojo’s body from the obscene impact. “Stop hah- talking or m’gonna cum.”

He wasn’t lying - you could already feel the twitch of Gojo’ length rubbing up against your hidden sweet spots. The furious throbbing of his veins stretching out your elastic walls.

And yet you’re still wailing stubbornly, “B-but Toru it feels so good.” Partially truth, partially because when the fuck do you get to see him so utterly wrecked like this. Sanity dancing away from him with each syrupy moan leaving your mouth, “Your cock is too good- ngh- feels-”

“Shut up.”

Gojo can only take that much of your nonsense before he’s stuffing your mean mouth full with a flimsy piece of fabric from somewhere on the bed- no. A strangely familiar pair of panties.

“Heh, s’much ohhh fuck- better.” he beams with pride when you’re gagging and tearing up so adorably around the light blue fabric. Ramming his cock up harder - stronger, as if daring you to make a little comment about it. “Should’ve ah fuck- known you wouldn’t make it easy f’me.”

As if to prove his point, he gives your ravaged clit a little smack! before teasing and rolling his thumb exactly the way you’d taught him to with his tongue.

And he’s scrambling to sit up, carrying your boneless body with him.

The new angle has Gojo seeing stars, penetrating your gummy walls deeper, hitting that familiar g-spot he’s mapped out by now. “Here?” he manages to cackle, a big arm wrapping around your waist. “Right here? S’my cock hitting th-that ngh- good spot? Yer pussy is fuuuck so much easier to u-understand than I ah- thought.”

Reeling back to bounce you on his thick cock. Crashing into it again. And again and again and-

Since you can’t snap back - or even beg for more - you only let out muffled little moans through the gag in your mouth. Thighs burning as you push back in pathetic little thrusts to somehow meet Gojo’s mindless cadence.

“Oh yeah?” he drags, leaning back to help you ride him properly. “Yeah yeah do i-it hah- like that. Do it juuuust like that.” A harsh thumb rolls into your clit, making you stutter and grind yourself down messily. “Fuck- Yeah ruin me- ngh- just like that.”

His words were jagged - uneven. Spitting out of his plump lips like he didn’t even know they were every time Gojo’s fat, leaky tip was gliding across your cervix, your g-spot. Leaving possessive little bruises to claim you from the inside out.

“C-close.” you slur out, not even sure if he could hear over the dull slap of his balls on your ass, and the greedy squelches of your cunt. “More, Toru.”

Yet your sinful, sickly sweet noises have him freezing - if only for a split-second. Pussydrunk eyes going wide, jaw falling slack in such awe.

But before you can fully appreciate this sight, he’s starting back his depraved thrusts again. Bouncing you harder - faster. Just dragging you along every ridge and bump of his swollen cock. Fingers just a needy blur toying with your poor clit.

“M-more?” he whines into the crook of your neck, voice breaking at the end. “More. More?” He speaks up, like a mantra. Each word sending you spiraling down Gojo’s merciless cock, Panting, “Ever since you fuck- started rooming w’me, wanted this- wanted you to hah- be my first.” Holding you in such a vice-like grip as he splits you apart on his aching cock. Harder. “You’ve ruined me-” he spits against your lips, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’ know how many times I’ve cum to your pretty panties. Ruined me- ruined me- fuck m’so close- ruined me.” Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same.

And it’s only taking a few more unsteady jabs into your g-spot before a wave of euphoria is crashing over you. “Hngh-” you spasm in Gojo’s arms, his eyes going wide in wonder when your cunt squeezes him so fucking tight- only to-

“F-fuck!” he whines, connecting your lips to his. Kissing you even with your panties still stuffed into your mouth. And Gojo’s cumming and cumming so hard he doesn’t even think he’s breathing. Intertwining his tongue with yours to muffle his overstimulated moans, wrapping around your sweet slick-soaked panties in the middle. The contrast of his soft tongue with the lazy fabric of your panties only making you milk his poor cock harder. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck- Take it. Take it, my girl.”

You moan incoherently, going insane at the way he was filling you up with long, thick ropes of cum. Fucking deeper and deeper up into you to paint your plushy walls from the inside.

“S’all I’ve- ngh wanted.” he murmurs throatily, such a fucking mess now. Face flushed, eyes glassy with tears, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth with the way he was sucking lewdly on your tongue. “You’re all I-I’ve ever wanted.”

Shit, he hasn’t cum this hard in his life.

Finally having had enough of shutting up your smart mouth, Gojo slows down to deep little grinds - still moving. Still trying to hold back his moans at that creamy ring around his hilt, at the globs of seed trickling out of your poor overfilled pussy.

“Hah- Toru-” you whine when he pries away the fabric in your mouth. Shuddering with the swipe of his finger along your clit, “C-could almost ngh- forgive you…”

“The blue one.”

“What?” you’re staring at him in confusion, and Gojo’s fucked-out grin only spreads wider.

“That was for the b-blue one.” you gasp when his balls suddenly squeeze so painfully underneath you. Cock jerking in interest, “Y’gonna have me make up for that whole drawer full of panties, sweetheart?”

A/N. VIRGIN GOJO BRAIN ROT GOES BRRRRRRRR

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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yanderenightmare · 2 months ago

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♡ TW: yandere, captive reader, Stockholm syndrome

♡ FEM reader

“I’m back,” he calls out softly once opening the door.

You’re already there—must have heard him drive up then padded over—standing there, wordlessly awaiting his kiss. You don’t notice it yourself, though he does, how you get up on your tippy-toes and meet him halfway. You’ve been doing it for a while now. It’s really cute. And so he doesn’t say anything on it—doesn’t want to spook the habit.

“Welcome home,” you say, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you soft and snugly against his chest—smiling at how you nuzzle into it—yet another cute thing you’ve started doing lately.

“Mh-thank you, sweetheart—feels good,” he coos into your hair, petting it smoothly while you stand there, neither of you pulling away. “What did you do today?”

You sigh and sink further into his embrace, mumbling, “Same as any other day…” almost sulkily. “Just waiting for you.”

He chuckles, “Oh, that’s not true. I saw you watching something—anything fun?”

You hum, hiding your face in his chest, mumbling into it, “Not really… just binging another franchise they decided to ruin...” You shift and look up at him, keeping your chin on his chest while grumbling, “I don’t understand why they’d reboot something just to completely disregard everything it originally stood for—and all the effects just make it look cheap.”

He can’t help but chuckle again, ruffling your hair with a fond smile. “You’re such a nerd.” He could eat you up the way you are right now, plated on a silver platter for him all so willingly. “A cute nerd, though.”

You pout, “Honestly, what’s going on out there? I barely understand anything I’m watching anymore—it’s all alien to me.”

His hug on you tightens, but you don’t flinch like you used to—even as the look in his eyes darkens along with his words. “Yeah, the world’s gone mad. You’re better off in here.”

You smile then—agreeing for once. It’s also a new and adorable habit. And then you unzip his jacket for him, helping it off his shoulders and hanging it up for him—all so naturally. Looking back at him while asking, “And how was your day?”

He smiles while beholding you—to think such a question would ever leave your lips all so domestically—it’s enough to make his chest swell. Then with an exaggerated sigh, he whines, “Absolutely horrible without you,” wrapping you up in another hug, this time from behind, nuzzling his chin into the ticklish skin of your neck—making you giggle. Arms around your front, swaying you back against him. “Every second, I was counting down ‘til when I could come home to you.”

“Is that right?” You grin at his gesture—twisting around so that you could look at him straight. Slouched as he stood, all but draping you with his taller form—eyes leveled with yours, half-mast and adoringly admiring you like his most precious thing—his sweet loving girlfriend.

You cup his face in both hands, thinking the same of him—your sweet loving boyfriend. You’re about to kiss him, but then, struck by the thought, there’s a sudden freight in your chest that follows, and you jolt back as if he’d burned you.

He stills, warm expression twisting to one of concern. “Hey—” Stepping after you with his hands laid on your forearms, giving you a small squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” You don’t know, you think. Something’s off. Something’s not right—about his touch, about your heart, about all of it. “I’m just…”

You think about it, eyes skittering over his face—did you always look at his face? Since when did he become so familiar? Since when did you walk around wanting to see it?

“I just…” the words feel all strange in your mouth, but there’s no denying there’s truth in them. “I missed you.”

His features blank at that, blinking at you. “Oh…” Then he softens—smiles with a chuckle, “Well, I’m home now, so…” His head slants, looking at you in askance as he gently brings a hand up to thumb your chin. “What’s with this pouty face?”

You bite your lip. There’s so much noise in your chest—so many conflicting feelings. You’ve begun missing him when he’s gone—when he leaves you. You’ve started wishing for his return, spending your day in wait. Since when did you start doing that?

It’s not right.

“I’m slipping,” your voice is shaken and weak, eyes welling up with thick water enough to have him look blurry—you shake your head and squeeze them shut—making the tears fall quickly. “I’m not supposed to miss you—” you cry. “That’s not right. I’m not—you’re not—”

Not your boyfriend.

“Hey, hey, sweetie. It’s okay,” he cuts your sob off with two warm hands placing themselves on your wettened cheeks, holding you tenderly. You layer yours on top of his, feeling it’s the only thing keeping you from spiraling into oblivion.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he coos, smearing out your teardrops, making them dry. “It was gonna happen sooner or later, right?”

Your eyes peel and look at him—through the veil. His face is a comfort—though you feel strange seeing it as such, when you know, even though most of you has decided to forget, that he’s a psychotic stalker who’s kidnapped you and held you captive for what must be closing in on a year already.

“Don’t feel bad—it’s only natural,” he assures, pulling you into his chest again—both arms around you snugly with his chin on top of your head, gently rocking you from side to side. “Everything’s fine. So you’re losing your mind a little—we’ll just find something else for you to think about. Right? Is there anything you want? Anything I can get you? More clothes? Sweets? Something fun? Maybe you can take up another hobby?”

He loosens his hold to look down at you—his face warm with devout for you, with a wordless vow saying he’ll do everything, give you anything in return for your happiness.

You love him, you realize then with a shudder.

You’re in love with your crazy captor—your batshit lovesick oversweet captor who shares your bed and treats you like a spoiled pet. And it’s so fucked up—so, so very fucked up, so very fucking fucked up. But it’s true—you’re in love with him. And you have been for a while.

“What do you say?” he asks in hope.

Yet, you can’t say it out loud. No, not yet—it still feels all so wrong. But, at the same time, you don’t think there’s a need for you to put it into words for him. He’s always known you better than you have yourself, after all. And that wholesome smile on his face says it all—he already knows.

“No… I just,” you start, staring into his eyes—those full-loving eyes that look at you as if you’re the only thing of value in the whole entire world. “I just want…” It’s a scary confession—both admitting it to yourself and him. “You.”

You look down, curling your fingers into his shirt.

“I don’t need anything else.”

It’s the truth and nothing but the truth—albeit a somewhat sad truth. It’s your one wish—your only wish. You just want him—to stay, to hold you, to kiss you. You can’t even think of wanting anything else anymore.

“Oh, well, that’s easy, isn’t it?” he says, stroking your cheeks, fishing for your shy gaze—smiling once hooking it—pretty teary puppy eyes, lost and looking for directions.

Don’t worry—he’s here to help.

“Where do you want me then, sweetheart?” His lips near your forehead. “Here?” He gives it a chaste kiss, earning your sniffle, then ducks down to your neck. “Or here, maybe?” Giving that a kiss as well, this time with more behind it, sucking the skin with a soft bite.

“Or maybe…” His voice is low, and it makes your skin buzz with a desire just as dark—shivering with it as his lips ghost yours. “Here?”

You hang in his hold, leaning after it.

But he just smiles, “Tell me, sweetheart—where do you want me?”

Your lip wobbles, brows cinched as your balled fists needily pull him close—yearning for it.

“Everywhere.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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blkkizzat · 5 months ago

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❛ MY SHORTY ALWAYS ON SOME BULLSHIT LIKE CHICAGO ❜

PART 3

part of the 420 'We Be Burnin' series

⋙ MENU ITEM: PLUG!CHOSO x SORORITYBRAT!READER ⋙ PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 (IN STOCK!!!)

⋙ product description (summary): choso's finally had enough and if you won't listen to reason he will fuck it into you. but will you still choose him in the end or will he make that choice for you? ⋙ side effects (tw): THE LONG AWAITED BRAT TAMING! rough sex. throat goat!reader. more angst. spanking ass/puss. teasing. edging. lots of delayed pleasure. jealousy. cunnalingus. mirror sex. dom!choso. breeding kink. dirty talk. backshots. fingering. squirting. daddy kink. thigh riding. nuru/thigh fucking. intoxicated reader. drug use (weed). slight voyeurism. yandere choso. baby trapping. mentions of violence (not towards reader). mentions of somnophilia and a lil bit of fluff. ⋙ thc levels (wc): 9.6k of 22.1k ⋙ inventory notes (a/n): best viewed in dark mode. the long awaited end! i hope you guys like it. i really worked hard on this to make it good <3 special shout outs to my betas @littlemochabunni for literally always talking me off the ledge when i want to ctrl + a+ del everything and @buttercupblu for all the grammar edits my adhd brain struggles with and inspiring me to write the last scene.

Plug!Choso who ultimately will forgive you but it will be on his terms. He just needed to show you first why the only person you should worry about pleasing was him.

Menacing chuckles rumble deep from Choso’s chest, bewildering you in your crossfaded state. Seizing you with a firm hold, he forces you to meet his gaze. Choso holds you so tightly against him that your feet barely touch the ground.

Any attempts of wriggling out of his hold are in vain.

“You’re such a fucking slut.”

His matter-of-fact statement makes you frown. You’re taken aback by the twisted amusement on his face.

“You don’t love me… You love my cock.”

“N-No I—”

Your already short skirt now bunches above your hips and Choso brings a heavy hand down onto your exposed bottom. The sting brings fresh tears to your eyes as the gems on your fishnets leave distinct impressions on your soft, malleable skin.

“You’ll have to learn to be quiet while daddy’s talking, princess.”

If you were going to act like a childish brat, Choso would treat you like one.

Another harsh spank startles you into hiccups as you sniff away fallen tears.

You’d never been spanked before—not by previous lovers or boyfriends—hell not even your parents growing up.

The last person you’d expect it from was Choso.

And yet each swift lick Choso deals you is as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

Who knew you would be such a glutton for punishment?

You fidget, biting your lip in anticipation of another.

“Been thinkin’ princess—I’ve been too good to you. But you don’t want that, eh?”

A third smack has you whimpering. Your pelvic muscles clench hard, releasing more of the desperation that had already saturated your thighs.

“You want one of those assholes outside, is that right? They’re good enough for you, huh princess?”

You can only mewl in response from the delightful pain that pierces your senses as he delivers another and another.

“S’why every time I fuckin’ come round y’er being a lil’cocktease for some preppy ass frat fuck.”

Choso wasn’t wrong.

You knew what those boys wanted from you.

Even though you had never really entertained any of them. That was the allure in itself—to be something unattainable.

Yet more selfishly, you liked the attention. Not like you’d even got the same thrill from it anymore since you were with Choso—but old habits die hard.

