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queers-gambit · 6 months

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Tell Me Every Terrible Thing

[ part one of two ]

prompt: you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!Hightower!reader only description given: red hair

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.6k+

note: what the fuck is this, Cherry? also two parts 'cause author gets carried away!

warnings: show spoilers, cursing, author has small bouts of feministic ideas, author also really likes the "little birds" storyline (let her live!), wonky brain is wonky, i think hurt and comfort, angst, very mild NSFW (brief female receiving oral), technically alternative timeline 'cause this goofy-ass author has an overactive imagination, #icanmakehimworse, another reader-episode-insert (this warning is for the fucking losers in my inbox).

part two: "Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, And Let Me Love You Anyway," - Edgar Allan Poe

"How angry do you think he'll be with me?"

You offered your best friend, The Realm's Delight, Crowned Heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra, a unamused, stale look. Sarcastically, you replied, "Oh, come now, Nyrie, why would your father be angry? It couldn't be because you rejected every suitor His Grace put before you, or even how you abruptly ended the tour with two months remaining. What father would be angry after that?"

She groaned, "I know, I know, you don't have to be so right all the bloody time. I just... I couldn't do it anymore, you saw what it was like," her head bowed and you knew the girl was truly overwhelmed by her 'job' picking a suitor.

"This was no easy feat to arrange, Princess," you spoke diplomatically, aware of the ship's crew dotting around the royal ship. "Our fathers went through much difficulty to ensure this tour's success, Princess, and I'd imagine neither will be thrilled by our early arrival."

"But it's just - "

"I know," you soothed with a knowing, sympathetic smile. Your arm extended around her, her head dropping to your shoulder for comfort. "In an ideal world, women would have a real say in their futures. Perhaps, that is what you're meant to do, Nyrie... Perhaps you're meant to break this wheel, give the other half of humanity a fighting chance against the men who have long suppressed us. Being heir is a monumental stereotype to shatter, but most women are not born into royalty and have nobody protecting or defending them."

She picked her head up to stare at you for a single moment, then nodded slowly, "That's a lot of pressure."

"Less if you pick a respectable man to help you lead," you advised softly, reaching to caress her cheek briefly. "You're to be Queen, Nyra, which means you need a King Consort that the common folk will respect, who will play his part in the courts to come. I know it's not ideal, my friend, but it's not meant to be - it's meant to be strategic." You paused, adding, "Similar to Ali marrying your father, yes? That was a strategic move on my father's end. Now it's up to you to chose your own match, to plot your own strategy."

"Who would you see me marry?"

"In truth? I'm unsure if anyone would fit the bill perfectly, so, I don't know who I could see you with. Definitely someone smart, though."

She only hummed, sighing deeply and making you frown. Before another word could be said, there came a distant screech that sounded all too familiar - though you refused to let it show that you knew this particular dragon's sound.

Nyra moved away from the ship's railing to stare longingly up into the sky, and about a minute later, without visible sight of any threat, Ser Criston Cole was shouting, "Take cover!"

And then, like a bird swooping to snatch a fish, a crimson dragon descended from the cover of clouds - seemingly materializing from nowhere. The large, long, slithery beast with wings knocked into the ship's main mast; jolting everyone on board enough to topple over.

You tried to stabilize the Princess, but you lost balance and dropped to your knees as Cole rushed to help Rhaenyra to her feet. When able, you looked to the sky; grinning to yourself as you recognized the retreating Blood Wyrm. Seeing the distinct form of Caraxes made you giddy with anticipation, however, that was short lived as you clocked Rhaenyra's gaze of awe and wonder.

It seems she was excited for her uncle's return, too. Though, it won't be till later that you learn the extent of her adoration.

Less than an hour later, the ship was docking and you escorted Princess Rhaenyra from aboard; her guards surrounding you both as you trekked to the Red Keep. "Just... Perhaps try to stay invisible," you advised your friend, arm-in-arm. "The King won't be pleased if you interrupt court, even just by being there. With luck, we won't be noticed."

She agreed softly, continuing on. She started fiddling with her necklace, the piece of Valyrian Steel jewelry that her uncle, Daemon, had gifted her years ago before Queen Aemma passed away. Your lover had told you the Princess was owed a piece of her Valyrian history, and since he could not gift a sword to a young lady, the necklace was chosen, crafted, and gifted.

When you returned to the Red Keep, it was just in time for court to be called to session and your friend was all too eager to join. "Nyra," you warned, hand in hers.

"It's all right," she assured, "come, it must be Daemon - "

"No, I should return to my chamber. Don't piss your father off too much," you warned her with a smirk, watching her grin in response, squeeze your hand, and then file into the Throne Room with the other members of court.

You retreated to your old room, sighing in relief when you discovered nothing was disturbed. "My Lady!" A voice gasped at the open door. You glanced over, smiling at Milah, your usual handmaiden, and opening your arms when she rushed forward. "You're not supposed to be back yet! Oh!" She tutted, looking you over. "I'll get your bed made and - "

"No, it's fine - "

"Nonsense, let me do this," she insisted, already busying around the room. "I was wondering why they were bringing things into the foyer - must be all the Princess' luggage, hmm?"

"Yeah," you sighed, helping her strip the bed and change the sheets. "It was strange," you admitted, "the men, I mean, and the way they all competed for her hand in marriage."

"Did you expect anything else?"

"I did not think they'd honestly kill one another. Though it was more so their pride than the Princess they fought over."

Milah smirked, "Sounds about right. Well, what of you? Anyone catch your eye?"

"Of course not," you sighed a little sadly.

"Still hung on the Prince, aren't you, my Lady?"

"Perhaps," you mused.

You spent the better part of an hour gossiping with Milah before she had to go grab a few things, but promised she'd send your belongings up as soon as possible. You thanked her, walked her out, assuring you were just going to get a bath or something, and just as you shut and locked your chamber door, gasped when a pair of hands seized your waist.

"Daemon!" You hissed when you saw the short, white locks of your surprise guest. "The bloody fuck is wrong with you?" You demanded, turning in his grip to shove your hands into his chest. "What're you doing here? Want to get us caught?"

"Three years," he grit, gathering you in his arms to heave upward and force your legs around his waist if you wanted to keep balance, "three fucking years I've been gone - away - missing you, do not deprive me a moment more."

"Someone will come looking," you whispered, caressing his face as your forehead met his. "And perhaps I want a moment to just look at you, 's been years," you breathed. "You cut your hair," you commented, running your hands through the short strands.

"I cut my hair," he agreed softly, just holding you close and tight.

"I like it... But I'll miss braiding it."

"I will, too," he admitted. He nuzzled closer, inhaling your neck sharply, boldly licking a flat tongue up your pulse point to make you shudder lightly.

"Daemon," you whispered, pulling his head back so you could look in his eyes, beaming, "I missed you, too."

"Viserys is arranging a lunch for my return," he informed, turning so he could approach your newly-made four-poster bed; dropping you flat on your back with a grin. "Which roughly translates into only allotting a few minutes to make up for lost time."

"We will have time later - "

"I overheard Viserys saying he and Otto intend to take evening tea with you regarding the Princess' return from tour," he eased, reaching to spread your legs, bunching your skirts. "But I will call upon you tomorrow? Yes? Officially?"

"If you insist," you teased, letting him finally descend to smash his lips against yours. In truth, you were used to his empty promises of 'calling on you officially' because of his marriage to Lady Royce, but it was his way of telling you without words that he wished it was you instead of Rhea.

Daemon groaned, melting into your form; breathing heavily. "I've missed you past words," he whispered, nuzzling your nose with his. "But for now, I just need a taste - "

"We don't have time - "

"We'll be fast. Tell me, love," he nipped your pouting lips, soothing his tongue over the puckered skin, "have you taken another in my absence?"

"Of course not," you hissed in offense.

"Good," he nodded, kissing you sweetly.

"Need I ask?"

"There were no concubines," he mused, "though, they were offered, I did not accept. So, we'll be quick - faster than quick," he promised, pawing at your undergarments and exposing your dampening cunt to his sight. "I'll take my time with you later, but for now, I need this," he all but seethed before diving tongue-first into your core.

His spit mixed with your arousal, creating a slippery mess.

"Shit," you hissed, grabbing his shorter hair as his tongue flattened to lap at your entrance, dripping in your essence. One of his hands held your thighs apart for his access, the other releasing his cock from the pair of breeches he wore. Daemon groaned at the taste of you, lapping wildly like a man starved, and stroking his bare cock in rhythm with his ministrations.

It truly took no time at all once he found your clit and sucked mercilessly, the hand holding your thighs now extended up to paw roughly at your tits. Alternating his tongue around your sloppy cunt added to your heightening pleasure, swirling his tongue as he bobbed and shook his head - making an absolute mess, and causing your climax to shatter your mind and soul.

Your legs twitched, spine curled, stomach contracted as your arms quivered from the rush of adrenaline; hand slapped over your mouth to keep your moans to a minimum. You grabbed his hair so tightly, he groaned in mock pain; legs then contracting to a suffocating grip around his ears and head while Daemon met his own end, spending in his hand whilst milking you for all you had.

He panted with satisfaction when he pulled back, grinning at you in mischief when you released your hold on him. "Good fuckin' girl," he praised, standing to his feet only to slither over top of you. "Like not a day's gone by, huh?" He whispered, kissing you messily, smearing your cum on your tongue; grinding his bare cock into your recovering core to make you shudder. "Take a moment, then get ready," he whispered. "I expect to see you at the celebrations... Wear that dress I got you for your fifth-and-twentieth nameday," he smirked, adding, "if you'd so please, my darling."

You chuckled, "You magically learned manners during the war?"

"Perhaps," he mused, pecking your lips again.

"Hey, Daemon?"

