#this is brought to you straight from my brain

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Some things can only be cultivated under pretenses [Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader]

Summary: You were eight years old again, hiding from Satoru's parents in his treehouse. "Then you can marry me, silly!" You sat bolt upright. "Marry me!"

Author's Notes: My first ever anime/manga fic, 17.1K words of fake dating/friends to lovers/idiots to lovers that no one asked for!! The fic practically wrote itself. If you’re reading, I hope you enjoy it! Being an American, my knowledge of Japanese language and culture is quite slim. The Japanese honorifics and nicknames I’ve used are meant to be affectionate, but I realize that the relationships themselves may have quite an American slant. I did my best, but if you notice anything off or out of line, please let me know so I can fix it!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Jujutsu Kaisen

Warnings/tags: non-cursed AU, best friend! Satoru Gojo, fake marriage, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, fluff, angst, VERY suggestive content, language, minor character death(s) (past, mentioned), mention of (medical) drug usage, spoilers for/references to episodes 25-29/chapters 65-79, not beta’d!

You’re half asleep in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window when you hear a key turn in the door. Groggily, you sit up and rub your eyes, picking up your phone. 

“Babe? You home?”

You’ve got a missed text from Satoru that probably explains his otherwise unannounced arrival at your apartment. 

“In here,” you call, yawning. His snowy head pokes through the doorway and, despite the wide grin plastered on his face, you can tell something is wrong. 

“Sorry to wake you. Are you hungry? I brought ramen.” He’s disappeared into your kitchen but, despite this fabulous announcement, he comes right back around the corner to throw himself dramatically onto the opposite corner of your couch. 

Something is definitely wrong.

“Satoru?” You lean forward to touch his elbow, but he throws the arm over his eyes. He mutters something you don’t quite catch. “Say again?”

“It’s finally happened!” he shouts, though the sound is muffled by the hands he’s moved to cover his face. The same hands fly up as his head flies back, long legs kicking up to land on your coffee table with a loud bang. He turns to you with a wild, sarcastic smile. “My parents want me married, and by the end of the year. Or else I forfeit any rights to the family business, the house, my apartment, everything else.”

“Oh, Toru,” you breathe. You feel your heart lodge in the back of your throat before dropping to the ground with a dull thump. He shrugs, not meeting your gaze. 

“It doesn’t matter. I can sign over The Amanai Project to Nanami, go back to the Jujutsu Corporation…” But his voice trails off against his will and you’re already shaking your head. 

He’d started at the Jujutsu Corporation, a private security company, straight out of university. It’d been good for him- structure and discipline, and a new best friend you’d spent years convincing yourself you weren’t jealous of. You and Satoru hadn’t lost touch, but there were huge gaps in your days where he should have been. Until that new best friend called you from the hospital after a job gone wrong. 

Satoru had been hurt, badly. Multiple stab wounds, vicious and tearing. He still had scars from shoulder to hip, and a small one on his forehead from the butt of a gun.

Suguru hadn’t seen it happen; he’d watched their charge die. A bullet to the brain. Quick and clean, unlike the shooter. Satoru had sliced him up before collapsing in a pool of his own blood. 

When he woke up, he was different. 

You’d worried you’d lost him for good, for different reasons than the wounds, for months. Barely eating, hardly sleeping, withdrawn and absent. Suguru told you that at the girl’s funeral, carrying Riko Amanai’s corpse, Satoru had asked why they didn’t kill the whole family who’d ordered the execution. 

Suguru had disappeared not long after, and despite getting your best friend back, you still didn’t quite know why. You didn’t want to bring it up. 

You shuddered, remembering how… hollow Satoru had been after the entire incident. Your other friends had wanted you to drop him, offended for your sake that he’d let your friendship slide in the first place, but you’d remained steadfast. Long nights spent holding him, stroking his hair; long days of pulling him gently up to walk, of coaxing him to eat when he had no interest in it; even stripping him down to his boxers to shoulder him into his ridiculously fancy shower, washing his hair in your bathing suit until he halfheartedly pushed you out to wash himself. 

He’d been a shell, until he hadn’t. You’d shown up after work, armed with takeout and romcoms, and he’d been gone. You’d panicked, calling Suguru, who didn’t pick up, calling the housekeeper his mother had hired in an effort to keep you away, nearly breaking down and calling his mother. Then he’d barrelled through the door, smiling wide enough to showcase those tiny dimples, gushing about the non-profit he was going to start and the teenagers who’d inspired it. 

You sucked in a sharp breath. 

“You could lose The Amanai Project.”

He nodded slowly, not meeting your horrified stare. 

“That’s why I’d go back to Juju-”

“No,” you hissed. You weren’t prepared for the hopeless look he turned on you. He loved The Amanai Project, he loved the teenagers he worked with. He reached forward, clutching both of your hands in his tightly.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” he pleaded. And then you were eight years old again, hiding from Satoru’s parents in his treehouse. 

“They said.”

“Grown-ups always say.”

“What if they make me?”

“They can’t make you!”

He looked at you, much too seriously for an eight year old.

“They made my dad marry my mom. They’ll make me marry someone, too. And then what am I supposed to do?” He crossed his arms, pouting, and grumbled “Don’t wanna get married.”

You grabbed his little hand with your own, beaming with all of the sincerity and cleverness of a child.

“Then you can marry me, silly.”

You sat bolt upright. 

“Marry me!” you half-shouted. At Satoru’s flinch back, you apologized softly and lowered your voice. “Marry me,” you repeated. You leaned forward, excitement brewing at the ingenuity of such a simple plan. “We can get married for however long it takes to cement your place in the family business and then get a divorce.” You squeezed his hands. “Whaddya say?”

Satoru spluttered a bit, pulling his hands back to run them through his hair- a nervous habit you hadn’t seen him make since childhood. “Babe, you shouldn’t- we can’t just- I can’t ask you to-”

“You’re not asking me for anything, I offered! Besides, think of all the fun we could have. It’d be just like our sleepovers from when we were kids.” A strange look had crossed Satoru’s face, hesitation and something like pain. You sat a little straighter, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “U-unless you don’t want to, of course. I just, I thought-”

“It’s a good idea,” he interrupted. He was focused on your hands, intertwined now in your lap. He spoke slowly, measured and thoughtful. “I just don’t want… you know how my parents can be. And what if…” He grimaced. “What if you find someone you want to be with? I don’t want to stand in your way.”

You waved this off airily. “Oh, Toru, you’ll always be part of my life. If I find someone, they’ll just have to accept the situation. Besides, there’s no reason I can’t see someone else, so long as I’m careful. It’s not like we’ll really be married.”

Satoru stood abruptly, pacing to the other side of the room, one hand raised to his chin. He stood, silent, for a long moment. You opened your mouth to say something to fill the suddenly charged space between you, but then he spoke. 

“Let me think about it.” And then in a blink, he was gone, takeout forgotten on your countertop, leaving you to blink in the void created by his absence. 

——————————————————————

The silence lasted about as long as you’d expected it would. Satoru came crashing into your apartment bright and early the next morning, singing your name. You groaned, rolling over to pick up your phone. 6:48. 

You were going to kill him. 

“Satoru Gojo!” you yelled, pulling the covers over your head. You heard him skip down the hallway and into your room. If he noticed that you’d used his full name, it didn’t deter him a bit. He flung himself down beside you, dragging you onto his chest, blankets and all. 

“My future wife!” he crooned, kissing your covered cheek. “How did you sleep?”

“It’s not even seven.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You fumbled the blankets off your head, baring your face to the weak sunlight coming in through the open window. “How am I supposed to know how I slept when it’s so early?” You rubbed at your eyes while Satoru laughed heartily, making himself comfortable on your mountain of pillows. You paused. “Did you say future wife?”

His smile widened as he sat up, shifting you from your live body pillow. “Well, yeah. That is if the offer still stands.” He twisted himself off the bed to kneel on the floor, turning you to face him all in one smooth motion. Now he held up a small, black velvet box, which he opened the moment he had your full attention. 

A stunning engagement ring glittered up at you, catching all of the light in the room and beaming it upward through the diamond in the center. 

You blanched. 

“Satoru, what is this? This must have cost a fortune-”

“Easy,” he chuckled, setting the box aside to slide the ring onto your left hand. A perfect fit. “If we’re gonna be married, we’re gonna have to put on a good show. Starting with a beautiful ring worthy of the most beautiful woman in the world.” You hadn’t said a word, dumbstruck as you gazed down at your hand. Satoru spoke more softly now. “What do you think?”

“I think you picked my dream ring,” you breathed. He beamed up at you. 

“So does that mean yes?”

“What?” You looked at him sharply, at the hopeful expression he’d turned up to you. “Of course yes, you dork. Remember that this was my idea?”

Satoru launched himself up, bearing you backward onto the bed with his arms around you. “Yay!” he squealed, and then he was kissing your cheek and nuzzling the side of your neck. “I promise to be a good husband,” he mumbled. 

You laughed, somewhat breathless. “I wasn’t worried about it.”

You felt his smile curl up against your neck while he squeezed you impossibly tighter. “You were right, we’re gonna have so much fun.”

You were gasping now, struggling to breathe beneath his weight and in his tight grip. “Toru, can’t breathe.”

He let you go with a soft “oops”, shimmying over to lay beside you with his head propped up on one hand. His eyes shone with something you couldn’t quite place, lips curled in a gentle smile as his cerulean gaze trailed lazily over your face. He finally settled on your eyes, sharing the tranquil moment with you before leaping up. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” He careened out of your room and down the hall into your kitchen, returning a moment later with a sly grin. “Close your eyes,” he sing-songed. 

“Close m-?”

“Close ‘em, woman!”

With a dramatic sigh, you did. If you hadn’t felt the slight dip in your mattress, you might not have known he’d come back until you felt his hand trace your knee lightly. “Open,” he whispered. 

Your vision was flooded with white and green; Satoru held out a colossal bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus, tied with a fat black ribbon. 

Your jaw dropped. 

Satoru straightened in pleasure. “See, I told you I’d be a good husband!” he crowed. 

You swatted at him playfully before taking the roses out of his hands. “Satoru, you know I don’t need all this.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “I have never, never seen any boyfriend spoil you before. I think it’s time someone did.”

You snorted. “You’re gonna ruin me for all other men if you keep it up.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looked pleased by that. But before you could analyze the thought, he reached a hand out to you. 

“My lady.”

You laughed out loud, but took the proffered hand and slid out of bed, letting him lead you down the hall. You felt your jaw drop again when you stepped into the kitchen to see a silver tray laid out on your tiny dining table, laden with pastries and fresh fruit and a steaming pot of coffee. 

“Consider me ruined,” you mumbled, beelining for the coffee to the sound of Satoru’s raucous laughter. You smiled to yourself, and over your shoulder at him. 

This would be fun. 

——————————————————————

Reality set in slowly over the course of the next few days, for both of you.

Satoru’s parents were furious, as expected, but enough to call you directly, which was not. After all, they had always refused to acknowledge your existence, as though hoping you might disappear entirely if they ignored you for long enough.

“We know that you’ve always had a bit of trouble staying away, dear, but we had never quite expected this, this…”

“Devotion, ma’am?”

“Parasitic behavior from you!”

Ouch. 

“I assure you, Gojo-sama, I’m not marrying your son for money. As you know, we’ve always been close. I’ve always loved him.” All true, as you’d agreed the story should be. The only lie in it lay in the implication of one, tiny word. 

If anyone was close enough to spot it, it certainly wouldn’t be his parents. 

All the same, his mother groaned and his father scoffed in the background. The elder Gojo’s voice was muffled by distance when he said “Of course she has, but I’d expected Satoru, at least, to outgrow it by now.”

What?

You weren’t given an opportunity to question it, though. Satoru’s mother dismissed you, something about “being in touch” soon. Whatever that meant. 

You sat for several long moments, puzzling over that last comment. Outgrow what? His parents couldn’t possibly mean that he’d been in love with you, you would have known. Certainly, you’d had a crush on Satoru for years- your first and most long-standing crush, at that. That must be what they meant. He must’ve had a childhood infatuation, as well. Nothing more. 

You shook yourself, content to be back on solid footing, and dialed Satoru’s number by heart. He picked up on the third ring, yelling to one of the teenagers he was training, before greeting you warmly. When you relayed the conversation with his parents, minus that strange comment from his father, you could feel the waves of rage rolling off him through the phone. 

“They called you a parasite!?” he shouted, and you heard his students drop their voices to whispers. 

“Parasitic, not a parasite.”

“Oh, don’t you bullshit semantics with me,” he seethed. “How dare they, who do they think they are to talk to you that way? I won’t stand for this. They owe you an apology.” You tried to cut in, to reassure him that you were less bothered than you were, in truth, but his tirade went on without any sign of stopping. You could hear him put his phone down, still swearing and half-shouting to himself. You heard something that sounded suspiciously like wood cracking, heard him pick up his phone again, heard the bell on the gym door opening. 

“Satoru!” you shouted. 

“What!?” he shouted back. You waited patiently as he drew in a deep breath. More calmly, he repeated himself. “What?”

“Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

He was angry enough to sputter, his usual cool, smooth speech long-gone. “They can’t talk to you that way! You’re going to be my wife!”

“Fake wife,” you muttered, half amused and half touched by the vehemence of his outburst. 

“That doesn’t matter. You’ve been my best friend forever. It has to stop!”

You sighed. “You know that they’ll only think I’m a whiny, sniveling leech if you say anything.” He was silent, and you could tell from the steady hum of traffic that he’d finally stopped walking. “Go back to your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” The reply was automatic, an old joke between the two of you about his students. You heard him start walking again, and a moment later, the bell on the door jingled again. 

You heard the students perk up, clamoring and calling to him. 

“Gojo! Is everything okay?” Yuji Itadori, a selfless orphan with reflexes almost as sharp as Satoru’s. Quick to protect anyone and everyone around him. Heart of gold, worn proudly on his sleeve for all to see. 

“Where do you think you’re going? Were you just going to leave us here?” Nobara Kugisaki, a spitfire girl who masked every insecurity with arrogance to rival Satoru’s, though she hadn’t mastered his admirable level of control. 

“What crawled up your ass?” Megumi Fushiguro. You didn’t like to pick favorites, but you couldn’t pretend you didn’t hold a special fondness for him. Unflappable, unshakable. Level-headed and calculating. He reminded you of Satoru the most. Maybe that’s why you liked him best. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, the gym would collapse without me in it. Get back to work.” There he was, all smooth edges and silken confidence. Like nothing ever happened. To you, he grumbled, “This isn’t over.”

Once upon a time, you’d believed that nothing could get under his skin. In all your years of friendship, you’d never seen him lose his temper until after the incident. Even since, it was a rare occurrence, but you’d quickly learned how to reel him back. You breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Not over, but over for now. 

——————————————————————

One thing you hadn’t put much thought into was telling your parents. They reacted about as you’d expected, though- thrilled to be welcoming their bonus child to the family in an official capacity, “after all these years”. 

“Oh, hime, how wonderful! He’s such a sweet boy. I’ll come dress shopping with you!”

Your heart twinged with guilt. Your mother would be heartbroken when you inevitably divorced a year or two down the road. 

“Maybe we should tell them,” mused Satoru. He tilted his head back to look up from your lap. “What are the chances that they’ll ever talk to my parents? Or tell anyone else? They can keep a secret.”

You shook your head slowly, focused on a point somewhere past where your fingers threaded through his soft hair. “I think they’d be more heartbroken to hear that we aren’t really in love.”

When Satoru didn’t say anything, you looked down at him. He was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t read, eyes darkening to a rich turquoise. He’d reached up to loop his hand loosely around your wrist without you noticing, stroking the sensitive skin over your pulse. Something about the look in his eyes had you suddenly incapable of thinking of anything but his father’s strange statement. 

“I’d expected Satoru, at least, to outgrow it by now.”

You swallowed, hard, scrambling for some way to ask without making everything incredibly awkward. You knew you were just friends. Hearing him say it would settle it once and for all. 

“Right,” Satoru drawled. He sat up, rising from the couch. “Better to tell them marriage just wasn’t what we thought.”

Somehow, somewhere, you’d made a wrong turn in this conversation. You weren’t sure what had happened, but something wasn’t right. You were getting to your feet when Satoru turned in the doorway, smirking with that wild spark in his ridiculously blue eyes. 

“You probably shouldn’t say it to your parents, but you can tell anyone else who asks that I couldn’t keep up with your appetite.” His smile only widened when you tilted your head in confusion. “Sexually.”

Your mouth dropped open on a gasp of his name, blood flooding your cheeks. His laughter was pealing off your hallway walls by the time you thought to throw the cushion in your hands. It bounced harmlessly off the wall, falling lightly to the floor. 

You sprinted down the hallway, raining your fists down on Satoru’s turned back as he laughed, before jumping up and locking one arm around his neck. You used the other to ruffle his hair as he instinctively took hold of your thighs, giving you just enough height to lean over his shoulder and bite the lobe of his ear gently. 

You were the one laughing uncontrollably, now, but you didn’t miss his sharp intake of breath or the way he tensed within your hold. Interesting. You tucked that away with every intention of examining it later. 

“That’s it!” His voice was slightly hoarse as he spun, racing across the hall to your living room. You shrieked as he wheeled this way and that, his strong grip the only thing keeping you secured to his back. He turned and abruptly released his hold on you, sending you tumbling back onto your couch in a cacophony of giggles. 

He turned a smug smile on you. “And with that, no dinner for wifey.”

You let out an indignant squawk, scrambling down the hall after him. Despite his threats, he was spoon-feeding you miso soup within minutes, smiling wide as you stuck out your tongue. 

“I’m not telling anyone that,” you muttered. 

Satoru nodded sagely. “You’re right, can’t go tarnishing my reputation.”

You let out a loud, undignified guffaw of laughter. “Reputation? You?”

Satoru pulled back indignantly. “You think I don’t have a reputation?” You leveled him with your blankest stare, but he stared right back, one eyebrow quirked up. You found yourself crumbling first, suddenly unsure of yourself. “You have a reputation?”

That broke his stoicism. He cracked a wide grin, looking down to stir his dinner. “Nah, just wanted to watch you squirm.” You both smiled, shoving each other playfully from across the table. 

“I’m sure there have been… people though, right?”

Satoru’s head snapped up, eyes almost comically wide in some combination of shock and… nerves?

“What?” he rasped. You caught him with a mouthful of miso – he was probably trying not to choke.

“I mean I’m sure there have been girls, or boys…” you trailed off at the puzzled expression he wore. But now that you’d thought about it, you’d never seen him with anyone, not since high school.

“How did you know I’m bi?”

Not the question you’d been expecting.

“Satoru,” you deadpanned. “Do you remember when you got caught kissing Yoshio Kiyama under the bleachers in sixth grade?”

A faint blush rose in his pale cheeks. “Oh, right.”

“Yeah, genius, I’m the one who found you?” You started laughing, memories of your eleven year-old self bubbling to the surface. “I remember I was so disappointed, but then you asked out Akiko Hoshino for the school dance and I-” You stopped speaking abruptly, horrified at your partial admission, and prayed to the gods that Satoru wouldn’t notice. 

Of course where the gods were concerned, Satoru would always find favor. 

You swore you could see his ears perk up. “Disappointed, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to say that,” you mumbled. 

“Oh no no, you’re not getting out of this one.” He stood, coming around to your side of the table and pulling you up. Then he sat in your chair, dragging you unceremoniously down onto his lap. “Disappointed why?”

You threw your hands up in exasperation, turning your face away. “Because I had a crush on you, Satoru! We were eleven years old and I had a crush and I thought you only liked boys and so I was disappointed that I wouldn’t have a chance with you. But then you asked out Akiko Hoshino, so then I knew that you liked boys and girls.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And then you pined away for me for the month that I dated Akiko, right?” he crooned, obviously delighted. 

You scoffed, but felt your throat closing slightly. “No, then I got over you.”

Satoru’s jaw dropped. “That fast, huh?”

“Yeah, it was pretty quick.”

He released you in favor of clapping his hands to his heart, head thrown back.

“My darling wife, you wound me so!” he cried. You laughed, tapping your ring finger.

“That’s fiancé to you, I’m not your wife yet.”

He sat back up, grinning. “Soon enough.” His cerulean eyes glittered in a way that sparked something deep inside you, excitement and anticipation lighting in your veins. 

“Two,” he murmured. 

You blinked. “Two what?”

“Two people.” He reached up to smooth a stray hair from your face, a gesture so tender that your breath caught. “One boy, one girl. And now, you.”

“Well, sort of.” You meant to be teasing, but it came out shakier than you meant. What was happening to you?

And there was that unreadable expression, paired with the slightest of smiles. “Yeah, sort of.”

——————————————————————

“I don’t think you’re supposed to get to see the dress.”

Satoru whines from the other end of the phone. “Why nooot? I’m paying for it, aren’t I?”

Despite your mother’s wish to come dress shopping with you, she’d been unable to make the journey. Despite his protests, she couldn’t bear to leave your father alone. He needed her too much after his accident; slow and unsteady on his best days, bedridden on his worst. So you’d settled on FaceTime instead. Now the four of you were on a call together- you, your parents, and Satoru- as you made your way down the busy Tokyo street to your car.

“You know I don’t actually have the dress with me, right?” you said wryly. Satoru’s confused outburst blended with your mother‘s tinkling laughter, tugging at the little girl deep under your skin. You felt your lips curve up in an involuntary smile.

“Patience, bocchan. You’ll see her on your wedding day.”

“That’s so far, though!” whined Satoru.

“It’s only another month, my dear! So eager.” You heard your father chuckling in the background, making some muffled statement about your parents’ traditional, long engagement. Your mother murmured something sweet back to him, but when she spoke into the phone again, her voice was filled with mischief. “Are you sure you’re not pregnant, hime?”

“M-mother!” you sputtered. On the other end, Satoru howled with laughter. All the same, he composed himself much more quickly than you. 

“Okan, no. That would be impossible. I’ve been a perfect gentleman! Besides, we’re not even living together. 

“Oh!” Your mother seemed genuinely surprised. “Well no, I suppose neither of you have said that you are. I see that I simply assumed…”

“Actually, we haven’t discussed the living situation yet.” You leapt on the opportunity to change the subject, still trying to get your breathing under control. For some reason you couldn’t quite pin down, your mother‘s joke had left your heart racing long after the shock should’ve worn off.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make either of you uncomfortable, we’re just so exc-”

You and Satoru cut her off simultaneously, talking over each other to assure her that she hadn’t.

“We’ll just move into your place, right babe?”

You stopped walking. “Satoru, why would we move into my shitty apartment when yours is twice the size?”