Choso was making damn sure of that now.

“Tryna get one of them to fuck you tonight—”

Choso’s cock twitches in sync with your trembles from every spank.

“—or were you hoping I was finally gonna put that pretty princess pussy of yours in her place?”

You’re smart enough to know Choso’s question is rhetorical and how could it not be given all your actions tonight?

It was clear you wanted him and his deliciously fat cock back—badly.

Your tongue cautiously peeks out as you try to quiet your shuddering breaths, afraid that any small movement might provoke his anger. At this point you know better than to beg too, almost certain that any attempts would only fuel the unexpected mean streak Choso had developed.

Yet despite any initial apprehension you were quickly becoming puddy in his hands.

“Poor baby, working so hard having to appease everyone—”

SMACK!

“—well you ain’t gotta worry that bratty head of yours no more—seeing as you won’t be doing none of that shit from now on.”

His threats which should have you cussing him out only make you wetter as your heart pounds in your ears from the thrill of being dominated. You’d do anything right now to get a little relief for your aching cunt that had gone a whole goddamn month without Choso’s thick cock plugging her up.

Restless in arousal, your entire being just begs to be fucked.

Releasing your hair Choso parts your legs with his knee and you collapse onto him, your plump pussy colliding with his thigh. You whimper, tightly gripping his broad shoulders for leverage to rock yourself against his thigh.

Choso could feel the intensity of the moist heat radiating from your core dampening his jeans.

“Shit, I can feel you dripping… pussy drooling just from getting that ass spanked a lil’—are you a masochist, princess?”

Choso breathes the question into your ear, his words bringing a chill over your skin fanning goosebumps all the way down to the nape of your neck.

You’re losing yourself all the more in the hypnotic state of lust swirling from alcohol, weed, pain and arousal clashing within you.

You nearly choke on the deep guttural moans that had been held in by his hand still around your throat when he grabs your hips forcibly rocking you harder against him. Your paper-thin thong does nothing to protect you from the rough threadbare material of his jeans grinding against your sensitive lil nub.

“Wearing these slutty tights with an ass like yours…”

You almost forget to breathe, the sting this time accompanied by him sliding his fingers between the gaps in the material and grabbing the fat of your ass for emphasis.

“...coulda got me in so much shit tonight if I made ol’boy who was touchin’ up on you swallow teeth.”

The baritone in his voice lowers to a deadly note, tuning every nerve in your body to the exact pitch of his voice.

“P-Please C-Cho I—”

—in an instant the hand on your hip coils around your neck.

Thumbing your collarbone, Choso slowly applies just enough pressure to activate the euphoric sensation of suffocation, sending tingles down your spine.

“Look at me princess, you better stay quiet—m’not gonna say it again.”

You choke back a cry as the elastic on your fishnets snaps against your tender skin when Choso removes his hand from them.

“But then your lil’card got pulled when you saw me with that whore, hmm?”

You wince preemptively expecting another hard spanking but Choso loosens his grip around your throat. He looks at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

A sniffly frown complements the pitifulness of your runny makeup as you cling to him possessively.

“Y-Yeah… I-I hated seeing that d-dumb bitch all over you. Wanted to fuck her up.”

Choso is satisfied with your answer but the warmth behind his smile didn’t match the heated glint in his eyes.

“There it is. See? Bratty princesses who are honest get rewarded—”

Any relief you feel is short lived as your despair returns with the words that follow.

“—eventually.”

Plug!Choso who has you so close to release just from rutting against his brawny thigh. Yet just as you feel the hot coil about to snap in your stomach he pulls away from you.

Wobbling for stability, your panic that he would leave again subsides when he returns to sit on your bed.

Choso leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees to pack another bowl. The process is second nature to him and his hands move with an instinctual precision, allowing his oppressively dark gaze to remain fixed to you.

“Strip.”

It’s a rather simple command but it causes a small malfunction in your brain nonetheless.

Your intuition is simultaneously screaming at you to be a ‘good girl’ and listen to Choso so he’d finally fuck you—but also to get the hell away from the menacing man before you were actually fucked.

Choso’s shift in his nature was setting off every internal alarm—although at the same time, you couldn’t say this still didn’t feel like Choso.

Was it really new?

Or was this side just new to you?

You’d only ever really known the gentle boyish side of Choso. The side who would blush easily and that was so willing to do anything to please you—the side that was a dutiful and loving brother.

But this other side?

Well, he was a dealer.

You’d never heard of Choso getting caught out or punked in the streets—not even once.

You also never knew how he conducted his business, as he always stepped out of the car or left the room. When he took a call while you were with him, all you could hear were faint murmurs of conversation over the rumbling bass of music or through a well-insulated door.

You knew he did his best to keep that side away from you and Yuji, as it wasn’t always pretty.

Instantly you recalled how once when you had slept over he reluctantly left in the middle of the night late saying he had ‘business’ to take care of. When he came home hours later he looked worn down and even more tired than usual. His knuckles were swollen and there was a rip with small dots of blood on his collar which you would have thought was his own if not for there not being a single scratch on him.

He didn’t speak of what happened and you couldn’t fuss over his appearance for too long—your mind being far from inquisitive while blubbering from his cock drilling your body deep into the mattress. You blissfully became a fleshlight of relief for all his frustrations that night until long after sunrise.

In fact, Choso had dicked you down so thoroughly when you finally made it out of bed that day it was mid-afternoon. You didn’t even question him about the bruises lingering on his knuckles or whose blood he had on him—still in a daze off his cock.

So this must be how he is in the streets.

“Go on now, princess.”

The deep silky dominance in his tone commanded your attention, jarring you from your thoughts. You’re pouting, but your body, in spite of your more rational mind, wins as it compels you to obey him, convincing you that anything he has planned for you would be well worth the pleasure that follows.

Slowly, you begin to lift up your tiny pink top when Choso’s eyes narrow in disapproval, stopping you.

“Nuh-uh see—that shit right there won't cut it.”

You’re puzzled. You did exactly as he asked.

“You didn’t think I saw my lil’ slut playing beer pong and teasing those shitheads with my tiddies? Now do it for me—the same fuckin’ way.”

You’re nodding but your delicate hands are nevertheless shaking under his intense smolder.

Swallowing your anxiety and mimicking your earlier actions, you bent towards him. Your chest is lightly heaving by the time your nails begin to slowly drag the hem of the sparkly top down over your breasts. Choso is blatantly palming his cock when you give the final tug that has your tits bouncing forth from their confines, fully exposed to him.

Choso hums in approval, satisfied with your performance. He motions with a finger for you to come to him and you can’t close the distance fast enough to stand between his legs.

Molding your hips in his large hands, Choso brings you even closer. Parting his lips the smoke tendrils fan over your stomach while his mouth hovers over your skin.

Choso looks back up at you and your belly dips, quivering at his dangerously seductive eyes and mischievous grin.

You were nervous—good.

“Knees.”

Plug!Choso who has you shamelessly panting on your knees before him. Not caring for any decorum at this point you’re openly salivating as hearts practically dance in your eyes over his engorged cock throbbing inside his jeans.

Choso releases a whiny hiss when the air hits his swollen glands. His length sways weighted down as an embarrassing amount of pre drips off his reddened shaft, his boxers already soiled.

In your right state of mind you might have used this to shift back the power dynamics—yet alas, you are far too gone now. The need for him to give you his praise and approval winning out over any inklings of sass or disobedience.

Your attention is all but zeroed in on how those milky pearls dribbled over his albert piercing and down the thick vein on the underside of his length.

Seeing how your mouth watered just from the sight of his cock, it’s Choso who proves to be the more impatient one as he grips the back of your head with one hand forcing you closer. In his haste, his dick misses your mouth and skids across your cheek, prompting a low growl of curses from Choso.

Unconcerned with his impatience, you’re still in your own world—and that world in question was currently being filled with the carnal smell of Choso’s scent marking your skin. A long stain of pre smearing across your face mind shuts down now solely driven by your needy cunt.

“I’ll forgive you when you show me how sorry you are—”

“—anything!”

Quickly snapping out of your dickmatized daze you look up at him with doe eyes, begging for the go-ahead.

“Yeah? Then do it nasty for me, princess.”

The words have scarcely left Choso’s lips before you’re already parting your own, releasing a viscous well of drool to pour languidly on his dick.

Your saliva mixing with his spilled essence coats his cock and fills the room with vulgar squelches as you obediently pump his hot length. You rotate your grip with a sinful precision while your other hand thumbs his gooch as you’re cupping his balls, kneading them in a manner that had Choso’s toes curling.

Giving thanks for the meal you are about to consume, you never break eye contact as you deliver pillowy kisses to his tip and strum your tongue under his frenulum. Choso’s abs twitch feverishly when the sultry hollow of your mouth lewdly hums over his piercing. The sounding effect alone is nearly enough to make him bust right then.

You aren’t holding up well yourself either as your thighs squeeze together soaking your fishnets which had long been sticky with your overflowing arousal. Manifesting that it soon would be the moist suction of your vacant cunt and not of your spit glossed lips that would take him whole as you continue to moan wantonly around his girth.

The memory alone didn’t do your mouth justice to Choso, not that he still didn’t cum plenty from thinking of your lips slobbering around him in the last month.

Fuck if you didn’t always give some crazy ass head though.

However, he knows he has to keep control lest he loses all the progress he made training that lil’ attitude of yours tonight.

Weaving his muscular hands through your hair, in one swift motion Choso thrusts his hips forward. He groans loudly from your warm gummy throat now stuffed full with his cock. Gargling his girth you choke when Choso’s piercing scrapes the back of your throat as he forcibly bobs your head up and down.

Thick tears burn your vision with your running mascara flowing right down your full cheeks. But it's nothing compared to the fiery burn in your cunt that’s even more jealous than before of your throat getting the treatment it needs so desperately.

“You’re gonna be my good girl from now on? Yeah baby, I know—I know ya are. Now open that throatpussy a lil wider for me, got sum’ for it.”

Heart fluttering at his filthy praises, you easily let him coerce your face flush to his pubic bone to take him to the very hilt. Your nose is buried in his dark pubic hair and his balls slap your chin at every thrust. The harsh treatment has your tears mingling with his fluids to coat your face and stain his jeans.

This is how you should be.

Obedient and pretty while your sobs vibrate around his cock destroying your throat. All you had to do was worry about taking care of him—in turn he would take care of you and the rest.

Shit though, going so long without your bratty little mouth around his dick Choso wasn’t about to last too much longer.

His blunted nails dig into your scalp as he hunches, curling over your body from the sloppy way he plows even deeper into you.

“You’re gonna take all of it princess. Every last bit, understood?”

Choso takes your unintelligible gurgles and the hands shoving against his thighs as confirmation. A needy grunt is followed by jets of his creamy load spurting down your esophagus.

Teeming with adrenaline, you gasp for air. Your lungs are on fire from sputtering up his tangy spunk that somehow even trickled into your windpipes. Choso’s fluids dribble down your chin, a show of proof from you having milked his cock so thoroughly.

But you're not angry with him for the rough treatment—on the contrary.

Once your coughs subside you’re gazing up at Choso like an innocent lamb and not the nasty throat goat you just proved yourself to be. Praying you have been enough of a good girl for him to finally fuck your lil’ cunt as hard as you needed.

Plug!Choso who rewards you with gentle strokes that smooth your hair back and caress your flushed cheeks stained with his spunk.

Keeping true to his promise of every last bit, Choso thumbs the remaining salty fluids soiling your face back into your mouth, dumping the excess onto your tongue that greedily slurps it down.

Satisfied, Choso straightens and beckons you onto his lap with a pat to his thigh. Smirking at your enthusiasm as you clumsily settle in.

“Now doesn’t it feel nice…being a good girl for once?”

Choso affectionately twirls your hair in his fingers and you bob your head eagerly.

Your lips are mere centimeters apart.

You want to kiss him but Choso doesn’t feel like you earned that just yet, balling his fist to tug your locks taunt when you lean in.

“Not yet, baby.”

You stick your lip out, fussing in aroused frustration.

“Tsk—now, now none of that shit, brats don’t get kisses—and they certainly don’t get this dick.”

If the look in his eyes were any indication you knew Choso meant business. The searing eye contact had long incinerated all the walls you’d built to keep him out, exposing the very essence of you laid bare in the ashes.

You have no more defenses against him, becoming more obedient to his every word.

Seconds pass that seem like achingly brutal hours until he breaks the staredown. His sights now follow his hands as they splay out trailing from your collarbone to your breasts, letting them weigh heavy in his palms.

His lecherous scrutiny has you shivering.

“You let anyone touch these?”

The question startles you as does the sensation of Choso rolling your stiffened peaks between his knuckles before giving them a cruel tug.

You sniffle as you shake your head ‘no’, trying not to whine and still unable to speak from him pounding your vocal cords raw.

Choso grins knowingly as his hands fondle your plush mounds, kneading the supple flesh and pushing them together before the steamy cavern of Choso’s mouth consumes both at once. The bar of his pierced tongue swirled between your hardened buds, lapping, slurping and nibbling. Squirming you arch back deeper into his mouth and grind your soaked lil cunny on his rapidly stiffening length. Your hands cling to his pigtails for any semblance of an anchor keeping you from tumbling backwards.

Spurred on by your shuddering cries Choso withdraws from your swollen peaks with a pop and licks up the string of spit that cobwebs between them. His tongue flattens licking each one dutifully as he watches as your jaw slacks from pleasure.

You’ve been so deprived of his touch. You could cum from just a bit more of this.

Yet Choso’s lips don’t stop traveling your body, even higher this time to adorn your decolletage with searing hickies.

Uncaring if they actually showed up to brand your skin or not.

Choso only needs you to feel them bruise beneath your flesh.

That way you wouldn’t so soon forget exactly who you belonged to.

“And what about my bratty lil’ pussy, princess? I know how needy she is. You let one of those frat fuckers inside her?”

His hot heady breaths puff out to curl around your earlobe, leaving the severely neglected spot in between your thighs throbbing at her mention.

You think you might actually die if he ignores your cunt for much longer.

Your thong is utterly drenched. More arousal trickles onto his lap as his muscular hands settle back on your hips.

“N-no!”

Sounding more like a croaked plea, your voice is barely above a whisper from the hoarseness that settled in your throat.

“W-Waited f-for you Cho.”

“Then show me.”

Plug!Choso who has you even more intoxicated off the thought of him giving you a pussy inspection.

He has nearly succeeded in domesticating you and your arms wrap around him submissively as you moan unabashedly into his neck.

Choso muses he should have handled your snobby ass like this sooner and saved himself some trouble.

Lifting you, Choso rises from the bed.

You haven’t realized you’ve moved at all until you crash into the edge of your vanity, shaking the table with a thud. Rattled, you look back, giving Choso the leverage he needs to spin you around. Dizzy from the sudden movement, your arms fly out—scattering bottles of makeup and perfume as you grasp at the wooden tabletop.

The items roll on the floor in tandem with Choso rolling his hips up against you. You release a loud mewl from his hard erection teasingly poking into your ass.