"What is it, my sweet one?" He asked, seeing the sincerity in your eyes and hearing the seriousness in your voice - something in his heart jumping.

"Would you tell me about it all later? The war, I mean? Would you tell me what you've endured?"

"I do not think it's a tale befitting a lady's ears."

"Please? I wish to know..."

"Then I will tell you," he promised, "but only if you wear that dress."

Your eyes rolled in humor as Daemon stood. You watched him wipe his cum on a spare rag, tossing it away, and after one last kiss, was leaving out of the secret passageway's door. Taking another moment, you finally stood on weak legs and unlocked the main door, preparing how you could for your day before Milah returned.

After arriving at the luncheon, you made a beeline for your father, greeting him happily before explaining your surprise reappearance. He filled you in on that day's court, explaining that Prince Daemon was back; and you felt almost guilty for the way your skin was still set ablaze from your lover's earlier visit.

For all Otto's faults, he was still your father, and you felt guilty for sneaking around with Daemon behind his back. Your father ushered you off to mingle, insisting he was only there for the King; and no, he wasn't hungry. So, you parted ways with a chaste peck to your forehead; the feeling of his scratchy beard lingering on your guilt-riddled flesh.

"Sister, what a surprise!" Alicent happily distracted by greeting you with a bright grin. You adjusted course to approach the Queen, King, and newly-returned Prince. "Oh, what a lovely dress you've chosen," she complimented with ease, reaching for your hand. "You always do have the best eye for clothes, I feel as if need you to live in my wardrobe, tell me what to wear everyday."

"Thank you, Your Grace, I'd be honored," You smiled at her, holding her hand, looking to the others. "My King," you curtsied to Viserys, glancing at Daemon and bowing your head respectfully, "my Prince, how nice to see you, again. Welcome home."

"Thank you, my Lady," he smirked. "Might I welcome you home as well? I hear you've been gone from the Capital."

You hummed with a nod, "I was on tour with the Princess, my Prince. I've only arrived home today, as well - though not by dragonback."

He eyed you up and down, offering, "I must agree with the Queen, my Lady, that is a lovely dress you've chosen."

You pet the black material, smiling genuinely, "Thank you, my Prince. It's one of my favorites."

"I can see why, given how beautiful you look," he flirted, and from behind you and Alicent, you could hear your father scoff.

"Thank you," you whispered. "What conversation did I rudely interrupt before?"

"Oh, nothing of importance," Daemon told you, looking to his brother and your sister.

"Because we spoke of how Daemon, here, was always Mother's favorite," Viserys grinned. "Do you want to know, my Lady? About how much Mother adored Daemon?" He asked you, his little brother trying to drone over him - but Viserys was determined to tell you the examples he could think of regarding his brother's favoritism.

You giggled from both Viserys' stories and Daemon's evident embarrassment.

However, almost awkwardly, on Alicent's other side, Princess Rhaenyra approached the group and stood amongst you. You knew the King must be unhappy with his daughter, but did not voice any opinion since you were not the source of disappointment at the moment. Instead, you listened to the King's complimenting words to his brother; thinking it was interesting that Daemon was so egotistical and yet, flushed under his brother's praise. Princess Rhaenyra waited until a natural lull to tell Daemon, "Congratulations on your victory."

It was awkward as Viserys just glared at her, Rhaenyra's expression falling short. Daemon covered smoothly, "Thank you, Princess."

Trying to save the tension, your sweet sister offered, "Perhaps Prince Daemon would care for a tour of the gallery? He hasn't yet seen the new tapestries gifted to you by Norvos and Qohor."

Viserys nodded and whispered, "Oh, oh," mockingly. He asked his brother, "Would you like to see the tapestries?" But by the end, he broke character and laughed with his brother; the latter who whom you knew spat on trivial things - such as tapestries and such. Through their laughter, Viserys proclaimed to his wife, "He has no interest in such things!"

"But thank you for the offer, sister," you smiled at her, trying to reassure her when her husband laughed in her face. "The tapestries are very beautiful, you've chosen a grand place to display them. I saw them on my way here."

"I'd like to see them," Rhaenyra jumped in, seemingly to Alicent's aid - something she'd not done in an age considering the tension between them. You just smiled politely, seeing the way Viserys dropped his grin when he looked at his daughter with distain while the rest of you looked away sheepishly.

"Then you should not deprive yourself."

Rhaenyra offered a pained, pursed smile, "I shall enjoy them alone."

You, Alicent, and Daemon all stared after Rhaenyra with varying degrees of pity as she walked away to sit solemnly by herself on a distant bench while Viserys went on about his and Daemon's youth; over Daemon being their mother's favorite. However, Alicent excused herself to follow the saddened Rhaenyra, perhaps to offer the Princess comfort in her father's anger. The King looked ready to protest, but instead just shook his head in disappointment.

Viserys turned you and Daemon away from the sight of the girls, showing off the Godswood in bloom; your father approaching you three stiffly. "Your Grace," he bowed to Viserys, then nodded in resepct, "my Prince. Daughter," he smiled, trying to instigate, "how was tour with Princess Rhaenyra?"

"Oh, as eventful as a Royal Tour can be," you smiled, deflecting, "though I must admit, while seemingly exciting at some parts, I'm sure it pales terribly in comparison to the Prince's adventures in the Stepstones." Viserys smirking broadly at your redirection. "I do wonder, what brought the war to an end? We've heard rumor, but surely the Prince might know for sure what brought the Triarchy down?"

"Surely," The King nodded, looking to Daemon expectedly.

The Rogue Prince smirked and readjusted his stance, deflecting, "Perhaps a conversation for later."

"Oh, come now, brother!"

"Your Grace," Otto interrupted, "I do apologize, but there are matters at hand that require your attention. The Tully's still - "

He sighed and waved your father off, "Yes, yes... Well," Viserys nodded, "I'll call upon you both later."

"Your Grace," you instantly curtsied.

"Your Grace," Daemon bowed right after. Viserys smiled and nodded back at you both, patted his brother's shoulder, turned, and when he walked away, Otto followed with a single look to you and Daemon.

"Daughter," he bid curtly - and you read between the lines. He really wanted to say, "Do not linger around the Prince."

When the King moved, his usual procession of advisors, guards, and entourage followed right after. You sighed as almost all of the Godswood cleared out, Daemon eyeing you as he readjusted his stance; subtly reaching out to pet your hand with his fingers.

"Daemon," you warned quietly.

"Nobody is watching us," he smirked. "You look beautiful, love. I'll have to buy you more dresses, you wear them so well."

"I cannot believe I will not see you tonight," you whispered with a pout.

"I will call on you tomorrow," he reminded.

You opened your mouth, but another voice answered. "Sister," Alicent called, you looking over and smiling innocently. You caught sight of Princess Rhaenyra glaring at her uncle, but didn't think much of it.

"I look forward to your tales from the Stepstones," you told him calmly, offering a curtesy.

He took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back, "I look forward to any time spect together, my Lady."

You hummed in contentment before stepping away, instantly taking Alicent's arm when close enough. "What was that about? Daemon looks so smitten!" She whispered with a growing grin.

"He was being polite," you whispered back, "and simply being Daemon - you know how he is. He's got three years of mischief to make up for."

"I see," she giggled. "He's quite handsome with the short hair, isn't he? It suits him well."

"I have to agree," you gossiped. "I can see why the ladies of court have missed him so."

Your younger sister giggled, smiling at you, offering, "I've missed you greatly. Come... I wish to hear of your time away."

"Oh, sister, please, I've only just returned."

"But... Wouldn't you tell me before the King?" She whispered.

You paused, then nodded, "Got me there, sister-dearest."

"We'll take tea together," she decided, leading you around the Keep until she saw a familiar face she knew. "Talya, my sister and I wish to take tea in the gardens, please. Privately, of course, so do not announce it," she directed the handmaiden. "We'll be in the gazebo in the rose gardens, bring tea, sandwiches, and my sister's always loved those peach crumbles?"

"I know the dessert," she nodded, smiling at you. "Can I interest you, Your Grace, in anything specific?"

"No, but bring enough for us both. Come, sister."

You three parted ways, Alicent leading you to the gardens as promised. She dismissed anyone in the area, even telling her guards to wait at the front hedges to give you ideal privacy while deeper in the roses at the gazebo. While sitting, you exchanged gossip about what happened while you were away, Alicent happy to catch you up because she was happy to finally have a friend, even if it were a sister, back in her corner.

You were happy, too.

While you loved Rhaenyra, the tension between her and Ali made you feel in the middle despite both parties assuring you "you weren't". Nyra was a good friend, your best, even! But it was something about your sister that was calming and assuring. She was trustworthy to a fault, but she was still your strongest pillar.

As Talya dressed your table with tea, lemon water, sandwiches, fruits, and other foods (including the peach crumbles), you giggled at Ali's retelling of whatever failed proposals occurred this past season you were away. When alone, at last, Ali turned to you in her padded chair and asked, "Tell me in truth, how was the tour? Why did you return early?"

"In truth, sister, vying men made the Princess uncomfortable. She did not need the two months more, she knew she was unhappy with the men so far presented to her."

Alicent sighed, "So, who does she intend to marry?"

"Yes," a new voice agreed, you both jumping in shock and looking up to see Viserys approaching with your father behind him. "Who does my daughter intend to wed, Lady Hightower?"

"Your Grace," you uttered, both you and Alicent standing in respect to bow your heads.

"Please, please," he permitted you both to sit, taking the lone chair across the table as your father remained standing. "I only wish for the unfiltered truth. I know what is said, I know what is reported, I know..." He sighed, "I know what my daughter might say, but please, Lady Hightower, what is the truth of it?"