“Because your place is so much cozier!” 

Then there was an almighty crash and Satoru began swearing. A moment later, after making his apologies to your mother, he was saying he loved you and hanging up. Your heart raced a bit, even as you giggled with your mother over “his kids”.

As you walked up to your car, you heard your father ask for a glass of water. “Oh, dear, look at the time. I’m sorry my darling, but I need to go. I have to leave now if I want to get to the bank before it closes, and then I have to go to the shops, and then I have to make dinner…”

You smiled to yourself, sliding behind the wheel of your beaten old sedan. “Have a good night, mama. I’ll talk to you soon.”

You turned the key in the ignition and looked at your watch. Satoru’s class would be ending soon. You could spend that time doing errands, washing your car, or even tidying up your apartment. But you felt lazy and lightweight and you hadn’t seen the kids in some time. 

With a smile, you drove to the juice shop you and Satoru liked, ordering the too-sweet strawberry smoothie he loved and something new for yourself to try. After only a second’s hesitation, you picked out an assortment of treats, putting everything on Satoru’s card. Today, for the kids, you’d let him spoil you. 

Arms filled with sweets and smoothies, you managed to get from the shop to your car and your car to The Amanai Project. The gym was housed in a metal and concrete building on the border of one of the poorer neighborhoods in the city. Posters advertising free self-defense classes, public safety seminars, and charity races papered the windows beside a much more understated plaque offering pro bono legal counsel for kids victimized by violent crime.

Every time you came here, you couldn’t squelch the feeling of your heart growing several sizes. You were just trying to decide how best to manage the door when it swung open. Kento Nanami, Satoru’s somewhat business partner and the lawyer offering his services, held it wide and nodded a greeting as you shimmied through. 

“Thanks, Nanami. How are you?”

“I’d be better if I didn’t have to deal with that crazy man,” he grumbled, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “I hear congratulations are in order, though.”

Startled, you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “O-oh, yes, thank you so much!”

He nodded again, turning to step through the doorway, but paused. “You’re good for him, and you’ll be good for each other.” With that, he turned again and left you staring at the swinging door. That was as much a speech as you’d ever heard out of Nanami, but you didn’t have time to digest it. 

Kugisaki shrieked your name, abandoning her training to race across the room to you. Her squeals drew the attention of everyone else in the room, too. Itadori looked up from where he stood patching a hole in the wall, dropping the putty knife he was wielding into a can of spackle, and made to run toward you before Satoru’s sharp voice cut him off. 

“Itadori!”

“Aww, Gojo, I’ll fix it in a second!”

You giggled at the interaction. Clearly, the source of the sound Satoru had hung up for. 

Fushiguro nodded politely at you from his place in the ring, taking advantage of your arrival to gulp down a bottle of water. 

And then there was the man himself, lifting the blindfold he used when he sparred- “to help him hone his senses”. His eyes looked bluer than ever against the black and white contrast of material and hair. He smiled when he saw you, looking surprised but immeasurably pleased. 

Then Kugisaki was shoveling everything out of your arms, extending her hands to grasp yours. “Let’s see this ring!”

At that, Itadori did drop the putty knife, tuning Satoru’s warnings out with admirable success. Even Fushiguro sauntered over, hands tucked into his pockets, to lean down. You locked eyes with Satoru, cheeks warming under the kids’ attention.

Kugisaki and Itadori took turns bouncing on the balls of their feet, shrieking, alternating between hugging you and each other. Fushiguro studied the ring and then turned back to the ring, tossing a genuinely impressed “Nice job, Gojo” over his shoulder. Satoru sidled up to you, snaking an arm around your waist to draw you close enough that he could kiss your cheek. 

He was still smiling at you when Itadori shouted. “Hey Gojo, what was that? You gotta kiss her for real!”

Satoru whirled. “What!?”

“Yeah, kiss her for real!” squealed Kugisaki. She and Itadori swatted at each other in excitement, eyes glued to you and Satoru.

He pointed menacingly at them both. “You little pervs-”

“You can’t shut up about her all day, and now that she’s here you won’t even kiss her?” You laughed at the deadpan stare Fushiguro gave his teacher, highly amused by the entire ordeal.

With a rush of boldness, you grasped Satoru’s collar, turning him to face you, and pulled him down to your mouth. A bolt of electricity shot through you when your lips touched, and if Satoru’s muffled gasp was any indication, he wasn’t unaffected either. The kiss was brief, a slide of lips that was over much too soon, and then you were releasing him. You heard Kugisaki squealing, a loud clap as Itadori and Fushiguro high-fived each other, their thrilled chatter; it all faded to the background as you looked at Satoru.

Eyes half-lidded, color high in his cheeks, he seemed unable to catch his breath. He stood, still bent to your height, staring at your lips. You felt heat rising in your own cheeks, boldness entirely dissipated as you wondered whether you’d crossed some line or other. His tongue darted out to swipe his lips. The tittering in the background was quickly dying. You’d expected Satoru to have some ready quip, to turn and showboat for his students. It was becoming increasingly obvious that you’d have to be the one to act.

Thinking fast, you reached over to the counter where Kugisaki had dumped the haul you’d brought, fumbling a smoothie into Satoru’s frozen hands. You pasted a smile on and patted his cheek, turning to the collection of treats.

“Alright, you hooligans, I brought something for you. Courtesy of Gojo Sensei.” 

The boisterous sounds of teenagers started up just as quickly as they’d stopped, with Itadori and Kugisaki fighting over who got first pick of the sweets. Fushiguro waited patiently for the other two to dispense with their theatrics, picking up a sweet roll with a quiet word of thanks. You waved it off as you raised your smoothie to your lips, flinching when you tasted how overwhelmingly sweet it was. You turned to find Satoru standing behind you, holding out your smoothie. Besides a slight dusting of pink across the tops of his cheeks, he seemed entirely composed again. 

“Sorry,” you murmured, trading cups with him.

He quirked an eyebrow at you as he raised his smoothie to his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, he licked the side of his straw, finally drawing it into his mouth. He took several long swallows, holding your gaze unwaveringly as he did. Something about the action seemed intimate, provocative, and it was heating your insides. What on earth was happening to you?

“Oh, please.” His voice was lower than usual, husky. “Don’t be.”

——————————————————————

For once, you wound up at Satoru’s apartment. He’d walked you to your car, only half a lot away from his, only to find that it wouldn’t start. Why drive across town to your place, only to need a ride back in the morning to meet the tow truck, when you could simply stay the night with him? You had your laptop, there was no reason you couldn’t work from his home office the next day while he was away at family business meetings.

As he unlocked the front door, you tried to remember the last time you’d been here, rather than having him over to your shabby, cramped shoebox. You never could quite put your finger on why, but he loved your place. Cozy, he’d called it. And you guessed it was, in comparison.

He flipped on the light, the sound echoing down the hall, and stepped over the threshold, gesturing for you to step inside. You toed off your shoes, padding through the house to the kitchen. Satoru followed, stripping off his jacket and the blindfold he’d been wearing like a headband.

“I don’t think there’s much in the fridge, but we can order takeout. You remember where the menus are?”

“Of course.” You opened the right-most drawer in the island, withdrawing a stack of takeout menus with a grin.

Satoru grinned right back. “Order whatever you want, pick something good for me. I’m going to take a shower real quick.” You hummed as he dropped his wallet on the counter, thumbing through the worn pages before you.

When Satoru had first moved into this apartment, his mother had hired a maid and a chef. Only the best for her precious son, you thought wryly. Satoru hadn’t been having it. He’d been polite to them, of course, but kept an impeccable house with nothing for the maid to clean, and ordered takeout every night, leaving the chef’s meals untouched in the refrigerator before insisting she take them home herself. When his mother had shown up to scold him, he’d listened patiently to her lecture and then promptly changed the locks. 

You grinned at the memory, but it was short-lived. Your thoughts drifted to the time after he’d come home from the hospital, silent and uninterested in food, keeping a clean house, or anything else. His mother had hired a housekeeper again, insisting that your presence was unnecessary. In spite of her cold words and colder attitude, you’d stuck around, trying to get Satoru to take an interest in… anything.

He’d lost so much weight in those months.

You shook yourself out of your spiraling thoughts. Whatever had prompted him, he’d bought the gym for The Amanai Project, sent the housekeeper home with her next month’s pay, a bouquet of flowers, and his thanks, and changed the locks all in one day.

His mother had been furious.

That thought made you smile, despite yourself.

You heard the shower start, picked a menu at random, and called the number. You ordered enough sushi to feed a small army- an assortment of maki and uramaki rolls, nigiri, sashimi, miso soup, and two servings of deep-fried bananas- and smiled when you opened Satoru’s wallet to a picture of the two of you.

You made a circuit of the apartment while you waited. It looked just like it had the last time you’d been here, neat and bare. You walked into the home office, the only room with any personality, and smied at the photos scattered over the walls and shelves. You and Satoru as children, as teenagers at prom together, beaming together on the day you’d both graduated university; photos of him standing with his parents and grandparents, more serious than you were used to seeing him; and then, another photo, tucked behind several others. You stopped to pick it up.

Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru sat in a line, all beaming at the camera. Satoru’s arm reached around Shoko’s back, hand resting on Suguru’s shoulder. You could hardly see his eyes behind the dark glasses he wore, but you thought his eyes might’ve been on Suguru.

You swallowed back a painful lump in your throat. You’d lied when you said your crush on Satoru had been over quickly. It had lasted well into your teenage years, only abating when you assumed Suguru had taken your place as his best friend. Tall, handsome, charming Suguru with his smooth voice, soft smile, and never putting up with Satoru’s shit. That was until he disappeared, right when Satoru became a shell.

You knew the events were related, but you’d never found the courage to ask. Now, looking at this photo, you wondered what had happened to him. You wondered what had happened to Shoko, too. You knew she and Satoru still spoke from time to time, but they’d been closer before. Jealousy pricked at your heart before you stomped it ruthlessly out.

It had been a silly crush, nothing more. You were best friends. That was everything you wanted, everything you needed, and more than you could say for the other two.

You scolded yourself for being uncharitable, returning the picture frame to its place on the shelf before stalking from the office to Satoru’s bedroom.

The bed was perfectly made, unrumpled and unslept in. You realized with a jolt that the last time you’d been in his bedroom had been during those awful months, two years ago. You scowled lightly, turning back to the living room, and noticed for the first time that the larger couch looked slightly rumpled, with a throw blanket haphazardly hanging from the back- the only item out of place in the whole apartment.

In the bathroom, the tap turned off. You darted out of the bedroom, opting to sit at the kitchen island, watching the city lights from the picture window. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes before you could feel Satoru behind you, even though you hadn’t heard him approach. 

When you turned, he was smiling softly at you. 

“Have you been sleeping on the couch?”

You knew you’d shocked him by the smile he flipped up. “Whaaat? No, of course no-”

“Toru.”

He glares at you, but doesn’t answer. He’s saved by the doorbell, which he bolts to answer. 

You let out a breath, turning to the fridge to get drinks. You pull out two bottles of tea, along with a glass and a container of honey for Satoru. He’s laying out your feast, eyes pointedly on the food. 

You decide not to push the issue. For now. 

“I left some clothes for you in the bathroom,” he says. 

“Thank you,” you hum. “I’ll shower as soon as we’re done here.”

He hums in return, mouth already filled with food, then swallows. “Sorry about the kids,” he says. 

You grin. “Sorry for rocking your world.”

A strange look passes over his features, and when he speaks, you get the feeling that he’s not saying what he had intended to. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re not that good.” The words drip with his customary, good-natured arrogance, complete with the full-blown smirk you’ve only ever seen on him. He winks, making you laugh, but there’s some tiny part of you that’s oddly wounded by this. 

He’s returned his focus to his meal, but then he looks up at you from under his stark, white lashes. His voice is softer, more sincere when he speaks again. 

“We should practice.”

And for a moment, the absurdity of the statement is so intense that you can’t, won’t understand him. 

“Practice what?”

“Kissing.” He says it so calmly, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to say. 

You choke on your tea. 

“We should practice kissing,” you drone back. 

Satoru throws his hands in the air. “Exactly! I’m glad you agree.” When you continue to stare, he chuckles, going back to his food. “I think the gig would be up if something like that happened in front of our wedding guests.” 

And after a moment’s contemplation, you have to admit that he’s right. You hadn’t considered the way you’d appear to onlookers. Years and years of close friendship had you comfortable with each other, in each others’ space, and you knew you’d look genuine to anyone close enough to see you, because your affection for each other was genuine. You and Satoru had always been touchy- leaning on each other or holding hands, arms around each other or brushing when you walked or talked. Physical closeness was natural to you both. 

But kissing each other was not natural, you told yourself. Even as your mind unhelpfully reminded you that it had felt quite natural to lean up and press your lips to his. You blinked away the memory, pasting on a smile to hide your unease at the way your heartbeat sped. 

“Oh yeah, I’d expected a smoother recovery from you,” you teased. “What did the kids have to say about that?”

He grumbled something that sounded distinctly like “lovesick fool”, but when you asked for Satoru to repeat himself, he said “They said it was so cool.”

You giggled. “It’s ‘cause they’ve never seen anyone shut you up.”

He lay a hand against his heart. “It’s because they never believe me when I say the ladies love me. Victory has never tasted so sweet.” You laughed, Satoru smiled, and what little tension had managed to build dissipated. 

You stood to stretch. “I’ll make us breakfast tomorrow if you do the dishes.”

Satoru scoffed. “I have a perfectly good dishwasher, and we both know I’ll be up way before you.”

You stuck your tongue out, earning you a snicker. “I’m going to shower.” Satoru waved you off, stuffing the last of his deep-fried bananas into his mouth as he brushed off his hands. You padded into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and stripped off your clothes once the door shut behind you. Stepping into the shower, you let the scalding water soothe your muscles as your mind kicked into overdrive. 

Practice kissing Satoru Gojo. Something pooled low in your belly, something hungry and molten.

You knew, logically, that having the friendship with him that you do put you in a position most girls would be wildly envious of. You’d always known that, even if it hadn’t affected you. So why is it affecting you now? 

You knew, logically, that Satoru is insanely attractive. You’d seen it firsthand countless times over the years. Any time you’d go out together, you could feel jealous stares on you, even if Satoru never noticed. It used to make you feel somewhat smug, and somewhat guilty, as though your presence could keep away the girl he was meant to have. You would tease him, shamelessly mocking the fluttering lashes and starry eyes turned his way. So why did you feel so starry-eyed yourself?

You knew, logically, that this was a good and smart plan. His parents would be looking for any sign that this marriage was less than what it seemed, and it was wise to cover your bases. You just had to think about it intellectually. Just had to remember that it was all part of the trick.

Dressing in his boxers and sweats and a shirt two sizes too big, you step into his bedroom to see him reclining on the bed, face flushed and chest heaving, and all wisdom deserts you. 

His eyes are closed. He’s got one muscled arm propped behind his head, while the long fingers of his other hand stroke that damn blindfold thoughtfully. He turns and pierces you with that blue gaze, eyes darker than usual, and inclines his head slightly as he takes in a deep breath. His eyes rake you from head to toe, taking in the way you swim in his clothes. You pad toward the bed, crawling over the expanse of it until you lay next to him, hands laced nervously over your stomach.

He sits up to place the blindfold on the nightstand, then rolls so that he’s hovering over you. “Shall we?” he murmurs. His voice is velvet, soft and rough, and intellectual thought becomes more difficult as you try to remember the last time you kissed anyone before today.

You nod. It feels stiff, and you hope that he doesn’t notice. Hell, of course he notices. You hope that he can’t see why you’re so uptight, and do your best to tuck away your racing thoughts so that you can’t examine them either.

He raises his free hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek, touch so feather-soft that you could’ve almost imagined it. You don’t know which of you moved first, but you’re inexplicably closer to each other now, noses nearly touching. Satoru’s warm, sweet breath ghosts over your lips. His luminescent eyes scan your face, searching for… what? you wonder breathlessly.

It’s an agonizingly long moment in which your traitorous brain chants kisshimkisshimkisshim.

“Relax,” he whispers, and you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

His lips brush yours, lighter than his fingertips on your jaw. Then again, with the barest hint of pressure. You’ve only just begun, but your heart is already pounding. Satoru kisses you a third time and the trick is all but forgotten.

He moves his lips slowly, carefully against yours. You exercise every last ounce of restraint to move as slowly, as carefully as he does. Gentle as this is, your lungs are burning for air by the time he pulls back, only far enough so that you can both gulp down the warm air between you. He shifts so that his body partially covers yours before descending again. This time, in addition to the soft pressure, his tongue slides delicately over your bottom lip. 

Forgetting yourself, you grip the front of his t-shirt, dragging him down so suddenly that he grunts, mouth parting to allow your tongue to explore. You run it along the back of his teeth, the inside of his bottom lip, sliding it against his as he presses into your mouth for his turn.

His tongue is slow, gentle, as he maps the inside of your mouth. The hand that’s not propping him up is on your neck now, thumb across the front of your throat, caressing the flesh there. You begin to lose patience, unable to grasp how unaffected he is by this when you’re so close to abandoning your dignity for more, more, more. 

With as much self-control as you can muster, you slide one hand around his side under his shirt. His breath catches. Your hands must be cold. You use your grip on his shirt and his waist to pull until he loses his balance, body pressed against you for one short, blissful moment. Your eyes shoot open, meeting a roiling ocean as your hips meet and you feel something hard against your inner thigh. Wait, is he…?

He lifts himself so that he hovers over you, body too far away now for you to confirm what you thought you felt. He kisses you several times in quick succession, lighter than before, as he holds himself up over you. You wonder if you’re imagining the quiver in his limbs; you must be.

Then he pulls back with a crazed smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. His cheeks flame and his blown pupils snap with something you don’t have a name for.

“Well that was much better,” he says. Then you blink and he’s up, sitting on the side of the bed for just a second before standing up. He walks out of the room and you’re left reeling, lifting a hand to your swollen lips.

What just happened?

Anxiety is beginning to build before he’s back in the doorway with a glass of water in hand. He hits the lightswitch before coming in, hiding himself from your searching eyes in the gloom, backlit by the lamp in the living room.

“Here,” he says, handing you the glass. You sit up and take it from his hands, draining the whole thing to wash the addictive taste of him out of your mouth enough to concentrate. It hardly works.

He’s halfway across the room before you realize it, and you find panic flooding your chest again.

“Wait!” you call. He stops, turning so that you can just make out his profile in the dark.

You feel tongue-tied. Against your will, you remember the way you felt at eleven, at fourteen, at sixteen, unable to speak or move or breathe around him, so in awe of his presence.

This would be a really, really bad time for those feelings to resurface.

But you can’t seem to stop them.

“What?” You must have been quiet for too long, because his voice is tinged with worry.

You scramble for any coherent thought.

“Where are you going?”

You see him raise a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous gesture startlingly like one the boy from your scrambled thoughts makes.

“The couch. I figured you could sleep in the bed, and I-”

“You should stay,” you cut off. After what had just happened, after knowing what it felt like to kiss him, if you’d put any thought into anything else first, you’d have never gotten the words out. 

But you couldn't think. Not now, not with the taste of him on your tongue. Regardless of your mounting fear and his being the source, you couldn’t bear for him to be away from you. Not now.

Satoru didn’t say anything. He stood frozen, and again, you began to wonder whether some invisible boundary had been crossed.

Maybe this was why friends didn’t kiss each other.

Shame and nerves choked you. You shouldn’t have touched him, shouldn’t have embarrassed him like that. Of course it was natural for his thoughts to wander, it certainly had nothing to do with you. A natural response, nothing mo-

“Okay.”

You let out a breath and the pounding in your ears subsided. He left the room, returning after flipping off the light in the living room, and lowered himself gently into the bed. He stretched out on his back, hands at his sides, and you lowered yourself to the cushions with yours tucked to your chest.

The silence was deafening. You weren’t used to it, banter flowing easily from both sides for all your lives.

You turned abruptly, unable to bear it any longer.

“Toru, what happened? With Suguru? And with Shoko?”

He sucked in a breath from his place across the bed. You worried again, as was becoming too common, that you shouldn’t have spoken. He didn’t speak for so long that you thought he wouldn't answer you, and then you started to worry that he’d call off the whole fake wedding or, worse, your whole friendship.

You’d never asked, too afraid of sending him spiralling off the precipice and losing him entirely. But you were so off-balance from the raging storm of your emotions that you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Amanai died.”

You counted several beats before speaking. “I know that part,” you said softly. “Suguru was with her when she was shot, right?”

A long pause. “Yeah.”

“And you were outside.”

“Yeah.”

“Satoru, it wasn’t your fault.”

“We were arrogant.” There was self-loathing dripping from the words. “We shouldn't have assumed the estate would be safe ground.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. This had been a mistake. Damn your curiosity, you should never have dredged this up. 

“I wanted… I killed that guy, the shooter.” You’d known, but the jolt that went through you reminded you that he’d never actually said it out loud. Not to you. “And I wanted to kill the whole group of them, that whole family that ordered the execution. Everyone who stood there, applauding that a fifteen year-old girl was dead. And I would have snapped and done it if Suguru hadn’t stopped me.”

Your heart constricted painfully. Suguru had said, but you hadn’t realized it had been so serious. Satoru let out a long sigh. Subconsciously, you reached out to loop your fingers through his. He squeezed gently.

“Remember the week after the funeral, that day I left you here? When Shoko called?” You nodded. You’d handed him the phone when Shoko asked, watching wordlessly as he stalked out, and then sat in his apartment, drowning in terror until he’d walked back through the door, silent as when he’d left. He turned to you now. Even in the dark, you could make out the faint gleam of his eyes. “Sorry for scaring you, back then,” he whispered. You reached your other hand out to lay it on his chest.

He took in another deep breath. “Suguru went out on a job. He was supposed to bring some guy in for questioning.” You waited with bated breath for him to say the words you didn’t want to hear. “He killed him.”

You sat up, peering down through the darkness. “What?”

“He killed him. Told the board that it was self-defense, but Shoko and I knew it wasn’t. He confessed it to her, and she told me.” You sat in stunned silence. This was so much worse than you’d imagined it could be.

“And you?” Satoru said nothing. Dread pricked your spine. “You… you wanted to…”

“I didn’t, though.” He’d tensed, as though he expected you to draw away at any moment. “Shoko had already built a case against him when she called me. She just needed a confession. So I got it. Even if I thought that it wasn’t fair.”

You scooted the tiniest bit closer. “Not fair?”

Satoru looked at you out of the corner of his eye, seeming to consider his next words. “That he found the absolution he denied me.”