Thinking only with your pussy, your impatient pleas are met with another slap to the ass. The increased weight behind his hand this time leaves your nerve endings sizzling.

You were gonna be such a sweet girl by the time he was done with you.

However, he wouldn’t torture you for too much longer.

Despite his cold authoritarian demeanor, the image of shoveling his cock deep into your creamy cunny after so long of only jerking to the memory has him about to lose it. Grasping the front of your hips, Choso jerks you flush against his pelvis. You fall forward until your cheekbone is smooshed into the vanity’s mirror and his thick bulge molding itself in-between your cheeks

“Stay just like that for me, yeah baby? Hands on the mirror, they better not fuckin’ leave either.”

You position your hands obediently and Choso, as if praising you, tenderly gifts lustful kisses down your spine while he pampers your reddening bottom with gentle caresses.

“Good fuckin’ girl, princess.”

The more feral his nature, the more like his prey you became. Choso licentiously inspects your body—gripping, sniffing, and nipping at your heated skin until he is level with your ass.

You whimper as Choso rips your fishnets ripping them open, admiring the indents on your skin from the jeweled tights before burying his face between your squishy cheeks.

His nose salaciously nuzzles against the soaked material stuck to your barely covered hole and he releases a hot guttural sigh, purring into your pussy.

Always a fiend for dining on your cunt, Choso is brimming with contentment from your juices leaking onto his face. This may have been your punishment but it was also his reward as the taste of your filthy lil plum never failed to drive him wild—often opting to spend most of the night with his face between your hips, he’d still cum plenty times from just thrusting into the air as he let you ride his face.

Licking his lips, Choso’s tongues traces the pattern of your thong and sucks your juices from the saturated fabric. You’re both loudly moaning now—Choso from the saccharine flavor of your cunt and you from the sweet relief of the hot languid strokes of his skillful tongue.

Choso might have lost himself in that moment of finally getting to taste you again. His eyes roll back at how you lewdly leak through your soaked thong.

All for him.

You were still his even after all this time.

However, it's your own hastiness that reminds him your penance is worth more than his own pleasure when your ass wiggles impatiently lowering onto his face when Choso’s tongue piercing starts drawing lazy circles around your sensitive lil pearl.

“C-Cho, n-need you…puh-lease s’not fair—”

Determined to control every sensation he gives to you and holding you in place, Choso scolds you.

“Fair? Nah, know what’s not fair, princess?”

His lips move closer to ghost over your ass causing goosebumps to rise over the warm tender skin.

“You actin like a bitch for a whole fuckin’ month and keeping all this good pussy away from me.”

You shudder when his teeth sink into your jiggly flesh causing you to yelp and rock against the vanity.

You’d get more pleasure when he wanted you to.

Choso would screw that lesson into you soon enough.

“Fuck—the only thing sweet about you is this lil’ pussy. You’re such a brat but she's so honest. Then again—maybe it's your slutty lil’ pussy that’s actually the brat, thinking she runs shit because of how good she is at milking cock, yeah?”

Choso confirms his suspicions upon peeling your soaked thong to the side. Strings of your arousal practically glue the material to your cunt. Not hesitating to make more of a mess of you, he illicitly hawks globes of his spit into your already dripping lil’ hole eagerly winking at him.

“Let’s see what this slutty cunt has to say for herself, hm?”

Choso places a chaste kiss over your entrance before driving two fingers straight in. Your hands leave streaks down the mirror as you perspire, fogging up the glass with your breathy cries.

Speeding up his pace he digs the pads of his fingers into your walls, searching until they run over a spongy hard spot and he has to fight to keep a hand on your lower back to hold you in place.

God you were virgin-tight again.

Before ignoring you, Choso had only ever gone three days without fucking you and even then you’d been crying from his tip just stretching the entrance of your taut lil pussy.

In the past, Choso would have taken his time with you. He knew he needed to work you open more so you wouldn’t be sore tomorrow, and yet his cock throbbed to life again so urgently he couldn't restrain himself for much longer.

That’d be something you’d just have to fucking deal with.

This was all your fault after all.

Plug!Choso who wouldn’t let you deprive him of his pussy for any longer—however, he was still going to make you beg for it.

“Tell me what you want, princess.”

Choso rips the thong clean off your ass cheeks.

Leaving you exposed bare in your fishnets he rises up to lean over you. His moist breath trickles electricity down your spine as his bricked length roughly pipes between your cheeks.

“Nghh…w-want your c-cock…”

“Whose cock—so you know me now, princess?—Choso is that it?”

Choso mocks your voice with the hurtful words you hurled at him during the garden brunch. Gliding his girth to prod over your entrance and miss its mark intentionally.

“Pleeaseee—C-Choso-C-Choso-C-Choso.”

The pleas of his name slur together as your attention solely focuses on how his leaky shaft lathers your already dripping folds in his pre.

“That’s right princess…now tell me who am I to you?”

Choso reaches around to swat at your swollen clit.

You cry out as your body slick with sweat jolts up violently. Choso has to throw more of his weight onto you to keep you from slipping off the vanity entirely.

You could have actually fallen to the floor without noticing as the fuzzy feeling in your brain intensifies, too much is happening all at once. Your intoxicated thoughts swirl in its attempt to work out the finer details of your relationship with Choso—details you likely wouldn't have been able to answer even while completely sober.

Who was Choso to you?

Well, frankly, right now he was technically nothing. You had never previously defined your relationship and hadn’t had any communication at all over the last month until just a few days ago.

Your dealer? Friend? Casual hookup? Situationship?

By and large, it had been your fault that you’d never discussed it. You actively ran from any complicated conversations or pulled away whenever Choso proposed something that would be too close to affirming your status.

You also knew how much Choso liked you, especially from how he’d blush when other parents in Yuji’s class would mistake the two of you for a couple.

You weren’t a couple though—even if you acted like you were behind closed doors.

Even so, you knew how he made you feel when you were with him and knew what you wanted him to be to you now.

That was enough.

Goddamnit.

Your body threatens to explode from the vulnerability of your exposed emotions pricking at your every nerve while you work up the courage to say it.

This admission was somehow even harder than confessing you loved him—which had honestly been relatively easy in comparison as you were so upset you would have done anything at that moment to make him stay.

Face on fire, you clasp your eyes shut—as if not looking at Choso in the mirror means he somehow can’t hear the words that stumble out of you.

“M-My boyfriend!”

Silent tears fall as you fear his reaction, you’ve never been the one to lay your feelings on the line first.

Had you really missed your chance to be with him?

Would he just fuck you and leave after?

Choso remains silent as his hands glide up your sides, feeling you tremble under his touch. He lifts your torso, pulling you to his chest possessively. Choso’s arms encircle you as they weave between your breasts and he licks a stray tear away.

Now you have the most lewd, yet perfectly unhindered, view of his hefty mushroom tip as it quickly slots through your puffed folds to ram into your clit.

The wide grin on his features is evident as your face crumples and pleasurable sobs rupture from you. Choso rests the side of his face against your neck as he takes in your smell, giving you a chaste kiss and savoring how much his body is scenting yours.

“Oh? You asking me out, princess? Well, I’m flattered you finally asked, but that's not exactly the answer I was looking for—”

A feverish chill spreads across your skin and you’re shivering as he locks eyes with you in the mirror.

“—as it’s certainly not what you will be calling me when I’m pushing your kidneys back.”

Choso’s hands lazily roam your body while he continues to sneak his length through your thighs. You unconsciously arch back to rest your nape on his shoulder, allowing him better access to touch you.

So he wasn’t talking about your relationship status after all?!

Still the devious smile on Choso’s face tells you he intentionally misled you with his phrasing nonetheless.

“So—who am I?”

The cocky tone in his voice makes it clear exactly what he wants you to call him—and you’d say it—you just need to work up the nerve first.

Unfortunately for you Choso’s patience for your bratty ass had long since depleted.

“Tch, yo we can stop then if—”

You snapped the moment you felt his hands leave you.

“NO, DADDY!”

“I’ll be a good girl Daddy…s’good. I-I promise puh-leaseee put it in—please—need you, Daddy!”

There was no way in hell Choso would have left without sticking his dick in you but he knew that you were too hard up right now to even dream of calling his bluff.

“That’s right princess. I’m your Daddy. Now show Daddy that arch baby.”

Plug!Choso who smirks into your skin as he tastes you. The sting from a tiny love bite blossoming as he manhandles you back down onto the table’s surface when your already cockdrunk mind doesn’t have you moving fast enough.

“But you’re still actin’ up a lil baby—so you gonna have to put this dick in yourself, got it?”

Choso hums at your dizzy babbles of confirmation, slipping his thumbs over your chubby pussy lips to spread you open. Choso is in awe of how slutty your cunt looked, clenching around nothing but the webs of your own arousal and practically screaming to be busted open wider by his cock.

Catching his tip on your entrance, Choso stalls as he has to chew the inside of his own cheek to resist not thrusting into you completely—you’d do the rest from here.

Choso was just glad you weren't looking in the mirror to see how hard his abs were trembling.

Exhaling shaky breaths, you ease back onto him, gingerly sinking down his length. Your kitten nails fitfully scratch at the table just from the stretch of just getting his wide mushroom tip inside.

SHIIIIT-SHIIIT-SHIIIT—Too much!

You grit your teeth, he’s so big stretching the walls of your cunt to the degree that your walls actually try to push him out when you flex. However, Choso’s hands are digging into your hips to secure you in place. He’s not helping nor hindering you—but he isn’t letting you run any either.

Your knees knock against the vanity, trembling this much and he's only halfway in.

“Come on, princess…”

Choso coos gently as he rubs circles into the small of your back with his thumbs, coaxing you to relax.

The dichotomy between Choso’s treatment erratically switching in severity leaves you reeling. You're on edge with heightened arousal, never sure if his next words or touch would be rough or soothing yet either way it leaves you wanting more of him—anything he’d give, you’d take.

But right now you need him to have a lil mercy on you.

Tears brim your wide eyes as you pout and look at him through the mirror, pleading with him.

“Puh-leaseeee Cho—m’daddy…help me?”

Your pitiful submission has Choso cracking. His need to ruin you after so long winning over his want to delay your pleasure along with everything else.

Sighing, Choso relents.

“You know, I spoil you too much, princess…s’why you’re so rotten now.”

No sooner had he finished speaking did he hastily slam into you. Your wet warmth completely sucks him in whole and wraps around him so sinfully he has to dig his blunted nails deeper into your hips to keep from immediately painting your walls white.

God, he really was so incredibly weak for your perfect lil’ pussy.

Grunting, Choso sets an unrelenting tempo as he continues to rail into your cervix, each bruising thrust was him reminding you of every time you ignored him—pretended you didn’t know him—told people you were just friends—and for making him even love someone as mean and bratty as you in the first place.

Grabbing onto the clothing bunched at your waist for leverage, Choso pistoning his hard length in and out of you felt like he was ripping your guts out along with it.

Gathering together a coherent thought right now was impossible. It’s so good but so intense your body reflexively reaches a hand back, frantically pressing against his abs to slow him.

Choso growls, stilling your hand behind your back while his other springs out to pin your head on the table.

You were blocking his view of how your ass rippled every time he pounds his cock deeper into your cunt.

He just needed you to be good and take it.

And take it you did.

Choso fucks you so hard your vanity table creaks and repeatedly slams into your wall causing the entire room to shake. Your mind goes blank as if his cock controls the very flow of blood in your body. Surging tingling sensations electrifying your veins when the curve of his length knocks his albert piercing so aggressively against your cervix.

Your gooey walls build up so much pressure around his thickness that white spots edge your vision so very close to your nirvana.

“Don’t even think about cumming until I say so my slutty lil’ princess—hold that shit for daddy.”

But there was no way you couldn’t and just as you are at the very edge of your bliss Choso rips it away from you, halting once again to still inside of you.

“Mmmm no please-please-puhleeease let me cum Choso! Please fuck me right Daddy!”

Plug!Choso, who as much as he wants to edge you past your limits, really pulled out because he also needs to calm down. Choso removes his shirt overhead as the heat in the room has skyrocketed to near sweltering.

Even unmoving inside you, your pussy still flexes around him like crazy. You weren’t on birth control so he never came inside you, not even once before. Pulling out normally to release over your stomach, ass or tits and wearing a condom on days it wasn't as safe.

Although he desperately wants to cum inside you, to really mark you as his, could he risk it?

It would be so stupid and so irresponsible, going far beyond any punishment.

You still had a year of school left.

He couldn't knock you up.

Then again you didn't need to go to classes physically—you could take them online.

Pushing his more debased and wicked thoughts aside, ultimately Choso reigns himself in. He didn’t even want to put you in that position. He’d support you regardless, but he’d admittedly die inside if you decided not to have his child.

“S-Shit! C-Cho the door!”

Seeing the sliver of hallway light cast into your dimly lit room, you realize now that you must have forgotten to lock it. This was an old house and your door had the habit of coming open easily from just some minor movement in your room if left unlocked.

Choso fucking you like he hated you was surely enough to knock it loose.

Unfortunately for you though, Choso didn’t give a fuck.

Abruptly snapped out of his perverse breeding fantasies, Choso’s feral eyes, tinged red from his high meet your frantic ones in the mirror.

“No.”

The renewed vigor of his cock plowing through you again strangles any protests, gagging you on them as you feel him back in your throat from the intensity.

“Nah princess, let them all hear how hard you sob on this loser’s cock while he fucks some manners into you.”

And sob you did. It was difficult to do anything else really as him moving inside you again had your body buzzing more than from your actual high.

“It doesn’t matter, cause I am about to fuck you so hard even the walls downstairs start shaking—”

Choso’s heavy balls slap against your clit when he kicks his thrusts up a notch and hitches your leg up on the vanity.

“—n’when they discover us there’s no way they will even want a cockdrunk brat who lets her ‘weirdo burnout stalker’ get her high and fuck her stupid as a president.”

Your mind, clearly ruined by his dick thinks that might not actually be so bad.

“Shit, you tightened up baby, you actually want someone to find us? See how good I slut you out, yeah?”

Honestly, the harder he thrusted inside you the less you cared—about anything.

School.

The sorority.

Your presidency.

None of it made you feel anywhere near as fulfilled as you were right now with Choso’s thick girth ripping through you.

The walls quake even more violently.

The soggy clicking sounds from your soaked cunt almost reach the volume of your crazed screams for him to fuck you even harder.

Choso was so fucking close again, he was beginning to lose reason.

“F-Fuck it—should I cum in you, princess? I’ll even let you cum too this time.”

Your brain on a mission to cum, fucked so smooth by his fat cock, could care less as long as you got to cum too.

Oh fuck, just a lil more and you would—

“—PREZ! Did you get the goods or not? We wanna start roll—”

On her phone texting, Brianna—who is pretty fucked up herself—did not even register that the sex noises came from your room. Thinking Choso had left already and sure you were up here salty about her ‘stealing him away’.

All the color drains from Brianna’s face as she drops her phone as well as her red solo cup filled with spiked seltzer, splashing on her outfit as well as the floor.