"The truth, Your Grace, is that Rhaenyra was overwhelmed. Perhaps it was too long for her that she eventually, I'm not sure, shut down? She did not care towards the end which men was presented, she was overwhelmed with the options and pace at which everything moved."

"Kings and Princes before her have done the same, many Queens and Princesses embarking on their tours to find proper suitors," Otto reminded. "Why was this different, my Lady?"

"Because she is the first," you reminded. "Never before has a woman been named heir - she holds a different responsibility. Perhaps having everything thrown at her was too much, she has to filter through lesser men that would be King Consort. Nobody stood out, she became discouraged, and honestly, Your Grace?" You spoke earnestly, "I think it just made her sad. She did not want to disappoint you by choosing a man not worthy of being her King, so, she would rather face your anger in coming home early."

Alicent frowned but nodded to herself.

Otto adverted his eyes.

Viserys looked dejected, but sighed, "I see... Thank you for your words, my Lady, truly, you've always been a trustworthy advisor to the Queen, Princess, and I."

"It's the least I can do, Your Grace, since you and Queen Aemma - you - you were so kind to me when Mother passed. And Rhaenyra - to both Alicent and I - she was a true friend. I am in debt to you, Your Grace, and whatever I can do, be it just a simple different perspective, I am happy to provide."

"Well," he considered, "in the spirit of your unfiltered perspective, who would you see Rhaenyra marry?"

You blinked in shock, "Oh, Your Grace, I-I am not qualified to say."

"You serve as my Master of Whispers, do you not?" He smirked. "Speak, please."

You sighed deeply. With a small gulp, you blinked twice, then admitted, "I do not think my opinion matters, but... It would make sense to marry her to Ser Laenor Velaryon, would it not? He's a warrior who survived the Stepstones, is of Valyrian stock and blood, rides the dragon, Seasmoke. He's kind, brave, true, unmarried, heir to Driftmark. I think when it comes to filling the position of King Consort, Ser Laenor Velaryon would make a fine candidate."

Apparently, this was all Viserys needed to hear.

You could not sleep that night. You could not explain why, but something foul was in the air and prevented you from drifting off. So, you chose to browse your private library, select a literary favorite, and stroll the deadened halls of the Red Keep; reading by flickering torch light.

Good thing you were up and out, because one of your Little Birds chirped at you from the shadows. You looked around to see nobody in the hall, but another chirp directed your attention to a darkened alcove. "Hmm, oh, Kaela," you hummed, approaching her slowly and bending at the waist. "What is it, child?"

"I came as fast as I could."

"What's wrong?"

"I've seen something - something you'll want to know," she glanced up and down the hall, "but not anyone else."

"Come," you whispered, pushing her further back into the dark and sheltering yourselves safely. Once knelt before her, you asked the child, "All right. What is it you have seen, little one?"

"Do not get angry, my Lady..."

"I promise I won't," you spoke softly, confused - you never got angry at your Little Birds... Why start now?

"I-I saw... I saw the Prince Daemon and... Princess Rhaenyra."

You nodded slowly, asking quietly, "Where?"

"In the city, in a pleasure house."

You blinked, "And what were they doing?"

"What grown-ups do."

"I see. They were coupling?"

She shrugged, "No, just kissing, but it stopped fast. He left her there."

"He left her there? In the pleasure house?"

The little girl nodded. "The Prince looked sad... When the Princess tried to kiss him again, he pulled away... Then he left."

"Where did he go? After?"

She blinked, frowning, "My brother, Grenn, said he saw him at the pubs - but he was always on the move, very drunk. I came here right away."

"Good girl," you smiled, offering her whatever Gold Dragons from the pouch you usually kept on your person under your robe for times like this. "Where will you be tomorrow evening? I will bring you and Grenn supper."

She smiled, "We can meet you at the dock!"

"The dock?"

"He likes watching the boats."

"The docks, then. By the Fisherman's Pier?"

"No, Grenn like the Harper's Pier. They're not there around supper, they're still out at sea."

"Harper's Pier for supper," you agreed. "Go on."

The little girl looked around before scampering off down a different passageway and you stood from your knelt position with a stony look of tentative contemplation on your face. With a deep breath, you did the only thing you thought you could... You went to your father.

With a rapid knock at his chamber door, it took a moment or two before he was opening it - still dressed. "What is it, daughter?" He asked gruffly. "It's late, this should wait till morning."

"The castle is about to wake - "

"I know and I've much to attend to - "

"Father," you hissed, glancing up the hall.

He sighed and let you in, "What is it?"

"I carry scandalous news," you muttered, his door's lock echoing around you. "About the Princess Rhaenyra."

He turned to you sharply, you taking a step back in surprise. "You... Know?"

"About her sneaking around in a pleasure house?"

Otto frowned, "Do you know with who?"

You could not tell him, so you answered, "No, just that she was seen in disguise."

"Who told you this?"

"One of my Birdies."

"All right," he decided, nodding to himself, "thank you, daughter, for reporting this. I will... I will figure out what to say to the King."

"Should you say anything?"

"I'll figure it out - but now we both know."

You nodded, "So you knew before I came?"

"I was awoken an hour ago to hear this news."

You nodded slowly, "Then I will leave you to it."

"Thank you," he whispered, letting you peck his cheek in parting before slipping out of his chambers. With nothing left to do or anything else to say, you went back to your chambers as to limit your exposure to the castle's tenants.

The less that could say they saw you this night, the better.

Once safe in your chambers with a locked main door, you could do nothing else but (over)think, wishing to all the Seven Gods you didn't know what you knew. Information and knowledge was vital to maintain power, this is true, but it also made you dangerous - also a target. The more you knew, the bigger the target.

It was only a few hours after dawn when the secret passage doors to your chamber opened. You were braiding your hair, ignoring the man you knew to have the only balls to use that door - especially now.

"I've always wondered, if we had children, would they have white hair or waves of fire, like you? Perhaps something between?"

"Fuck off, Daemon."

"So, you've heard," he sighed deeply. "Won't you even look at me?"

"I can't stand the very thought of you right now, nor the actual sound, I'll lose my stomach if I have to look at you."

"Let me tell you the truth," he begged, "before I have to leave the Keep, let me tell you the truth. Let Viserys and everyone have their ideas and opinions, their lies and slander, but let me tell you!"

"Excuse me?" You asked, whirling around in your seat to glare at him fully. "Viserys banished you, again?"

"He did... Back to the Vale."

You scoffed, "Good... Your Lady wife awaits you."

"Viserys thinks I've sullied Rhaenyra's virtue. I do not need you thinking the same, so, please, let me tell you what happened - no matter how uncomfortable, please, let me tell you the truth."

"What difference does it make?"

"I can't have you thinking something more occurred. Was I tempted? Yes, but I refrained. Did I touch her? A little - but not how you think."

You sighed, shaking your head, "I don't care, you're returning to your wife in the Vale, and I will be rid of you. No matter for how long this time, you will be gone - "

"For a time, yes, but I intend to return for you."

"No, I think I'll let Father make me a match. I despised the North, it was too cold, so the handsome Cregan Stark is out. I don't mind Dorne, perhaps a Martel to marry? Or even a Tully of Riverrun?"

"Do not speak such atrocities to me."

"You're one to talk! Your niece, Daemon? The girl I consider my closest friend? You couldn't just find that whore you like and be satisfied with her? Couldn't wait a single day, could you? Huh? How fucking pathetic!"

"Perhaps you are not as close with Rhaenyra as you thought," he tisked, making you feel disarmed. He spent the next hour and a half explaining to you what happened the previous night, and despite your disgust, you just listened.

Knowledge was power.

"I will return," he sighed at the end, "and in that time, you can make your own decisions if you want me or not. But I will return and I will have you, if you will have me, and this foolishness will be behind us."

"I'll give you a single year. I will not wait for you longer than that," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "I can't stand that you've done this, but I will wait one single year for you to find a way out of your marriage and back to me. Any longer than that, and I will simply move on. I do not want to live my whole life in the Red Keep, and the truth of it is, I cannot live in the Princess' shadow any longer. One year, Daemon."

"One year," he nodded, stepping closer. "My love, please - "

"Do not assume to touch me. Not after you've touched her," you snapped, stepping away. "Get out, I need to be alone, you have been banished - you need to go, you cannot be seen here." Your eyes rolled, muttering, "Probably have to go collect your whore for this banishment, too."

"Not this time," he smirked, "this time, I leave with my promise that I will return for you, my sweet Lady Hightower."

"Fuck off, you perverted Prince Daemon," you sassed, watching him slip out the door; shutting you in an echoing silence. Your heart ripped itself apart, making you wonder what the fuck you had done to deserve getting caught in such a scandalous affair. But you knew, in your heart, you'd do anything for Daemon - the thought sickening your stomach as you pondered how far this would all go.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

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gojonanami · 7 months

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IT'S A NEED - CHOSO KAMO

✴︎ summary: after you take an attack meant for him, choso can't seem to understand why -- so you show him just how important he is to you. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, angst then smut, choso is confused about human emotions, he doesn't know if he deserves love, making out, groping, sex (p in v), handjob (f! + m! receiving), semi-public sex (sort of), pet names (love, pretty, lovely) ✴︎ wc: 1,965

“Why did you take that hit for me?” his words come out in a hiss, a rush of breath that he forces out between gritted teeth, as if he was both afraid to ask and afraid not to, “it was foolish, it was unnecessary—”

You blow out a sigh between your pursed lips, as you rest against a damp sheet against cold concrete of a corner of Shibuya that currently wasn’t under attack — the not too distant groans of other injured not too far, but far enough for your privacy, “You know why I did it, so why are you asking that, when you mean to ask something else?”