You considered that. “Did you ever find it?” you finally asked. “Absolution?”

He seemed to hold his breath. “I think so,” he said softly. You nodded, and for long minutes, you each sat lost in thought under the cover of darkness. Then, when sleep pressed you down, you closed the last distance between you to lay your head on his chest. You felt Satoru start before carefully wrapping an arm around you. And maybe you were already dreaming, but you thought you felt him press a gentle kiss to your temple.

You wondered again if you were dreaming when you woke, warm and comfortable. You blinked yourself awake, squinting at the clock across the room. Too early. You flopped your head back down and then froze when the arm around your waist pulled you back against a feverish body.

Satoru.

You raised your head, blinking at the clock again in disbelief. Satoru was always up at the crack of dawn. 7:45 was not late, but most days he’d already be out and about. Carefully, so as not to wake him, you turned your head. His brilliant white hair flopped over his eyes, making him look vulnerable. Young, so like the little boy you’d said you’d marry all those years ago.

You smiled at the memory and rested your head back on your pillow. You looked at the clock. 7:46. You’d let him sleep until 8:00. You began to snuggle backward and froze.

You could feel Satoru’s length pressed against the curve of your butt. For one, heartstopping moment, you let yourself melt back. Then you were berating yourself. 

He was asleep, nothing more. No man woke up in bed with any girl without a hard-on and it had nothing to do with you.

The moment you broke contact, that arm tightened again, drawing you back more firmly. You muffled a groan, letting your eyes slide shut. 

A really, really bad time for those feelings to resurface again, you thought dryly, heart speeding against your ribcage. You glanced up. 7:47.

You couldn’t lay here like this for thirteen minutes. You’d just have to slide out from his grasp and hope you didn’t wake him.

Just before you moved though, Satoru breathed in deeply. His arms tightened around you again, one hand lowering to your hip to press you back against him. You held your breath as he nuzzled the side of your neck.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. He curled further around you, molding your body against his. It made you feel weak. “What time is it?”

You turned to the clock again, cheeks burning. “7:48.”

“Shit!” Satoru flew up, making it from the far side of the bed to the bathroom in one fluid motion. The door slammed and you stared at it for a moment before you started to giggle. Well, so much for breakfast.

It’s 7:51 when the bathroom door flies open to reveal Satoru in all his shirtless glory, muscles rippling as he tears through his closet, toothbrush clenched between his teeth. Then it’s back to the bathroom, door not quite shut, and you have to make yourself turn away from the sliver of pale skin you can see through the crack. You hear him spit, then the door swings open again. 7:53. He’s fumbling the last few buttons on his shirt, long legs carrying him to the mirror in the corner.

“Sorry, babe, I have an errand I have to run before the meeting this morning.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning his head side to side, and then spins and walks toward you. “Tow company will be here to pick you up at nine.” He bends down, planting his hands on either side of your shoulders, and kisses you passionately before sprinting out the door. “Call me if they give you any trouble!”

The front door slams, and seven minutes after waking up, the whirlwind that is your best friend storms out the front door. You raise a hand unconsciously to your lips.

What in the world?

By the time you manage to haul yourself out of bed, after an already eventful morning, you’ve convinced yourself that this is simply more practice. Building habits, as it were, so as not to raise suspicion when you inevitably end up out with his family, out with friends.

It makes perfect sense. 

You brush your teeth and get dressed, in the same clothes you wore here yesterday, and open your laptop to get a little work done before the tow company picks you up. Just as Satoru said they would, they ring the bell at nine sharp. You stuff your laptop into your bag, locking the door with your spare key, and follow the driver to his truck. 

You make polite small-talk with the driver- mostly about your crappy car- for the short drive to the tow yard, thanking him as he holds the door open for you. When you turn toward the office, he stops you.

“Oh, miss, I have your key right here.”

He hands you a key that certainly isn’t yours. You look from it to him.

“This isn’t my key.”

The driver scratches the back of his neck, pointing across the lot. “Well, according to Mr. Gojo, it is.”

You turn to see a shiny new coupe with a massive red bow on the hood. You blink at it, then turn back to the driver. “Where’s my car?”

He shifts his weight nervously. “I don’t rightly know, miss. Mr. Gojo called yesterday and said not to worry about it. Said he’d be dropping off a new one- nothing but the best for his fiancée. Came by this morning, handed me the key himself.”

You turn back to the car in stunned silence.

“I can see about getting your old car back, miss…”

“No, thank you.” You turned to smile at the driver. “I can take it up with my fiancé.” 

The driver nodded, shuffling off to the office in the center of the lot at great speed. You walked over to your new ill-gotten vehicle, circling it slowly. This was a huge gift.

You let yourself into the driver’s seat, reveling in the luxury of a vehicle younger than yourself, let alone one of such caliber. Then, calmly, you dialed Satoru’s number.

The phone rang twice, and then he picked up with a joyous “Love of my life!”

You sucked down a breath, and then roared into the phone. “GOJO!”

——————————————————————

The final weeks until the wedding are so busy that you hardly have time to think about the day itself, but they’re a raging success.

You and Satoru go apartment hunting, despite your protests, and end up with a penthouse apartment with an office, a guest room, and more space than you know how to decorate. He hires a moving company to pack your humble, cozy apartment and his sleek one, refusing to hear any protests about keeping your lease.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to get you out of that shithole for years. You really think I’m letting this opportunity pass me by?” You grumble about making rent and he tugs you close with an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Rent, as if. Consider it repayment for going along with all this.”

You don’t bother pointing out that “all this” was your idea in the first place; you know it would be useless.

Your parents fly in the week of the wedding and insist on taking you and Satoru out for dinner “one last time before the big day” as thanks for Satoru’s generosity in putting them up in “such a lovely hotel”.

You go to your final fitting and your dress is perfect, curving and flowing in all the right places. Your mother cries, and that sets you to crying too. 

Satoru kisses you, more than once. He kisses you first thing every morning when you emerge from his room, kisses you each time you pass each other over the course of the days, kisses you last thing at night before making himself comfortable on the couch. You have to force yourself not to ask him to stay in the bed with you, afraid of what you might do if he agrees.

You have to remind yourself that none of this is real.

Shoko comes to town, determined not to miss the big event despite the space that’s opened up between her and Satoru. Seeing them together, you realize that it probably never opened at all. It’s Suguru’s space; a tiny, infinite rift between them. You can see how bittersweet the reunion is, for both of them, and find yourself hoping that it won’t be the last time they meet. Hoping that they can both heal until they can really be friends again.

You have an incredibly tense dinner with Satoru’s parents, made all the more stressful by the agreement to do everything to sell them on the idea that you’re hopelessly in love with each other. At dinner, you hold hands through every course, constantly looking at each other with syrupy smiles and fluttering lashes. When you retire to the restaurant’s overpriced lounge for drinks, Satoru pulls you down into his lap, holding you firmly in place the entire time. He only has one drink, but he gets noticeably more handsy as the contents of his glass disappear.

You ruffle his hair affectionately, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

Only the fact that his parents are sitting feet away stops you from asking whether there’s something in his pocket, or whether he’s just happy to see you. “Lightweight,” you breathe instead, trying not to move too much lest he notice his body’s reaction and push you away. He giggles, dragging you forward to plant a sloppy kiss on your mouth. You allow yourself to relish the moment, embracing the longing you’ve begun to feel. For his parents’ benefit, you tell yourself. You’re only doing your part to sell the lie.

You can practically feel the steam coming from his mother’s ears.

Standing on Satoru’s balcony the night before the wedding, he levels you with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen from him. “Are you sure about this?”

You think back on the past months, comparing them to all the years before. What had even changed, besides the fact that now, you were friends who sometimes kissed? Who sometimes came dangerously close to feeling each other up? What had changed, besides the fact that now, you were almost certain that you’d never moved past your feelings for him?

You forced yourself to relax and smile. “I’m sure.”

Satoru took your hands in his, turning you to face him. “You’re giving up a lot for me.”

That made you laugh. You looked up, pleased to see the curve of amusement on his lips. “What am I giving up? It’s not like I’d be spending my time with anyone else. Besides, you’ve bought me a beautiful ring, a gorgeous dress, and a brand new car. I think I’m actually gonna come out of this pretty far ahead.”

“Don’t forget the penthouse,” he teased, and your smile dropped to a deadpan.

“Satoru, we’ve discussed the penthouse.” He waved this off. “I’m not keeping it!” you protested.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” He grinned down at you, breeze lifting his hair from his forehead. Without meaning to, you reached up to smooth it back, thumb running over the scar over his eyebrow. He cleared his throat, growing somber. “This time tomorrow, we’re going to be married.”

You let your fingertips drift down his cheek, allowing yourself just one more private moment of weakness before your heart ended up on display tomorrow for everyone to see. Hopefully, everyone but him. You nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. For all his sweetness, you’d seldom seen the tenderness he bent on you in the smile he offered. His eyes were liquid, soft as ever, when he raised your hand to his lips.

“Let’s get some sleep,” he murmured, and you agreed, if only to escape before his attention caused you to crumble.

——————————————————————

The wedding day itself is surreal, and it passes in a blur. You wake in Satoru’s bedroom with a bouquet of roses on the bedside, along with a note in his bold writing.

“To the best friend I’ve ever had, thank you for putting up with my shit and having my back. We both know that I’m a treasure. I only hope you know that you are, too. You deserve the world, and I will lay it at your feet. On this, our wedding day, I alone am the honored one.”

The note is signed with a flourish of his name. You smile as you raise it to your lips, taking in the faint scent of his cologne. You are the honored one on this day. You lay the note next to your bra, fully intent on keeping it close, and then you hit the ground running.

You shower and brush your teeth and after that, it’s out the door to the waiting car to be driven to the vast Gojo estate. Despite spending time here as a child, the place is still incredibly intimidating with its marble arches and sprawling gardens. You feel your heartbeat speed as you see the decorations- fairy lights and tulle, vines and roses, black silk ribbons and eucalyptus branches.

It’s more beautiful than you could have imagined.

You make your way to the guest house and sit through an hour of hair and makeup, laughing with your mother about all the childish shenanigans you and Satoru have gotten up to over the years, and calm your anxious hands and stomach by sampling the hors d’oeuvres arranged prettily on silver platters.

Your father sits in the corner, eyes shining with pride and unshed tears. He’s got a cocktail of painkillers ready to go; nothing will keep him from walking with his little girl today.

You would feel guilty if Satoru weren’t already such a fixture in all of your lives. You only hope that your parents won’t be too hurt when this is all over.

It’s only once your parents step out so that you can change into your gown that Satoru’s mother visits you.

“Tell me, my dear, must we really continue this charade?”

You feel your heart prick with ice. “I assure you, Gojo-sama, that there is no charade,” you lie smoothly. “I love your son.” Just enough honesty to ring true.

Her glare is frozen. “I will give you six million yen if you walk out of here and away from my son.”

You raise your chin in defiance. “No.”

“Seven million.”

“You cannot buy me, no matter the price.”

“Ten million yen.”

Your ire has been steadily rising since she stepped into the room. Now, it eclipses your anxiety like a crashing wave. You lean forward, well into her space, and feel a mean thrill when she leans away from you. Your voice is cold. “I do not care what you think of me. But it’s clear that you have no concept of your son’s worth.” You tilt your head, summoning the haughtiest tone you’ve ever used. “You dishonor him.” His mother reels back, scowling.

“You don’t deserve my son,” she sneers.

You laugh at that. “I agree. Yet somehow, he’s decided otherwise.”

She peers down her nose at you. You expect another round of vitriol, but to your surprise, she turns on her heel to leave. Round one, you.

You blow out your breath, shake your hands, and straighten your shoulders. Within a few minutes, your parents are back and then it’s smooth sailing again. 

Right up until you and your father hobble to the door to walk to the ceremony. 

Your father starts to sniffle. You turn and realize that he’s tearing up, putting on his bravest face and doing his utmost not to blubber. 

“Oh, papa,” you murmur. You turn to take his face in your hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, hime.” He reaches a hand up to your face, carefully avoiding your hair and touching lightly so as not to smear your makeup. “I am just so happy. Your mother and I used to talk about what a wonderful life you and Satoru would build together and now it’s finally beginning.”

The shock nearly knocks you off your feet. “You… what?”

He sniffles, patting your cheek and lowering his head to compose himself. “You make an old man proud. There’s no one else I’d rather give you away to.”

You move your mouth, but can’t form any words.

And then, it’s time. The great door creaks open and you tilt your head down to hide your expression. You take a few deep, steadying breaths before raising your head… and promptly losing them.

The lawn is surprisingly empty, though you suppose his parents planned it that way. Regardless, every face fades as you set eyes on Satoru.

Satoru, the best and oldest friend you’ve ever had.

Satoru, who’s always been in your corner, no matter what.

Satoru, who looks devastatingly handsome in black and white, with a boutonniere of one, single rose almost the same color as his eyes. Almost, but not quite. Satoru, whose eyes are wider than ever, staring slack-jawed as you make your way toward him down the aisle, moving slowly for your fathers’ sake. Satoru, whose hands drop from where they’d been fiddling with his cuffs.

Satoru, who looks at you with such longing that you nearly collapse.

Your heart stops, and then sprints to make up for lost time.

This day is going to kill you. 

You know that your face is bearing every emotion, that nothing is hidden in this instant. 

And it’s nothing compared to the way he looks at you.

It’s all an act, you remind yourself. Tears spring to your eyes. All an act, but every person in this room is eating it up. Including you. When did he get so good at acting?

The corner of his lip curls in an awestruck smile and you’re a goner.

Who were you kidding?

You let the tears stream, grateful at least that they would lend authenticity to the performance. And for the first time, you feel your heart sink. 

You’re just as in love with Satoru Gojo now as you had been at eleven years old.

You’d been a fool to think you’d get out of this unscathed.

Over the course of your mental collapse, Satoru’s smile widens until you can just make out the tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth that only ever show themselves when he’s at his happiest.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You just have to remember that it’s all for show.

You force yourself to smile.

And know instantly that you’ve made a mistake.

You had to be twenty paces or more away, but those dimples disappeared the moment your lips spread.

No one else would ever notice, but you did.

Because no one else would ever notice, but he had.

Those cyan eyes narrowed fractionally and you knew that he could tell that something was off. You could see the anxiety surfacing as you got close.

To feel so seen…

You pursed your lips, just by a hairs’ breadth, and Satoru’s face relaxed. The silent conversation you had in those last few steps did wonders to ease your nerves, and you could tell that it did the same for him. Between one heartbeat and the next, your father was kissing your cheek, placing your hand firmly in Satoru’s outstretched one.

You couldn’t hear a word anyone said- not your father, not the priest, not even Satoru. You blinked rapidly, finally locking eyes with your fiancé.

“Baby? Are you okay?” he whispered, and you could tell from the slight strain in his voice that he was repeating the question.

You squeezed his hands. “I’m okay,” you whispered back. You let yourself fall into your role, embracing the fantasy. You felt nearly giddy. “Let’s get married.”

And oh, there was that smile again, canyon-wide and dimpled just for you. “Let’s.”

You could hardly concentrate enough to repeat your vows, too caught up in the way Satoru’s eyes sparkled, locked onto you. Too mesmerized by the way his mouth moved to truly hear what he said. Before your head could catch up with the feelings speeding through your heart, Satoru was wrapping a strong arm around your waist, pulling you firmly to his chest. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his smile.

“Hi, wifey.” And then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You couldn’t stop your hands coming up to cradle his face; couldn’t stop your mad smile when he bent you back nearly parallel to the ground; couldn’t stop the shudder that ran down your spine at the soft moan he let out when you ran your tongue along the seam of his lips. They parted, allowing you to lick along the inside of his lip before you bit down softly.

Only the applause from your guests covered the animalistic growl that tore itself from his throat.

You felt a heady thrill at your apparent power and giggled. After a heated moment and a shaky breath, so did Satoru. He straightened, pulling you up with him, and raised your joined hands overhead for all to see.

Mr. and Mrs. Satoru Gojo.

——————————————————————

For being largely made up of Satoru’s colleagues and the elder Gojo’s business acquaintances, your guests were incredibly gracious. Every person seemed to want to personally convey their best wishes; a happy marriage, good fortunes, continued health. You and Satoru thanked each person in turn, holding hands all the while.

And each time someone new came to express their pleasure, you felt your mind and heart crack just a bit more under the weight of the lie.

“We’re almost done,” he murmured against your ear. You’d finally made your way to the dance floor, taking solace in the security and solitude of Satoru’s arms. You nodded, cheek rubbing against his chest. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded again. “Just counting down the minutes until we can go home.”

He chuckled, drawing you closer. “Well, tell you what, then. Let me go say goodnight to my parents and then we can leave, okay?” You smiled up at him, grateful.

“That sounds wonderful, husband.”

He grinned at you with a childish sort of glee. “Glad to hear it, wife.” He leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and then spun you away from himself. “I’ll meet you by the altar in a few minutes?”

You smiled over your shoulder, turning to survey the crowd. Your parents had left an hour ago with profuse apologies; your father’s medication was wearing off and he was going to need to be off his feet, quickly. You waved and smiled at the few friends of Satoru’s you knew- Kento Nanami, Yu Haibara, Utahime Iori, Kiyotaka Ijichi- and waded through the crowd of celebrating people.

Satoru had asked whether it bothered you that none of your friends had come. The truth was that when life got busy and your friends stopped reaching out, when no one could accept how much time and emotion you put into Satoru after the incident, you’d let most of those friendships slide. Why should you beg for anyone’s attention when the only person whose attention you truly craved centered on you to begin with?

You’d never regretted that conviction, never even questioned it. Not even today.

You made rounds to the tables that gestured you over for long minutes before excusing yourself, breaking for the altar. You were passing an alcove when you heard Shoko’s voice, and you felt yourself perk up. You hadn’t had a chance to thank her for coming, and you wanted to make sure that you didn’t miss the opportunity to talk to her. Even if you didn’t feel the need to have a lot of friends, it would be refreshing to have a girl friend again- and she’d been important to Satoru, once. You wanted to make sure that she knew her presence was more than welcome in your lives.

It was only once you reached the garden wall that you realized she didn’t sound happy.

Then you heard Satoru’s voice.

“I just really don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of this!”

“Because, Satoru! I understand that you care for her, but I really think you’re making the biggest mistake of your life!”

“Then let me make it!” Satoru roared, and the words had you breaking out into a cold sweat.

They couldn’t mean…?

He seemed to remember where they were and lowered his voice. “Then let me make it. If it’s such a huge mistake, you’ll be the first to know, alright? I’ll call you myself. ‘Shoko, you were right, I never should have married her.’ Is that what you want to hear?”

Your hands flew to cover your mouth, but they weren’t quick enough to muffle the pained sound that escaped you. You darted to put your back to the bower leading into their little section of the garden, praying to all the gods that you hadn’t been heard. For once, despite Satoru’s involvement, they listened.

Shoko sighed. “No, Satoru, it’s not. I just want you to be happy. I just don’t think you’re-”

You raised your hands to cover your ears and bolted away. You didn’t care how childish it was, you couldn’t bear to hear another word. You ran, heels catching small rocks and roots as you held your breath in an effort not to cry. If the tears fell, your face would puff up and your makeup would be ruined. There would be questions. You couldn’t deal with questions, especially not now.

You tucked yourself into the greenhouse and sucked down mouthfuls of cool air, staring straight at the ceiling. That was supposed to help, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t stay here for too long. You had to get control of yourself, and quickly. You tried desperately to conjure up any happy memories that didn’t involve Satoru and came up woefully short.

Maybe you needed some friends of your own, after all.

You breathed in, held, released. Breathed in, held, released. You repeated this until your hands stopped shaking, and then did it five more times for good measure. You straightened your shoulders. Then you walked back out into the throng. Head held high, smile firmly in place, you strode to the altar, catching sight of Satoru as he stepped out of the shade of a tree and into view.

Your breath caught in your throat. He was so beautiful. He beamed when he saw you, looking a touch deflated, but irritation all but vanished. You knew by the subtle shift of his eyebrows, though, that your own smile wasn’t fooling him.

——————————————————————

The ride back to your new penthouse was blessedly short, and blessedly quiet. With a driver from his parents’ staff, neither of you dared to say a word of meaning, settling on holding hands and whispering to each other about dinner and movies and sleep instead. When the car stopped, Satoru was out in a flash to open your door, handing you out like some Victorian lady. No matter how confused you felt, it made your mouth twitch up in a smile.

He led you through the apartment lobby and into the private elevator to your new home, even holding the door open for the driver following with a cart of wedding gifts. You clutched his hand the whole ride up, gluing yourself to his side even if you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. You could feel the worried glances he shot your direction when the driver wasn’t looking, though.

As soon as the elevator door opened, he was sweeping you up into his arms, striding purposefully across the short hall to your front door. You let yourself laugh as he managed to fish the keys out of his pocket without letting you slide so much as an inch, and swooned dramatically as he kicked in the door. He kissed you again and you felt your heart clench painfully. Then he turned to the driver, thanking him for his service and advising that he leave, lest he see something he’d rather not.

You’d never seen someone excuse themselves so quickly.

You both paused once the door clicked shut, waiting for the chime of the elevator, and then Satoru lowered you gently to the floor. You turned quickly, practically running into the living room. You began unfastening your jewelry, anything to keep your hands and eyes busy.

“Sweetheart?” He was worried. You knew better than to try to hide from him, but you’d hoped you could have even a moment longer to collect your thoughts. The drive here hadn’t been nearly long enough. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He was halfway across the room already. You knew that if he touched you, you’d lose your nerve.

“What did Shoko mean by ‘the biggest mistake of your life’?” The words were out before you could think better of them.

Abruptly, his footsteps stopped. The silence was deafening. With shaking hands, you laid your wedding jewelry on the coffee table, steeling yourself for whatever answer Satoru gave you.

You turned to face him and found him looking ashen and sick.

He swallowed hard.

“You heard that?”

Somehow, you’d expected something different. A denial, an indignant retort, even a joke. You scoffed in disbelief, only it didn’t sound much like a scoff. It sounded like a sob.

Satoru took two steps forward before stopping at your raised hand.

“Listen, I can explain.”

“Explain what, Gojo?” A look of profound hurt crossed his face at your use of his family name, but you couldn’t… You had to put some distance between you. You didn’t want to believe that there was any truth to the words, but you knew now that there had to be.

“You didn’t even argue with her! ‘The worst mistake of your life’?” He flinched then, finally breaking eye contact to look across the room past you. You choked on your tears, voice coming out harsh around the growing lump in your throat. “I know you never wanted to be married, but I-I thought I was helping you. I thought you wouldn’t care since it was only temporary. I thought you said this would be fun! You never told me you were having second thoughts!” 