Through the mirror's reflection, she can see the pleasurable agony painted all over your face from getting your cheeks clapped into oblivion by the obvious third leg Choso was packing. Your eyes to the ceiling, heaving out wails as your tongue hangs out of your mouth waging with every thrust Choso carves into your guts. The clicking sound of his cock stirring up your tight lil’ pussy echoes throughout your room.

“OH MY GAWD! So it was true? You’re actually fucking him??? OHMYGAWDOGMYGAWD they aren’t going to believe this!”

Cockdrunk and stupified you couldn’t give even a piece of a fuck. Honestly, you wouldn't have even noticed her if Choso didn’t stop again.

No, No, No. You were so sick of being edged! Not after he finally was going to let you cum.

This can’t be happening right now.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You needed to cum so bad.

Your vision is blurry with moisture caught in your lashes as you push yourself up. Grasping onto the edge of the tabletop you used it as leverage to weakly fuck yourself back onto him, doing the work this time if he wouldn’t.

You wouldn’t let Brianna’s ass of all people prevent you from having the orgasm you’ve been fiending over a fucking month for.

“I jushh w-wanna cum! Pleasssh, wanna-cum-wanna-cum…”

You chant out shamelessly. Your desperate whines stunning both Choso and Brianna.

Candidly, both thought you'd be horrified enough to stop.

Choso especially, as even after everything tonight wouldn’t have been shocked if the mortification of actually being caught had you kicking him out.

“Heh.”

Are you actually choosing him for once?

Choso wasn’t going to let the moment pass without finding out—that’s for fuckin’ sure.

The smack he delivers to your cheeks grab your attention as you bellow out more cries. You’re still pathetically trying to get off with your weakened thrusts back. It wasn’t nearly enough to get you off—but better than the burning that threatens to incinerate you whole if you stopped.

“Hey Princess, I’ll let you cum just lemme know something first, yeah?”

You nod your head longingly, dizzy with need.

“Tell this bitch whose dick is this?”

For the first time that night, you answered without missing a beat.

“M-Mine m’daddy, its m-mine!”

You pant breathlessly, still trying to rock yourself back on him but you aren't quite hitting the spot.

Your eyes lock with Brianna’s through the mirror’s reflection yet you are looking straight through her—your eyes vacant as you could only think of Choso’s cock.

Your cock.

“Nah don’t look at that bitch, look at me princess.”

Not hesitating, your eyes snap over to him.

“Good fucking girl—and whose pussy is this?”

“You–YOU CHOSO! Please Daddy—please it's s’good, I need it! Please fuck me Daddy!”

Choso turns to Briana who is frozen in place—her eyes are wider than saucers—as she realizes she’s lost.

Reaching over you he grabs an ounce bag and tosses it near her hitting the floor by her feet. Brianna hesitates though, causing Choso to growl impatiently.

He’d proved his point, now he wanted this bitch gone.

“Yo Gouda—you a voyeur or somethin’?”

Brianna jumps when Choso addresses her quickly shaking her head ‘no’.

“Then get the fuck up outta here bitch—MOVE!”

In her haste, Brianna slips on the spilled alcohol as she scrambles to quickly snatch up the weed and her alcohol-soaked phone. The door slams shut as she scurries out the door.

Plug!Choso who has lost all desire to punish you. He only wants to be able to see your face twist in pleasure when he finally lets you have your sweet euphoric release.

In a flash, he’s moving you again. Choso swoops you up and tosses you onto the bed, hurriedly making sure the door is locked this time before kicking off his pants and crawling on top of you.

“Shhhh princess, you did so good baby, m’gonna let you cum. Gonna have you creaming so hard on this cock, s’your cock baby—you earned it.”

Choso is slurring his words as he peppers your body with blood buzzing kisses to hush your anguished whimpers while he peels the remaining clothes off your body. Not being sheathed inside you is killing him just as much, yet he longs to touch your silky skin unimpeded against his own.

“Been taking me s’gud baby, c’mere…”

The both of you now bare, Choso wastes no time plunging back into your heated core, your heels digging into his back at the intensity.

Damn—you’re so perfect.

Allowing himself to let go, his mind shatters as Choso melts into your gooey lil’ cunny.

His lips are desperate to find yours and Choso is no longer able to withhold himself from sinking into a pussydrunk state. Uncaring for any more displays of dominance, the kiss you share is hurried and sloppy causing your thoughts to splinter.

Your mind fragments into increasingly smaller pieces of incoherency the more frantic Choso’s kiss becomes. His teeth clash with yours and graze over your swollen lips, unable to control himself as he fitfully bruises your clit from the blunt thrusts of his pelvic bone.

Tears glaze your eyes blinding you from the creamy stickiness at Choso’s hilt that splash between your bodies. The musky fluids flow all over your puffed lil’ pussy to drizzle past his aching balls to puddle on your sheets.

“L-Live with me—with me n’ Yuji—FUHHCKKpussysogood—y-you ain’t gotta be here anymore, princess.”

Choso’s forehead rests against yours and his dick twitches inside of you like crazy from the ridges of his thick engorged cock scraping against every nerve in your cunt.

“Be with us, baby. Be our family. I-I–SHIIIIIT—I love you so-much-so-much.”

All of his bravado strips away and there’s just the soft Choso you knew once again. The one who would do anything for you, the one who made your stomach flip and your heart stop—you didn’t want to go through life anymore without him in yours.

“Y-Yes! I wanna—ah fuhhhh—s’gud l-love you D-Daddy!”

Overwhelmed with emotion for you and knowing he would come soon, Choso reaches a shaky hand between you to roughly smash his palm into your sensitive lil’ bud. The soaked slick from your bodies causes his movements to jerk erratically and your hips involuntarily thrash against him.

Choso screws his eyes shut, your bodies so wet he nearly slips off of you in his single-minded focus to make you cum. He has to be ready to pull out of you as soon as you do or he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from shooting all of his cum in you—yet that’s exactly what your fucked out lil’ pussy wants.

“C-Cum—cum in me Daddy…”

Your voice is barely above a whisper as you almost fade out of consciousness from the sublime shockwaves that erupt over your body as you are nearly at the peak of your climax.

Choso’s hips falter, almost in a more fucked out condition than you. He nearly dumped his entire load into you then but his last sliver of sanity held out.

“SHIIIIIT—P-Princess—Do ya even know what y’er s-saying to me right now?”

Time slows, your hand cups his face staring with conviction as best you could into his dark aubergine eyes as your other weakly directs the palm pressing on your clit to rest on your belly.

“Cum in me Choso—I-I wouldn’t mind having a baby if it's yours.”

Oh fuck…

And with that your knees were by your ears and your ankles dangle off his shoulders.

Sure, you were intoxicated on many substances—his dick included and as much as you may have just been talking shit at this moment Choso doesn’t care anymore.

You’d told him you’d have his baby and it’s all his pussydrunk mind can process.

Like a puppy Choso whimpers his groans keen sharply out of him as his tongue dangles to drip slobber down your neck. He’s reverting back to the sloppy whiny mess you know him to be when hes fucked himself out from treating your drooling hole like a well-loved pocket pussy.

“MHMMM FUCK!”

The knot inside you twists impossibly tighter, straining your nerves until it finally snaps sending shockwaves through you. You lose yourself in nonsensical cries as your worn battered body convulses uncontrollably, creaming around his cock.

If your brain hadn’t shut down at this very moment—only filled with the white noise of your searing orgasm—you might be worried Choso just broke your bed. The creaking fills the room as the sound of metal bending is apparent although neither of you are concerned.

“—s’gonna be OK, mmm-FUCK—m’gonna take care of you, love you—we’ll be a real family then, you, me, yuji—n’our baby!”

You don’t even hear him as you’re on autopilot now. The red streaks your kitten nails scratch across his muscular shoulders urge him on like the squelching sounds of your squirt gushing out of you and wet smacks of his balls colliding with your ass.

Overstimulating your senses, Choso sweeps you up into another all consuming kiss. The mind-numbing aftershocks of your blissful tremors leaves your tongue limp as his mouth hungrily devours yours. When Choso finally releases, his hot seed pumps into your tummy as his body writhes on top of yours.

The mind numbing aftershock of your euphoric release continues as Choso proceed to fuck more and more of his thick ropes of his cum into you. He doesn’t show signs of slowing down but your body on the other hand fades, giving into the comforting gratification of sleep after having your guts rearranged.

“O-one more time, p-princess—pleaseeee.”

Your thankful at that moment you’ve previously told Choso you didn’t mind somnophilia and gave him the free use pass to fuck you while you slept. You rarely actually could even stay asleep with how hard he would end up railing you but there was a first time for everything with your cunt finally content and full after so long your exhaustion drags you into a deep slumber.

Plug!Choso who tightly cuddles you to him as you both sleep. The two of you twisted up like a pretzel in a mess of limbs with you practically smashed between Choso and the wall.

Your XL twin bed clearly wasn't meant to comfortably fit two people like this.

You’re still mostly asleep though, softly groaning as the cheery morning sun pierces through your thin curtains. You move to throw a pillow over your face only to discover you cannot budge.

However, you can't say you weren’t used to waking up like this. Choso was always a hardcore cuddler. You missed the mornings you’d wake overheated and skin to skin. Your legs would find themselves intertwined just like this.

Somehow, Choso would always find a way to fuse the both of your bodies together where every part of him was touching some piece of you.

Typical…

The sleepy thought drifts through your brain, sensing it's still far too early for you to wake up. Wanting to drift back to sleep you burrow your face deeper into his chest, stiffening when your mind does the very opposite and wakes up enough to recall the events of the previous night.

Sobering quickly in the daylight, a sinking feeling begins to suffocate your heart. The now familiar guilt you’ve accumulated over the past month amplifies the hangover etching itself behind your eyes.

You can’t help but panic as the memories from the night before come rushing back.

There was still so much uncertainty.

Having been utterly humbled for the first time in your life you can’t stop the self doubt that questions if he’d even meant everything he said last night—you were both lit as hell.

You’d meant it though.

Your heart seizes at the thought that this might be the last time you’d wake up in his arms. Before you know it you are crying again trembling as you try not to wake Choso up with your silent tears.

You are quiet enough but Choso is also a light sleeper and stirs awake at the small fit you’re having.

“H-Hey, morning princess *yawns*—wait, what's wrong?”

His tired eyes are full of loving concern as Choso cups your face wiping away your tears before bringing you into his chest, tightening his hand on your head.

“Shit, was I too rough on you last night princess? Fuck, I know how much all this shit means to you I—”

You interrupt Choso, you can’t let him beat himself up over you any longer.

“N-No, Cho—”

Sniffling, you break away from his hold just enough to maneuver yourself to meet his tired eyes.

You mentally kick yourself—you hated being such a crybaby now but you couldn't help it. You were left feeling so vulnerable after being stripped of all pretenses the night before—it all just started pouring out of you—

“—d-did you mean it? W-What you said? Cause I—I meant what I said. I-I wanna be with you and Yuji. C-Cook breakfast and f-fall asleep watching movies and go to all his games with you—I’ll never miss another game and—and—”

“Bet.”

Wait…huh?

Even after last night you half-still expect him to be upset with you, you’d still expected you’d have to beg.

You’re left speechless.

“Bet. Let’s pack up your shit then, princess.”

Choso’s bright grin is near blinding to your weary gaze.

“I meant everything I said, I could never lie to you.”

Giving you a tender kiss on your forehead, he forces you to look him in the eyes. Choso takes in all your looks of uncertainty before melting them away, softly cooing affirmations with his lips fluttering over yours. You’re so needy for his touch as you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him even closer.

Not being able to resist your body’s calls for him, you soon find yourself underneath Choso who rubs his morning wood against your core still soaked with his essence from the night before.

Choso smirks down at you, the cockiness back in his voice.

“What I say before? You’re my family—Fuck those bitches and fuck your parents—I got you.”

Plug!Choso, who doesn’t know what time it is but knows he has to go pick up Yuji from his friends soon. He also doesn’t know if he should expect your nosy ass sorority sisters to barge in again. Still, that doesn’t stop him from sinking into your sopping heat once more, never taking his lips off of you.

Unlike the fervor of last night, his strokes are slow. The anger and intensity are gone, but the passion still remains simmering under your skin. Choso is savoring every bit of you as he devours your mewls, drinking them down along with any lingering unsureties.

But, fuck—he doesn't feel like he’ll be able to keep himself from cumming inside you from now on. Not when you’d be living with him and Yuji, acting all domestic like.

Images of a would-be future with you swirl in his mind—you pregnant, giggling at Yuji when he jumps in surprise from feeling the baby kick—your belly growing so large you had to cradle a hand underneath when you adorably waddled from room-to-room—the day of delivery when you both finally get to meet the child you cr—

—MUTHRFUUUUH!

Choso’s eyes roll towards the ceiling as he whines loudly, his whole body is shivering along with his premature release. Buckets of his viscous seed slosh in your womb with every sloppy stutter of his hips, pushing the mass overflow of his cum out of your swollen hole and down the crack of your ass.

Fucking you through his overstimulation, your cries only fuel his intent to impregnate you. The want for the sensual intimacy that slow fucking brings after a reconciliation being overtaken by the intense primal urge to put a baby in your belly.

There was no need for any additional vocalizations of affection when Choso is so adamantly reciprocating your feelings, his creamy cum filling you with promises of his devotion which he fucks even deeper into your womb.

You aren’t able to recall the last time you felt this satisfied. Working so hard to meet everyone else’s standards was exhausting and you didn’t regret your choice.

You had no plans now other than being with Choso.

And contrary to the dread of what you had previously thought deviating off course would be like—it frees you. You love and trust Choso enough to let go of all of it and just let life take you where it would.

You’d be content as long as you have him and Yuji.

Choso knows this yet even so, he is still on a mission to add a fourth to your new little family sooner rather than later.

He knew you were speaking of the future when you said you’d have his kid the night before but—why delay the inevitable?

Choso needed to fill you up at least 2 more times before he’d let you leave this bed—no matter how many of your sorority sisters would walk in—they could watch for all he cares.

Yeah at this rate you’d definitely be pregnant by the start of school next year.

Shit, he’d have to go buy a ring soon.

⋙ how was that? holy hell i think this is the longest fic i've written lol. i wanted to take my time with this because although brat taming isn't hard i still wanted to capture the essence of choso. he can be mean enough to do it he's definitely going to internally struggle a bit and be our whiny feral lil baby gworl at the end lol.

taglist will be in a reblog in the morning. needed to get this out and then go to bed. i might also edit it a bit as well. as some of it wasn't proofed.

reblogs and comments so appreciated, i wanna know what u think, send me asks too!

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 35: Threads

Summary: Pack bonds are made up of delicate threads, small fibers webbing together the dynamics and relationships that make up each individual pack. The omega stands in the middle, holding the pieces together, keeping the pack from crumbling by clinging to those threads like a strongman holds pillars up with chains.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 11,740 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, descriptions of physical pain, brief description of drowning, medical stuff, panic, crying, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD, very heavy emotions, alcohol and brief mention of alcoholism, language, fighting (not physically), Kyle being the best boy, aftermath of trauma, brief mentions of the events of the previous chapter, guilt and shame, angst, and finally some comfort after the hurt (but not quite what you'd expect)

A/N: So I may have been slightly wrong, the angst isn't over, but it's not quite as intense as it has been. There are little tidbits of comfort in this one, though it's not like "okay it's over, let me wrap you in this blanket and everything is fine and happy now". It's...you'll see. If you're waiting for the fine and happy comfort then...you might want to wait a few chapters still. The comfort will come on slowly, but it has officially started.