And you knew him — knew him a little too well for someone who only had known him a few weeks now? Is that how long it had been since he had joined up with sorcerers? Switched sides to protect his little brother — and somehow, he ended up here — sitting next to you instead of him. Yuji could handle himself — he had faith in his brother — and he knew you could too. A skilled sorcerer — he saw your skill firsthand from a distance during the fights in shibuya, and then up close when you nearly caved his head in when you found out how he almost killed Yuji.

Is that when he first started to like you?

He didn’t know.

Could he even have such emotions? He had never known any sort of love, except for that of his brothers. But that was natural? To care for his family, to watch after them, to protect them, to avenge them. And anything that helped him achieve that goal, was worth it was it not? Even if it came at the cost of a different life, right? His eyes slid to you again, so why did it huqrt so much when he saw you crumpled on the ground, blood pooling on the cement around your abdomen, the same blood he didn’t think twice about when it spilled from other humans or sorcerers alike. Now, it was different.

He was different — maybe you were, to him.

“What question am I asking then?” he finally asks, as you only sigh again, eyes fluttering open to look at him with that same gaze that felt as if you were looking right through him.

“You’re asking me why I thought you were worthy of being saved in the first place?” and his mouth parts — words ringing in his ear.

It was true — he was a cursed womb — a mixture of curse and human blood that never was supposed to exist in the first place, a thing that has no other purpose in this world, aside from his brothers. And especially after the things he’s done, the people he’s killed, the harm he’s caused, and even the body he walks in now isn’t his own, but a person killed for his gain — how was he worthy of saving? How was he worthy of the risk of your life?

“And what’s your answer?” he asks, his voice growing raw, as he can’t bear to look at you, his gaze fixed on his lap, and he doesn’t see you push yourself up, sitting, as you stare at him, lips curling in a small smile, as you leaned over, fingers brushing against his cheek, that finally pull his gaze back to you.

“Because you’re Choso, because you deserve to be saved, you deserve the same kindness you’ve given to us,” your fingers are so gentle against him, had he ever been touched so gently before? His eyes almost feel the urge to shut, and just indulge in the feeling of your skin against his, “you didn’t ask to be here, you were manipulated, you were controlled, and you were forced to be a pawn,”

“But that doesn’t change—”

“It doesn’t change the hurt you caused, no, but that’s not who you are now,” you force him to meet your gaze, lips curled in a smile, “and who are now is definitely worth saving,”

“But why?” he still doesn’t understand, he still doesn’t see his worth, and you give your third sigh, before your other hand finds his shoulder, pulling him closer, a breath away.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Choso?” your words warm his lips, and send warmth to the tips of his fingers, warmth he hadn’t known since he had been forced to come back. And all he can feel is your hands against him, all he can see are your eyes gazing at him the way he thought anyone would, and all he can think about is when your lips are finally going to touch his, “because I think I can only show you now,” and your thumb finds his lips, dragging down the bottom one, “would you want that?”

And his eyes flutter, a sharp intake of breath when your finger touches his lips, “I don’t think I’d like anything more,” he whispers, his eyes falling to your lips, as you lean forward.

Your lips brush his, featherlight, as if you worry he’d recoil, he’d run, he’d leave, but he does none of those things. Your lips part from his and he’s staring, as you do, before his lips seek yours again. And this time, he’s sure.

His lips surge against yours, as you melt into his touch, as gentle as can be — those same hands used to slaughter, now grazing your sides as if you’d break apart in his hands. And he didn’t care if the world was falling apart — and it was all around you both — if he could have this moment with you, maybe it’d be worth it.

“What is this hold you have over me?” He murmurs, and you’re pulling him closer to your tattered blanket against the concrete, fingers running through his hair making him shiver, “you touch me and I can’t think straight, I can’t—“

“Then don’t,” you murmur, your lips pressing butterfly kisses to his jaw, “give in, let me love you,”

And he does, relinquishing his thoughts and worries in exchange for your touch, and his hands find your waist, as you move slowly, climbing into his lap, making him grunt, before concern flickers across his features.

“Your injuries—“ he starts, but your lips brush against his ear, lips curved against the soft flesh.

“Are not as serious as how much I want you right now,” your words send a shiver down his spine, as your lips find his again, and you swallow his groan with pleasure. Your tongue parts his lips, as you taste him, fingers carding through his jet-black locks, fingers pulling at the ties in his hair, pulling them around your wrists, “I’ll keep them safe,” you tease, you tug teasingly at his hair making him gasp.

You’re pulling moans and whines from his lips, as you part from him for a moment, breaths coming as pants, as you press your forehead to his, taking in his now kiss ruined lips and violet irises glazed with lust, “so pretty,” you coo, “too pretty, Choso, how am I supposed to resist?”

And your fingers find their way to his belt, pausing, “is this okay?” Your hand cups his cheek, thumb brushing the length, and he’s nodding wordlessly, as his fingers find yours, undoing his belt and letting his robe fall open.

Your breath catches as you see him, your fingers dragging over his bare chest and abs, your eyes finding your way to his cock — it was so pretty, long and thick with a pretty pearl of precum. And your gaze is hot, hypnotized, “all this f’me?” You murmur, making him swallow, and then gasp as your fingers trace the vein running up the side. Your lips curl, “oh we’re just getting started, baby,”

Your fingers curl around his cock, your thumb rubbing against his slit, making him hiss, “I—“ his hips stutter against you, bumping against your damp shorts, making you groan. And he was so good in your hand, how good would he feel inside?

No, not yet, you wanted to make him feel good first.

“It’s okay, just breath,” your fingers tease his head, smiling as his head lolls back, and your hand begins to stroke him, spreading the precum along his length, “I got you, let me make you feel good,”

And your hand squeezes at the base, and he’s groaning your name, like a curse, as your other hand teases his balls, before you’re slipping off his lap, pressing his tip against your lips, painting them with his precum.

“You taste so good, Choso,” you lick your lips clean of him, tasting his salty precum.

“Please, love,” he’s murmuring, a whine in his throat, his fingers pulling at your clothes, “I want you—I want you to feel good too,”

And you smile, guiding his hands to your shorts, “Are you sure?” You murmur, kissing his neck, “we don’t-“

He’s pulling your shorts off, as he’s lowering you onto the sheet gently, tugging them off, his calloused palms parting your soft thighs. And his gaze darkens, half lidded with lust, “You’re lovely,” his fingers brush against your soaked folds, thumb pressing against your puffy clit, making you gasp, “you like that?” He hums.

And he’s leaning down, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, “Choso, please—“ and his breath warms your cunt, pressing a kiss to your dripping pussy, drawing a gasp from your lips, “I need you—“

“What do you need, pretty?” His velvet words are thick and slow like molasses, settling warm heat over your skin, as his hands draw up your thighs around his waist, “do you want my hands? My lips?”

And your hips roll against him, his tip bumping against your cunt, “what do you think?” And he’s hissing, before he’s grasping as his dick, teasing you with his head, “fuuuck, Choso,”

“Not so loud,” he murmurs, “someone could hear us, see you all spread out for me, and this view is just for me, lovely,” and his cock is parting your folds, both moaning in synchrony, your walls fluttering around him, “so tight, pretty, so fucking wet,”

You think he’s even prettier, brow furrowed and forehead slick with sweat, kiss bitten lips parted in a pant, and his violet eyes fluttering. And he’s bottoming out in you, his hips pressed against you, “so good, so perfect,” he’s murmuring, and he’s pulling out only to thrust back in. His strokes are languid at first, before he’s fucking you in earnest, hips snapping against yours, “.

“Choso, fuck, please, I’m close—“ your back is arching against him, and his lips find yours again in a searing kiss, as his fingers reach down between the two of you, and press against your clit, just as his hips piston into you just right with deep long strokes, until your walls are clamping down. He doesn’t last much longer, his hips stuttering against you, until he’s moaning, his hot load painting your walls white, as he fucks his cum into you.

And he’s panting above you, as you pull him into a sloppy kiss, pulling him beside you, as he slips out of you, making you whine at the emptiness.

“Don’t think that was part of Shoko’s instructions for recovery,” you murmur against his lips, as you grin, “but it was definitely needed,”

His lips curl, as he’s pressing kisses along your jaw, “So you need me, huh?” and the question fills him with warmth, just as you have, a sort of purpose he had never had, aside from his family — a want for him that he had never thought he’d be lucky enough to have.

And you only smile, pulling him into another kiss, “Why else do you think I took that hit for you?”

✴︎ a/n: new episode did something to me. i have a longer fic planned for choso, but this will have to do for today :). yes i'm posting this in the middle of the night, sue me.

✴︎ tag list: @kakashineedstotouchgrass, @kemitoi, @thecooldino, @moonnime, @bontensbabygirl, @wretchedinfinity, @lemonpoppy-seed, @ichikanu, @snowscaping, @kamikokii, @fwankieero, @ssaraexposs, @astridyoo15, @cascading-escapist, @sniffsnoffsniff, @raddiplomatshepherdhero, @nverwashere, @n00v4, @unohanaswetdream, @staygoldsquatchling02, @anime9ja,

#sab [mlist]#choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo #choso #choso x you #choso kamo x you #choso smut #jjk choso #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #choso jjk #kamo choso

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shayyprasad · 2 months

Text

intellectual | peter parker

summary: you overhear something you weren't supposed to, but it shouldn't have been said in the first place. in result, you can't help but wonder if peter wants something different.

warnings: implied smut, mentions of sex, insecurity, use of y/n

pairing: bimbo!reader x frat!peter

word count: 3.0k+ words (my longest fic yet-)

a/n: in no way is use of "bimbo" meant to be a patriarchal stereotype. please do not take it offensively, this is a work of fiction.