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he said softly. “Shoko thinks I’m making a mistake because… because I’ve been in love with you since we were children.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he was reeling back, breathing ragged as his hands went to his hair, as though maybe he’d never said the words aloud. As though maybe he’d never admitted them to himself. You nearly staggered backward, too. “Please, sweetheart, just let me explain. I swear, I-”

“You’re in love with me?” you whispered. Your heart raced, hope lighting your veins aflame. Tears had been building since the conversation started. They began to run down your cheeks now, and you saw Satoru move as though he was going to come to you, to do anything to make them stop, before forcing himself to stand still. He’d always hated to see you cry.

He clenched his fists. His eyes slid shut, and the pain evident on his face was so great that you flashed, for a moment, to him waking up in that hospital bed; bindings around his wounds and tubing in his arms, oxygen mask on his face, waking so slowly, so grievously wounded that he’d asked you if he was dead.

“I would never,” he began slowly, “have made you stay.” He let that sink in before continuing, so softly that you could barely hear him. “I thought…” His voice trailed off as he sank to his knees, almost as though the words had sapped him of the strength to bear his own weight.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I tried so hard not to feel the way I felt. I know you never felt the same about me.”

Just like that, all of the pieces clicked into place. Every blank expression at every stupid joke or offhanded comment you’d made about your inevitable divorce; every flash of doubt, of disappointment in his eyes when you brought up that it was only a fake marriage; the way he’d answered Shoko, as if it hurt him to say the words; the fury he’d felt toward his parents; even the way he’d detached himself from you when your kisses had been too heated. He’d been afraid.

You began to shake your head.

Shoko thought he was making a mistake because she thought you didn’t love him. 

Because Satoru thought you didn’t love him.

He hadn’t stopped talking while your world crumbled around you.

“I thought that this was it, my chance for a little piece of all my dreams. I thought that I could have you by my side, just for a little while, that I could kiss you just once, and that it could carry me through the rest of my life.”

Your mind was spinning in a thousand directions, including a hysterical amusement. “You kissed me a lot more than once,” you whispered, a near-automated response borne of your shared sense of humor. 

Satoru let out a strangled noise. “I was selfish.” You opened your mouth to protest, to deny it, to say that you didn’t mean it like that- to tell him you loved him. But he barreled on, voice strained. 

“When you said you’d had a crush on me all those years ago, I thought ‘what if I could make her fall in love with me?’ I thought ‘this could be the rest of my life.’ And then you kissed me in the gym, and I knew that I had to try something, anything, everything. I knew that I…” He sucked in a deep breath and let out a breathless, awful, self-loathing laugh. “I thought that I couldn’t survive on just one kiss.”

He hung his head, burying his face in his hands. “Shoko knew the moment that she saw us together that I’d never told you how I felt. She figured it out so fast, I didn’t even get a chance to deny it.”

You’d unconsciously moved closer as he’d spoken. You threaded your fingers lightly through his hair and the air went out of him. He folded forward, hands coming to rest on either side of your feet.

“Please, baby, please forgive me. Shoko was right, it was unfair. It was so unfair to you. I’m so sorry.”

You tilted his head back to look up at you. He let you do it with a sharp intake of breath, gazing up at you with so much feeling that it nearly swept you off your feet.

“Please, sweetheart, say something. Anything,” he pleaded. He’d leaned forward to wrap his hands around the backs of your knees, drawing you closer to him. “Please.”

You had never in your life, ever heard Satoru beg for anything. Your heart galloped in your chest. 

“You weren’t unfair,” you whispered. You opened your mouth to say more, but he was already stuttering out more apologies as if you hadn’t spoken. If he was experiencing anything like the roaring in your ears, he probably hadn’t heard you.

“Please, please, forgive me. I’ll do anything. We can get an annulment tomorrow if you want, to hell with my parents. Just please, let me make it right. I’ll never say another word about this, not one.” He pressed his face further into your thighs, murmuring against the fabric. “I can’t be without you. I would die without you.”

Everything in your chest constricted violently. 

Of course, Satoru had a penchant for wild dramatics, making insane exaggerations out of anything and everything. A papercut was a mortal wound, a stubbed toe a shattered leg; a few degrees too warm and it was the seventh circle of hell, a few degrees too cool and it was the ninth; a runny nose might as well be a terminal illness, and boredom was just as serious.

This was not one of those exaggerations.

You didn’t want to think about a life without him, couldn’t dream of it, not even in your worst nightmares. Separating the two of you from each other was impossible, in any circumstance, in any world.

You knelt down, slotting your legs with Satoru’s, and tugged him forward by his hair. Your breaths mingled in the infinite, infinitesimal space between you, before you kissed him. The groan he let out was that of a wounded animal- pleading, haunted, and full of despair- as his hands rose to your cheeks. You could feel his restraint in the way his hands held you from coming any closer, in the way he barely moved his slack mouth, letting you kiss him. 

“Please,” he whispered again, and you could hear his heart breaking on the word. “Please don’t leave me. You can’t say goodbye to me. Not like this.”

“You idiot,” you whispered. Slowly, between kisses, you murmured, “Don’t you know I’ve been in love with you since the day we met?” Against all odds, Satoru pulled back from you, holding your face away from his between shaking hands. 

“Say it again,” he whispered, voice shot. 

“I’ve been in love with you-” And then, he’s kissing you, and there’s nothing restrained about it, and you realize just how much he must have been holding back when he’d kissed you before.

This isn’t his stunned inaction from the kiss in the gym; not the gentle exploration of your practice kissing, where it should have been obvious that he meant to memorize the way it felt; not the giddy, showy kiss from the altar and certainly not the chaste, PG kisses you’d shared throughout the reception. 

No. This kiss was all-consuming, desperate. Like Satoru meant to devour you, and maybe he did. He lapped at the inside of your lips, moaning softly. His long fingers roved over your body, pulling you closer until you gasped, and even that seemed to be not enough. 

He let out an impatient noise, low in the back of his throat, before dragging you forward and up in one fluid motion. His hands gripped you with near-bruising force, pulling you by your knees to wrap your legs around him, and then your back hit the cool glass wall of your penthouse with a dull thud.

You half gasped, half giggled through Satoru’s apologies, muffled by the incessant slide of his lips on yours. His lean, hard body pressed fully along yours, moving against you almost of its own accord. You could feel the thundering of his heart against your chest. With his hips pinning yours to the wall, he lifted one hand from its place at your waist to grip the back of your neck. 

Your hands finally, after all of the shock and movement of what was probably only the last 20 or so seconds, landed in his hair to tangle in the snowy strands. Satoru keened into your mouth, pressing even harder against you, a vibrating mass of wiry muscle and lanky elegance. You dropped one hand to squeeze at his bicep and wondered how you had ever ignored how hot your best friend was. 

The hand on the back of your neck tightened, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, allowing Satoru to stroke your tongue with his, gentle and searching and urgent all at once. The hand at your waist pulled you relentlessly forward, molding your bodies together, and you squeezed your legs to keep his hips locked against yours.

Satoru was murmuring against your lips, against the sensitive skin of your throat, against the shell of your ear, hot breath lighting your skin on fire where it touched. You caught only snatches of what he was saying, a litany of praise and pleading.

“I love you, I love you, I want you, I need you, stay with me, don’t leave me, let me please you, my wife, my wife, my perfect wife.”

Your head thumped against the wall as you tilted it back, granting him access to leave a trail of sloppy kisses from your mouth to your ear, down your throat to your collarbone, across the sheer material of your wedding gown to bite softly at your shoulder.

“Marry me,” he groaned.

You couldn’t help the airy giggle that bubbled up. “I already did.”

“Marry me for real,” he whined, breathless.

“Yes. Of course, yes.” “Yes,” he hissed, finally shifting away from your poor living room wall with you in his arms. He stumbled down the hallway, drunk on you, toward your marital bedroom, unable to stop kissing you. “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I don’t even know who I am without loving you. If I’m even a person without loving you.”

“I was so afraid that you didn’t love me the way I loved you that I spent years trying to convince myself that I didn’t love you, but I never could,” you confessed, words rushing out, and Satoru let out a sob against your throat.

“I could never not love you,” he groaned. “Never in a million years, not in any life. I have wanted you…”

He bit the sentence off, stumbling as his knees hit the bed. He lowered you reverently to the plush duvet with an arm braced above your head, kisses slowing and softening as he stroked your cheek. “I’ve always wanted to marry you,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted you for so…” He trailed off, trembling as your hands slid up beneath his shirt to trace the lithe muscles of his back, and nuzzled behind your ear. He moaned brokenly. “Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” he whispered. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

You traced your hands down his sides, revelling as he panted in your ear. You raised your knees to stroke his thighs, his hips, before wrapping your legs slowly, deliberately around his slim waist, locking your heels at the small of his back. He took a great, shuddering breath, instinctively bending toward you when you raised your hands to shuck off his tuxedo jacket. Your fingers danced up to unbutton his vest before moving to his shirt, torturously slowly. You forced yourself to take your time, forced yourself not to yank and hope that the buttons would fly off like in some cheesy rom-com.

By the time you finished, you almost worried that Satoru would shake apart above you. He looked absolutely ruined; jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut, a euphoric pain painted across every feature. You let your eyes rove his beautiful body, tracing scars with sight and touch alike until you reached the waistband of his trousers. All of the breath went out of him in a loud whoosh, and he dropped the hand stroking your face to the mattress to stop himself from crushing you. His eyes snapped open, a brilliant, dark turquoise nearly eclipsed by shimmering black. His mouth hung open, lust and love and disbelief warring as he frantically searched your face.

You crooked a tiny smile at him, and then leaned up until your lips brushed his. “I don’t want to stop.” He whined, surging forward to kiss you, grinding his hips down to yours with delicious pressure. “I think… we’ve waited… long enough,” you panted between kisses.

Oftentimes, Satoru couldn’t shut up. You’d been friends for so long that his incessant chatter ceased to phase you in the slightest. But you’d never heard him talk so much.

Any time his smart mouth wasn’t occupied with you, it was running. He alternated between babbling praise and incoherent adoration and begging you, though for what, you couldn’t be sure, since he was, by his own distraught admissions, getting everything he’d ever wanted, dreamed of, hoped for, waited for. He couldn’t seem to stop, and it stoked your ego in ways you’d never known you’d wanted, never imagined could turn you on so much.

And despite his obvious anguish, despite the delicious agony it took to exert his control, despite fifteen or more years of never daring to hope, or perhaps because of that, he put you first just like he always did, following only once he was satisfied that you had been, too.

——————————————————————

It hadn’t been the wedding night you’d expected- as far from traditional as it was from the plan- but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, no matter how it had come about. 

In the watery sunlight, you rolled to face your husband. Husband. He loosened his grip to let you, hand coming to rest on your bare hip as you settled to face him. His eyes bored into yours, sharp and bright as a storm.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he replied, and the low rumble of his voice sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine and straight between your aching thighs.

You reached up, carding your hands through his hair, and marvelled at the way his eyes fluttered closed. He was like putty beneath your touch. He turned to kiss your palm, drawing your hand down to cover his heart. He stared at you intensely.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he murmured.

You raised one eyebrow in amusement. “That’d be some dream.”

“Best dream of my life.” He pulled you flush against him, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his tongue across your teeth, morning breath be damned. “Be better if it never ended.” He kissed from the corner of your mouth across your jaw, to that sensitive spot behind your ear. “Be best if it wasn’t a dream at all.”

You gripped his neck, pulling him closer, drowning in him. “It’s not a dream,” you whispered.

“Thank goodness,” he groaned. He rolled over to pin you to the bed, hands coming up to lace his fingers with yours. “I am so in love with you.” He traced your rings with one finger, lips spreading in a sleepy, adoring smile. “My beautiful wife.”

You giggled, face splitting in an uncontrollable smile, and leaned up to kiss him. “And I am so in love with you.” Another kiss as you stroked his ring in return. “My handsome husband.” And if the curve of his lips against your jaw and the movement of his body against yours was anything to go by, you were about to be shown how in love with you he was all over again.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

[briliantlymad]

Anyway. The ObiAniDala thought. The obianidala thought that was in my mind that's been marinating like a rotisserie chicken. Sith! Obiwan and Dark Padme lets goooo

Established rulers of the galaxy Sith!ObiDala who after murdering palpy are taking great pains to ensure the galaxy is shaped under their "gentle hands". They're looking for Anakin who got away from the temple during order 66 and has joined the rebels.

Anakin was never Obiwan's padawan. Obiwan left the order cus qui-gon died and he fell to the dark side while fighting maul and stayed to help padme who's very very disillusioned with the republic when they sat twiddling their fingers even after she begged them to save the lives of her people. Their relationship develops from there with obidala falling in love and plotting against the republic. Padme stays on for a 3rd term before giving way to queen jamillia who insists padme be the naboo senator. Obiwan is approached by darth sidious to become his apprentice sometime during this entire thing. and he's like yeah sure how about a partnership instead. (which of course palpy hates and he totally thinks padme is the reason for obiwan not fully comitting to the dark side, so he totally plots to kill her)

They don't meet anakin again until the events of Ep 2 where padme and obiwan totally see padawan anakin and they're like oh oh and anakin is enamored with them. full on puppy eyes, staring at them whenever he thinks they're turned away T _T

cue very sweet stolen moments while mace windu, who took on anakin as his padawan is like ??? right in front of my salad????

anyway they fall in love there's definitely some manipulation some mind tricks to keep anakin from uncovering their plans as they try to outmaneouver palpy.

anyway. i've been rotating this fic idea in my head for the longest time. i feel like this would definitely turn into a multi-chap fic tbh

[gods-perfect-idiots]

something something blood-soaked hands cradling your face something something

anyway here's the post btw

[spaceguylewis]

Horizon: Zero Dawn (72/ꝏ) | REMASTERED Avad's Offer

[tathrin]

Ahh, fuck. Just saw this post cross my dash and my brain absolutely vomited this fucking thing out in response and I do not have any idea what the FUCK to do with this weird unhinged Dark LotR AU that I just spontaneously generated. Help.

"Not like this."

The words slipped from Gimli's lips as a broken whisper, torn free from the very depths of his soul before his conscious wits could stop them. He swallowed, as though he would call them back to him; but there was no calling them back, any more than there was undoing the dreadful deeds that had led to Gimli standing here, in this place, feeling as though his heart were being ripped from his chest at the sight before him: a fair golden head bowed low, heavy shackles weighing down lithesome elvish limbs.

Gimli swallowed again, and held his tongue. The words still beat themselves against the inside of his skull: Not like this, not like this.

How was it they all now found themselves here? It had not seemed easy, so many months ago in Rivendell, when the Free Peoples of Middle-earth had taken desperate council together in hopes of defying Sauron, no; nothing of what they had set out to do had seemed easy. But still, to have fallen so far that they were here…

Gimli closed his eyes against the sharp and bitter sting of tears, but only for a moment. A moment was all he could allow himself. Any more than that would be seen, would be noted; would be marked down against him, against Erebor, as a weakness that they could not afford.

As treason, treason against the Dark Lord.

The Lonely Mountain could not afford such a thing, not if any dwarf was going to be left breathing beneath its strong stone walls by this time tomorrow.

So Gimli took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, and struggled to wipe the pain and horror from his face. He nodded, doing his best to ignore the hot bite of metal against his hand; doing his best to ignore the way his heart was shattering like untempered steel suddenly flash-frozen at the sight of Legolas kneeling as a captive before him.

"A fine tribute," Gimli said, hating himself for the words; hating himself even more for the dark twist of pleasure that threaded through his mind as he spoke. He clenched his fist tighter around the hard gold he held; it did not help. The row of kneeling elves before him did not move; the sharp blades of the axes hanging over their necks did not soften.

The Ring on his finger did not loose its deadly grip.

"Tell the Men of Dale that they have earned their people four months of triple rations in addition to the gold-price on the heads of these elves," Gimli continued. Such a paltry amount to pay, for elvish lives; yet it would keep the Men of Dale from starving, and would earn them favor in the Dark Lord's eyes. He saw the bedraggled Dalish representative straighten in gratitude and joy and he grimaced into his beard.

Gimli did not care to think how many Men must have died to take four elves alive anymore than he cared to think about how long said elves would endure in hard labor and dark cages under the mountain. He knew that no matter how quickly they let go of their hopes and let themselves Fade, it would be far far longer than it should be. Elves were too strong, and the elves of Mirkwood far too defiant, for their own good. They would last a long time, in the mines and the smithies, before finally giving up their souls to the call of Mandos.

It would not be a mercy, to last so long.

There was no mercy that Gimli could show to these elves, either—no, not even to the one whose face he had spent all these bitter, terrible months longing to see above all other faces. How Gimli had wept, wishing to see Legolas again; now, he yearned only to take all those wishes back and bury them where nothing, least of all the wretched, wonderful Thing on his hand, could hear them. Yes, he had longed to see Legolas; but not like this, never like this.

Not like this.

The Dalish Man bowed low, and murmured praise for Gimli's generosity in a voice made ragged and hoarse by want and misery, and let himself be led away to receive his payment. The elves waited in motionless silence, their heads bowed and their chains heavy. The dwarves watched their lord with tight, shadowed eyes.

Gimli cleared his throat, and spoke again: "Have the elves taken to the cages. Except—"  He could not tell if the words that followed were his own, or those of the Ring. "Except for the golden-haired one. Take him to my chambers; I will see to his breaking personally. Oh," he added, almost as though it was an afterthought, making his lips curl in a cruel smile as he said it even as his own heart twisted against him, "and send water for a bath as well; he is all over filthy with blood, and I will not have him defiling my rooms anymore than he can help, noisome creature that he is."

There were chuckles, some weak and some sincere; Gimli did not look to see which was which, because he did not wish to know which of his people had learned to find amusement in the suffering of other creatures and which had merely learned to feign it.

He could not be sure, some days, where his own pretenses ended either.

He smiled anyway, because that was what he had to do. He smiled, and he watched the elves be dragged away into the dark of his mountain, and he kept smiling even as he felt blood trickling down his palm from where the Ring that wrapped cold around his finger had bitten through the skin beneath the tightness of his grip and made him bleed.

It was hardly the worst thing that Durin's Ring had made him do since Gondor's Rise, after all.

NEXT

[goblin-enjoyer]

*draws something for the first time in a while. “Man I suck at drawing! Maybe go back to being good at it if I draw more!”

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

“Oh I got a neat idea for a drawing! Surely I have gotten better by now!” Loop post

[the-acid-pear]

Why did my cooking dream get hijacked by my brain making a William Afton oc and au what was that about.

[golden-ebony]

Ten's a Crowd ·ᴥ·✿˖°

♡ Pairing: Logan Howlett/female!Reader

♡ Word Count: 2.4k

♡ Rating: Explicit 18+

♡ Warning/Tags: SMUT! MINORS DNI, p-v, oral fem!receiving, a tad of overstimulation,

♡ Summary: As Robo said: Logan would turn your plushies around before fucking you raw btw, he told me himself—pulls em off to the side with a gruff little “You don’t wanna see this next part bub” before turning you every way BUT loose.

♡ Note: @robo-writing MADE A POST THAT MADE ME BOTH SCREAM CHUCKLE AND INSPIRED TO CREATE THIS PIECE. robo is also one of my favs so check them out too!

You wanted to take it slow with Logan. Even if every bone in your body wanted to jump his, you actually liked him and didn’t want to do anything you believed could sabotage your budding relationship. This was a mutual yet unspoken understanding between the two of you. 

He had every intention of taking things slow with you–make his intentions clear. Having met you while you bartended at his favorite spot, you had seen him pick up and take a few girls home. You were different, and he wanted to make that clear. 

Still, every time Logan dropped you off at your apartment, it became more charged. After your first date, he simply dropped you off. After your second and third date, it ended in short yet sensual kisses. The tension was building the entirety of your fourth date. When Logan had you pressed against your apartment building door, your moans were smothered by the passionate open mouth kisses. And by god, you wanted to give in, but mother nature had other plans for you. Despite either of your wishes, you called it a night.

Your fifth date was at a drive in-movie. You brought the blankets that were laid out in the bed of Logan’s truck. The both of you admittedly got a handsy during the movie, practically missing the end of the movie.

As Logan parked in the front of your building, he carried the folded blankets that you brought to your building door. Before he could offer to bring the blankets up for you, you muttered the four words he had been waiting to hear for almost a month.

“You wanna come up?”

Logan couldn't help but perk up at that question. Your voice was as sweet as honey, and the soft glow of the porch light framed your face perfectly. He tried to keep a straight face, but the corner of his lips tugged into a small smile when you invited him up.

"Course," he said, his voice rough and low as he tried to contain the lewd thoughts that started flooding his brain. 

As you brought him up the elevator, the tension between the two of you was thicker than the blankets he carried. You needed him–need him bad. 

As soon as you entered the apartment, you told Logan that he could put the blankets on the couch. He haphazardly tossed them on the cushions but didn’t take his eyes off you. The intensity in his eyes was betraying the restraint he was trying to maintain for weeks. 

Barely a beat afterward, you were all over each other. The kiss was sloppy, your tongue immediately submitting to his. Logan’s hand roamed slightly under your sweater, fingers pressing against the warmth of your skin. 

Stumbling backward toward your bedroom, Logan kept his lips on your, drinking in the taste that he desperately wanted–hell, needed. As he laid you down, he didn't break the kiss, slowly trailing his hand up your thigh. His lips found their way to your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin.

“Been thinkin’ about this all night, darlin’,” he growled against your neck as he hovered over you. His grip on your thigh tightened, earning a gasp from your lips. “Just like that, baby, I need to hear ya.”

Logan’s other hand hiked up farther near your head until his hand began crushing something soft, something smaller than a pillow. Still focused on marking the skin over your pulse, he moved his hand again just to squish another item, almost losing his grip on the bed. 

With a hint of frustration, Logan’s eyes glared open. His stare was immediately met with glossy, black buttoned eyes of a brown cow and the cheery eyes and blushing face of…maybe a dumpling, he thought.

He paused his lips’ freezing against your skin. Logan pulled away slightly to get a better look at what was under his hand. He chuckled, his voice gravelly as he looked down at the squished yet irate octopus.

You sighed due to the loss of contact, swiveling to see what had caught Logan’s attention over the woman he was making out with. He had a mixed expression of confusion and amusement. 

“You find my plushies entertaining?” you softly giggled, propping yourself up by your elbows.