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Screaming.

Someone is screaming.

It hurts your ears, high-pitched and ringing. Your hands cover them, but even that can’t block out the sound.

It’s ringing in your own head.

Your body hurts, every joint and muscle aching and throbbing. They’ve been locked in place too long, frozen in one position, a safe position. Safety. That’s what you’re seeking, that’s what you’re trying to find. That’s why you’re here.

This isn’t a safe space anymore.

The walls are crumbling, the darkness is fading. There’s light seeping in, threatening to pull you out, make you face whatever is waiting on the other side. It’s not a comforting light, it’s bright and piercing and threatening. You don’t want to leave the darkness. You don’t want to face the light. You want to stay there, stay frozen, stay safe.

Your throat burns, raw and painful with every breath.

It’s you.

You’re screaming.

Hands are flying, mouth open in a scream. It’s a horrible sound, grating and feral sounding. Your body twists and turns as they try to hold you down. No restraints. You’ll just hurt yourself more.

Blood is flying, splattering on the gurney, the floor, the walls. Yours or someone else’s? It’s hard to tell.

Simon.

“Simon!”

He snaps out of his daze, his eyes darting up to look at Dr. Keller across the gurney. Her hand is around his wrist, your elbow knocking against his forearm as you try to fight whatever it is you think you’re seeing. Maybe you’re seeing nothing at all.

“I know.” Dr. Keller’s voice is soft despite the chaos of the moment. Her gaze is firm but comforting. She knows. “I need you to hold her still. She’s going to hurt herself further if she can’t calm down.”

She’s going to hurt someone else too.

The monitors are beeping and screaming. They managed to get a blood pressure cuff around your arm before you snapped out of the daze he’d put you in and started fighting. You’re like a wild animal, cornered and fighting for your life again with a renewed vigor. Renewed for now. If you don’t calm down again, something will give out.

There won’t be any coming back from that.

“Don’t be afraid if you hurt her.” Dr. Keller says, squeezing his wrist. “Bones can be fixed.”

He catches your wrists in his hand, pinning them down against your chest. He uses his weight to his advantage, pushing his arm into you as he leans down so you’re face to face. You let out another scream, fighting against him but he has you beat. He’s bigger, stronger, calmer.

“Look at me.” He says, his alpha rumbling low in his chest. It has even the beta nurses stopping in their tracks to look at him. The only one unaffected is Dr. Keller as she uses this moment to her advantage.

You stop fighting him, breathing in heavy gasps as you stare right up into his eyes. Wild and untamed, pupils dilated in your aggressive state. Dilated out of aggression or dilated out of fear? Perhaps both. Beads of sweat slide down your face, your body hot under his. It mixes with the blood on your skin, blood from your own injuries and from the Shadows you killed. Your cheek is bruised, discolored from broken blood vessels. Your left eye will swell shut soon. He needs to get you calm before then.

It’s almost cute, the way you bare your teeth up at him. He might have thought it cute in a different setting, if your life wasn’t dangling over a ledge right now. A low growl rumbles in your chest, a warning that has his own hackles raising. He bares his teeth back, an answering growl, deeper and angrier, rumbles in his own chest. The nurses take a step back. Even Dr. Keller pauses at the sound.

Yet, despite the threat in his growl, it doesn’t deter you one bit. Your knee drives into his side, making him grunt from the impact, but he doesn’t let up. You’re fighting him again, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold. If he pushes any harder, he might break a rib. You’re going to break something if you don’t stop.

You’re too far gone to recognize anything but fear and danger. You’re only going to fight, only going to attack anything you perceive as a threat. You won’t even recognise him. He has to get you to calm down before you have a heart attack. He considers getting one of the nurses to bring Johnny in, but there’s no guarantee that will work. You’ll just perceive him as another threat, another danger. More people in the room will only make you more aggressive...make your omega more aggressive.

He’s not dealing with you. He’s dealing with your omega in her raw form, the animal deep underneath forced out of her hiding place. Whoever said omegas are weak never had to face one in this state.

He stares down at you as you fight and scream, battering his side with your knees but he can hardly feel the pain. His arm is still throbbing where you bit him, but he can hardly see the blood streaked on his skin.

He has to save you.

He can’t let all of this go to waste.

They’ll never recover if they lose you now.

He moves almost seamlessly, time seeming to slow as he lets you go. He unclips his vest and rips it over his head in one movement, uncaring as it hits the floor with a heavy thud. You lunge up at him but he’s ready, catching you before your lower body can leave the gurney. It’s a risk. A huge risk, but it’s all he can think of doing. It’s hardly the worst place to be if things go wrong, if this fails. If he does fail, at least he’ll know he tried.

He pushes his mask up to his chin, pressing your face right into his neck.

Your nose pushes against his scent gland as he cups the back of your head, holding you there. He projects his scent as strong as he can, hoping it can reach some deep part of your mind, some glimmer of you that’s left in there.

If this goes wrong, you’ll rip out skin and veins with your teeth. He’ll bleed out on the floor before they can even get him on a gurney.

He wraps his other arm around you, holding you as still as he can. Tears prick his eyes as he holds you, shoving away the beeping machines, the panic still thrumming inside of him. Scruffing you was only round one of this fight. He should have held it longer, should have been brave enough to do it a second time.

He can still feel it, your neck in his hand, the way you gave in so easily. You had no choice, he gave you none. It was necessary, it was vital that he did it. You wouldn’t have made it this far if he hadn’t.

He should do it again. It would be easy, just slip his hand down and squeeze and you’ll be gone, lost in your head again and under his control. Maybe then he’d get you to calm down, get you out of this state and free from the danger looming closer and closer.

Heart attack, stroke, organ failure.

Why couldn’t Price be the one to go after you? Why couldn’t it be Price standing here making this decision.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers before slipping his hand down, wrapping it around the back of your neck again.

Pain.

You’re in pain.

You try to fade away again, try to push yourself back into the darkness to avoid the pain, but you can’t.

There’s no escaping it.

Your body hurts, every joint and muscle throbbing. Fire licks at your very cells, burning hot through your veins, scorching your skin. Safety. You want safety again. You want to retreat back into yourself, back into the comfort only the darkness can offer you.

Nowhere is safe anymore.

Tears are rolling down your cheeks, the light pressing closer and closer. It’s somewhere above you, shining down in offending shades of white. You can see it behind your eyelids no matter how hard you try to squeeze them together. There’s no escaping this light. There’s no retreating back into safety. There’s no safety anymore.

You’re underwater, slowly rising to the surface. There’s sounds around you, muffled and dampened by the water. You need to breathe, you need to inhale precious oxygen but you can’t get to the surface fast enough. Lungs burning, your fingers claw at the water but you can’t reach it, you can’t swim fast enough.

Your hands curl into soft fabric as you cough, choking on imaginary water. There’s warmth surrounding you, pressed in on all sides. You’re leaning against something, something hard and solid and warm. The sounds are louder now, mixing into a convoluted cocktail of constant noise. You hate it.

Pain ripples through your throat as you let out a groan, the sound catching and cracking on the rough edges of your vocal chords. Another choked sound leaves your lips, pain rippling through your very nerves. The skin on your face is burning, simmering ashes being fanned by every tear sliding down your cheeks.

You’re crying.

There’s a deep sound coming from under you. It’s vibrating against your body, your pulsing ears focusing on that sound. It’s familiar. You’ve heard it before, somewhere back in the recesses of your mind.

Your mind.

It’s there. You can feel it beginning to take shape, thoughts beginning to form out of the fractured darkness. You’re not in your mind anymore, your mind is in you. You’re a being inside of a body, a body wracked with pain. The urge to retreat back is strong, but you can’t. That part of you has been closed off, sealed away by the light.

Fingers and toes twitch, tingling and throbbing with the cold despite the fire blazing its way through your veins. It is cold, your hand pulling at the softness you’re clinging to. The low vibration begins again, rumbling through you, igniting something in the back of your mind.

You know it. It’s familiar.

Something tingles in the back of your mind, starting to come to life. Despite the agony there’s something in there, something warm and comforting. There’s no name for it, no thought flashing through the swirling mass of neurons slowly taking shape. It’s soft and warm and whispering to you.

Wake up.

Wake up!

Your eyes open before you can stop them. You’re immediately blinded, eyes throbbing from the bright white light above you, a high pitched whine leaving your lips. It rattles through your throat, broken and squeaking through your shredded trachea. You clench your eyes shut again, wincing away from the intrusive light, the movement sending a bolt of pain through your body like an electric shock. You let out another garbled sound, your fist tugging on the fabric it’s clenching.

“I know, I’m sorry sweetie.” A voice says, the light disappearing before another takes its place, softer and lighter and less painful.

Your eyes crack open again, still throbbing despite the light being removed. Your entire body is throbbing, pulsing like an exposed nerve. You feel like an exposed nerve, weak and vulnerable. It triggers something deep in your brain, the light starting to dim. Something is rising, something is coming. You want to lay back, let it take over, let it take control. You want to sink into the darkness again. The darkness is safe, the darkness is secure.

The beeping is getting louder. Beeping, that’s what that sound is. There’s something beeping. It’s getting faster and faster. You’re starting to go numb, the tingling in your fingers and toes fading away. It’s not so cold anymore, the ache in your limbs fading into oblivion. You’re fading into oblivion.

“Oi! None of that.”

You’re awake. You let out a disgruntled sound as the warmth and comfort leaves you, deserting you in favor of retreating into the recesses of your mind again. A shiver runs down your spine, your very skin tingling with pinpricks of pain as it goes.

“Open your eyes again for me, love.”

Your body moves before you can tell it not to, your eyes fluttering open again. You’re squinting despite the bright light being gone. Any light is too much, your mind seeking out the comforting darkness once more.

Darkness makes you vulnerable.

In the dark, you’re blind to things that may be hiding there.

No.

No more darkness.

You want the light.

Scents flood your brain as your eyes fully open, slamming into you like a wave. It’s too much, nearly choking you again as you try to register everything. The burning scent of sterilizer, the soft scent of clean linens, the harsh scent of chemicals. There’s a soft scent mixing in with the others, something easing the turmoil in your mind just slightly. Above all else, though, is the intense smell of leather and something soft and fresh. It overpowers almost all of them, standing out distinctly. It makes your nose throb, something tickling in the back of your mind. You’re afraid of the scent, yet...there’s something else. Something...familiar.

“Back with us yet?” The sound rumbles under you again.

“Nearly there.” Another voice says. “Heart rate is coming down again. Still feverish, though.”

You’re suddenly aware of your body again, the pains, the aches, the burning, the cold. You’re trembling, your skin prickling from how cold it is. You try to press forward against the warmth in front of you, but the movement has pain slashing through your very cells. Another pathetic whine tears through your throat, every movement sending stabbing pain through your very being.

“C...C-Cold.” You manage to croak out, the word forming clumsily on your tongue. It feels heavy, like you’re relearning how to speak.

“I know.” The softer voice says, something dragging across your skin. “We’re trying our best.”

Something moves against your back, dragging against your skin. Whatever it is, it’s warm, but it’s rough. You push into it, something telling you to get closer, to wrap yourself in it and let it suffocate you. Somehow it’s comforting to you, somehow it’s familiar.

Slowly thoughts and sensations begin to return to you, your mind dragging itself from the depths it had sunk into.

It was purposeful.

You did it to save yourself.

You’re shaking for a different reason now, suddenly aware of the parts of your body that ache the most. Your shoulder, your cheek, your throat, your wrists. There’s a deep chill that has settled in your bones, sinking past the fever and the pain, past the memories beginning to resurface, past the hopelessness and the anger and the fear.

“Simon?” You croak out, the name burning its way through your dry throat. You desperately want something to drink, anything to ease the burning desert in your mouth.

“It’s me, love.” The sound rumbles under you again.

Leather. Eucalyptus. Warmth. Alpha.

You groan, trying to shift closer but the tensing of your muscles has pain screaming through your body. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, your body tensing until it passes.

“Try not to move too much.” The other voice says, a hand coming to rest on your arm. You’re still clutching Simon’s sweatshirt in your hand like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this earthly plane.

It might be.

“Dr. Keller?” You croak out, recognizing that voice.

“I’m here too sweetie.” She says somewhere behind you. “Take it easy, you’ve had a rough go of it.”

She’s not wrong.

The memories are coming back slowly, each one playing through your head like an episode of some fucked up television show. Except, it isn’t a television show. It’s your life.

You hate it.

“John?” You ask, trying to get your tongue to work, but you desperately need water.

“Probably yelling at every person who crosses his path.” Simon says. “He was blazing a path to hell and back earlier trying to get ahold of anyone he could yell at involved in this.” He rubs your back. “He’ll be here as soon as he’s calmed down. Kyle and Johnny are working overtime trying to help restrain him.”

You'll always be a second thought.

“You?” You ask, unable to form the whole question you want to ask. Why are you here and not with your pack?

He's quiet for a moment. “We got here before John and Kyle did.” His hand stills against your back, palm pressing below your shoulder blades. “You wouldn't let anyone close to you. The doc said it's normal, coming out of that state. I had to help keep you calm so you could get patched up. Then you wouldn't let me leave.”

Your fingers ache from how hard they're gripping his sweatshirt. He stayed. He's the one here with you, not your alpha.

You let out a groan, the pain starting to intensify. There’s a throbbing in your calf, and a deep ache starting to pulse in your joints. You’re almost glad for it, the turmoil in your mind starting to twist and fog your thoughts pushed aside in favor of the pain screaming at the forefront of your brain.

“Time for more pain medicine.” Dr. Keller says somewhere behind you. “You’ll probably get sleepy, but rest is what you need right now.”

You let out another groan, pressing your face back against Simon’s chest. Despite the pain in your body, there’s an even deeper ache in your chest. It’s not a physical one. Your alpha isn’t here. He’s left you again, abandoned you in favor of something else, something he deems more important.

Tears are brimming in your eyes as they slip closed, the exhaustion and the drowsiness from the pain medicine taking over.

It’s not quite so cold when you wake up next. It’s brighter in the room, the light not quite so artificial as it had been the first time. There’s no body against yours, no warmth seeping into your skin or scent in your nose. Your fingers twitch, almost like they want to seek it out again.

You’re alone.

You let out a quiet breath, your brows furrowing. Your shoulder aches, throbbing in time with the beep of the heart monitor. It hurts less to move as you shift your arm to itch the other. It’s horribly itchy, but your fingers meet gauze instead.

Right. Phil had cut you there. Not very deep, but still deep enough to hurt. Just another injury to add to the list.

You try to lift your arm but burning pain shoots through your shoulder. You wince, letting out a quiet moan of pain as you drop it back into the bed. You breathe as the pain shoots through you, swirling through your veins before it begins to settle.