M.LIST | RULES/REQUESTING | ABOUT ME

peter was totally smitten by you. really, he was. after all he's been through, it was kind of nice having someone who adores him as much as he does, even if you are... a tad bit dim-witted.

while he grew up surrounded by death, trauma, and more, you were raised sheltered, hidden away from all the bad things. and even though peter's been through some shit, he finds it to hold you so gently, like the pretty thing you are, as if you were stained glass; fragile, but so beautiful.

when he's holding you, all his soft, brown eyes can focus on are how your soft, manicured hands wrap around his rough, calloused ones. you're always careful not to hurt him with your acrylics.

even though you can be slow at times, it's almost impossible not to admire the way your clothes always hug your curves, glossed lips pulled into a pretty pout.

peter could have just about any girl he wanted on campus, but he didn't want any of them.

he wanted you, and only you.

maybe it's because you were different, and no, not in dim-witted nature. but because of how soft you were. you didn't know, and even if you did, understand the horrors he wittnessed out there everyday.

you were protected by a little (very pink) bubble that you lived in, so when he came home to you, it felt as if he was in a different world altogether. you were so damn good at distracting peter, and you didn't even know it.

you were in your own dorm room, watching a silly rom-com while peter was with his friends, he told you not to wait up for him, given that he would be up 'til the early hours of the morning. but you decided that peter and his goodnight kisses were slightly more important than your beauty sleep.

slightly.

you furrowed your neatly shaped eyebrows at something that one of the characters said, tilting your head.

ram-i-fic-a-tion? you thought, humming. pulling out your phone, you googled the word.

noun plural noun: ramifications

a consequence of an action or event, especially when complex or unwelcome. "any change is bound to have legal ramifications"

"legal ram-i-fic-a-tions?" you wondered aloud.

you skimmed the rest of the definitions, still confused. surely peter wouldn't mind if you gave him a quick ring? so you went ahead in did that, letting the sound echo in the room.

when he didn't pick up, you frowned.

"ummm..." you trailed off, calling one of his friends, spencer, instead. you weren't a stranger to him, but more of a mutual. after all, your roommate was dating him. actually, you'd ask alyssa, your roomie, but she wasn't here.

much to your happiness, spencer did pick up. "hiii, spence."

"y/n?" he said, slurring slightly.

"what does, like, ram-i-fic-a-tion mean?" you asked, careful to enunciate.

spencer was aware of... how your brain worked, and he wasn't a jerk about it (unlike some people). he was one of peter's closer friends, so you felt comfortable around him.

"ramification? oh, uh, it's like a consequence."

you frowned dumbly, "to what?"

"to an action. if you don't study for the final, you might not do well. that's a consequence to your action. a ramification."

"oh. oh! okay. thank you!"

he didn't disconnect right away, and you could hear one of his frat brothers, you were unsure who, talking. and of course, you strained your ears to listen.

"it doesn't get annoying or anything?"

you heard peter's voice come next, and instantly perked up. "what?"

"dude, be so for real. she's hot, but like, as dumb as a third grader. do you have to talk to her like that too?" he laughed.

oof, you thought, sucks to be whoever it was they were talking about.

"sometimes. she's good in bed, though."

wait. he was talking about you. your jaw dropped. i mean, you were stupid, but not this stupid. so this is what "saturday night with the boys" was all about?

you heard collective laughing. you did stupid things sometimes, but never had the mental compacity to be embarrased by them. this, though? this was different.

you trusted peter.

he was the only person who never, ever, spoke to or about you like that. in fact, it was one of the reasons you'd grown to like him so much. because he was patient, he was kind, and never did he once judge you.

well, that's what you thought.

but you were dumb enough to think that just because he never spoke about it to you, he never spoke about it all.

you immediately disconnected the call, dropping your phone. trying to focus back on the movie, you nibbled on a piece of popcorn.

but you just couldn't get over it. did it bother him?

all the questions? the dim-witted stupidity? all the pink?

reluctantly, you glanced the hot pink bowl that held your snack.

you didn't mean to be so... like that. you were just being yourself. did peter not like you being yourself? no, no, of course not. if he didn't, then why would he be with you?

a little voice in the back of your head rang out; "because you're good in bed."

maybe it wouldn't hurt to try and raise your iq?

you turned off the tv, hot pink popcorn bowl forgotten. alyssa wouldn't mind if you borrowed something, right?

you opened her room door, walking over to her bookself. wrinkling up your nose, you scanned her shelf. how could someone like reading so much?

it was so... gross.

oh, well. maybe peter was into intellectuals. and you had better become before he left you for someone like that.

your eyes paused at a book titled "the hobbit".

"what's a... hobbit?" you asked, not to anyone in particular. you skipped it, looking at her other ones.

"'twisted love', 'the fault in our stars'... what'd the stars do?" picking up the book, you read the back. "huh," you remarked, putting it back.

instead, you grabbed a couple self-help books, struggling to hold them with your acrylic nails, which, of course, were bright pink... accentuated with big charms; bows and hearts.

you went back over to your room, dumping them on your bed. checking your nails again, you drummed them against your palm to make sure they were intact.

you started reading the first one, curling up in a blanket, but you kept getting distracted. every five seconds, you look up to make sure your lashes were still in place, or that your skin wasn't to shiny, or that your hair was still perfect. and to be honest, you didn't really understand any of it.

like, who actually had the patience to read through all of it? how could a book cure all your crap?

and why would you read a book to feel better, when you could go to a spa, or a shopping spree.

credit cards were invented for a reason.

but you powered through, at the very least, you skimmed the words. there was no way you could read it word for word. but you wanted to try... for peter.

you wanted him to stick around, to love you, but not superficially. not for sex.

you stayed up until 1:30 (mostly reading, and you still didn't understand how people did this for fun), but didn't call peter. you'd talk to him tomorrow, maybe. first, you needed to get your facts straight. eventually, you got ready for bed.

this included showering, taking off your makeup, putting your hair in rollers, and your fifteen-step skincare routine.

you may have been half asleep, but you'd never skip a step.

peter came over around noon monday, when neither of you had classes. "jeez, babe," he groaned, you in his lap, "i've got so much to do. seriously, i'm never gonna get it done."

you twirled your hair, appearing nonchalant, "your mindset is either your best friend, or worst enemy."

you kept your eyes trained on your phone, waiting for peter to respond. looking up, you saw him blink. "uh... yeah. that was- that was very... un-y/n-like."

to be honest, you didn't even know what the saying meant. you just memorized it from your book. "was it dumb?"

"no, it was smart," peter replied, kissing your hairline.

"i'm normally dumb?" you asked, tearing up. lips pouted, voice moist, you made eye contact with him. you knew you were a little slow, but dumb? really?

"no! that's not what i meant. it just sounded- well, i- cause you never say stuff like that. you're my smart, pretty girl."

"oh, okay," you said, your nails tracing the curve of his back. you pecked him on the lips, but he brought you back for a longer kiss.

you giggled as he flipped your positions, peter on top.

"can i show you just how pretty you are?"

he didn't have to ask twice.

you were in the dining hall, sitting with some of your friends, mixed with some of peter's.

they were talking as you picked at your salad, leaning into peter.

"ugh," sarah, you kind-of friend started, "my boss gave me a premotion."

"what the fuck are you complaining about?" alyssa scoffed.

"because! it means that i have to do more...! like, i'll have to get up earlier. i dunno if i'll take it. it's cooler than the one i have now, but but it's not as comforting."

you spoke up, completely confident, "commit to change. either embrace the challenge of pursuing your destiny or shy way and live in regret."

collective "oohs" and "damns" were heard around the table, and you reveled in it.

"okay, girl, you go."

"parker, when did your girlfriend get a braincell upgrade?" you looked at peter, waiting for him to shoot something back, but he didn't. you frowned slightly, going back to the salad.

it went on like that, you would pipe in and offer self-help advice (not really knowing what it meant) hoping for peter's attention. sometimes you got it, and sometimes you didn't.

it was fine, you wanted him to notice you. after all, you weren't reading for fun. you were doing it for him, so... just, like, notice already.

you'd been focusing so much on the self-help books, your nails had grown out, leaving space between your nail bed and acrylics. deciding to take some time away from the books and all their un-understandable wisdom, you wanted to paint your nails.

nothing to big, but more simple. you were finding it hard to turn the page with the large charms on the acrylics you normally had to.

you found some 100% acetone in your bathroom, so you soaked your nails, waiting for the acrylics to come off. once they got loose enough, they came off easily.

you did some prepping, then picked out two different shades of pink. you were about to start when you heard two long knocks, then two short ones.

(it was peter's special knock, so you'd always know when it was him.)

"come in!" you called out, and you saw a head of fluffy brown hair peek in.

"hey," he said, slipping in your room.

"hi, petey!"

he came up from behind you, hugging your waist. "whatcha doing?"

you opened a bottle of nail paint, "painting my nails."

"cute colors," he kissed your cheek, and you leaned in.

"right? pink is so pretty," you gushed.

"what are these?" peter asked, and you looked over curious as to what he was talking about.

"oh, just, like, lyss' books."

"yeah, but why're they in here?" he read the back of one, raising a brow.

you continued painting your nails, trying to appear chill. "i was reading them."

he seemed to do a double-take, and you frowned, "what?"

"nothing- nothing, i just..."

"i know how to read," you said, shoulders sagging. "i'm smarter than a third-grader," you didn't catch the slip-up, but he did.

that caught him off guard there, "what?"

"what?" looking up, you finally met his eyes.

"you said you- well, yeah, i know. you just don't-" he paused, "self-help books didn't seem like your thing is all. oh, is that why've you been saying all that?"

"saying what?"

"all the-" he didn't want to hurt your feelings, but if he was right, he already had. "the, um, advice?" he stammered. peter didn't trip over his words often, and you knew that.

you were sure that he knew that you knew, but you weren't sure if he knew for sure.

you shrugged, "doesn't it sound smart?"