“I just…” Logan’s voice was gruff with a smirk as he sized up the 6–no, 8–plushies eyeing him down. The cow, dumpling, octopus, platypus, jellyfish, hot sauce bottle, bumblebee, and mushroom propped against your pillows all had their eyes on Logan, silently judging him. “I just didn’t expect an audience. Your little posse is a bit intimidating,” he teased, looking down at you with a cheeky grin.

“Didn’t think you were one to falter under pressure,” you chuckled. From your back, you turned to look at your plushies. You gave him a tantalizing look as you grabbed the angry octopus from his hand, shaking it in his face. “They’re just here to be cute.”

“Yeah, they’re cute.” Logan’s attention was diverted back to your exposed abdomen from your slightly lifted sweater. A deep growl emitted from his chest as he lifted your sweater further to reveal your plum colored bra. His large hand cupped your right breast as a wry smile grew on his lips. “But what I’m planning on doing with you…it’s far from cute, sweetheart.”

Logan was quick to remove your sweater, throwing it toward the  mushroom, causing it to fall off the bed entirely. He dipped back down to your lips with a renewed passion. Dropping the octopus on your nightstand, you were quick to tug at Logan’s t-shirt, practically begging to lose it.

Ripping it off, you could feel your arousal pool at the sight of his broad, hairy chest and sculpted form. Over your head, he tossed his shirt. It landed over the eyes of the soft platypus, but you didn’t notice. You were too enveloped in the hot kisses Logan was lying between the valley of breasts down to the waist of your leggings. His rough hands massaged your breasts until they popped out of their constraints. 

Ragged short moans fell from your lips as he grazed and twerked your hardened nipples. Your hands raked over his larger hands before moving to his taunt shoulders, nails scraping his shoulder blades. Logan grunted as he felt your nails rake across his shoulders, his darkened eyes locking on you, hungry and filled with lust.

“Love the pretty moans you make for me, baby,” Logan groaned, his hands moving to the sides of your leggings to wiggle you out of them. Taking your panties with them, you were exposed to Logan. The glisten and scent of your arousal was too tempting.

Feeling his warm breath against your aching cunt, you inched forward, desperate for any form of contact, “Please, Logan. I need to feel you…”

Without another word, Logan applied a heavy striped lick against your cunt all the way to your pulsing clit. A stuttered moan escaped your lips as Logan buried his face into your cunt, wrapping his arms around your soft thighs to pull you closer and keep you legs opened wide.

“Hm, so fuckin’ sweet. All for me, sweetheart?” he muttered against your cunt, the vibrations causing a shiver to run up your spine. You almost missed what he said as tongue lap and darted into your sopping core at a speed that had to be sinful. 

You could barely get the words out. Your mind was reeling with such intense pleasure that Logan could only grab your attention again by nipping on your inner thigh. You quickly winced 

“You gotta speak up, darlin’. I gotta hear you,”

“All for you, Lo-Logan! Because of you!” Despite your volume, your voice came off small and pathetic as your need for Logan grew.

Rewarding you, Logan pressed a harsh kiss against your clit, sending shockwaves through you. Your hips tried to buck but were secured firmly by the strength of Logan. He was practically making out with your cunt, his nose adding just enough pressure to your clit to run you like a facet.

“So goddamn pretty, so perfect,” he softly breathed against you, darkened eyes temporarily meeting your lust-blown ones like man possessed. Your head tilted back in ecstasy, his stare too intense.

Your finger interlocked with your comforter and his hair. The grip Logan had to keep around your thighs only grew harsher as you thrashed around him. It was a vicious cycle. Your elevated moans drove Logan to delve deeper which only made your thrashing worse and your moans more boisterous. Logan knew you’d learn better once you woke up with the bruised prints in the morning. You knew you’d cherish them. 

From your tightened grip on his hair and the sheets, Logan knew you were near your edge. His name was spilling out of your lips as if it was the only word you knew now. Coming up for air didn’t matter; Logan was prepared to drown in your soaked core.

Your climax was almost violent, your legs quiver as you released. Logan lapped it up like a dying dog, the taste of you making him moan. He couldn’t help but rut against the edge of your bed as he licked you clean through your high. The friction was welcomed but not enough.

Your body relaxed as you tried taking in deep breaths to regain a semblance of control. Before releasing your thighs, Logan affixed one last bold brush to your ruined cunt for good measure. Your cheeks were flushed as you looked down at him again. His eyes locked with yours, dark and intense. His eyes seemed almost feral, his need for you evident. He needed more–more of you, all of you.

Logan slowly kissed a path up your body, pausing momentarily to admire the indented prints he had left on your hips. He relished the taste of your skin, his lips leaving a trail of light kisses along your thighs, hips, your stomach, your chest. Your body was still quivering 

Finally, his face, still damp with your arousal, was mere inches away from yours, a smug smile on his lips. He gave you a moment to catch your breath before he spoke, his voice a low, rough whisper.

“You okay, darlin’?”

You huffed into a small smile. It floored you how he’d asked, knowing damn well he could still feel your toes curling and your leg involuntarily shaking. It floored you further how badly you still wanted him.

Kissing the corners of your mouth, darting your tongue to gather the remainder of your arousal from his face, you hand grazed his growing bulge. You received a strained grunt from Logan.

“Why do you still have these on?” The sound of your rough and sultry voice, your question–it only made the strain in his jeans worse.

Standing and exposing his full physique, he was quick to remove his jeans and briefs.  Your eyes went wide as the sight of his thick, engorged cock, the tip already leaking down a vein. 

Logan chuckled lowly at the sight of your reaction. Seeing your widened eyes and parted lips, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“So goddamn greedy, baby. Didn’t get enough already?” he mocked, laying down to cage you under the weight of his body again.

In response, you pulled him closer, your lips attached to his neck. Your tongue smoothed over every nip. Logan growled, his cock finding some relief from the friction against your hip.

Logan's eyes softened as he was again face-to-face again with the soulful eyes of your cow, slightly tilted on its side. Its fallen comrades were on the floor, preemptively averting their own innocent eyes.

He spoke gruffly, under his breath, “Uh, yeah, you don’t wanna see this next part, bub.” He picked up the cow and spun it around, leaning it against the headboard.

Your plushies didn’t see it, and you could barely handle it. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes as Logan continued to roughly push into you climax after climax after climax. From your back to your stomach to your side, your body was completely coated with sweat and pleasure. Hearing you moan, beg, and whimper only drove Logan to push you further and further till the only word you could conjure was his name.

“It’s not too much, sweetheart, yeah?” Logan’s warm breath groaned against the back of your neck, raising the hairs on it. His bulky arm hooked around to belly, trapping your pelvis against his. He had slowed his tempo in comparison to the previous two rounds, but he hadn’t been this deep. With his leg The tip of his cock was pressing faint kisses against your cervix. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he could witness your face contort in continued pleasure. “You can take it, baby. Taking me so fuckin’ good all night.”

Your voice was gravelly–surely going to be gone in the morning–as your exhausted eyes peered toward Logan, “I-I can’t, Lo-gan…not again.” 

“C’mon, just one more for me, baby. Fuckin’ sinful how good you feel,” he murmured against your flushed cheek. 

You nodded as you watched Logan hand move down to your overstimulated clit. The slightest pressure was enough to make your soft walls abruptly clench around his cock with a lusty ring. Rolling your hips against his, Logan was close to losing it. A growl escaped Logan’s chest as he picked up his pace–a stuttered pace. 

“That’s it, baby. Let it happen. Drench my cock.”

“Fuck, Logan!” You cried, your entire low body trembling against his. Your own arousal dripped down to your thigh, dampening your blanket.

Logan pressed your arched back closer to his hairy chest. With one final thrust, he was incoherently grunting before staining your walls with his seed. Filled with his warmth, you felt your body completely relax–finally. 

Logan's breathing was ragged against your neck. The only things that filled the room were your and Logan’s shared pants and the scent of your mixed arousals. He held you like that for a few moments, his heart pounding against your back. Logan was now having second thoughts about ravishing so rashly for your first time.

“Too much?” Logan asked, his voice tired and laced with concern as his hand softly massaged your side.

You wrapped your hand behind you to caress Logan’s cheek. A weak smile formed on your lips, “No, no…it was…” You couldn’t find the words. Your brain was foggy with gratification. Instead, you reached for your irate octopus on your nightstand. Quickly inverting the plushie, the octopus now had a gleeful expression. 

Handing it to Logan, he gruffly chuckled, accepting your response. He planted a chaste kiss on your cheek with a satisfied smile. It was just the beginning for you two–or the ten of you.

♡ note: i love hearing y'all's thoughts

[k-hotchoisan]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

<san x fem!reader>

Choi San. Half naked. Cowboy hat. Useless ass crop vest.

Your dreams are wetter than the sweat on his chest.

a/n: no words just horny thoughts the moment choi san appeared like that in the mv and I needed to get it off my chest. 🤗

wc: 1.8K

warnings: smut. pwp, party!au, deepthroating, blowjobs, slight hair pulling, one time spanking (LMAO), orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, it's just choi san brain rot, kinda dacryphilia?, yo it's just straight up filth that's all you need to know

taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan  @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf  @jeon-ify @itza-meee @Miss-Fallon @hwallazia @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @owlbeforesunset @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @Haleyjoye @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @ewok7attack @yunhogrippers @kibs-and-bits @Liyahbug  @mikrausch @sophiemueller05 @lissiesykes  @yeo-arriba @luvt0kki @vic0921 @httpseungmxn

You stare down at the man a couple of feet away, his figure too prominent to miss. He’s in a useless black cropped vest, bronze studs lined up the hems of the clothing accompanied with long fringe details that hung lower than the fucking vest itself. You barely take notice of the leather pants he wore, mostly because his arms were just there—thick and so perfectly muscled. But the star of the fucking show? His bare fucking tits. The vest barely covered jack shit, his tits just basking under the dim lights, thick and perky. Your eyes shift to his face before you start flooding the vicinity with your drool. Hell no. 

San still hasn’t noticed you. Maybe it’s because of the obnoxious black cowboy hat he has on looking like it’s blocking his view or something. And he tops the look off with a simple black bandana decorated with fringes that he wraps around his neck. 

You want to wrap yourself around his neck too. 

Your hunky little crush still doesn’t seem to notice you blatantly ogling him since it looks like he’s engrossed in a conversation with Mingi. 

The sound of a desert-themed party sounded interesting to you when your friend brought it up to you but it didn’t hook you in enough to actually garner your interest to go, that was, until your friend had offhandedly mentioned that San would be there.

You didn’t put your hopes up of course, because in your peripherals, it seemed like you weren’t the only pair of eyes just eye fucking San, and so you were satisfied letting your fantasies just stay within the confines of your brain, now just full Choi San brain rot. 

And when your brain starts ringing alarms on San looking like he was looking your direction, your eyes immediately shifting to your drink. But it seems like you caught his attention. 

From your peripherals, you watch him push past people, approaching you much quicker than you had liked. 

“Hey, y/n, caught you staring”, he smiles cheekily. 

“You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you Choi San?” 

He shrugs. 

Then he mouths something, but you can’t seem to catch what, and that sentiment seems to have been written all over your face, because the smell of spicy citrus hits you, accompanied by the low rumble of San’s voice right at your ear, freezing you at your spot.

“I was saying that you’re a pretty cowgirl today.”

Shit. Fuck. 

You stare up at San, tears gradually pooling at the corner of your eyes at how fucking thick this man’s cock is. But gods did it feel so fucking good to have San’s fat fucking cock shoved down your throat like that. You watch the way his abs contract when his groans are pulled out from him, the way his nipples are so fucking hard from how horny he is making you suck him off like that. Your panties are pretty much useless at this point trying to keep your slick from trickling down your thighs. 

“Fuck. You’re such a good fucking girl for me aren’t you?” San groans, his fingers tugging harder against your scalp, forcing you to take his cock deeper. You manage to hum in agreement almost too quickly, and San only scoffs at your desperation, well not that he’s holding up any better. His eyes shut again, and he throws his head back, rutting his hips against your face, his moans going up in pitch, and when he happens to steal a glance at your face fucking his cock, you feel the space in your mouth fill up even more. 

Only curses and moans leave San’s mouth, and there’s only so much force you can use to squeeze your thighs from holding your cunt off from leaking all over the fucking floor. 

“Your mouth feels so fucking good, dollface. I can’t fucking—fuck!—can’t fucking wait to fuck your other tight little hole next”, San huffs breathlessly, his sanity dangerously dropping in levels. 

With a broken, deep moan, he suddenly pulls out of your mouth, fucking his cock with his hand instead, letting his cum spill over your mouth and chest, slightly shaking from the pleasure especially when he can’t keep his eyes off you licking his cum off his cock and the corner of your lips. 

You watch him catch his breath, and he’s so fucking attractive when he furrows his brows like that, but you decide to pull away to get some towels to clean yourself up. 

The moment you stand and turn around, San’s arms wrap around you, pulling you close to his chest, and you realise his fingers are loosening the knot on your top, and San doesn’t waste time to yank it off your shoulders. You barely have the time to process but you realise it doesn’t fucking matter the moment his deep voice bleeds right into the crevices of your brain. 

“Now where do you think you’re going babe? I said I was gonna fuck your other hole next, wasn’t I?” 

No more butterflies in your stomach anymore, it’s probably a whole ecosystem at this point. 

San’s fingers intertwine with yours, unfortunately, he doesn’t let it stay a second more fluffy when he has you on the bed, his thick fingers tugging off every single useless piece of clothing off you. San licks his lips when he’s greeted with the sight of your pussy just so fucking wet and leaking for him. His eyes meet yours, and he looks like he’s about to eat you up any second.

“How much do you like walking straight?” He asks, his fingers trailing a fucking blaze down your thighs, and you watch the way his cock hardens—the way precum from his silt is mixing with the thick cum from before when his thumb tugs against your wet folds. 

He looms over you, fingers keeping your legs spread wide open for him, his pants pulled lower, his half-hard cock resting on your inner thigh. 

“Not much of a fan”, you reply, realising that trying to snap your legs shut with Choi San’s fingers in between them was a stupid idea. 

“Good”, is all San replies before he pushes his thick cock right into your pussy, and you swear he’s knocked out all the wind from you at the way his thick cock slid in, filling your whole fucking pussy up. You gasp, fingernails digging into his arms, but he doesn’t even seem to take notice. But what he does take notice of is the way you’re fluttering around him, so fucking dazed at the way his cock feels in you. 

“So fucking good, San”, it leaves your lips as a whine. 

He exchanges a smile, “Your tight pretty pussy, and it’s all for me.”

Your eyes roll back when he pulls out slightly and thrusts into you again, and again, until the sounds grow wetter, louder, and San fucks you harder, making you wonder if you were gonna lose your legs or mind first. The sensations are completely melting off the neurons of your brain, and your hands are pressing against his chest, feeling his heart beating wildly. You feel your face flush slightly, wondering if he feels the same way as you do. 

Your thoughts are completely cut short when you feel his fingers curl around your neck, forcing you to look up at him when he lets his lips melt against yours. Your tongues meet, and you taste very light hints of alcohol underneath the sweetness. Soft moans pour out of San, and he’s only getting thicker inside of you as he lets your hands rake through his short locks.

“You’re like fucking heaven, you know that?” San whispers as he pulls back. The sweetness lasts for a second until he adds on, “And I wanna drag you down with me, baby.”

His arms are around you and he lifts you, in one swift motion, he has you straddling his hips, and you do him a favour by getting his pants off him. San pretty much kicks the remainder of his pants off, his arms pull you by your thighs to his once more, and you’re hoping you don’t drool because something about San being fully naked beneath you, only his vest barely covering his fat tits, just ready for you to fucking ride him was sending you into a fucking orbit. 

And even when you’re dripping and stretched open for San, the feeling of his cock splitting you open from below only threatened your remaining sanity. You watch San bite his lip, holding himself back from just bursting into you, also evident from the way his fingers are pressing hard against your thighs. 

But when you start grinding against him, he realises he probably isn’t gonna last much longer. 

And when his cock hits your spots for the nth time from below, your cunt flutters without warning, and the knot snaps before you could even say anything, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking tidal wave.

And San isn’t slowing down. 

His face is in complete bliss—muttering curses and releasing moans,

“Ah, fuck. That’s a good fucking girl, cumming all over my cock like that”, he hisses, feeling you pulsate around him helplessly as he continues to fuck into you, forcing you to continue bouncing off his cock. 

Tears bubble at the corner of your eyes once more from the sheer pleasure the moment you feel San hold your ass down, your arms wrapped tightly around him, feeling his cock twitch and spurt warm cum right into your poor hole. Wait. Something feels funny. You swallow hard, hoping, praying he doesn’t do anything because you swear something might just break in you if he does.

“S-San, wait it’s too much-“

You’re barely holding it together, and it all falls apart when his palm lands an impact right on your ass, forcing another wave of orgasm to hit you even harder this time, a strained cry leaving your throat, your pussy completely pushing San’s cock out, your hips lifting off him as you squirt all over his thighs, San’s cum spurting out alongside the clear liquid. San watches the way your eyes are screwed shut, your tears trickling down your cheeks, the way your body violently shakes while he soothes you with his palm up and down your back, and he thinks he’s in love. 

As you descend from your high, San captures your lips with his, humming soft praises of taking him so well once he pulls away, letting you lie on his chest. 

“I guess you're my pretty cowgirl tonight ”, he teases, letting you hit his chest playfully. 

San’s arm snakes around your waist as the both of you slowly make your way to the front door, catching the gaze of the partygoers, and he leans in as the both of you walk, low enough to reach your ears,

“I’ll make good use of the bandana next time too, so tell me doll face, how close do you like your wrists to be?”

[dwaekkicidal]

Oh my god I beg for some mean skz smut 😔😔

hmmmm ok but what are we thinking for the hyung line?

is it about meanie channie who snaps after you slut yourself out in the studio when staff was in there- along with the rest of 3racha who you know has a little crush on you hehe. he barely waits for them to walk out the door before shoving you towards the door, forcing you to lock it before shoving his cock into you while you're pushed up against the door- mind you with minimum prep because "You don't deserve it. after that shit." his cock is soooo much thicker like this!!!! >.< and he manages to make his thrusts prove his anger? hips smacking into yours so harshly that it feels like the soundproof door isn't enough to drown any sounds out

what about brat tamer minho who forces you to sit between his legs and watch him jerk himself off? you have a pretty little vibrator thats connect to your clit and your g-spot simultaneously, and he has the controls on his phone that rests in his free hand. he fucks with the controls so much... maybe even teasing u by drawing his full name- in english AND korean- before setting it to the highest setting and leaving it like that until you're cumming at least 3 times.

my sweet binnie who's only mean if you beg him to be or if you reaaaaally push his buttons- maybe throw in a dig or two about how theres another man out there thats better than he is (spoiler: theres literally negative of them). your punishment (reward) is always the same! one of those those sexy ass arms around your neck and squeezing as he fucks into you so roughly that your whole body is jumping forward, your moans cutting off from how aggressive he gives it to you!!!

ok but what about lover boy hyunjin who is actually one of the meanest doms you have ever seen, 99% of the time it being unprompted as well??? the first time you push him to get rough in bed, you're in for ittt~ he ties your wrists up and connects you to the hook in the ceiling, leaving just enough rope for you to be on your tippy toes (also the same hook he previously told you was for painting... yeah, my fucking ass) and speaking of asses, yours is sooo sore from the big handed smacks he leaves there >< he'll always stop if you want it, but otherwise he has no plans to until you submit to him completely <3

whats on the menu for the maknaes today?

definitely munch hannie who ties you up with the most random shit that works- any ties he has laying around, your panties, and sometimes he'll straight up rip his shoelaces out for it?? but it's all so that he can show off the shibari he secretly learned- the main one being a series of knots that tie your arms to a leg each, forcing you wide open for him all the while he eats. and what a messy fucking eater!!! your last 3 orgasms worth of cum dripping down his jaw as he nibbles at your sensitive spots <3

"angel boy" felix me thinks.. who makes you fuck yourself onto him in doggy, refusing to put any effort because he's the "angel" who deserves to be worshipped (yes but...) if you falter even slightly or move to his disliking, you're getting a series of mean smacks- ones that leave a pretty little heart shape in its wake from the pretty pink paddle he insisted on buying (OR HIS INITIALS IF HE GETS A CUSTOM PADDLE OMFFF)

ohhhh but owner seungmin who fucks your brains out with a pretty little collar around your neck <3 (maybe even one also with his initials engraved hehe) he tugs at it to fuck you back onto him, not even need a leash when he slides his finger through one of the loops. huffs and puffs about how tight you are while he actively works to make you tighter, from squeezing your legs together to overstimulating the hell out of you all the while he disallows himself to cum for as long as he can handle, all so when he finally busts theres so much and its all getting fucked right back into you

and god... toy fiend jeongin... the second you let him know you're ok with toys being brought into the bedroom, you're almost regretting everything!!! he's SO fucked up about it >:( he keeps one of those big hands around your throat while the other slides a vibrator as deep into you as it physically can go without causing you pain... and when you squirm around and your legs squeeze together, he's either digging his fingers into your thigh to push them apart or he's biting whatever he's closest to- your thighs, your calf, your shoulder, or (his favorite) your nipples <3

hnnnnng....

Taglist (red=can’t be tagged):

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams

@aeri-skzver

[dolicekiss]

Cameras & Cash

PAIRING: Modern!Aemond Targaryen X camgirl!Reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni) reader is sort of like an innocent bimbo, cam girl reader turned sugar baby, controlling aemond, toxic aemond, petnames, masturbation, fingering, brutal throat fucking, breath play, sugar daddy aemond, forced brutal fucking, pussy slapping, face slapping, hair pulling, degrading, humiliation, condescension, riding, mating press, choking, spitting.

SYNOPSIS: When Aemond finds you with your fingers deep inside your cunt, sprawled in front of a computer, he realizes his roommate is a camgirl in need of cash. He offers you money, in exchange for your time and attention while setting one rule in front of you; never turn off your location. But you exactly end up doing that.

The last thing Aemond Targaryen expected was to walk in on his little roommate, you, with your fingers in between your pretty pink cunt, moans of desperation and need falling her glossy lips. Fingers thrusting inside your sweet hole, sprawled out in front of your webcam set atop a table in front of your bed.

His jaw clenched, hearing the sounds that escaped your lips. His fingers had tightened around the plastic bag in which he had brought you food — something he thought you'd like.

Little did he know you were relishing in your solitude.

“Hm, please—God, feels so good.” Aemond gulped, shutting his eyes for a moment as he attempted to move but it was as if his feet were frozen to the ground, not allowing him to move at all. His adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he attempted to swallow the lump of saliva that had formed in his throat.