“You shouldn’t try to move too much.” A voice cuts through the silence.

Your head whips to the side, your arm shooting out to grip the side rail as pain burns through your body like lava. It seeps slowly from your left shoulder down to your toes and into your very hair follicles. You let out another groan of pain, your eyes squeezing closed as you wait for it to pass.

“Sorry.” The voice says softly. “I suppose that didn’t help any.”

You open your eyes, still breathing heavily as the pain begins to fade. Your hand is still wrapped around the side rail as you stare at John. He’s seated next to the bed, his elbows on his knees as he stares at you. He looks tired, eyes puffy with dark circles around them. He’s in a simple green shirt and cargo pants, yet he’s not quite as put together as he normally is. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his beard scruffier than normal. There’s a faint pink line of what was probably once a cut on his cheek.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him in weeks.

You should be happy.

You should be ecstatic.

You should be relieved.

Yet, all you can feel is pain and anger and betrayal.

“There’s nothing I can say that will make this better.” He says, his voice rougher than usual, even after returning from a deployment. His eyes shine with emotion. You hate it. “There’s nothing I can say that will undo what happened.” He runs a hand over his mouth, letting out a breath through his nose. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. We should have known better, we should have questioned it.” He shakes his head. “We put too much trust in those above us, and we were all fooled.”

Tears blur your eyes as you stare at him. He’s not just talking about Shepherd and the initiative. He’s talking about you too.

“I regret it more than any decision I’ve ever made. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life,” He continues. “You put your trust in me, and I failed you. I let this happen to you because I got too caught up thinking about the greater good of the pack and I ignored what was right in front of me. You’re here because of me, because of the decisions I made. I had one job, and now you’re paying for my failure.”

He pauses for a moment, tears shining in his own eyes. You should feel surprise, sympathy, something. All you can feel is hatred. He doesn’t deserve to cry over you. He doesn’t deserve this chance to try and explain himself to you, to try and give excuses for his actions. He made his choice. He made it very clear where his loyalties lie, where they’ve always been, where that line was laid before he even claimed you. It was never about you. Nothing was ever about you. It was always the initiative, and then when the initiative turned out to be false, it was about the ‘greater good’. You should have been the greater good. You should have been their focus. Instead they all betrayed you.

They betrayed you in the end.

“I made a bad call.” He continues on. “I shouldn’t have left you there. I shouldn’t have made that decision. It never would have played out how I thought it would in my head at that moment. Now you’re here, like this, because I made a stupid mistake.”

He stares at you for a long moment, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, as if you should have something to say in response. He’s waiting for an acceptance to his half-assed apology, as if his words can somehow undo the pain, the burning in your wrists, the throbbing in your shoulder, the agony every time you simply move a limb. As if his half-assed apology can somehow undo the weeks of depression and anguish and the worry and the fear. As if his half-assed apology can make up for the way they all cut you off, treating you like a traitor before abandoning you. As if his half-assed apology can undo the hours and hours of torment and pain the man you once thought of as a family friend unleashed on you all because of them.

The hatred burns almost as hot as the lava in your veins, so hot you’re surprised the tear that slides down your cheek doesn’t start steaming. Your heart rate is picking up again, the monitor beeping with the sound of the anger simmering inside of you. The blood pressure cuff squeezes around your arm, a grunt of pain cracking in your throat.

“Yeah,” You say, your voice hardly more than a whisper. You turn your head away from him, wincing as an electric shock of pain jolts through you from the motion. You drop your hand from the side rail before he can touch you, tucking your arm back under the rough blanket. “You did.”

You have nothing more to say to him.

John enters the room solemnly, the silence nearly palpable as they all wait in anticipation. They’re all looking at him, waiting patiently for their captain, their alpha, to speak. They always look to him, they always rely on him, they always trust him and now look where he’s led them. So rarely does he make the wrong decision, so rarely does he lead them astray.

What happened this time?

Why did he so easily turn them away from you? Why did he so easily turn his back on you?

What words are there to say? He knew his words would do little to calm the raging storm inside of you, the hurt and the pain and the betrayal they put you through all because of him.

The rejection still hurts, but it should. They all rejected you as soon as they left you behind.

It’s only a fraction of the pain you must be feeling.

“How is she?” Kyle asks, breaking the tense silence.

“Upset.” He sighs, sinking down in a chair.

“Fuckin’ sure she is.” Johnny snaps, anger radiating off of him in steaming waves. He’s been on edge, they all have, since the four of them were reunited. He had been there, stuck in the hall as you screamed and fought. He thought the worst when your screams cut off until he was finally updated by one of the nurses leaving the room. “Of course she doesnae want to see any of us! We just fucking left her, just like that, and it was your fuckin’ fault!”

Simon grabs his beta before he can throw a fist at John, holding him back. Johnny lets out a string of curses none of them understand, fighting against his alpha. Simon holds him tightly, the image of your bloody form fighting against him still at the forefront of his mind. He grips Johnny tightly, muscles straining. Johnny is bigger. Johnny is stronger.

He has half a mind to let him go.

John doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch as Johnny yells and rages. He’d welcome a good beating right now. He could use some physical pain to distract from the ache in his chest.

“Calm down,” Kyle says, getting in Johnny’s face. “I said calm down!” Kyle yells, Johnny stilling for a moment. It’s not often Kyle raises his voice at one of them. “We’re not doing any good being upset with each other. We all made mistakes over these last few weeks, especially these past few days. None of us are guilt free in this. We all have our omega’s blood on our hands. Fighting amongst ourselves will only fray the bonds more than they already have been.”

Johnny deflates with a sigh, standing there in Simon’s arms for a moment. Kyle is right. They all can feel it, the way their bonds are fraying. Their pack is resting on a dangerous ledge, tipping back and forth with every strong emotion, every argument, every sour feeling. They’re all holding onto that bond, trying to pull it back to keep it from falling into the abyss. As angry as they are with each other, just one of them letting go will be the end of the pack.

“There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.” John says, looking up at the other three. “Kyle’s right. I led us all in the wrong direction, but we can’t go back and change it. We can’t undo what happened to us, we can’t undo what we did, we can’t undo what we...” He lets out a breath. “What I let happen to our omega.”

“She won’t trust us again.” Simon says, his hands still shaking as he releases Johnny. They haven’t stopped shaking since he scruffed you a second time.

“She won’t.” John affirms, no matter how badly it hurts him. “She won’t forgive us either. The best we can do is to give her what she needs, what she wants. Right now that’s space. Dr. Keller will keep us updated as things develop.” He pushes himself up to stand, looking at each member of his team, of his pack. They all share the same guilty look on their faces, they all hold the same anger at themselves deep inside. “This may be the hardest mission we’ve ever had. No matter what we feel...none of that matters anymore. What matters is keeping our pack together. What matters is that we keep those bonds from fraying. We lose ourselves, we lose everything.”

“Still sore?”

You nod, wincing as it sends a bolt of pain through your body.

“I know.” Dr. Keller says, adjusting the ice pack on your shoulder. “Hurts like a bitch, but luckily it won’t cause any lasting damage.”

You blink at Dr. Keller, staring at her for a beat. You don’t think you’ve ever heard her curse before. You’re not sure she was ever capable of it.

“What? I use swear words. Sometimes.” She says, almost like she can read your thoughts. “Sometimes expletives fit the moment better than any flouncy, sophisticated words do. This feels like the proper situation to use some.” She lets out a sigh. “Your shoulder will be the worst of the pain, at least physically. The mental pain...well, that’s not something I can treat with pain medicine. Shouldn’t, would be the proper wording there.”

Some people do use it to numb the pain.

“We all made a lot of bad decisions these last few days. Your support system, those you were supposed to be able to trust, failed you.” She stares down at you, emotion shining in her eyes. It’s a mirror of John’s own stare when he’d looked at you, but this time there’s no anger burning inside of you. Dr. Keller didn’t betray you. Dr. Keller will mean her apology, because you know that’s what’s coming. “I know you’ve probably heard this a lot over the last few hours, but I am sorry too. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I shouldn’t have fallen for that phone call...I should have been there.”

You stare up at her, tears pooling in your eyes. If she had stayed, things would have been worse. It was almost better she left you. You can’t lose her. You need her now more than you ever did.

Tears streak a flaming path down your face, a choked sob tearing its way through your trachea up through your lips. It burns your throat, no amount of water you’ve had in the last few hours has been able to ease the ache that’s taken up permanent residence there.

Graves choked you. It’s the bruising from his hand squeezing your windpipe making you ache. Your voice may never recover, may never go back to normal. Crying hurts, hurts more than just your mind, your chest. It hurts your whole body, yet you can’t stop.

“I know, I know.” She says, petting your hair as you sob. “I’m not going anywhere this time. We’ll get through this, okay? It’ll be a long road, but you won’t be walking it alone. You’ve got me, and you’ve got your pack.”

Your gaze hardens at the mention of your pack, the sob in your throat coming out almost as an angry grunt. The thought of them makes your chest ache, the pain of their betrayal burning hot in you. “I don’t want them.” You whisper.

“I don’t blame you.” Dr. Keller says, leaning against the side rail of your bed. “They let you down. The betrayed your trust in a lot of ways. They made you feel abandoned, and then abandoned you when you needed them most, even if they thought they were doing the right thing at the time. You have every right to be angry at them, upset with them. They hurt you in the worst way they could.” She pulls the blanket higher over you, tucking you in. “You’ve gone through a lot these last few days. Some very traumatic events, on top of being injured and your body going through extreme stress. You’re exhausted in every way you can be. Rest first. Worry about everything else later. Doctor’s orders.”

“I did it to myself.” You say before she can walk away.

She turns back to look at you. “What?”

“I made myself distress.” You say. “I made my omega come out.”

“That was very brave of you.” She says, giving you a soft smile. “Sometimes we have to take drastic measures even knowing the risks. You did what you had to in the moment and I think it was the right choice. You didn’t know what was going to happen, what was happening. Things worked out and you’re still here. That’s all that matters.”

You think about her words for a moment. You did make it out. The fact you’re here means someone found you, someone saved you. Someone scruffed you.

“It was Simon, wasn’t it?” You ask, even though you already know the answer to that.

You wouldn’t let him leave.

“You’ll have to ask him for the whole story, but yes. He’s the one that rescued you.” She adjusts the blanket around you again. “Get some rest.” She moves the call button closer. “I’m on the other end of that button if you need me.”

You stare up at the ceiling after she leaves, counting the tiles above you. It looks like every other ceiling you’ve ever seen in a doctor's office or clinic or hospital. It’s not all that different from the ceiling in the med center on base.

Base.

You don’t ever want to see that place again. You don’t want to step foot in the barracks, you don’t even want to think about the clinical sterility of the buildings and the cold comfortless spaces meant for nothing more than to serve their purpose. Just like you. You served your purpose. You proved their point, even if it was never the true point of the initiative. Packs will get stronger with an omega, but it will come at the detriment of that omega.

The job always comes first.

There was a time you thought perhaps it wouldn’t. Maybe they could put it all behind them and put themselves first, put you first. Then they proved they can’t. They won’t even put you first when you’re at the threat of being tortured. You were hurt because they wouldn’t put you first. You are hurt because they wouldn’t put you first.

You don’t care about them. You don’t care about their excuses. You don’t care about the bonds or the claims or the emotions.

You’d be happy if they left you here. Just a few days ago you were panicking about them leaving you, about them deciding you weren’t enough and abandoning you.

Now you wish they would.

“Has she said anything?”

“Not much.” He sighs. “She won’t see any of us. I can hardly blame her.”

“You made a choice, John.” Kate says, hands wrapped around her cup of coffee. “Choices have consequences.”

“You were right. Then again, you usually are.” He sips at his tea. Bitter without milk, but then again, he’d prefer a glass of whiskey right now over tea. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“I don’t think you can.” Kate takes a sip of her coffee. “She’s going to decide when she wants you to fix this, if she wants you to fix it.”

John lets out a sigh. “We’re her pack, it’s our job-”

“You’ve failed at your job.” Kate says, her gaze hardening as she stares at him. “You’re good at being a soldier, you’re good at being a leader, you’re good at saving the world, but that’s not your only job. You have a responsibility to take care of your omega, and you failed. You made your choice, and you turned your back on her. She’s not a soldier, John. She’s never been tortured, she’s never been left for dead, she’s never taken a life before and here she’s been through all of that in the span of two days. You made a choice, John. You made a choice knowing damn well what the consequences would be.”

He sits in silence, staring at Kate. It’s not often she gets mad at him, the frustration evident on her face. It’s a mirror of the anger and disappointment on the faces of his packmates. They’re all feeling the weight of his decision, of his mistakes. They’re all feeling the weight of their rapidly fraying bonds.

“You have a choice to make now, John.” She stares at him pointedly. “You pick up the pieces from this, you all take the time to recover and heal. Then what? Things aren’t as simple as we thought they were, John. None of us knew what was going to happen. We were all so focused on the potential benefits that we all overlooked just how much of a detriment this would be. Your omega hasn’t had a choice in anything in her entire life. Every decision has been made for her, whether or not she wanted it. She has had no say in any of this. She’s been nothing more than a variable in an experiment, a statistic, a number, a list of pros and cons. She’s been reduced down to nothing more than an object.”

John winces at her words, the weight on his shoulders growing heavier and heavier. He’s treated you as nothing more than an object, even if not directly. Leaving you so easily, yelling at you when you made an innocent mistake, letting you be tortured because he couldn’t get his head out of his own arse.

“We all know she’s more than that. Far more than that. But she will never have any say in anything, unless you let her. Outside of your pack, she has nothing. In your pack? She should have the loudest voice.” Kate leans her arms on the table, shifting closer to him. “Right now she has no voice because you’ve proven where your loyalties lie, and they’re not with her. You have one more decision to make, John. Do you keep standing where you are, put the job first and wear your omega down until she’s nothing but an empty shell? Or, do you take this chance while you have it and finally put her first?”

Kate pushes herself up to stand, grabbing her cup of coffee. John’s not used to feeling small. He’s used to being in charge, being the captain, being in control. People look to him, they listen to him, he’s the one everyone turns to when things go to shit to lead them out.

He’s not even capable of doing that anymore.

“Your life as you knew it ended as soon as she was placed in your pack. It’s up to you to decide how it continues.” Kate leaves with those heavy parting words, the door clicking shut behind her.

John stares down at his cup of tea, the cup half full, or perhaps half empty depending on how one looks at it. It feels more than half empty now, spilling slowly through some microscopic hole in the side. It’ll only be so long before that hole will widen, worn down by the weak paper the cup is made of, the liquid eating away at the cup until there’s nothing but a puddle of tea on the table, slowly rolling towards the edge to dip onto the floor.

That microscopic hole started as soon as they left you alone for the first time, and none of them were aware enough to even notice it.

That hole is a gaping wound now. The contents inside turned acidic as soon as he cut you off in his disappointment, as soon as he started digging into the belly of the initiative. That acid has been eating away slowly at the fragile bonds that were in place. Fragile. They really were. No matter how strong they all thought those bonds were growing to be, they were built with fear and anxiety and uncertainty. Uncertainty of the future and what it may hold, anxiety towards a new pack and an entirely new shift in lifestyle, and fear of one day losing a pack member.