"no, yeah, it does." he's treading very carefully. it was quiet for a brief moment; "did you hear?"

"hear what?"

"the... the comment i made?"

"oh, that one about me being stupid, but good in bed?" you said it so casually, as if it didn't bother you at all.

but it did. he knew it did.

he sighed, "i'm really sorry, baby."

"for what?"

"for saying that."

"no, you're sorry you got caught. you wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it."

"i didn't- i was drunk," peter tried again.

"drunk words are sober thoughts," something else you read, you aren't sure where.

he was starting to get really nervous. he didn't know what was going through your head, normally he had a good idea, but it wasn't anything like this. it didn't seem like you hated him, but he wasn't about to take advantage.

"no, i-"

"it's okay. i'm working on it," you said, trying to make him feel better. as if you were the one who'd messed up, not peter. the idea itself was insane to him, and it only made him feel worse.

"angel," peter started, "this is not your fault. please don't make it your fault. i'm the one who messed up, and what i said was not okay. it was a stupid, drunk joke, and i shouldn't said it."

you blew on your nails, blinking back your tears. mascara, the good stuff, was expensive. you looked up, shocked to see tears in his eyes. you don't think you've ever seen him cry before. well, maybe once, when you watched "titanic" with him.

peter wasn't one to get emotional, he still denied ever crying over that movie.

"it's okay," you repeated again. you were dumb, you knew that. it really wasn't his fault, you shouldn't have pushed him to feel like that.

"but it's not. and i know you know that, please tell me what i can do to make it better."

"but-"

"no, it's not," he said sternly, "and i cannot stress that enough. i'm really sorry, baby."

you capped the polish, you didn't know what to say. it wasn't your fault? okay, fine.

maybe he was right.

"i got really upset," you admitted.

"i know, baby," the tears are falling, he quickly wipes them away.

"did you really mean it?"

"no, no, no, of course not. i absolutely love you the way you are, and you shouldn't have to change yourself for anyone- especially not for me."

"so you don't think i'm only good for sex?"

"baby, no, baby, no!" baby, he used that word for affection; when he was guilty, trying to prove something to you... in this case, how sorry he was. "you are good for so many other things," he paused, "okay, that didn't sound great."

he took a deep breath, taking your freshly painted hands in yours, "don't mess up the polish," you warned, even though you were tearing up.

peter smiled slightly, that meant you weren't too upset, right? that he hadn't fucked everything up by great means?

"i haven't ever met someone like you, who loves me the same back. and i don't mean generally, but romantically. lots of people can't put up with me," he started, "but you do, and jesus, baby, i'm so greatful for that- and you," peter added.

"you are the bright pink light of my life. you're so different from other girls i've been with, you see me. you don't look at me, you see me. like, okay, maybe you aren't the greatest at math, but you don't have to be a s.t.e.m. genius to be smart."

peter was getting raw, he was getting vunerable. "i don't know how to use a curling iron for the life of me, i don't know the difference between mascara and eyeliner. well, i do, but i didn't before you."

you looked at him, opening your mouth to speak. you wanted to tell him he'd lost you somewhere along the line, but figured it was important for him to get this out.

"you've got a different mindset than me, and i love that. you're the biggest feminist i've ever met, and wait until you meet may. i think it's interesting that your entire personality doesn't revolve around your degrees and resumes, because, god, people like that are annoying. most of all, you're confidence is amazing. i never had anything like that in high school."

you knew that he was a nerd, kept his head down, shoulders sagging. "i just... i'm sorry. i don't know why i said it. i'm a huge insecure jerk that thinks he can get away with crap by projecting it onto his lovely, amazing, wonderful girlfriend. you're my favorite person, and i can't help but think you'll leave me one day. i thought that if i acted like i didn't care... i don't know. i- i don't... i'm sorry."

you took moment, that's the longest he's ever spoken to you, but he wasn't done, apparently.

"also, i don't care about sex. i mean, it's nice and whatever, but what's the point of it if i don't have you. what i'm trying to say is, i'd pick you over that any day, okay? it doesn't matter to me. i'm not with you for that."

"thank you," you said, it seemed appropriate. basically, he just compliented you a whole lot, and it worked; you seem to have a thing for praising. "and i forgive you. also, i hated those stupid books, and if they weren't, like, alyssa's, i'd burn them."

you shuddered, "i can't believe i read them."

"really?" peter asked, hopeful. you kissed away a stray tear, looking into his wet eyes. "we're okay?"

"we're so okay," you paused, "but you have to watch bridgerton with me."

he groaned, "fine." (you knew he liked it, he just wouldn't ever admit to it.)

"wait, so just checking, you aren't into, like, intellectuals or whatever?"

"i'm into you," he said, "whether or not you idenify as one."

taglist: @whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod

#tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #spiderman #angst #tom holland x you #fluff #peter parker imagine #bimbo!reader #frat!peter #frat!peter x bimbo!reader #frat!peter x reader #peter x bimbo!reader

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silkscream · 7 months

Text

HEAVEN SURROUNDS US

ੈ✩ summary: gojo likes that you make him feel human. admittedly, he also likes that sometimes, you make him feel like a god. ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, begging, soft dom!gojo, kind of mean gojo lol, workplace relations, reader can see curses but that's it, gojo has a god complex, dirty talk, not proofread bc i do not give a fuck ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k ੈ✩ a/n: i am having intense gojo brainrot. i was thinking about 'i'm your man' by mitski the entire time i was writing this btw. ALSO I LITERALLY HAD A GRAPHIC AND DIVIDERS FOR THIS BUT EVERY TIME I INCLUDE THEM this shit doesn't show up in the tags. i've given up!

Gojo Satoru has the smell of death burned into his senses to the point of complete apathy. He’s sure that Shoko feels similarly, though as a healer and a doctor, she’s often only met with the aftermath – the quiet decaying, the dried blood.

Gojo has encountered it all. The stench, the last pleas for salvation, the battered and torn-apart limbs. Even when the dying beings are cursed spirits suffering from the carnage created beneath Gojo’s hands, sometimes he wonders if an angel is nearby that weeps for them.

He has held grief inside his core to use as a weapon ever since he lost Geto. Nothing fazes him anymore. After the tragedies of his late teens, Gojo chooses to devote himself to his students rather than ruminating in sanctimonious thought loops. Gojo Satoru knows he isn’t a god, but sometimes, when he levitates in the sky with blood on his hands, he certainly feels like one. It’s safe to say that he may be the closest thing to one in the world of Jujutsu sorcery. It’s nothing that he despises – he’s known since his powers took shape in the awkwardness of his child-body.

Gojo likes to think he isn’t as cruel and indifferent as a god should be because of how protective he is. The warmth he’s had in his heart for Megumi alone confirms this as such, and now for Yuuji. Despite toying with the idea of divinity, he likes to remember that he’s human.

You are the only thing that reminds him of this.

Ever since Gojo had laid his eyes on you, he figured you were a delicate thing. He’s not completely wrong – although you can see curses, you lack any techniques. After becoming an assistant at Jujutsu Tech, he had taken more than a liking to you, more than he would be willing to admit to anyone else. He also never thought that the girl who was so quick to sardonic banter with him would be so vulnerable.

When you’re underneath him, maybe he does consider himself a god, just for a second. And then he feels the silky touch of your skin and he can’t help but wish for a life of mundanity with you until the earth stops spinning.

He likes that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. He likes that you become so pliant just from having his hand on your thigh.

It’s not like he exploits the little affair you have. It’s not that he wants to exploit you either, but the power trip that surges through him when you preen to his touch feels better than winning any battle. It’s those big eyes of yours. It’s a miracle you had reciprocated your attraction to him – he doesn’t know what he’d do to any other man who happened to pursue you. The thought of that kind of violence doesn’t make him feel any guilt. He’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant that he could have you forever, unconditionally.

Within the few months you’ve been working at Jujutsu Tech, you learn a few things about Gojo Satoru. He has an incredible sweet tooth. He cares about his students. He likes the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair. Lives for it, even, but he could never tell you that.

That’s how you ended up here, you suppose. Writhing and wet and oh so obedient for him.

You like that a man that is worshipped by all enjoys worshipping you.

“Satoru,” you whisper. The sound of your voice makes him fucking melt.

God, it’s so much worse when you beg. Satoru wants to be gentle with you, careful, because he knows that if all of his morals were thrown out the window, he would devour you completely, leaving bruises in your wake. But he waits, titillatingly, smirking as his long fingers grasp the flesh above your hips.

“Please,” you whine. Your lower half bucks up into him, squirming just a little, but he grounds you with his large hands once again.

Satoru knows better than to toy with his prey, but the flush on your cheeks is so fucking cute that he wonders what you would look like with tears rolling down the soft blush of your skin.

“Be patient, baby,” he rasps. “Just like lookin’ at you.”

“You look at me all day.”

“Someone’s got quite the attitude.”

You’re about to protest until you feel his knuckle brush against the peak of your clit, teasingly. A nasty grin spreads across his face as he grazes his fingertips along your slit, marveling at how wet you are when he’d barely touched you.

“So pretty for me,” he muses, mostly to himself.

“Should see how pretty I am when you’re inside me.”

Satoru scoffs. Despite being so human, you have quite the mouth, so much confidence in the way you move and speak that he often forgets how easy it would be to lose you. To break you. Though, of course, that privilege is for him and him only.

He kisses you to shut you up, but not nearly for long enough. You can’t even get your tongue inside his mouth. You whine pitifully as he pulls back.

“Poor baby,” he coos. “So on edge today. What’s got you so desperate like this, huh?”

“Just want you,” your voice is meek, which is an anomaly. The honey-sweet cadence of your words is barely above a whisper.