You were supposed to be an innocent, shy nerd. This, it was not you or maybe it fucking was. Aemond had no idea anymore but he should've figured it out. Every time you'd get multiple packages to your name, littered outside their apartment door and you'd always make up excuses. He should've kniwn something was up, something like this.

His fucking roommate was a camgirl.

Aemond snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the constant ringing of something, tiny little bells going off.

Your eyes fluttered open to glance at the screen, to check in the tips sent to you by your viewers but instead you caught a glimpse of Aemond standing in the doorway. Immediately you retrieved your fingers from your soaked cunt and pressed the button to end the live stream.

You didn't even bother explaining.

First you had to get out of this damn bunny suit.

Your mind was filled with all sorts of thoughts as you leaped here and there to grab something appropriate to wear. The soft bunny tail embedded in your suit bounced up and down as you moved and Aemond cursed himself for finding it adorable. Thinking how it'd bounce each time he would thrust his cock inside you.

Once your fingers managed to grasp onto an oversized sweatshirt, Aemond watched as you dashed for the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind.

In a couple of minutes you were out, dressed in the sweatshirt and not the playboy bunny suit anymore. Your sweatshirt covered your thighs and Aemond averted his gaze away from you, standing still.

“I'm so sorry you had to see that.” You apologized, nodding your head as your gaze fell down to the plastic bag in his hand. It had the logo of your favorite restaurant and you smiled. But then it disappeared realizing how stunned he appeared. “I can explain—”

“You're a camgirl?”

Well, the question was abrupt but you knew Aemond was not the type of guy to beat around the bush. He was direct, straight forward and less expressive than normal people you'd met on the campus.

Heat flooded beneath your cheeks as you nodded. “It's—It's to pay for for my loans. It pays a lot.”

Aemond tilted his head, his gaze lingering across the room. How disheveled it was when you were usually reserved, put together and calm. His eyes found you, how small you were in comparison to him. Brain playing all sorts of imaginations right now. “How well does it pay?”

Thousands of dollars.” You responded, fingers moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I need it, for tuition and living expenses.”

Aemond’s mind was blank but then an idea lit up in his mind. You needed money and fortunately enough, you were a pretty girl. He'd always acknowledged that and kept an eye on you, albeit he kept to himself most of the time. You two weren't close enough to be called friends but you two knew each other.

“I have a proposition.”

You blinked, confused by his words.

But what followed next left you speechless.

“How would you feel, if you had a sponsor?” Aemond said, his hand scratching his nape.

You gulped, appalled by his abrupt proposition. “You'd pay for everything?”

“Of course I would. Everything would be taken care of.” Aemond took a step. “No student loans. No having to work a job. I would take care of everything. In return you’d just have to do one little thing.” Aemond said as she continued being awkward, like this was the first time he'd ever done this.

You knew that Aemond was the richest guy around campus. He basically possessed enough money to purchase the whole of the university you two attended. You were on a scholarship but living expenses and other loans were piling up. It was already hard as it is settling in a new place, but then you decided to become a camgirl. It required a lot of effort and courage to step into the world of sex work but it was enough to take care of you.

You knew that nothing came for free.

Especially kindness from someone rich. Everything had a cost to it — nothing in this world was for free. Besides oxygen but you could even see that becoming sellable in the near future.

“And what is this little thing?” You asked with suspicion in your gaze. You almost wanted to chuckle, since you were proven right. “You want to be my sugar daddy, now?”

Aemond cleared his throat at the label. He did not like labels. He was not very fond of them but he nodded since it made things very easier for you to understand. ”Is that a problem? Everyone you want, you'll get. You'll be taken care of, all your needs fulfilled.”

You pondered over it.

The deal wasn't bad — it was way better than touching yourself for thousands of men on the intention.

But then it would mean depending on him, for everything. You didn't know how much you liked the idea. If things went haywire with him, you would still have enough money in your bank account for you get back up on your feet and being a cam girl was something you could get back into at any time.

You scrunched up your nose and thought before finally giving in.

But you were also curious as to why he wished to be your sugar daddy.

“Okay, I'm down for it.” You nodded your head and smiled. “But— I don't understand, why are you helping me out?”

“You need money and I have a tremendous amount to offer.” Aemond spoke as he stepped closer to you, his fingers reaching out to curl around the long strand of hair, watching with a hawk like gaze. “I do have some conditions for this little arrangement, my pretty girl.”

Your cheeks flushed at the praise, something of the same sort as greed spreading within your stomach. “Yeah?”

“First, I don't want any other man in your life besides me.” You tilted your head at the possessiveness dripping from his words and how strict he sounded. “You belong to me and whatever I buy you, you'd wear. I want you to tell me where you are at all times of the day and lastly, you will be moving in my room.”

You blinked, dumbfounded by the set of peculiar rules set before you. They reeked of control and you gulped, realizing that the man before you wished to control you. It left you a little light headed as your mind pushed and pushed for you to decline but the deal was too tempting.

“I can't have boyfriends?” You asked, a little confused at what he was proposing. The relationship between the two of you was solely going to be based on give and take, an exchange that could satisfy both parties so what was up with that.

Aemond shook his head. “If you agree to this, you'd be mine which means no boyfriends, no dates and no hookups. I'll be available to satisfy your needs, whatever it is what you need. Whether it be materialistic, emotional or physical.”

So these conditions weren't as hard and impossible as you thought they'd be.

“You're controlling.” You stated the obvious.

Aemond scoffed. “I'm a Targaryen, our family is known for being in control at all times and chasing after the best results in everything. You should know that.”

He was right. His family was known all over the news — the media practically chased after them like they were air. It was lost on you how you managed to land in a university with him, as his roommate too. But you weren't complaining.

“I'll provide everything. Clothes, food, money, everything you could possibly desire. All I ask for is a little control and pretty company.” Your cheeks reddened at his words as you realized he'd called you pretty. The last thing you expected was to get complimented by the guy who mostly kept to himself and tried to avoid everyone.

You licked your lips, wetting it before finally nodding. “I like this. Both parties will be satisfied, it's valid.”

“Good girl.” Aemond’s sudden shift in nature was confusing but also somewhat enticing as you'd not expected him to be so dominant and controlling. “Do you have any other questions?”

You were going to say no but something popped up in your head. “Does the not involving other people rule apply to you as well, or are you allowed to have other women in your life?”

Aemond understood your question and knew where it came from. Definitely not from a place of insecurity but he was well aware that if he entertained other women while forbidding you from doing the same with other men, it would only cause you to feel inferior and lead to the downfall of whatever this situation was.

“Absolutely not.” Aemond broke the haunting silence. “I have no reason to invite other women into my life if I already have you, willing and pliant.”

You pondered over it and he was right. Albeit this relationship was based on personal needs, it was not necessary for him to have other women since he had you. “We have a deal.”

Aemond nodded his head and then his gaze dropped to the worn out sweatshirt that you were in. An idea lighted up in his head as he closed the small distance between the two of you, slim fingers extending to move along the open threads of red on the neckline of your sweatshirt. He made a mental note to spoil you rotten and take you shopping.

“Be a good girl and change for me. I'm taking you shopping, you need a new wardrobe.”

You didn't take offense to his words. Knowing his taste was beyond something you could ever afford in this lifestyle. You nodded your head and turned around, moving over to your small closet.

You found a short, pink thigh length dress with ruffles at its end. It was your best dress, something you could wear around Aemond as he was filthy rich and not someone of your stature. You quickly cleaned yourself up, sprayed some perfume and left the bathroom, standing in front of him now.

Aemond noticed the light makeup you'd worn and he smiled. Cheeks a shade of beetroot and lashes curled to the top, he stood up from the edge of your bed where he'd taken a seat and walked over to you.

“You look gorgeous.”

You felt your cheeks redden more and a smile crossed your lips. “Thank you.”

Aemond reached forward, fingers managing to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and the close proximity riled you up. It was weird, this dynamic. How he'd gone from barely paying attention to you to this, willing to pay and provide, look after all your needs as long as you held your end of the bargain.

You were excited, as you grabbed your white purse and tossed it across your shoulder.

“I have one more thing to ask.”

You stalled, look up at him with confusion implanted all over your face. Eyebrows arched and Aemond stepped closer, shrinking the dance between you two. His breath mingled with yours when he leaned down — lips hovering above yours. Abruptly you felt a wave of tension and goosebumps hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Kiss.”

Your lips twitched. “Huh?”

Aemond smiled. “A kiss to seal the deal, my pretty girl. Can you do that for me?”

You knew you'd have to bring more than a kiss to the table and the idea didn't vex you, so you got on your tippy toes — the massive height difference working to arouse you even more. You could barely reach his shoulder and you moved your hands over his chest, palms laid on it for support as your lips met his in a soft kiss.

Your intention was to give him a gentle peck, wanting to not rush things.

But his lips were so fucking soft. The softest pair you'd ever felt against your own and you let out a soft sigh, tilting your head as the hands over his chest slithered over to circle around his nape.

Aemond’s own eye fluttered shut as his muscular arms reached for your waist, holding you in place.

You slowly pulled back as the kiss was getting heated and looked up at him, like an innocent deer.

“Was that okay?”

Aemond was fucking gone.

Pupils blown out, lips parted as he gazed down at you. Just one kiss has drove him to the brink of insanity and with the way you looked at him, he could imagine you looking up at him from the floor on your knees, plump glossy lips wrapped around his cock. The image made him inhale, his nose burying in your hair to implant your scent into his mind.

“Perfect.”

That was all he said as he turned around on his loafers and began to make his way out of your room. You followed, your little purse in your hand as you tried to keep up with his pace. He was tall and his body was made up of mostly his slender legs. Aemond was a beautiful man and even his walk was powerful enough to let everyone know of his arrival.

In the elevator, the two of you stood in awkward silence — your mind completely glossing over the fact that you barely knew much about your roommate. Only that he possessed a trust fund, had billions of dollars at his fingers and was quiet and liked to keep to himself.

And that he was also very intelligent when it came to achieving higher studies.

“You can ask for anything.” Aemond suddenly broke the silence. “Doesn't only have to be clothes. Just put your finger on it and it'll be yours.”

Heated infiltrated your cheeks as you nodded coyly. “Thank you.”

“I'm doing this to prove that I will be holding my end of the deal and I'm serious about this arrangement. I hope it is mutual.” Aemond said as he scrolled through his phone.

You smiled at him, raising your head to look up at him. “Yes, of course. I'm also serious and here, I will share my live location with you right now.”

You opened your purse and pulled out your phone, scrolling through it here and there. You had Aemond’s number since you two were roommates, in the same campus and classes. Turning your location on and sending it to him, you glanced at his phone as it lit up, indicating that your location was shared with him.

“Good girl.” Aemond smiled, albeit subtle while raising his hand to place it upon your head, patting it. “Never turn it off, am I understood?”

You nodded. “Y-Yeah.”

The elevator soon opened and he stepped out with you pursuing him. The parking lot was empty and as Aemond walked, he rummaged through his pocket for a key and pulled it out, unlocking it. A black maserati was unlocked and you swallowed. It was the same car he often attended the university in.

Your breath was caught up in your throat because of how expensive it was. Aemond of course took note of your delightful expression and a subtle smile displayed on his face.

It was obvious that you had a liking for sparkling expensive items.

He reached the car and opened the door for you. Obviously as someone who had no experiences with men, you were more than charmed. You settled inside and he shut the door, before sitting in the car too.

“Have you finished all your assignments?”

Aemond questioned while he took the car in reverse, taking it out of the parking. You nodded at him, though you were more occupied by the opulence surrounding you at the moment. Beautiful and comfortable black leather seats — the padding beneath your butt providing you with comfort. Your eyes wandered everywhere and Aemond tilted his head as he stole small glances from you.

“So you're free now?”

“Hm, I usually finish up all my assignments first and then get to camning. Education is foremost and important.”

He was impressed by how seriously you took your grades and your education. He often watched you in class while you'd write down notes, listening intently to the teacher and scowling whenever someone would interrupt your perpetual intake of knowledge. He found it endearing.

“Can I ask you something?”

Aemond looked at you before nodding his head, his knuckles closed around the wheel of the car as he entered the street.

You swallowed. “You're handsome, rich and you mostly mind your own business. You could have any girl on the campus then why did you offer me this sort of lifestyle?”

Aemond knew it was coming.

He had a pretty valid answer for it too. He had a smug smile on his face after you'd mentioned you found him handsome. Despite the massive scar on his face concealed beneath an eye patch, people found him beautiful enough to be a model.

“Like you said, I'm controlling.” Aemond responded. “Girls don't like that and I understand why they don't, hence I decided to propose this deal. You profit off me, I get what I want which is control.”

You tilted your head, fingers nervously playing with the ruffles of your dress.

“You're basically giving me consent to have control over you. It's comfortable for both parties, no?”

He wasn't wrong the more you thought about it. He'd left it to you, it was up to you whether you were going to hand him the control over you or not and you had, considering how rich he was. How much he could provide. You didn't see anything wrong with it as weird as it might appear to outsiders.

“I suppose you're right.”

You smiled softly and Aemond glanced at you before his eye dropped lower, his jaw clenching at your exposed thighs. The image of you sprawled out with your fingers driving endlessly into your dampened cunt flashed into his mind and he inhaled — bringing his focus to driving.

The car ride was short as the malls were quite near.

Aemond parked his car and then got out, pulling open the door for you. You thanked him and the two of you were on your way inside the shopping mall.

Aemond parked his car and then got out, pulling open the door for you. You thanked him and the two of you were on your way inside the shopping mall.

It was definitely one where they sold the most luxurious items. Bright lights greeted you, beautiful stores and mannequins wearing the most eye catching pieces of clothing. Your throat went dry as he lead you.

“Pick.”

You turned to him, confused. “Pick?”

“Pick a store, whichever you want to go to.”

You nodded your head and then pointed towards the dior one. You'd always wanted to buy those famous lipglosses plastered all over social media and now you could as Aemond lead you there. You were like a cat, tied to a leash that he controlled.

Upon entering the store, the staff approached you and Aemond leaned down to say something in your ear.

“I'll be over there on the couch. Once you're done, come to me.”

With that he left, abandoning you but you didn't mind. You couldn't expect him to follow you around as you looked at different items. You asked the lady about the famous lip gloss and she smiled, leading you to the table. Then she brought out the fresh piece and you immediately fell in love with how beautifully packaged it was.

While you shopped, Aemond sipped champagne. Watching you with the gaze of a hawk — following you around the store as you picked out other items. Different dresses, some bags and makeup. He didn't mind. He had unlimited cash, never ending. His bank accounts were filled to the brim when it came to money as their business ran wild.

He had enough to provide for his next generation and then the one which followed after.

He wanted you to buy what you desired first.

That would cause you to become malleable, moldable. To his own cause and needs. He could easily shove you into a small, revealing dress for him only to rip it and fuck you in it.

The idea wasn't half bad.

His eye followed your legs, walking the store, long and slim. He sipped the liquid, feeling lightheaded almost at the thought of those legs being wrapped around his waist, or perched up on his shoulders as he thrusted his cock into your sweet little cunt.

You were his now.

The perfect little pet.

You came back to him with a wide smile, the nervousness gone from your face. Your features relaxed. “I'm done, Aemond.”

“Let us pay then.” He said, placing the glass down on the table next to the pale couch and standing up.

After sauntering over to the counter, he passed his hard over to the cashier. He didn't even care to look at the recipient, his attention focused more on you. The way you were smiling brightly, cheeks round and happiness oozed from you.

“Thank you.” The cashier smiled, handing Aemond the card while your items were packaged. You picked them up, not wanting to burden him as he carried on with the shipping spree, walking out after tucking his card in his back pocket.

Your small feet could barely keep up with him as he made his way over to another store — named Chanel. Despite coming from a poor background, you were well aware of these brands and how much a simple dress could cost.

“Your size.”

He questioned, looking down at you.

You gulped and told him your size. He only nodded as he was again approached by the staff of this store. They were usually very polite and sweet, more than willing to help out with anything. This time Aemond picked out dresses for you, some black while others in complete contrast.

It was a long, long spree and by the end of it, you were tired and you couldn't carry anymore bad anymore. Aemond had bought you everything that remotely looked beautiful on you, your arms drowning in bags and his too.

“Aemond, I need a new laptop.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and nodded, taking a turn. You followed behind like his personal pet as he stopped at a store. The boy, despite being around the same age as you, was massively taller than you. It hurt your legs to keep up with him.

As he got the laptop packaged, he turned to you and patted your head. “Do you need anything else?”

You pondered. You really did but you had almost everything in the palm of your hand for now. “I—I don't think I do. I'm very hungry though.”

“I'll take you to a restaurant.” Aemond said as he took the bag from the cashier, also his credit card, once again not sparing the recipient a glance. It was futile to him, as all his life he had never bothered to check the tag on something as small as clothes and daily use items.

You shook your head. “Can we eat here, in one of the food courts? I'm craving pizza.”

He stared down at you and then reluctantly nodded. He could do that much for you as much as he found it gross eating in food courts. He was willing to do that for you, as long as you stayed by his side. Aemond was not in love, nor was he obsessed.

But you'd caught his eye.

With your coy personality, how you kept to yourself and turned down people in the university.You were like him in ways and your beauty played a big part in your allure.

He nodded his head and you smiled, clapping your hands but not loudly enough to grasp everyone's attention. Without thinking twice, your arm wrapped around his as you pulled him along to a nearby food court. There were multiple small fast food restaurants.

Aemond stared down at the way you wrapped your arm around his — your plush breasts caressing the side of his arm, as you walked. He looked away and cleared his throat. Aemond wished to pounce on you and take you right on the floor of the mall but he had no intentions to intimidate you, to scare you off.

This was his chance.

He was not going to ruin it.

The two of you ordered after taking a seat and once your food had arrived, you digged in. The taste melting right at your tongue and you wriggled on your chair, a habit which had pursed you from childhood into adulthood. You often did that — a little dance, whenever you were eating something delicious.

Pizza was delicious.

“Are you happy?” Aemond asked, tilting his head as he stared at you.

You nodded. You were more than happy, you were ecstatic. This was like a dream, something beyond the realm of your subconscious mind. Only fulfilled within the abstract form of your mind.

“I'm more than happy.” You sent him a wide smile, your cheeks rounding up and eyes disappearing.

He couldn't understand why you were this happy because all of this, he owned. He was the rightful owner yet he never felt the same level of happiness that you were showcasing right now. He had all the money in the world, unnecessary amount of wealth left by his ancestors but he felt empty, like a tin can. Shallow and an abyss had formed within his rotten core.

It rendered him flummoxed often.

He watched you eat your meal. You were like a little girl in a candy shop, or a child lost in a toy shop. Happiness suited you. It made you appear ethereal and his mind wandered off to other sinful thoughts. It was painfully embarrassing how he kept thinking of ruining you, fucking you in one of the many lingerie pieces he'd bought you.

You were finished soon and he barely had an appetite. Aemond and you were back in his car, driving towards the apartment. This time his hand landed on your thigh, fingers curving around it, holding it. Thumb swiping across the soft supple flesh, his jaw clenched.

You felt butterflies nip at your stomach as heat pooled in your lower abdomen. Even though you did not know much about Aemond other than what you'd gathered from people on campus and little details by living with him, you found him attractive nonetheless. His beauty was unlike you had ever seen before.

You felt butterflies nip at your stomach as heat pooled in your lower abdomen. Even though you did not know much about Aemond other than what you'd gathered from people on campus and little details by living with him, you found him attractive nonetheless. His beauty was unlike you had ever seen before.

Enchanting. Captivating. Alluring.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Aemond���s hand moved up now, while he drove and stared ahead. You wondered if it was on purpose or if he was too lost in driving to even be conscious of his own actions? The question was left unanswered as the side of his fingers caressed along your clothed cunt.

You flinched at the touch.

But you didn't complain, nor did you stop him.

Instead, the fluttering need in your stomach made you part your thighs open a little, giving him more access.

His fingers kept brushing along your clothed slit, running it along your clit. Your breath grew uneven as he completely pushed his hand between your thighs. Aemond’s fingers pressed onto your swollen clit, which demanding attention, through the fabric of your cotton panties. He found it endearing how despite being a cam girl — you had a pair of cotton panties on.

Then he retrieved his hand, leaving you aching and squirming on the seat.

It was already evening now, the sun had begun to set and darkness was soon going to lay above the city.

Aemond turned the car somewhere, you had no idea where. Then it came to a halt, as he pulled the brakes and the sound of the unlocked doors caught your attention. His jaw was clenched and his face was impassive. It did intimidate you, even if just a little bit.

Aemond turned the car somewhere, you had no idea where. Then it came to a halt, as he pulled the brakes and the sound of the unlocked doors caught your attention. His jaw was clenched and his face was impassive. It did intimidate you, even if just a little bit.

“Get in the back.”

That was all he said, before stepping out and getting back in the car. You did the same and now there was nothing separating you from him. The lever was not in between you two and your heart pounded like wild horses galloping against your ribcage.It was quiet.

You wanted to speak, but the moment you raised your head up to do it, Aemond’s hand slithered across your nape as he slammed his lips over yours. It left you with heightened desires and desperate needs. Your thighs pushed, creating friction for some sort of relief as his grip tightened on your nape. He pushed you again the door — the force of it making you wince as your back collided with the handle.

Aemond moved his lips over yours like an animal, not permitting you to breathe or even take the lead.

Is this what he meant by being controlling? Because right in that very moment, it seemed as though Aemond Targaryen would swallow you whole without letting you possess an ounce of control over him, over the actions being done between you two. His free hand slammed on the window as he trapped you completely, while devouring your lips.

Sucking and biting with utter need.

Your small hands shifted to push at his chest but to no avail. Like a strong tornado which only knew how to consume and devour, Aemond’s mind knew only of that goal. To consume and devour you.

His teeth sunk into your lower lip, nipping and you whined. Your little sounds filling up the car, causing his cock to stir awake in his leather pants. He was over the edge already, all he needed was a little push.

His hands moved to the edge of your dress, bunching up the ruffles between his fingers and pushing them up. You couldn't stop him even if you wanted to — he was strong and he was not going to stop. His actions were enough as a testament that Aemond was fucking needy.

Feeling the cold air from the conditioning in the car trickle against the sensitive skin of your thighs, you whined at the sensation of being devoured and ravaged while the heat in your abdomen warred with the chilling air.

“Aemond—”

He occupied your lips in a kiss again, slithering his greedy tongue inside your mouth and fucking it.