Bonds built upon such frailty can hold no weight should one piece fall.

How strong can bonds really be when you live with that knowledge, that constant fear that someone could die at any time? Someone in the pack, someone you’ve bonded with, someone you’ve grown a relationship with, might leave and never return because of the risks of their job. How strong can those bonds be? Was that the point of the experiments all along, the 141 and the initiative? Testing the limits a pack could be pushed to, testing if bonds could be formed in such a high stress environment and if so, how strong they’d be? What limits would they have gone to, to test that theory? Would they have gone to the point of sacrificing one of them to test those theories, had the truth not come out when it did? One wrong decision, one wrong step in the field and everything can crumble. Would they have gone to that length to test just how a bonded pack would react, if they could still function after everything?

The sacrifice was you.

Kate is right. You’re not part of their world. You’re not a soldier, you haven’t been conditioned to live with that fear, you can’t be conditioned to live with that fear. You shouldn’t have to be conditioned to live with that fear. You had no choice in this. None of it. From the moment you presented, nothing in your life would be yours. From the moment you presented, you would never make a choice for yourself again.

The sacrifice was you.

And he played right into their hands.

The cup is blurring as he stares at it, his eyes blinking rapidly.

They say an omega is the balance that holds a pack together. It’s a delicate bond, a single thread coiled around the structure of the pack. Wear that thread down until it snaps and everything crumbles. How long have you been fraying? How long have you been silently screaming for help, desperately trying to hold the pieces of the pack together like a strongman holds two pillars up by chains? You never had chains, you’ve been holding everything together with sewing thread, fighting desperately to keep the pieces from crumbling at the risk of being torn in half.

How long have you been silently screaming?

It’s all his fault. He’s been wearing you down, he’s been fraying that bond fiber by fiber. He’s been standing there watching you fight to hold the pack together while screaming at him to help, screaming at him to take one of those threads and hold at least half of the weight for you.

That’s what he’s supposed to do.

The threads have snapped. You were torn in half by the weight and those threads are gone. They’re crumbling, the bonds coming undone, unraveling minute by minute, second by second. They’re losing each other because they lost you.

He covers his face with his hands, not even bothering to try and silence his sobs.

Something has pulled you from the sweet arms of sleep.

It’s dark in the room, the only light coming from the one behind the bed. The curtains are drawn over the window, keeping you hidden from the darkness outside the window. It’s late, or at least you think it is. You can’t quite see the clock in the darkness with your one good eye. It’s fuzzy in the darkness, too far away for you to truly find where the hands lie.

Shadows fill the corners of the room, oppressive and claustrophobic. The longer you stare, the bigger they seem to grow as if they might suck the light right out of the room and swallow you in darkness. The longer you stare, the more it seems like there’s something there, something hidden in the darkness.

Something is staring at you from the shadows. There’s eyes on you, your skin prickling from the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. The more you stare into the darkness, the more the shadows begin to take shape, forming monstrous beasts just being held at bay by the light.

“Hi, darlin’.”

No. No, no, no, no.

“Miss me? It’s been a long time.”

You shake your head, your heart monitor starting to beep rapidly as your heart pounds in your chest. “N-No.”

Phil sits forward in the chair in the corner, his face coming into the light. It is him, blonde hair, blue eyes, that disarming grin on his face. He can’t be here...unless he escaped before your pack could catch him. Did they manage to catch him? You don’t know. You hadn’t even thought to ask about Phil or his whereabouts. No one informed you either.

“No? You didn’t miss me?” He tilts his head, his eyes shining with faux hurt and disappointment. “That’s not very nice of you to say. I thought your father taught you your manners. Have you forgotten them in the time you’ve been away.” He tsks, shaking his head. “Those boys have been letting you get lazy.”

Your breathing is picking up, panic starting to fill you as you stare at him. It’s impossible. He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here. He couldn’t have just walked onto base and walked into the medical center, could he? Corporal McKinney fooled everyone for months and drove right off base with you in his car and no one said anything. How much would the guards at the front entrance of the base take as a bribe to let him in?

Why isn’t your pack outside your door? Why would they let him in?

They had to have put out a warning. Someone should have put Phil’s face everywhere, sent out a message, something.

He lets out a sigh, pushing himself to stand. “I guess I’ll have to teach you some manners myself.”

The glint of metal catches your eye, the icepick catching the light as he steps closer.

“No, no,” You shake your head, your fingers scrambling for the call button.

Not again. Please, not again.

Your fingers close around the call button, your thumb pushing it over and over and over again. Someone has to hear it.

He lifts the ice pick, reaching out for you...

You’re being shaken. A scream tears from your lips as you struggle, trying to get away from whoever is holding you. Your body is alight with pain but you wait for more, for the ice pick to drive into your scent gland again, open the wound and light your body on fire once more. You expect it to come down again and again, filling your body with holes so you bleed out on the floor.

Where is your pack?

“Easy, easy. You’re alright.”

You know that voice.

You’re sobbing, your brain slowly beginning to come back into consciousness. You had been asleep. You were dreaming. The light is on in the room, the harsh fluorescent a welcome presence for once. The shadows are gone, dissipated by the bright light overhead. Phil is gone, wiped away with the rest of the shadows.

He’s nowhere to be seen because he wasn’t there in the first place.

It was just a dream. It was just a nightmare.

There’s a hand on yours, gently easing your fingers from the call button. You’re still trying to press it, your thumb moving almost automatically. You started pressing it in your sleep.

“You’re okay. Breathe for me.”

It’s Dr. Keller’s voice. It’s her arms wrapped around you, trying to stop you from moving as much. Your body is screaming in pain, but the panic flooding your body makes you almost numb to it. The pain in your chest is screaming with every rapid inhale, tightening and tightening the more until your fingers and toes start to go numb.

“Deep breaths.” Dr. Keller says, her own breaths slow as she holds you. “In and out.”

The inhale catches, the air shuddering into your lungs before you hold it, trying to force your body to calm down, just like the two of you practiced so many times. The heart monitor is beeping rapidly, another thing that must have translated in your state between wakefulness and sleep when Phil had shown up. Your heart is beating rapidly, thudding in your chest almost violently. It’s been through a lot these last few days. You wouldn’t be surprised if it just gave out suddenly.

“Phil.” You gasp out, still trying to slow your breathing. “Phil was here.”

“It was just a nightmare.” Dr. Keller says calmly, keeping her arms wrapped around you. “No one has come in or out of this room besides me. The guard outside won’t let anyone else in.”

Guard. There’s someone outside the door. Your pack? No. She would have said so.

Where is your pack?

Phil was never here. It was just a nightmare.

The last two thoughts repeat over and over in your head like a mantra as you start to cry, sobs wracking your body. You hate it, the fear, the terror, the anguish you felt as he lifted that ice pick, ready to stab you with it.

“I hate it.” You croak out, voicing your thoughts for the first time in a few hours.

“I know.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s normal to have nightmares after a traumatic event.” She adjusts her hold on you, tucking you against her chest. “It’s your brain trying to process what happened, trying to work its way through the trauma of the last few days. It’s cruel, but it’s a necessary part of healing.”

Healing.

Are you healing? Can you heal after everything? The pain is intense, not just outside but inside as well. The hurt, the anger, the fear, the anxiety, the panic, the depression, the rage, the betrayal. It’s too much. It’s so much all at once. You hate it. You hate that this happened in the first place. You hate that you have to go through this, have to heal, have to live through more nightmares.

You hate your pack. That’s why they’re not here.

For all you know they’ve left you. For all you know they’re on a plane back to the UK.

Why would they want a broken, angry omega?

“I just want to be okay.” You sob, face pressed against her shoulder.

“I know.” She says, cradling the back of your head, keeping you tight in her arms. “I'm so sorry this happened to you. I know words can't change that it happened, words can't make it all better, but we'll get you to where you're as okay as you can be again. I promise you I’ll do everything I can to get you there.” She leans her chin on the top of your head, squeezing you against her chest. “We'll get there, no matter how long it takes.”

How long will it take? How long will your pain and suffering drag on for? Your body will heal eventually, but will your mind? Are you going to be this way for the rest of your life? Will you ever know peace again? But...have you ever really known peace? Your home growing up certainly wasn’t peaceful. Your presentation wasn’t peaceful, and neither was life at the institute. Being chosen by the FBI for this initiative that never existed in the first place certainly wasn’t peaceful. Despite how happy you became with your pack, even that life wasn’t peaceful. What little peace you thought you had was upended in the blink of an eye.

How easily everything crumbled.

Will it be possible to put it all back together again?

Do you want to put it back together again?

Alcohol is easy to find in a place like this. Soldiers gravitate towards whatever crutch they can find to erase the nightmares they live in. It numbs the pain and the brain and keeps one sane, or at least that’s what his father used to say.

Of course his father would drink himself into a stupor every Friday night, and he’d wake Saturday morning still in his chair with a full breakfast waiting for him.

Much like his father, John has lost track of how many times he’s filled his glass.

It’s been a long time since he’s gotten this drunk. He shook that habit after a shameful morning over ten years ago. He’d just gotten back from a bad deployment, one that gets labeled as a “mission gone wrong.” It failed under his command. He lost a lot of lives, not just his fellow soldiers. He’d drunk himself past a stupor and woke up passed out in a bush covered in vomit outside the gate with a rather angry CO over him.

He shook the habit after that, easing himself to just a glass every so often on those days he needs to take the edge off, on those days he needs to numb the aches.

Then Kyle came along. Kyle, his sweet beta with his ethical moral compass. His sweet beta who deserved a better life than what he was pulled into. Dutiful, loyal, principled. A good soldier, but a better man than John could ever be. He could fall into Kyle, bury himself under those soft touches, the soothing whispers, the comfort Kyle could offer him. The screaming in his head became less and less as he allowed Kyle to do what he was meant to do at his core.

Comfort.

Then you came along.

He found himself turning to the liquid medicine less and less because he could bury himself in you. He had an omega, he had someone he could lean on, someone who understood without having to be told. The bond between alpha and omega is something so sacred and special, something to be cherished.

And he threw it all away.

He downs another glass, staring at the almost empty bottle. It had been sealed when he got it, brand new and fresh. He can feel it, the fogginess of alcohol clouding his brain. The world is swirling, melting together. He can’t feel much of anything anymore, yet that pain lingers deep in his chest.

The bond.

It’s like an open wound, gaping and pulsing. Eventually it’ll slow, eventually it’ll give out. That bond will be cut and everything will crumble.

It’s all his fault.

He ended things, he ended the pack, he ended the bond, he ended you.

Would Graves have killed you? Would Shepherd have given those orders if they pushed onward, if they caught up to him? Graves would have done it slowly, taken his time, reveled in it. They would have gotten a video of it, hours long as you were tortured to death, zoomed in on your face as the life left your eyes.

The thought makes his stomach churn. He wants to vomit at the mental picture of you laying there, covered in blood, those lifeless eyes staring at him. Eyes that once shone with life and happiness. Despite everything you had been happy. Despite everything that spark inside you was never extinguished. A fiery little thing that would give what they gave right back to them.

Now you’re not even smoldering.

You’ve been reduced to ashes, and it’s all his fault. It’s all his doing.

He skips the glass this time, drinking straight from the bottle.

“Have you seen John recently?” Kyle asks, standing in the doorway to their temporary living quarters. It’s a single room with two bunk beds. Far too tight of a space for their quickly souring dynamics.

“No, not recently.” Johnny says, lifting his head up from his pillow. He’s been crying again. “You, LT?”

LT. They argued earlier...more like yelled in each others’ faces until they had to be separated at the risk of things getting physical. Kyle’s not even sure what they had been arguing about in the first place. Probably something miniscule and unimportant. Everything seems to be setting them off like grenades. Pull the pin and watch them explode. They’re all on edge, all of them feeling the distance growing wider and wider despite their best efforts to stop it.

“No.” Simon says simply, staring up at the bottom of the bunk over him. He’s flat on his back, hands folded on his stomach. He looks like a corpse, might have been mistaken for one if it hadn’t been for the slow rise and fall of his chest. He’s still in his mask. He hasn’t taken it off since he arrived in the field.

It’s late, but none of them can sleep. None of them have been able to get much sleep since they arrived nearly two days ago. Weeks without good, decent sleep wears on the brain too.

“If he comes back here, text me.” Kyle says before closing the door, resuming his search for their missing captain.

John has been beating himself up for nearly two days now. Kyle’s never seen his captain quite so distraught and lost. He’s blaming himself, which in all fairness, he should be doing. It is his fault. Kyle will be the first to point blame in this situation, but none of them are truly blameless. None of them questioned it, none of them even argued with him on that decision. They followed blindly as they were supposed to for the first time in a long time. They didn’t question their captain, their alpha, their leader.

He hates himself for it.

Why didn’t he question it? Why didn’t he argue? Why didn’t he voice his opinion, fight back against that decision? He trusted his alpha when he shouldn’t have, and you paid for it.

He’s glad he didn’t have to see you. He’s glad he didn’t have to face down the state Johnny and Simon found you in. He’s glad he didn’t have to see what you looked like even after the blood had been cleaned off and the true horror was revealed.

He hasn’t gone to see you at all.

He’s not sure he could handle it. You won’t care either way from the sound of it. You’ve been reduced to a shell, silent and empty. You’ve barely said a word since this morning, instead just lying there and staring at the ceiling according to the doctor when she’d updated them this afternoon.

Your body will heal slowly, but your mind will remain a battleground.

He leaves the barracks, looking up at the dark sky. It’s clear tonight. He’d probably see the stars if there wasn’t constant light pollution around the base. What do the stars look like here? He’s stared up at the stars constantly in the last few weeks in places there was little light pollution. His only comfort about being away from you so long was the knowledge that you were under the same sky. Be it day or night, the stars were overhead. You wouldn’t be able to see them either way, but they were shining for you too.

Now you’re both under the same stars, but you’re both still so far away.

He lets out a sigh, lowering his gaze. He has a job to do, a captain to find.

“Where are you John?” He breathes, looking in all directions, trying to decide which way to go next. He had stopped in at the med center already, but he wasn’t there. No one had seen him, even the doctor. He’s searched everywhere he could think to search, but his captain is nowhere to be found.

John will kill him if he requests a base-wide search.

He walks around the side of the barracks, hoping maybe he’ll run into John coming back this way. Usually he wouldn’t bother searching for him, but with his mind how it has been, Kyle can’t help but be worried. Even with the bonds fraying between them, he still has that instinctual need to make sure his alpha is okay. Instincts can’t be ignored. No matter how much bonds between packs fray, instincts will always remain the same.

That’s why he still feels that urge to go and see you.

John will kill him if he requests a base-wide search.

He knows how self-destructive John can be despite how composed he makes himself appear. He’s only seen his alpha in that state once, and he has a feeling he’s about to a second time.

He leans against the wall with a sigh when he reaches the other side of the barracks. Nothing. No sign of him. No texts from Johnny or Simon either. He’d asked Dr. Keller to let him know if he shows up in the med center too, but there’s been nothing. No word. No signs.