“You have me.” Unbeknownst to you, you always will, whether you tire of him or not.

He makes his point by circling the pad of his thumb to your clit while his other hand claws at your chest underneath your dress shirt. The sound of your gasp has him reeling already, has his cock rock-hard in his slacks.

“More,” you whimper. “S-Satoru, please.”

You’re surprised when you feel the palm of his hand over your mouth. You whine against his hand, soft gasps dissipating underneath his touch as your eyes roll back. You feel two fingers enter your sopping cunt and it renders you brainless, docile just how he likes you.

The rhythmic ministrations of his fingers touch upon the spot inside your core that makes your legs shake. You like being smothered by him despite your personality. You don’t even have to tell him – he knows already, he’s known ever since he noticed your reactions to him touching you casually during the working day.

The more you crave his touch, the more you become dependent on him, even when you don’t realize it. You always pride yourself on being an independent soul, refusing his insistence to pay for your meals, the way you express to him quietly that you want to be able to fight back one day. You could perfect a certain violence in between your fingers just like he can if you put your mind to it. But you have too much dignity to request his guidance as a mentor or teacher.

He thinks about it now as he touches you. The idea of him training you to use cursed techniques. The idea of him making you in his image, shaping you like he had created you himself.

If anyone truly knew the extent of how you are the object of Satoru’s affection, of his obsession, one would render him pathetic. But he knows he’s too powerful. He knows it’s easy to make you seem like the pathetic one. You’re already begging for his cock, after all.

“I‘m gonna… I’m–”

There’s a squelching sound when he retracts. His fingers are wet with your slick and you’re on the verge of tears when you feel the loss. You’re already falling apart without his touch. It doesn’t help when you watch him lick your wetness off of his own fingers.

“Why are you being so mean to me today?”

“‘m not,” Satoru purrs, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe. You try to kiss him since his face is so close to yours, but again, he restricts you. His long, slender fingers squeeze the base of your neck. “I could be a lot meaner to you, y’know. You’re lucky. This is mild compared to what I’ve thought about doing to you.”

“Wanna cum,” you whisper. You don’t even realize that there are tears falling because you’re too focused on Satoru. It isn’t fair, the way he’s toying with you. The moment he relinquishes his grip, just barely, you reach over to palm his cheek. He lets you pull the blindfold from his eyes.

“Dunno if I can let you. You’re being so greedy. Such a selfish fucking girl.” He pinches your nipple as he says it. His voice is smooth, dripping like honey, dulcet in the way his words manage to make your eyelashes flutter despite how filthy the subject matter is. He’d ruin you if he could. Perhaps, he’d ruined you the moment he touched you.

He’s touching your clit again, but not rhythmically. You feel a sense of loss every few seconds. He’s fucking teasing you now, but you’re smart enough to not snap at him despite how much you want to.

So you say his name instead. Like a hymn or a prayer. Like it’s the sweetest thing to come from your tongue. From the way your voice sounds, Satoru is convinced that his own name is a blessing just because it comes from your lips. He can’t get enough of it.

You make Satoru feel human, but the way you react to him at the moment makes him want to pretend he’s a god.

“S-Sat–Satoru. Oh.”

“You cryin’ already, baby? Thought you liked it when I played with you.”

His voice is low, raspy. Almost cruel.

Your brain is so foggy that it feels like he’s been doing this to you for hours. You can’t even form words, can’t bitch to him or dominate him the way you often attempt to. There’s a secret part of you, deep inside, that is unlocked by the way Satoru handles you. As much as he loves control, he still doesn’t know the extent of what you would let him do to you. How you wished he’d wrap a silk ribbon around your neck and collar you like a puppy. How you think you would do anything for him if he asked.

You don’t even know that he would do the exact same for you.

Now, you’re at your peak again. Your legs are wobbly, senses so heightened by the way he plays with your pussy that it takes you a few moments to notice that his cock is prodding against you, bare and pink and fucking leaking.

Maybe if you tell him you’re close, he’ll stop. You can’t stand the thought of it. So, naturally, you cry instead, and the sight makes him want to keep you for as long as he’s alive. Satoru would make sure nothing slights you, and that nothing out of his control could possibly vex you. This desire usually scares him. At the moment, it doesn’t. At the moment, he feels drunk with it.

He knows when you cum because he has you memorized. It’s a little death, truly, because when your legs tremble and your moans fade into a sharp gasp, Satoru knows for sure that your brain has turned to mush. Your body melts against his. Maybe you’d melt right into his mattress if he didn’t have more energy to play with you.

Gojo Satoru does not believe in a higher power, but he thinks that if one existed, one that was more powerful than him, he would thank them. He would thank them for you, the creation of you, the very essence of you living and breathing in the same wretched world as him. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, you were made just for him.

You recover in a succession of exhales. Blinking rapidly through blurry vision as you feel Satoru’s face nuzzling your neck, almost too domestic and sweet to bear. You had never thought of anything serious with him because of his reputation, but every time he has you like this, underneath him, you often wish that he would reassure you that he wants to keep you.

And he does. He is devoted to you in a way that feels holy. He just doesn’t know how to tell you that. Satoru hopes you can figure it out just from the way he touches you.

And maybe, like him, you’re just above human. An angel, he thinks. A set of wings would suit you.

“I– I– please–” you strain. You feel embarrassed from the tears, but Satoru cherishes you. He kisses and licks them right off your face.

“I know, baby. I won’t make you beg any more than you have,” he sneers.

You’re fucking doe-eyed, angelic when he enters you. Just the tip, for now, just so he can see how you react. It isn’t the first time but you are certainly acting the part from the way your whole face screws up. Your perfect mouth parts and he touches your bottom lip with his thumb.

You whimper like a wounded thing. Like you should be begging for mercy. He hasn’t dipped too far into his God-complex yet to coax that reaction for you.

And without a warning, he pushes himself into you completely, bottoming out. He groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. So warm. So fucking wet.

“Fucked you enough to mold the shape of your pussy to my cock, huh? Feels so fucking– fuck,” he exhales, rutting into you with eyes shut.

You whine his name, clutching at him, scraping your nails across his pale back. He loves the way you need him. He wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

Made for me. God made you for me.

You slur your words against his neck and his chest as he thrusts into you – cries of his name, of begging for more, of your usual expletives. He grins like a predator. He bends you in half and thinks briefly about breaking your limbs for the sake of his pleasure. (He doesn’t. You’re too delicate, too human.)

In reality, you’re sarcastic and sometimes brash. When Satoru has you writhing underneath him, you’re a little more shy. He wants to tease the desire from you, whatever filth that permeates in your brain.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want– I want– aah!”

“Feels so good for you, I know. Use your words for me. I know you can,” Satoru taunts.

“Want you to make me cum on your cock. Please,” you beg. “Need it deeper, ‘Toru. Need you.”

“Need me, don’t you? Say it again so I can hear it.”

“Nngh– Need– Fuck, I can’t–”

He slows the speed of his thrusts and rubs the length of your jaw softly with his palm. His other hand rubs your clit gently, making your body spasm. He tucks the hair sticking to your forehead behind your ear so he can see all of you. You and your swollen mouth and glassy eyes.

“Don’t do that,” you whine.

“Do what, baby?”

“Teasing me like this. Wan’ it rough.”

“What else?” he breathes into your neck, palming your breast as he thrusts into you deeper.

“Want everything. Want it to hurt.”

And with that, he gives it to you. He gives you all of it.

You drape your arms around his body so that you’re closer than ever, both of your bodies ready to mesh into one if they could. Satoru pushes your legs up, knees bent and ankles near your ears, and he basks in the sound of your pathetic mewls.

“Such a good… fucking girl,” he groans. “‘m so close.”

“Me too,” you reply in a hushed tone. “Right– right there.”

Satoru has fucked you plenty of times. He’s called you a slut, a greedy whore – but he can’t bring himself to degrade you like that even though he knows you like it. You’re splayed out for him, limbs limp and grateful for his embrace. You’re too fucking precious for him.

You’re too dazed to think about the moral implications of your affair. It's a miracle you can't enter his mind so deeply when you're fucked out like this. Where his thoughts flash from lecherous to monstrous, yours are rendered sluggish. There’s almost nothing in your brain, save for him and his blue eyes and the feeling of his cock. It consumes the best of you. You welcome it with open arms.

Another kiss. It’s mostly Satoru working his tongue into your mouth and you dissolving under his tongue. He tastes so sweet, so fresh all the time. His lips are so fucking soft it drives you insane.

“Pleasemakemecum,” you cry out in a jagged mumble. “Please. Need it so bad. Please!”

He groans in response. You’re begging more than usual. You are frantic and desperate and welcoming his hand to shape you in his image.

The way he grinds into your cunt becomes more aggressive, which is easy for him. There’s no resistance – your pussy is so fucking wet for him in that way. The cloying heat in his pelvis spreads to the rest of his body, warmth enveloping him like hot water in a bath.

You whine his name again and it dissipates into his mouth.

“Cum with me, fuck, I can feel you–” he moans. Both of you reach your peak in the way he grasps your body, calloused hands worshipping the length of your waist until his fingertips bruise your thighs.

His hips stutter as he indulges in his pleasure. In the sound of your hushed whimpers. In the way your nails claw across his back.

Both of your labored breaths fill the silence. Even in the dark, you admire the brightness of his blue eyes. They could replace the divinity of the stars themselves, you muse.

Both of you are hazy, intoxicated on the touch of each others’ skin. You shiver in your skin. You’re only soothed when he buries his face into your neck, long limbs splayed over your smaller frame.

“I should fuckin’ marry you,” he breathes into your skin.

“What was that?” you raise a brow.

He clears his throat. Despite the daze, he’s able to give you one of his signature cocky grins. Something flashes in his blue eyes, you think.