All while his hands found a path inside your thighs, inching deeper and deeper until his fingers brushed along your soaked panties, feeling how your cunt throbbed. A guttural groan escaped him at the feeling and he didn't waste time sliding your cotton panties aside, leaving light touches over your drenched cunt.

“Gods,” Aemond murmured against your swollen lips, “you're soaking wet.”

A satisfaction seeped into the confinement of his chest as he angled the bad of his thumb over your pearl, moving it in soft slow circles earning a breathy gasp out of you. It sent chills straight down to his loins, his leather slacks tightening and he felt suffocated in his clothes.

All because of how pretty you sounded.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Aemond questioned like he was speaking to a child and you looked up at him, doe-eyed expression, eyes exploding with wanton and desire as you nodded.

He lowered his face to the side of your face, going lower and lower until he was buried in your neck. Aemond inhaled, the sickeningly sweet scent overwhelming his senses as the circles he rubbed over your clit grew hastier, needier.

Pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, Aemond noticed how your hips squirmed on the seat, moving side to side and he grinned at that. He ran a long digit up your soaked slit, accumulating the essence of your sticky arousal and then probing at your slick hole. It wasn't long before he had slid his finger in and your small hand moved to grab his shoulder.

Eyes rolled back, you cried out a wail and tightened around him. Being a cam girl, he'd expected you to be used to this but the faces you made, the sounds you let out, it was as if you were experiencing all of this for the first time ever.

Like a little virgin.

“Pretty girl,” he whispered along your neck before baring his teeth and sinking them in your skin. “all mine, my pretty girl.”

It was lost on you in that moment that Aemond Targaryen was staking his claim on you, possessing you.

You had no idea what you'd gotten yourself into but in this moment you could only focus on his finger moving inside your sweet cunt, his thumb drawing tender circles on your pulsating clit and his soft lips leaving bite marks and kisses along your skin.

Soon he added another finger, using both, curving them in an endless search for that sweet spot concealed within you. Soon, he found it when he thrusted up and your back arched, hand fisting the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder and head pressed against the windows of his car.

You looked absolutely ravishing.

“I can imagine the faces you'd make with my cock inside you, deep within your puffy cunt, thrusting inside.” He whispered and you hadn't expected him to be this vocal, especially when he was such a quiet person in general.

Always minding his own business, keeping to himself and not even engaging in any conversations besides the ones that are necessary.

“You'd like that, pretty girl?” Aemond questioned in a low, sultry voice. “Like my cock pounding into your pussy?”

You responded by clenching around his fingers, snuggly clasped around the pair and he chuckled in his ear. Low and deep. You really were a needy, greedy little thing and he felt his ego inflate even more at the thought of having you like this. “Something tells me you'd love it.”

Tears prickled your waterline as he thrusted his fingers deep inside you, knuckles pressing against your quivering flesh as he continued his biting. Your right leg was sprawled over his thigh as loud, prominent whimpers and moans flew out of your mouth. You were a loud one, a vocal thing but he didn't mind.

He enjoyed it.

Relished the sounds you made. All because of him. He kept plunging his digits inside you, watching your face as it contorted in pleasure and a layer of perspiration had sheened over your forehead. The heat in your body, warmth flooding through your veins winning in the battle against the air conditioning of the car.

The coil inside your stomach was near to snapping, your thighs suffering from tremors as your walls snugged his fingers. Tight to the point he felt the warmth from his fingers shoot straight to his loins. Painfully hard he was but right now, it was all about you.

After all he needed you malleable.

“Aemond, please. I.. I'm gonna..” You cried out, hips writhing on the leather seat and he curved his fingers deeper. “Let go, pretty girl. Make a mess on my fingers, show me how pretty you look when you come.”

That was all you needed. All the encouragement as you arched your nape and gasped out. Eyes rolling to greet the darkness behind lowered lids, the coil within your stomach snapped and you ascended heaven in a way foreign to you. Thighs convulsing and hips twitching, tears streamed down your face as you sobbed from the pleasure.

Gods, you were absolutely sensitive and beautiful. Perfection and Aemond knew he'd made the right choice.

All you saw was white, for a fleeting moment when you gushed out. Making an absolute mess over his expensive leather seats and fisting the fabric of his polo shirt to the point of pale knuckles.

Aemond was in awe.

How beautiful you seemed, crying and in complete bliss. In that moment he contemplated taking you right there, in that damn car. But that one little mistake, one tiny slip up of unbridled desires would become the bane of this entire situation and he did not want that. Circumspect to actually push more, so he took you in his arms and pressed your face in his chest.

“You're fine,” he whispered, softly as your flushed cheeks throbbed from the heat and embarrassment. Gaze flickering down to leather black seats glistening from your climax. “you did well, pretty girl. You were amazing.”

Hearing praise from someone could mean so much and your heart fluttered as your own arms moved to wrap around his nape. Buried in his chest, it was a good feeling. Being taken care of like this, it surely helped you feel much better about this whole predicament.

“I'm sorry about your car.” You whispered and Aemond shook his head.

The car didn't matter, the fine leather didn't matter when he could watch you unravel like this each and everytime. “Don't worry about it, it's nothing.”

You'd calmed down now and thoughts lingered. This situation wasn't as bad as you'd expected it to turn out and it made you relax a little, nerves put to sleep.

A month had passed.

Life had changed drastically for you. Camming was long forgotten as Aemond provided you with everything. From a something as minor as a toothbrush to a luxurious car. He had given you everything, anything that you ever even laid your gaze on and you truly felt like a princess.

That was until you decided to go out with your friends to a club.

It was packed. Loud music and flashing lights expanding over the area outside, a sinful invitation for the people passing by on the streets.

You were dragged along by your friends and giggles erupted from your mouth as the entrance to the club was packed but nonetheless, you were allowed in. It was the same club which you had visited multiple times with Aemond in the past one month and the bouncers immediately recognized you, giving you permission.

Using Aemond’s power to go into VIP clubs was thrilling. It was what you got in return for being his little plaything.

The music was boosting, its bass loud enough to shake the club dance floor. You were pulled to the bar and your two girl friends ordered some drinks. Each ordering a shot of tequila with lemon and salt. They had begged you to come to the club with them and had even encouraged you to turn off your location.

A big mistake.

But the idea of a fun night out without a care in the world was too enticing for you to not act upon it.

The club was crowded, people going crazy on the dance floor, some couples even making out in the corner and you grinned, brain showing you images of the time when you had ridden Aemond’s cock in the corner of the club on a couch. It was euphoric and the memory brought heat to your cheeks.

“Drink up!” You heard a friend scream over the music and the three of you drowned your shots.

That carried on until you three had consumed about four shots. You swayed over to the dance floor, the music picking up and your friends followed. Dancing your heart out, you turned down every boy that dared to approach you, telling them how you were already in a relationship.

A relationship that was not normal.

Your phone in your purse buzzed and buzzed, set to vibration, with text messages from Aemond and missed calls. All which you ignored in the pursuit of a fun night out.

Meanwhile Aemond was holding his device in his, gripping it with such exertion, it could break in his hands. He was at a dinner with his parents, carrying on conversations about his university life but when he decided to check your location and found it turned off, an irritation set ablaze. The cherry on top were you not picking up his calls, nor responding to his texts like he didn't exist.

It angered him.

You'd broken that one rule he had strictly prohibited you from breaking.

“Excuse me. I've got some business to attend to,” he stood up from the chair abruptly and nodded to his parents, before leaving the table. He'd hopped in his car with a clenched jaw and a hard glare, his knuckles releasing all his anger and frustration on the damn steering wheel.

“Pick up, fucking pick up.” He muttered, dialing your number again but to no avail. Aemond was disappointed. He was seething and he had absolutely no fucking idea about your whereabouts or if you were even safe.

You'd never done that before.

As he was about to tap on your number again, his eye narrowed at the number which flashed before in his gaze. Picking it up, she brought it to his ear.

“What.”

“Your girlfriend is here. With her friends, I thought you should know.” It was the manager of the club, someone that Aemond knew very well.

With poorly contained rage, he responded back. “Keep an eye on her, I'll be there.”

He tossed his phone into the passenger seat and picked up, foot pressing against the accelerator. It wasn't long before he had parked right outside the club and maneuvered his way through the large crowd of people. Lips in a tight line, his one good eye ran over the people dancing.

And there you were.

With anticipation drumming in his chest, he found you with your arms in air as you swayed your hips left and right. A big smile stretched over your face, without a damn worry in the world.

He scoffed and walked over to you, his hand reaching out to circle around your frail wrist. Aemond pulled you to him and a gasp left your lips when your eyes met his and a chill ran down your spine. He looked angry, the expression was never seen before on his face but it was there.

Usually he was very sweet, very gentle, and he fucked good too.

But right now you could feel the heat emanating from him.

“While I’m worried sick, having no fucking idea about your whereabouts, you're having the time of your fucking life.” Aemond snapped at you and his harsh tone knocked the air out of your lungs.

But that wasn't enough.

He dragged you out of the club, not caring about the amount of people he crashed into, his only goal being dragging your ass back to your shared apartment and reprimanding you. Reminding you who owned you, who you belonged to, who fucking looked after you.

Your attempts to free your wrist out of his grip were proven useless as he pushed you into the car, watching how your body collided against the plush seats. Then he moved over and slid into the driver’s seat. A scowl was evident on his face as his speed went above hundred, reaching the apartments soon.

It scared you how quiet he was being.

You could not dare to speak up, to apologize to him because he was furious. All you could do was sit there, with trembling hands and a stomach churning with anticipation. Forehead covered in a thin layer of perspiration and lips twitching, you two made it out of the car.

His hand was clasped once again around your wrist, dragging you up to the apartment.

The moment he reached the door, he opened it and pushed you inside with a scoff. His face devoid of any emotion other than anger and you felt your heart thud like a galloping horse in your chest. Aemond was like a deadly viper, waiting to envelope you.

“What did I say about the location?”

You knew he wanted you to say it, but your throat had dried. Your lips glued together and Aemond reached forward, closing the distance between you two, fingers dimpling into your cheeks to elevate your chin up. Grip harsh and searing.

“What. Did. I. Fucking. Say?”

You flinched. “Never.. Never turn it off.”

He nodded. “And what did you fucking do?”

“I turned it off.” You whispered, feeling the weight of what you've done heave down on you. The fear spread across your face was such a enticing sight for him and it only burgeoned the strength he applied to your chin.

You whimpered in response.

His pupils were dilated, blown fully and his pale skin was dusted red from all the anger and frustration pent up inside him. You panted, breathing ragged and broken as you tried to soothe him. “I'm sorry—I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, my friends, they told me it wouldn't matter—”

“Your friends fucking told you to turn off your location and you listened to them?” Aemond lowly questioned, his next words were even more condescending making you feel like you actually were stupid. “Are you that dumb?”

You felt tears brim your eyes and you sniffled, feeling like you had disappointed him. Like you'd ruined the perfect relationship which had stirred between the two of you and the sight of you so fragile, on the brink of falling apart only made his longing for you grow even more. “Who pays for your little designer bags, huh? I recall it is my credit card that you swipe whenever a new dior bag catches your eye, not your fucking friends.”

Aemond released your chin and you almost felt relief wash over you, only he used the same hand to grab you by your nape, dragging you along.

Your feet could barely keep up in the tall heels you were as he carelessly pulled you along up the stairs.

“You need a good throat fucking. That'll fix you right up.” Aemond said through gritted teeth, pulling you over the stairs.

Reaching your shared room, he pushed inside it and took a seat on the bed. His actions rough and condescending as he shoved you down on your knees. It hurt from how harshly he was man handling you but you felt as though you deserved it for breaking a rule.

“I'm sorry—”

Your head whipped to the side from the sheer force of his hand colliding against your right cheek. A burning sensation blossoming paired with scarlet and your eyes widened at him. It had left you speechless and Aemond’s hand drowned in your locks, tugging on them at the base causing you to arch your nape and look up at him.

“If you used your mouth for something else other than sucking my cock, I'll make sure you never see the light again.” He threatened, with a glare. “Understood?”

You were not one to take his threats lightly and you nodded, with a soft sob escaping your lips. The sight of you so unraveled and disheveled, even though he had not done anything as of yet made his heart clench and his resolve almost crumbled apart.

Only his anger possessiveness won.

His eye dropped down to the prominent bulge in his pants and you didn't need any more clear instructions than that to do what he wanted. Trembling fingers worked their way around his pants as you dragged his zipper down. In a few seconds, you had unveiled his cock and pulled it out. It didn't curve or hit his abdomen, the heavy weight of it holding it down. With his cock, came equally heavy balls and a shudder ran through you at the sight.

Closing your fist around his cock, you earned a growl from him.

“Suck.” He commanded and you were more than quick to oblige, leaning in and closing your glossy lips around his cock.

Taking him deeper and deeper, sliding with your tongue laid flat against his underside, feeling a vein there throb with obvious wanton. You dived in more, the tip of your nose coming in contact with his neatly trimmed hair emerging from his groin. Tears spilled when his swollen cockhead breached your throat, fully nestling in there.

Aemond groaned, his hips bucking up with need. “Hold still, don't fucking move.”

You tried, attempted to stay still but when he moved his hand down to pinch your nose, destroying any chance of you receiving oxygen, you started trashing. Aemond didn't care, relishing how you broke and teared up more, face turning pale.

“This is exactly how I felt when your stupid fucking location was off, princess. How worried I got, how I couldn't fucking breathe.” Aemond reprimanded and all you could do was look at him with tearful, pleading eyes, begging to be let go.

You trashed here and there, hands moving to his thigh, nails digging into his skin through his dress pants but that was nothing in front of the anger which had erupted like a damn volcano from him. Your desperation to free yourself was least bothersome to him as he tightened his fingers around your nose.

Saliva sputtered around your mouth as you sobbed, endlessly trying to free yourself and then Aemond finally released you. Both his hands moving back to rest on the mattress, he watched you inhale long chains of oxygen, watching you fall back on your ass and claw at your throat.

“Back to sucking, whore.” Aemond snapped his fingers.

You looked up at him through a teary gaze and nodded, getting back on your knees and wrapping your mouth around him, engulfing him. He groaned at the return of your warmth and bucked his hips up, fucking your throat with abandon. It wasn't lost before he spurted his hot white cum inside your throat, straight shooting down. You fluttered your lids shut and swallowed all around his mouth, not leaving a drop.

Aemond didn't even have to order you to swallow, knowing you were generally obedient.

His large hand moved from the bed, laying on top of your head as he collected your hair in a fist, pulling you up. Pain shot through your scalp and you stiffened, looking up at him as he brought you up. “You disappointed me, greatly. I've given you everything, made you a fucking princess overnight and you couldn't keep one rule?”

You sniffled, like a child, tears streaming down your flushed scarlet cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, didn't mean to.. I-I swear.”

Aemond pulled you up towards the bed, standing up and tossing you over the mattress. His softened cock regained its stamina, hardening again, swaying side to side and your eyes widened. Grabbing you by your ankle, he pulled you towards the edge of the bed and then brought his boot up, pressing it against your ankle. Hard enough to make you feel pain but gentle enough to not break your ankle.

“I could have anyone, anyone in this entire city.” He said, narrowed gaze focused. “But I chose you. You should be worshipping me, licking my fucking boots.”

You sniffled, as he pushed apart your thighs and ripped at the pathetic excuse you wore for panties. The fabric was flimsy and he tossed the tattered pieces aside. Aemond spread apart your pink glistening folds with his thumbs, revealing your little wet hole and your clit hidden beneath its hood. He loved eating you out, making you cum over and over again with his tongue.

But not now, you didn't deserve to have his tongue in your cunt after what you'd done.

So he aligned his cock with your hole, and watched as his swollen head breached your hole. Your cunt immediately squeezed around him with wanton, desperation and excitement causing him to chuckle. “God, you're so desperate. Even after I humiliated you, your little cunt clings on to me with such need.”

You look up at him, baffled by his humiliation as this was a side you never thought existed to someone like him. You'd always assumed him to be a kind introvert who somehow found you pretty and decided to provide.

This was different.

It terrified you as he glared down at you, eyebrows furrowed and pupil dilated. Due to the perspiration, his silver hair clung to his forehead and you swallowed.

In one single hit, Aemond nestled his cock deep inside your cunt and buried himself to the hilt. Your saliva around his cock had lubed it enough for him to be able to glide easily within your suffocating walls. “Fuck, I love this tight little cunt.” He growled, holding your thighs apart, a tight bruising grip leading you to cry out.

Tears spilled as you felt your pussy struggle to accommodate to his size. It wasn't the first time he'd fucked you but everytime he did, you felt like you were being split open by his thick hot cock. It felt good but also hurt and you arched your back, bucking your hips up.

Aemond slammed your hips down, taking you into a mating press position causing you to wail out as he drove deeper. Legs over his shoulders almost, his chest fully pressed against yours, his cock reaching your womb with his position. “Please, please—”

“Shut your damn mouth,” Aemond snapped, smacking you across the cheek as he began to thrust.

His cock slammed in and out of you, leaving you crying and sobbing. Your tits bouncing with each thrust, leaving you completely feeling like some porn star. He'd never taken you like this, with such humiliation and you tried to bury your face in his chest.

Aemond growled, enjoying each and every moment of your sopping wet heat engulfed around him, clamping down hungrily. His hand flew to your stomach, being able to feel his cock bulge against it and the fact that he was so deep inside you lead his balls to draw up tight. Hot and throbbing.

As his curved tip hit your sweet spot, your back arched and you cried out. “Right there, please right there!”

Aemond chuckled, darkly as he began to hit that same spot over and over again. The coil in your stomach which tethered on the edge of snapping finally did snap, falling off and your cunt squeezed him in. Gushing everywhere, making a mess and spraying him wet in your liquids. It didn't matter to him as he continued pounding into you, the headboard of the bed creaking violently from the sheer force of his hard thrusts.

“Stop, I-I can't.” You sobbed, saliva mixing in with tears rolling down your chin.

Aemond’s hand moved to your throat, wrapping around it. He pushed forward and choked you, tightening it to the point your eyes rolled back to your head. His cock pulsated within your velvety soaked walls and you grew sensitive around him, hips twitching and writhing. Thighs convulsing and body completely spent.

“Tell me I own you,” Aemond’s grip tightened, cutting off your air supply. “Tell me before I choke you unconscious.”

Your eyes opened and you looked at him, blinking away the tears. “You—You own me, own me, Aemond.” Your words were slightly coherent but satisfying enough for him.

You'd expected him to let go but the man squeezed harder, applying pressure on your throat and right when you saw random objects in your peripheral vision, he released you and pulled his cock out of you with a wet, suckling pop.

You'd assumed he was done.

But a tight slap to your swollen cunt awakened you, a wave of electricity jolting through you.

“Ride my cock,” Aemond said, already laying against the headboard. With a sniffle and more tears spilling, you crawled over to him weakly with a twitching pussy and straddled him.

Aemond had one hand behind his head while he watched you, struggling to align his slippery cock with your hole but soon, you succeeded. As you sunk down, your back arched and head turned back, hips meeting his thighs. His cock was thick but it was more longer than it was thick, stuffing you so nicely.

Your toes were pushed on the mattress as you began to ride him, bouncing up and down like some sex doll made for him. Aemond watched with a hungry gaze, finding satisfaction in how humiliated you appeared in front of him. “Bounce harder, slut. I've taught you better than this.”

Your small hands moved on his chest for support, as you impaled yourself on his length, bouncing with more vigor. Your face was flushed, drenched in sweat and tears as you bounced and bounced with all your strength.

“Who's credit cards do you use for for shopping, baby?” He asked, mockingly.

Your lips were parted open, making way for needy whimpers. “Y-Yours.”

Aemond nodded and grinned at you, a sadistic grin. “Then who's cock should you be bouncing on, who's calls and texts you shouldn't ignore?”

“Yours.” You sobbed, hips meeting his in a loud slap each time you bounced. His hands found your waist, lifting you up with great ease and holding you in the air as he began to thrust upwards, pummeling his cock into your slick heat.

The room was filled with the obscene wet sounds of your squelching pussy, each time he thrusted upwards. Your thighs shuddered, hips twitching, blood pumping fiercely and heart pounding.

Another orgasm was near, another need to burst open.

“Please, gonna cum, gonna cum again.” Your nails dug into his chest, the second impending climax much more powerful and overwhelming than the first one.

Aemond grabbed your hair, pulling it and baring your neck to him. He leaned forward and sunk his teeth into you, biting you down like some beast as his cock continued its violent abuse. You tightened around him, squeezing him in and then you came once more, making a mess everywhere. Your walls had grown extremely sensitive and you couldn't take anymore.

Eyes rolling back to your head, nails leaving crescent moons on his chest, you emptied out over his thighs. “Too much, too much! Please stop, don't wanna!”

But Aemond didn't listen. His own balls throbbed and the delicious squeeze of your hot pussy made him hiss. Teeth nibbling on your skin, he spilled his seed into you, rope after rope filling your womb up. “Yeah, take it. Take it, slut. Take my fucking cum and suck it in your tight little womb.” Shooting again and again until he too was spent and drained. You both collapsed on the bed, your face meeting his chest.

For a moment only the sounds of your low whines and his ragged breathing could be heard in the room. Your body throbbed in pain from how brutally he'd taken you but at least now you'd find peace, be allowed to fall asleep.

Too bad.

“I'm not done with you, pretty girl.” Aemond whispered in your ear and after a couple of minutes, you felt his cock harden again.

Just how much stamina did he physically possess?

[hoshigray]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐧' 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 | nanami kento

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: werewolf! Nanami x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - heat/rut cycles - masturbation (m! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play - mating press position - breeding kink - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy, you sillies!) - knotting - biting/love bites - first he's sweet, then he's a bit feral - pet names (angel, baby, honey, my love, sweetpea, sweetie) - mention of cum, and spit/drool.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k

Nanami Kento, your stoic, judicious, respectable, and attentive husband, is a werewolf. It is a fact that might sound exciting on the outside, yet it is quite a hassle for the blonde to go through. Despite that, he ensures he cares for his partner and their needs because you, his beautiful lover, are his priority.

“—Ahhhck, ohhhfuckkk!! Harder, Ken, hardeeerr!!”

…Until his ruts kick the door, and he’s wired to fuck your brains out. 

Imagine it, right? Nanami’s been under the motions of his rut for hours, and it’s been going cataclysmically unpleasant. We’re talking very long – excruciatingly long – hours of writhing under the blanket of his horniness. Bad enough that he’s called off work for two days straight, writhing and sweating in his sheets because his head is pounding nonstop, pushing his face deep into the pillow because it hurts to think, and the tent of his sweatpants becoming more and more solid with every whiff of your scent on his bed.