Maybe he should just give up looking. John will find his way back to the barracks eventually. Or he won’t.

That could be tomorrow’s problem. A distraction, a mission, something to give them purpose and force them to unite again.

Find their missing captain. Find their missing alpha.

He turns back around to follow the sidewalk back to the front of the barracks when he hears shuffling footsteps dragging on the concrete. He turns, squinting into the darkness between lamps as a figure stumbles through the shadows, muttering under its breath. He knows that voice, he knows that figure.

John.

John stumbles forward, nearly falling but Kyle reaches out, catching him. His mind is racing, silently checking for any blood, any sign of injury, but there’s nothing.

Maybe everything is finally getting to him. Maybe his body has finally been pushed to the limit and it’s giving out. He’s having a medical emergency.

“Easy, sir.” He says, trying to calm his panic as he fights to keep John upright despite John’s body wanting to fall the rest of the way onto the ground. Kyle takes a breath in, catching the sour scent of alcohol wafting off his captain.

Not a medical emergency, then.

He sought out some liquid comfort instead.

The thought makes Kyle’s chest twinge still.

“’S all over.” John slurs, his weight getting heavier and heavier. “Everything is over.” He turns his head, blinking slowly. “Kyle?”

“It’s me, sir. I’ve got you.” He slings John’s arm over his shoulders, making his weight easier to hold.

“Kyle.” He slurs again, the two syllables blurring together. “Too good to me, Kyle.” John pulls his arm free, stumbling forward.

Kyle just manages to lessen his fall onto the concrete, making sure John doesn’t smack the back of his head at least. He’ll have some scrapes and bruises tomorrow, though. Right now he probably can’t even feel it. If he was responsible, he’d take John to the med center, let him sleep off the alcohol on the safety of a gurney, but that would probably just cause more problems for everyone.

John would be pissed when he woke up.

He lets out a sigh as he stands there, staring down at his captain. John’s on his back, eyes up and focused on the sky, hiccuping every so often. He’s never seen his captain quite this drunk before, though he has heard stories of when John was younger.

“I’ve killed her.” John mumbles. “I’ve killed all of us.”

Kyle drops to a knee beside John. “You haven’t killed anyone.”

“She’s fading away. Soon she’ll be gone.” He murmurs. “We’ll go too.” John pushes himself up to sit. “It’s all over. Everything is over.”

Kyle grips John’s arms before he can fall back again, holding him in place. “Nothing is over yet, sir. We can still do something. It’ll just take time.”

John turns to look at him, his eyes hazy and far away. “Kyle.” John says his name softly, reaching out to brush his fingers across Kyle’s cheek. “Pretty boy.” He slumps against Kyle’s chest, his weight nearly making both of them topple over. “Too good to me, Kyle.”

“I care about you a lot, sir.” Kyle says, rubbing his back. “More than I think you realize.” He murmurs the last bit more to himself than anything. Not that John will likely remember any of this in the morning. “We should get you in bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

They do. They have to decide what to do next.

“Come on.” He says, hauling John to his feet carefully. John lets him, letting Kyle wrap his arm around his shoulders.

It’s slow going, Kyle half dragging John back to the barracks. He’s quiet at least, only the occasional scuffle of his footsteps as he stumbles breaking the quiet night. He gets John back to their room fairly easily, easing him into the other bottom bunk across from Simon. The room is still and silent aside from the occasional sniffle from one of the top bunks.

He grabs the blanket from his own bunk, draping it across John instead. Maybe in his drunk state, the scent will bring him some comfort, help ease that ache inside of him.

He’s hoping John’s scent will do the same for him.

“It’ll be alright, sir.” He says, making sure his captain is comfortable. He stands up, staring down at his Captain. “Everything will be fine.”

He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

John stares down into his tea as they sit around a table. His head is throbbing, pulsing heavily behind his eyes. It’s his own damn fault, going out and getting drunk like that. He hasn’t done it in years, yet he couldn’t stand the pain gnawing away at his chest. Alcohol hadn’t fixed it. It’s still there, still pulsing away. The alcohol had only numbed it at least for a few hours, and if anything, it made it worse.

“Kate left this morning back to DC.” He says, glancing up at the other three members of his team. “They're still working on cleanup and helping Alex and Farah track Shepherd. I spoke with Dr. Keller this morning. We’ll be able to fly out soon.”

The words hang heavy in the air. He hadn’t mentioned you at all, but he’s not sure he could without breaking down. You are improving slowly, Christine had said, giving him a sympathetic look as he squinted in the harsh fluorescents. She knew. She could tell just by looking at him. She’s that good at her job.

He’s glad they have her. He’s glad you have her.

“Where are we going tae go?” Johnny asks.

“We can’t go back to base.” Simon says.

“You’re right. Going back to base is too risky.” John says. “Shepherd could have eyes there already. And with her mind where it is...” Taking you back would be too much too soon, even without the risk. One of their own had already betrayed them once. They can’t trust anyone anymore. “We need somewhere secluded and quiet. Somewhere no one will know we’re going where we can lay low for a while.” Both out of necessity for their safety, but also for your sake.

It falls silent between them. Shepherd knows all of their possible safehouses, all of the places they mind go to stay hidden. Those only they know off the record are hard to get to, requiring miles of hiking. You wouldn't be up for that even without the physical injuries, and they doubt you'd let one of them carry you. If they had to get out quickly...

“My parents have a place,” Kyle says, glancing up at them from his own cup of tea. “Out in Cornwall. A cottage near the cliffs. It’s quiet, secluded. No one knows about it but us. Tourist season is over too. There won't be many out there poking around this time of year.” Anyone wandering around out there that close would be suspicious.

“It’s a good option.” Johnny shrugs.

“It’s our only option.” Simon says.

“It’s exactly what we need.” Kyle says. “Trying to rent this time of year will only draw attention, and we can't trust we won't be ratted out. Shepherd likely still has allies. We were betrayed by one of our own before.” Kyle says.

“You're sure no one else knows about it?” John asks, looking at his beta.

“Just my parents and my siblings. They wouldn’t ask any questions if I told them it was being used.” Kyle shrugs. “It might be our best option.”

John looks around at them. It is their best option for now. He knows Kyle's family is just like the rest of theirs. They know they can't know and they won't ask questions.

“We had a conversation once, months ago.” John says. “She told me she wanted to live next to the sea someday. She wants to be close enough that she can smell it and see it.”

He pauses thinking back months ago after Simon left, after you were so affected by his absence. That conversation when you asked if he’d ever leave for you, when he told you if your life was ever in danger because of them he’d leave in a heartbeat. He’s made a liar out of himself. He broke his promise, so many promises, made not just to you. Not just to the pack.

He glances at the other three, fighting back the lump in his throat, the endless threat of tears that has been rising like the tide and threatening to drown him at any moment. He’s made his decision, he’s made up his mind.

You have to come first.

His priorities have changed. There’s no initiative to follow, no orders to be given out. Kate was right. This is their moment to change things, this is his moment to change things. His pack will follow. Despite everything, they’ll trust him to make the right decision. They won’t hesitate to challenge him anymore, but there’s still that deeply ingrained trust in their alpha and captain.

The alpha comes first.

No, the omega comes first.

He takes a sip of his tea, bitter without any milk, but it’ll do. “She wanted to be close to the sea.” He looks back up at the other three having made his decision. “Taking her there might just be what she needs.”

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Simon ghost riley x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #Johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #Kyle Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

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milktiicup · 9 days ago

Note

If it's alright to request, can you write any type of one shot or headcanons for Mr Scarletella? If you write for him.

blissful work life!

“Haunt my boss!” Mr. Scarletella tilts his head ever so slightly, and his sinister smile returns, ear to ear and even sending a chill down your spine. “Scare human?” he repeats.

warnings. no warnings!!! blissful love life ending but scarletella ver :3

You hate work. You hate working. Nobody likes to work, and yet here you are. You feel like you’ve been here for hours, but it’s only three hours into your eight hour shift at the office. You want to go home.

You eye the clock, and decide to take your fourth toilet break within the hour. You stand up from your cubicle, successfully sneaking past your boss, and slip into the bathroom.

You stare at yourself in the mirror- and man, you look tired. Even though you get eight hours every night, courtesy to Mr. Scarletella running his hand up and down your back that lulls you into the most blissful sleep, you still look exhausted. It’s like the minute you step into this office it drains all the energy from you, as if the building was a vampyr.

You twist the handle of the sink, cold water running into the drain. You cup your hands, letting the water cool your skin down, and splash your face. For good measure, you do it again. You turn the tap off, and stretch your arms above your head, shoulders popping and back cracking.

Sure, the other world had things that tried to kill you at every corner, but at least you didn’t have to work. Grumbling, you make your way to the bathroom door. Reaching out, you pull the handle and…

Great. It’s locked. Who the fuck locks the bathroom door in the middle of the day?

You pull the handle once more. You scowl. How could this day possibly get any worse?

The lights flicker.

You pull the nastiest face possible.

The lights flicker again, and for a moment, they stay dark. When they turn back on, the bathroom is flooded with a crimson light that illuminates everything in the creepiest ways possible.

You blink once, twice, and your tormenter turned roommate turned lover is standing right in front of you, umbrella in hand and a twisted smile on his face.

“Scarletella!” you exclaim, mood brightening faster than the speed of light. You wrap your arms around him, and breathe in the aroma of fresh rain he radiates.

He uses his free hand to wrap it around your waist, head dipping so his chin rests on your head. You sigh in content, grip tightening for a moment, then step back.

You cup his face as you ask, “Why are you here?”

Mr. Scarletella stares at you, his normal eyes dull and unemotional. “Want you home,” he replies, and pulls you closer by the arm around your waist. “Like you.”

Huh. The clingy type. Mr. Scarletella wasn’t one for verbosity; he was all intense stares and small, deliberate gestures that said more than words ever could. Still, hearing him say he missed you… God, you knew he wasn’t the greatest of guys morally, but how can he be so cute?

You let your fingers linger against his cold cheek, tracing the faint line of his jaw. “I like you too,” you admit, your voice softer than intending. “But I stay. I work. Money, and boring human stuff…”

His umbrella twitches slightly in his hand. “Long time, I wait.”

“I know… It sucks,” you grumble.

You feel his grip tighten ever so slightly, like he’s afraid you might slip away if he loosens it. His face inches closer, his dark eyes searching yours, and he lets out a low hum that resonates in the quiet bathroom. “You should not be here,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of frustration and something softer, more tender. “Place… Change you. You tired.”

You can’t argue with that; he’s not wrong. The fluorescent lights, the endless spreadsheets, the hollow hum of office chatter—it all feels like it’s sucking the life out of you. Reality doesn’t care about that, does it? Bills don’t stop just because you’re tired.

“Belong with me,” he concludes, and his face rests in the crook of your neck. It’s a statement, you realise, not a plea. “Want you home.”

Your heart squeezes. There’s something undeniably sweet about his devotion. He doesn’t understand your world any more than you understand his, but he’s trying. For you.

You sigh, letting your hand rest on his red hair. “But I have to finish my shift. If I leave now, my boss will—”

“Boss?” Mr. Scarletella interrupts, his tone sharp, head tilting just enough to make you nervous. “Hurt you?”

“No!” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “No one’s hurting me, Scarletella. My boss just… yells. A lot. It’s annoying, but not dangerous.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. Mr. Scarletella stands straight, and his grip on your waist tightens just slightly. As emotionless as his eyes could get, they somehow got darker. “Yell… you?” His voice drops an octave, each word dripping with quiet menace.

You groan, leaning your forehead against his chest. “Not just me. Everyone. That’s just how jobs are. Humans yell, Scarletella. It’s annoying, but it’s normal.”

Silence hangs in the very romantic bathroom rendezvous, and it’s almost as if a lightbulb appears above your head.

“Haunt my boss!”

Mr. Scarletella tilts his head ever so slightly, and his sinister smile returns, ear to ear and even sending a chill down your spine. “Scare human?” he repeats.

You nod enthusiastically, grinning as the idea takes hold. “Yes! Just a little scare, nothing too extreme. Maybe flicker the lights, whisper some creepy stuff—just enough to get them to back off for a while. Think you can handle that?”

Mr. Scarletella’s twisted smile widens, a gleam of mischief flickering in his dark eyes. “Scare. Easy.” His umbrella twitches again. “Human… respect you.”

You laugh, patting his chest. “That’s the spirit- but seriously, don’t overdo it, okay? No disappearing desks or spectral possessions or whatever it is you do.”

“Only little scare,” he promises, his tone so dry and serious you almost believe he’ll stick to it. Almost.

“Good,” you say, stepping back and smoothing your clothes. “I’m counting on you, Scarletella. Just don’t get me fired, alright?”

His head tilts again, as if the concept of fired remains an enigma to him, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lifts his umbrella with a flourish, and the crimson glow fades, leaving the bathroom bathed in normal, boring fluorescent light. The door creaks open on its own.

Before stepping out, you glance over your shoulder, giving him a playful wink. “See you at home, okay?”

Scarletella doesn’t respond with words—just a faint nod and an unreadable look that lingers as you leave.

The rest of your shift is... eventful. About an hour after returning to your desk, the atmosphere in the office changes. Your boss, notorious for their constant yelling and micromanaging, suddenly goes pale. They stammer through a meeting, jumping at every little sound, and eventually retreats to their office, slamming the door behind them.

Rumors spread quickly. Some say the lights in the break room flickered ominously, others whisper about strange whispers echoing through the hallways. A few claim they saw shadows moving where no one was standing. It took all of your will power not to cackle.

By the end of the day, your boss is uncharacteristically quiet, avoiding everyone- including you. You pack up your things with a spring in your step, skipping out of the building. You finally got to leave work early for once!

When you get home, Scarletella is waiting for you, perched on the couch with his umbrella resting against his leg. His eyes meet yours as you walk in, and you can sense the smugness radiating off him.

“Did you behave?” you tease, dropping your bag by the door.

“Boss quiet,” he replies simply, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “Respect you now.”

You burst out laughing, flopping onto the couch beside him. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Scarletella doesn’t answer. He just wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, his cool touch grounding you after the day’s chaos. As his hand starts tracing soothing circles on your back, you let out a content sigh.

Well, thank God it was raining today.

#homicipher #mr scarletella #homicipher x reader #mr scarletella x reader #mr scarletella hcs #mr scarletella fluff #homicipher hcs #homicipher fluff

2K notes · View notes

saetoru · 1 year ago

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on.

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend.

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned.

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast.

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up.

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek.

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand.

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway.

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that.

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake.

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.”

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit.

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself.

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness.

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench.

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him.

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.”

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself.

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with?

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him.

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded.

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings.

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too.

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well.

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend.

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings.

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted.

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself.

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on.

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole.

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands.

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know.

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn.

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff.

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away.

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here.

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him.

“why did you leave me?” he asks.

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists.

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love.

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days.

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly.

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out.

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead.

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head.

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying.

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight.

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper.

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray.

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion.

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could.

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt.

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you.

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating.

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known.

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him.

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

#teepods.writings #fics.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst

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