You. That’s all he can think about; it’s like a necessity. Fair-colored eyebrows knitted together tightly the more he sniffs your scent off the pillow, messy bed hair sticking to sweat the more he squirms and trails a hand down to his raging boner. Choked groans slip out his lips as he fists himself, the friction becoming faster and stronger as his wish to be here beside him propels his heartbeat to leave him winded.

“Hahhhfuck…baby…” he says your name in a blurry haze, memories flaunting pictures of you to worsen his drive. The grip on his dick goes firmer, to and fro, from the crown of his glans to the base and top of his ballsack. All he wants right now is for you to be closer, to kiss, to suck, to bite, to mate — to breed.

“Kenny, baby, I’m home!” And just like that, his prayers are answered. “I brought some food on my way back!”

He can hear you by your footsteps waltzing around the apartment, your scent becoming pungent and seeping from under the bedroom door, adding more fuel to aggravate the fog in his head. His teeth are clenched, strokes are rampant, and a spot on his grey sweats is dampening. 

“Babe, you here?” You draw near the room, knocking on the door before opening it. “Ohh, Kento—Oh!!” Of course, you walked in on him in a vulnerable state, already throwing apologies his way and turning your heel back. “Sorry! I didn’t know you were—“

“No, n-no, it’s okay,” he stammers, and you halt. “Please, sweetie…I need your help here.”

Your lips flatten at the plea; the way he borderline begs for your participation pulls a chord. You silently close the door, taking soft steps to the bed before sitting on the mattress. Your spouse-in-heat pulls his sweatpants down to his ass for his length to spring out, erect and angry to be used.

There is slight diffidence in your hands until Nanami pulls yours to switch; your breath hitches at the contact of his glans on your palm. Nanami hisses as your cold fingers curl around his shaft; the contrast of the temperature as you glide up and down forces his thighs to quirk. “Ahhh, yess, yes, my love,” he melts under your touch, subtly bucking his hips to your tempo.

“Holy shit…” the sight of his precum slipping out of the urethra and trailing down and slipping under your fingertips makes you chew your lip. “It’s that bad?” Your husband nods. “What you need, baby?”

He grabs for your shirt with a vicious grip as you keep stroking his pulsing dick, and you gulp thickly. “You,” he says lowly. “I need you. Right now.”

And just like the lovely and pleasing person you are, you allow him to have his way with you.

Stripped off your pants and panties, your legs spread apart by his hands, a dominant hold on the back of your knees as he pushes them to your chest, and your cunt is bare for him to ravish. He’s fucking hungry for you, his tongue practically glued to your labia and swishing around to collect your slick. Sounds of intense slurps on your vulva can be heard, pushing his face deep for his nose to brush up on your clitoris while he drinks your come. You moan aloud, a sharp cry as he flicks his wet muscle on your bud, encircling around it. 

“Ohhh, hoohh…!” You grip the sheets beneath you as he sucks on your peal after spitting on it. “Fuck, Kentooo, wait a—Nnmm!”

“Hnnmm…Mmpah, shit, you taste so good, baby,” he mutters before lapping on your clip lazily, and you throw your head to the pillow. “Smell so good, too…” Nanami returns his mouth to your opening, wet with your liquids and his saliva, coursing his tongue again to pervade through your sensitive flesh. And he pushes the muscle into your slit, and you jerk upwards.

“—Mmm, Kento, stooop!” Trembling legs fail to muster out of his grip. “I caaan’t; I just came already…!!” He pushes his tongue to and fro, fucking you with every push and sucking in more of your nectar to coat his tastebuds. Your nerves have already spiked thanks to your orgasm prior, yet your partner continues to double you down to a whimpering mess. 

He places chaste kisses on your privates, then substitutes his mouth with a swift insert of his middle finger. He already has you wailing from the digit wiggling inside. Fuck, you looked so cute. 

You nearly choke on the spit as his middle finger grazes against your vaginal walls. “—Fuuuck, Kenn’, don’t, I’m too sensi—“ 

“I know, honey,” he coos while his finger pleases you to the knuckle, secretly teasing his ring finger before you gasp sharply at the insertion. Now, two digits push and pull your innards, venturing knuckles-deep to erupt more uncontrollable moans to fly out your mouth. “But I gotta have you ready for me.”

“…B-But I am readyyy!!” Your words slur unintentionally; damn his fingerwork! “I want iiit; I want you so bad!”

“What’s that? What do you want?” He teases with a grin on your clitoris with his thumb; he knows what you want – the exact thing he needs right now. It’s just better when you say it.

“Kento, please! Fuck me!” you beg with glossy eyes. “Fill me up, ‘kay? Make me all fat and full tonight…!”

God, did he love to hear you say it, quivers crawling up his spine as he removes his fingers to suck on. What you said was all he needed to hear; he was going to fuck you regardless, but you have no idea how much he needed to dump every bit of him into you. 

And the moment his dick slips inside your tightness, the last piece of his persistence is thrown out the window.

Animalistic — for lack of a better term — is how Nanami is during his cycle. It’s not something you’re unfamiliar with based on prior intimate moments, but during times like this, it’s nothing but. It’s evident in the way he has you right now, with your legs propped to your chest and his fat cock stuffed inside your wet chasm.

Under Nanami’s bow, you lie on the receiving end of your husband’s inexorable pace. The moment the blonde man added the tip of his cock to your warmth, he gave in to his inner desires. He snapped his hips so hard and fast that your entire frame rippled with his harsh movements, not giving you time even to breathe, nearly choking on your spit.

Sounds of skin slapping against each other go louder by the second, and he moans aloud to add to the chaos of the bedroom. Jesus, fuck, you felt so fucking good! So snug and warm, so suitable for his aching dick, which he’s been drilling into your slit already stuffed with his come, filling your womb after two previous rounds. But it wasn’t enough from how much kept coming out from every push; he needed to fuck you — he needed to knot you! 

“Shiiit, shit—Hnnngh!” The way your vaginal walls keep clamping him is enough to snatch his soul. “Damn, this is crazy…!”

“Ahhh, ahhhhh, ohh!” Your cries grow squeakier, Nanami’s fat girth grazing your sweet spots easily. “Ohhhhyesss, keep fucking meeee….Harder, hardeeerr!”

Oh, you’re such a bad influence telling him that, kindling the fair-headed man’s primal desire to fuck you loose by rutting into you with increased speed and strength and frequent pokes to your cervix cause you to howl. “Yeahhh, you like that, angel? Like when I fuck the shit out of my pussy like this?” You were twitching like crazy as he growled those words to you; fuck yeah, you liked it – no, LOVED it.

“Yessss, babyy!!” Your expression was so fucked out, drool coming down from your puffy lips slide to your cheek. This position leaves you utterly submissive to Nanami like some breeding toy. It was pathetically euphoric! “Ohhhhh, fuck, more, gimme moree…!!”

“More?” God, he can feel it, his pacing going astronomically slower as he thrusts into you, and the way you whine at the abrupt change sends shivers. “Want me to bust my load again, my love?” You nodded frantically; fuck, you were so cute. “Want me to fill you up so bad so you can give me pups, huh?”

The more he talked, the more your excitement dialed. He then comes to your neck to lick and place a bite to your glands, and you shrill. “Yesss, yesss!! Stuff m’e up, make me fat with y’r babies, Kennyyy!!”

Holy fucking shit, his head pounds harder, elicits more loving bites, and he sneaks a hand to swipe your clitoris erratically. “Nnmm, fuck…Knot, I need’ta knot…!”

“Give it ‘o meee, Kento!!” You’re sure you sounded ridiculous, yet there’s no care in sight. Everything felt too good and right. “Gimme y’ur knot, baby, I want it, I want iiit…!”

That’s all you need to say before Nanami crashes his hungry lips onto yours and returns his hip to a jackhammering motion. Your tongue swirls with his, eyes rolling up with more hits to your womb while he sucks on your tongue wantonly. Grinds up against your G-spot has you squeezing him like no tomorrow, and you cry aloud as you sense something inside your inner channel expands. 

The base of Nanami’s penis inflates, the limb swelling up within your wetness and stays locked inside your cunt as he continues to piston himself into you as deep as he can. The more you scream into his mouth, the harder he ruts into you until the fated and desired reaction comes to rattle you both. 

Nanami ejaculates into you for the third time that night, padding your insides with more of his white, sticky, and thick jizz while the waves of his orgasm trap him in a state of elation. You come with him, wailing into the passionate kiss as your lower body quivers in its soreness, the walls of your vagina fluttering around the length in a sporadic pattern until your muscles gradually transition to rest. 

The knot keeps your lover inside you for a bit longer, even after Nanami’s done filling you up to the brim. But it doesn’t matter; your unionized state allows the both of you to spend this clarity together, kissing and tittering sweetly within your shared proximity.

“Make me a mama, Kento,” you whisper with a soft kiss on his sunken cheek.

And Nanami smiles breathlessly; the thought of you and a future pup to liven his happy little family swoons his heart with gladness.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ transparent edit made by me + dividers from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[davinawritings]

Werewolf Husband that is obsessed with your ass...

Werewolf husband that is obsessed with your ass. His hands are on it at all times of the day. It’s not even always super sexual. Sometimes it’s just a loving little slap as you pass him in the hallway or a firm grab as you bend over to reach for something. He always makes sure to give your ass a big squeeze as soon as you wake.

Cuddling= Hand on ass

Sleeping = Hand on ass

Bending over to tie your shoe laces = Hand on ass

Walking away after placing his food in front of him = Ass smack

Walk past him in the hallway= Ass smack 

Fucking: Ass smack, bite, grab and occasionally fuck

This werewolf is obsessed with your ass.

You have come to expect having your ass in his hands in some way, shape or form. So, when you woke up this morning and he didn’t grab it, you were completely thrown off. You didn’t say anything because maybe he just forgot, but then you walked by him in the hallway and he just gave you a small smile.

Once again you brushed it off, you know he has been working hard lately with the pack. Maybe he is just tired. 

Then you brought him lunch in his office. You made the food perfectly and put on a cute little skirt that practically screamed look at my butt and squeeze! Placing the food down you stood right next to him and angled your body so you were easy to reach and your ass was on prime display. He just thanked you and went back to work while taking bites of his food.

Now you know something is wrong. You spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what you did wrong. You cannot think of anything but surely you are missing something. Everything was normal when you went to sleep last night. He fucked your brains out then pulled you to his warm chest. You even felt his clawed hand stroking your ass as you drifted off to sleep. What could have possibly changed between then and this morning?

When your husband finally emerges from his office he finds you pouting on the sofa. He calls your name and as soon as you look at him the dam breaks and tears start pouring from your eyes. 

He is kneeling in front of you in seconds grabbing your smaller hands in his own and asking what is wrong.

When you tearfully say, “You haven't touched my butt today”, he just looks at you confused. You go on and try to explain, “You always touch my butt. You love it. Everytime you are within arms reach you grab it or smack it. You didn’t do it at all today. Not once! What did I do wrong? Do you not love me anymore? Do you not love my butt anymore?”

He looks at you in complete shock for a moment before howling in laughter. Your sad tears quickly turn into irritated tears and your small fists hit his chest.

“That’s why you’re crying? You think I don't love you anymore because I haven't grabbed your ass today”, he says between bouts of laughter.

You glare at him for making fun of you and refuse to say anything further, knowing he will just laugh more.

He finally controls himself before scooping you into his arms, his hand going straight to your ass to hold you up. His hands massage your ass as he sticks his long tongue down your throat, earning a needy moan from you. He begins walking towards the bedroom and says “Come on my little mate. Let me show you how much I love your ass by stuffing it full of my cock. Cant have my precious wife feeling unloved”.

You smile as he lands a firm slap on your right ass cheek, everything feeling right once again.

[127rkives]

uhhhh idk if anyone has discussed this before but... miguel likes to eat pussy from the back!!!

like idk, every once in a while, his brain goes brrrr and something short circuits. idk chalk it up to stress but it's more like some feral, animalistic urge. he can’t really explain it. it’s almost as if someone flips a switch, his mind goes blank except for the thought of needing to be with you, under you, in you. he has to stop whatever he’s doing and go find you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

and as soon as he makes it home to find you relaxed on the couch, he's flipping you over, contorting you face down ass up, and he’s nuzzling into your clothed pussy like a dog in fucking heat. when he’s finally spent just enough time shrouded in the scent of you, he's yanking your shorts off. he’s been at this for approximately 2 minutes but there's already a wet patch in the center of your panties. that sight makes his pupils dilate before going in for the kill. his claws come out to rip your panties to shreds right before he straight up nose dives into your pussy, and granted you can feel him, the action still catches you off guard enough for you to emit a loud gasp. it’s just too much too fast. “mig- ohhh!~”

“mmm... mmmf” miguel gets so much satisfaction from tasting you that he releases moans of his own. they would be bouncing around the room and intermingling with yours except right now he can't bring himself to pry his tongue from the slick walls of your cunt. 

“oh my gosh- miguel!”

hearing you raise your voice in alarm while saying his name is enough to make miguel pause for a second. you take the moment of reprieve to look over your shoulder— huffing and puffing— only to be stunned by miguel’s animalistic look. his curls are messily hanging near his eyes which are dark, yet spacey as if he’s on another planet. his lips are parted just enough to show a peek of his fangs as he breathes heavily through his mouth after suffocating himself with your pussy, and a gleaming mixture of his spit and your slick is smothered over half of his face and all the way down to his collarbone.

“m- miggy could you just give me a few seconds?” you ask. miguel tilts his head to the side and scoffs. a curt “no” is all you get before miguel locks his arms around your thighs to drag you back to his watering mouth. you don’t have claws like miguel but if you did the couch cushions would definitely be in shreds from the way you’re gripping them. 

the wet slurps of miguel’s tongue lapping at your cunt are soon paired with two of his thick fingers easily slipping in thanks to your arousal. he scissors them for a moment before adding a third. the speed he uses to pump them in and out and the feeling of his slightly calloused fingers against your gummy walls leaves you floating in the clouds. you’re brought crashing back down, however, when a deep groan from miguel sends sparks up your spine. soon enough you feel pressure building at the bottom of your stomach, only it doesn’t feel like it usually does. in a fit of panic you try to drag yourself out of miguel’s grip.

“ohhh my go- miggy!” it’s all you can do to let out little slurred calls of his name, but it doesn’t matter. miguel’s not stopping until he’s satisfied. your escape attempts are useless, but the wiggling is enough to piss him off.

“querida. don’t move so much. be good.” but you can’t be still. the tingly feeling in your tummy is growing and all you can do let out breathy moans as you thrash around in ecstacy.

“ahh- i can- can’t help it!”

all of your moving loosened miguel’s grip too much for his liking. in less than a second, he's yanking you back towards his mouth and hoisting your hips just high enough to wrap his lips around your cute little clit. 

one hard suck is all it takes before you’re squealing at the top of your lungs. a scream of “miguel!~” is the only thing leaving your lips while your vision goes white and your breathing stops for a second. miguel is unrelenting behind you, switching to messily swiping his thumb across your clit and shoving his tongue back into your pulsating cunt in an attempt to catch every last drop squirting in to his mouth. 

even when your arms give out beneath you and you faceplant into the couch miguel is still lapping at your outer lips like he’s been saved after being stranded in the desert for a year.

and like that, it’s like the switch in his brain flips again. he smooths his hands up and down your trembling thighs and scatters kisses in a path up your back to the nape of your neck. “you okay, cariño?” a weak “mhm” is all you can muster up as you turn your head to flash miguel a floaty smirk. he smiles and chuckles, recognizing the foggy look in your eyes. covered in a sheen of sweat and high off the feeling of him is just one of the times miguel thinks you look the most beautiful.

after ghosting his hands across your skin and giving you a few minutes to calm down, miguel goes to gently move you to his lap. he buries his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling all of you. with the little strength you have, you wiggle around in his lap attempting to get comfortable but something is in the way- 

“ohh~” miguel’s breath is hot on your neck as he groans into it. his fangs graze your skin, his hands grasp onto your hips for dear life and oh...

someone flipped the damn switch again...

[luvjunie]

— besos

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

a/n: this is my gif! it took so long to find this clip + make it into a gif so pls give credit if you use it lol

summary: your makeup leaves kiss imprints all over miles’ face and neck, which you quickly have to figure out how to hide from his mother. wc: 1,033

contains: fluff, teenage romance

word bank: “besos” - kisses, “enamorado” - lover boy, “mijo” - son, “dios mio” - my god

“Hold still…”

Your soft lips pressed testimonies of your love upon the surface of Miles’ smooth skin, your giggles of excitement muffled as you kissed his temple, the apple of his cheek, the tip of his nose, the corner of his lips— anywhere you could easily reach, really.

Steady hands cradled the dip of your back to keep you in your straddled position on his lap, gentle fingers ghosting over the fold of your waistband and one of his eyes pinched closed in preparation for more of your frenzied affection.

“Jeez, you love me love me, huh?” he laughed, his answer presented to him in the way your kisses began to trail along his jaw, then started further down the column of his neck, his pulse gently thrumming against your gloss-tinted lips as the pace of his heart quickened.

His tongue quickly swiped at his chapped lips and he allowed his eyes to fall closed with a light sigh, enjoying himself for just a moment, until the distant sound of pots clinking brought him back to where he really was, in his room, with his mother just a few paces outside, resulting in a gentle warning pat against the curve of your hip.

“Alright, alright, chill.” he chuckled breathily, slowly pulling away from you to lean back on his hands and take you in, drinking in the image of how cute you looked on his lap like this.

He didn’t need a mirror to see what his face looked like, the slightly shocked expression on yours as you covered your laugh with a hand was enough for him to go off of.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t, to tell him that his face wasn’t lavished in the remnants of your brown lip gloss and liner— but you couldn’t. He was covered in them, prints of your lips garnished all over his handsome features. Your lips split apart and came back together like a fish out of water, so you simply settled for another stifled snicker and a head nod instead.

“You do know if my mom sees this on my face it’s our asses, right?” he reminded you, and as if on cue, you heard his mother’s voice project from outside, your spine standing straight, just like the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Mijo, food is ready, come eat!”

Stunned eyes locked onto Miles’ for a beat, just to see if they were as wide as yours, or if they held just as much panic— and they did. Without a word spoken you scrambled off his lap faster than you’d even gotten there in the first place, his mirroring of your movements almost causing him to tumble off the bed. The room was thrust into a discord of silenced chaos for a few panicked seconds, your body spinning in two aimless half-circles with disoriented, wafting hands; as if the ridiculous looking movement could actually assist your anxiety frazzled brain in coming up with a plan.

Miles ruffled his sheets, hands frantically splaying around to find anything that would be useful in this moment until a shirt came into your view— a hurried, whisper-shout of his name tearing from your throat to get his attention. You swiftly kicked it up from the floor with your foot, flinging it towards his face and watching as his hand shot out in front of him to catch it not even a second after you’d punted it.

The graphic t-shirt you’d found managed to scrub his face clean of the incriminating evidence, not that you had much time to check the success rate of that as you were rushed out of the room hastily, your boyfriend’s hands plastered against the lower-middle of your back to usher you out the room in large steps, your feet having to shuffle to keep up.

“Dios mio, mile—!“ his mother’s voice fell short when the two of you chaotically stumbled your way into the kitchen, your lips tucked into themselves as you stood at attention, hands politely clasped behind you, while Miles was off to the side, shoulder leaned against the adjacent wall, legs crossed and hands on his hips. Totally not suspicious.

“Oh,” she blinked, giving the two of you a quick once over. The first thing she noticed was her son’s unusual demeanor, his eyes big and brows raised high, an expression he only wore when he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be. But what really gave it away was the strange distance of a few feet wedged between the both of you. Just over an hour ago you guys had embraced one another in a long hug after he’d opened the door to let you in—right in front of her— and now, you were suddenly acting as if you were scared to even be near each other, like you were nervous to breathe the same air in her presence.

“Mm,” she turned back towards the stove to turn the rice over in the pot, allowing the both of you to exhale a trembled breath of relief, one you realized came prematurely merely milliseconds after it left your lungs. “I think you may have missed one, enamorado.” (lover boy)

Eyes almost blowing from your skull, you swallowed hard and reluctantly shifted your head up towards your boyfriend, who was frozen in place, your gaze dropping down to the slightly smeared gloss and lip liner against the skin of his neck; a painfully visible reminder of your previous tryst.

The knowing smirk that pulled at the corner of his mother’s lips went overlooked, just as Miles let his chin fall to his chest, his arm folding over his torso and his opposite hand slapping over his abashed expression, a defeated sigh sounding from behind it.

“I’ll help you with the plates, mama rio.” you voiced your offer quietly and cleared your throat as you went to slip in beside her, which she obliged to with a light chuckle.

“Sure, sweetie.”

“I’m-“ Miles sighed, scratching the back of his neck timorously and scanning the area for an escape before a tentative finger pointed into the dining room. “I’m gonna go over there.” He decided with a swooped nod, long legs carrying him from a scolding he knew he would have to come back to once you were gone.

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works onto any other sites!

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bad idea, right? | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,

notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)

word count: 4.6k

Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.

Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.

You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.

Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”

To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.

“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.

The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.

She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”

“Did you get a name?!”

After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.

With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”

Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.

Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.

No. It couldn’t be—

“Finnick.”

********

Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.

Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.

A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.

Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.

Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”

“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”

You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.

“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”

“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”

“Thanks, mum!”

You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.

Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.

District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.

Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.

Oh, fuck me.

He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.

“Finnick,” you greeted.

“Y/N.”

He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.

Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.

Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.

“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”

You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.

“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”

“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”

Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”

He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”

“Old friends,” you scoffed. “That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”

Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.

You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?

Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.

But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.

Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.

So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.

In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”

He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”

And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”

Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”

You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.

“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.

This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”

Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.

“I want you,” he whispered.

You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”

He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.

Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.

A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.

Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.

You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”

His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.

“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.

You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.

“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”

Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”

Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.

“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.

He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.

You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.

“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.

Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”

The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”

“That’s right.”

Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.

Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.

And, well, you did.

“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.

“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”

With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.

With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.

The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.

Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.

“Turn around,” he said, and you did.

You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.

Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.

The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.

You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.

Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.

“Oh god,” you gasped.

The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.

It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.

You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.

Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.

“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.

His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.

“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.

He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.

“Harder!” you cried.

Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.

His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.

“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”

You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.

He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—

“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”

A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.

You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.

Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.

*********

“Don’t leave again.”

Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.

“Finnick…” you sighed.

“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”

The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.

Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.

You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.” 

tags: @tayrae515