“I think I wanna keep you.”

If he was god, you were his seraphim, he’s decided. He almost tells this to you, out loud, because your big eyes drink him in. He knows better.

“You have me,” you reply softly, echoing him from earlier in the night. The way he smiles reminds you of the sun.

Gojo Satoru knows it’s an affirmation from you, maybe even pillow talk. But he knows that sentiment to be truer than anything he’s ever known. He is yours and you are his.

For now, you don’t know the half of it. Maybe someday you will.

#gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk

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redflagshipwriter · 3 months

Text

Hot Ghouls in your Area ch 4 progress

(read other sections of this and more stories here)

Danny floated miserably through the stacks, pulling out books that looked remotely plausible. Maybe he needed help. Jazz would help him without laughing at him, right?

Sam and Tucker absolutely would not. They would think it was hilarious that he had so little game that the universe assigned him a boyfriend via Jeremy Waters.

‘As if I could pull a guy who looks like that,’ Danny thought wryly, and then felt a little bad about himself in comparison. Jason was, uhhhh, physically blessed. He was tall and well proportioned and his hands- Danny fought down a shiver and resisted the urge to steal another look. Jason was out of sight anyway.

Well. He still hadn't seen Jason's face. Maybe he was ugly! You never know. Or maybe under the helmet it was totally smooth, no face. That would be neat. Danny paused mid motion to imagine that.

Haha. Sick, man.

That concept cheered him up a little as he grimly opened the first book and started skimming for likely words like marriage, spouse, and concubine.

He didn’t bother reading anything in detail. He stuck a post it note on each page with a relevant term and then put the book in a pile to take back to his dorm. This wasn’t going to get solved in a day.

Ah, shit. Danny paused. This wasn’t going to get solved in a day. He bit his lip and looked off in the direction where Jason had disappeared to do his own research.

He truly didn’t have time to devote to this right now. He was not willing to drop his school life in order to solve a sudden problem. Jason was just going to have to cope with whatever timeline Danny could manage without setting his life on fire.

On the other hand, Jason was a human guy who probably had a life of his own at the biker bar/fight club. Whatever the hell required that kind of outfit probably kept him busy! So Danny couldn’t like, just leave him in the castle to chill.

“Not to mention the fact that he shouldn’t be able to live here very long anyways,” Danny muttered to himself.

That was troubling him. Frankly, Jason should have been intolerably uncomfortable in the ghost zone for this long without specialized protective equipment. It wasn’t meant for humans.

‘What did Jeremy do to this guy?’

Yikes. Did this mean… Did this mean Danny should have given that little cult thing more credit? But Jeremy was just such a doofus. He grimaced. Embarrassing. Why were his enemies so embarrassing? This shit didn’t happen to, like, Wonder Woman.

Danny buried himself back in the books to avoid the growing suspicion that Jason might have been uhhhh magically altered to make him an appropriate concubine to a dead king. That thought sucked! He didn’t like it. He really didn’t like the idea of bringing it up with Jason.

When he had what he thought was a good first round of research, Danny shelved the books he’d gotten out and went to find where his …

He whole-body flinched at the point where he needed to plug an appropriate noun into that sentence.

“Jason?” Danny called, juggling books into a stack. “I think we should probably get you back to the re- the human world. Before something inexorable happens.”

A pause.

“I don’t think you know what that word means,” Jason said. A book shut. Danny headed towards the sound, phasing through shelves effortlessly. A spark of curiosity lit up at Jason’s voice. He sounded relaxed, even through the helmet’s filter.

‘I want to hear his real voice. Bet it’s nice.’

Wait. What? Danny shook the thought away, discomforted. He plastered a wide grin on his face. “I don’t know any words,” he lied breezily. “I’m just ad libbing. Anyway!” He flopped dramatically down onto the big chair next to Jason’s, making sure to be extra physical to get a satisfying whumpf. “We really should go! I can get you to the human world, but, uh, I can’t promise to put you back where you came from.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I think this is going to be a more than one day affair.”

Jason was watching him. There was nothing visible through his helmet, but Danny got the sense that he was tense, waiting for a threat.

Which, what? Why would Jason feel threatened by-

Oh. Danny felt a knot in his stomach. Right. That made a lot of sense. He felt kinda sick.

He didn’t let the feeling show through and barreled on speaking. “I don’t exactly have an easy way for you to contact me, but we probably need to stay in touch to fix this. Do you have any ideas?”

The lie felt kind of gross. But he could hardly tell the guy; “I’m an engineering student in Gotham, you can just call my cell or come to the dorms.”

Jason seemed to relax at the cessation of control. “If you can stick around, yeah. I’ll get you a burner phone, exchange numbers. You’re not going to…” He trailed off. Danny felt a frown somehow. “You won’t have any signal here, actually. That won’t work.”

“I can make it work,” Danny assured him, hands up. “I mean, I can’t make it work here, or I would have offered to help with your tech. But I can pop in and out of the human world and check my messages.”

“That’ll work.” Jason’s helmet turned ever so slightly. “About the books…”

“You found something good?” Danny asked, impressed. “Yeah, awesome. Just be really careful with them, the librarian is a scary guy.”

Jason’s hand flexed over the closed book on his thigh. “I can take- how many can I take out?”

Danny scoffed. “I’m not your dad,” he said. “Whatever you can carry, man. You ready to go or do you need a minute?” He flipped back to his feet with a grunt.

#red hot ghouls #dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main

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yesimwriting · 4 months

Note

hii 💗

so im currently obsessed with best friend!felix and wanted to request that perhaps their relationship evolves to a point where they’re practically dating but they’re both unaware of it

thank youu

a/n omg you understand them so well

----

There are certain expectations attached to Felix's name, weaved into each syllable like delicate stitches in a tapestry that depicts a family crest. You're not unaware of what the world associates with him, not oblivious enough to lack a general idea of what most assume when they think of being close to someone like him.

People would never guess that the best part of being best friends with Felix are the little things, the small gestures that show how careful he can be when he cares.

The girls you usually sit with in your last class changed so drastically when they saw him on the bench outside of your lecture hall. They whispered and giggled and twirled silky hair around their fingers. It made something in your stomach turn to stone... and you still can't figure out why. You'd be hypocritical to fault them for gossip.

They eventually started chatting about the type of girls someone like him must like. That only made things more awkward when Felix finally spotted you and waved you over. They gaped at you, and with Felix waiting, you weren't given the space needed to stumble through an explanation. The only thing you could manage was a shy 'it's not like that' and a sentence you barely remember that used the word 'friend' way too many times to be structurally sound. It didn't stop them from begging you for details next class before you finally walked away.

Now, in Felix's room, his hand on your shoulder, firm enough to be anchoring, you can't help but compare reality with what they must be imagining. The only details you can offer them are mundane. A fact that only makes you more protective of these moments. They wouldn't get it.

You're convinced no one can, so why take their comments to heart? Even Farleigh, who actually does know Felix tries to twist your friendship into something salacious, something worth gossiping about.

"You're tense." His voice comes out so low you're not sure if you're meant to respond. Felix's thumb traces circles against the top of your shoulder. "You said you had a good day today."

Felix reads your mood with a talent that'd make you uneasy if he was anyone else. "I did." The words feel flat, tired, even though your day was objectively good. You had time to stop for a coffee before class, a TA handed back graded exams and you did better than expected, and you finally finished your essay. "Just Tuesday and Thursday classes."

He nods once empathetically, thumb pressing into your skin. "Tired?"

"Yeah."

The two of you are quiet for a moment. Lulls in conversation have a tendency to make you feel the need to compensate. With Felix, the silence never asks to be rushed through. "Want to rest your eyes for a little?"

This wouldn't be the first time you took a nap in Felix's room. It's not exactly a habit--yet--but it's circling that territory. Sometimes he'll go to sleep with you, other times he'll stay up reading to you.

The offer is irritatingly perfect. You want to say yes, but you--ugh. This is what you get for talking to Farleigh. This is ridiculous. There isn't anything unusual or potentially romantic about your friendship with Felix. You're close, and when it comes to Felix, close is all consuming.

You briefly let your eyes shut. "Sounds nice, but I--I have a lot of homework."

In one movement, he lets his hand slip down your arm and his head fall against your shoulder. "C'mon," his breath is warm against your neck, "I'm tired, too."

The weakness in your resolve makes you like yourself a little less. You swallow, mentally preparing yourself to fight against your fondness. "Out late partying?"

He sighs against you, the sound more amused than it wants to be. "Oh, yeah, Oliver and I were out until the ungodly hour of 11:30." You move your arm, nails brushing a few strands of his hair back into place. "I sleep better when you're here."

Felix is always so warm, it's nearly impossible to not get caught up in it. You almost told him that he could have come over. That the movie you went to see with your roommate had ended around 10:30 and that the only reason you were dismissive when he called is because of what Farleigh had said in the library.

Instead, you settle for running your fingers through his hair. "I told you, Nadia and I went to the movies."

He sighs again, the sound a little sharper this time, almost a huff. A smile tugs at your lips. Felix looks up, half-glaring-half-pouting. "You think it's funny?"

"No," you try, extending the syllable in an attempt to prove your innocence.

Something shifts, you feel it before Felix moves. He straightens, taking his weight off you, likely in an attempt to lull you into a false sense of insecurity. You lean back, resting your weight on one hand. The bit of space you're quick enough to create isn't enough to save you.

Felix leans forward, hand finding the shoulder farthest from him. It's instinct to lean back further in an attempt to duck out from beneath his arm. The move paired with a laugh that makes you lose balance proves to be a mistake. Felix is too tall, too inescapable. His other hand finds your side and you have no choice but to let your back hit the mattress.

He's not pinning you down, but he is hovering in a way that makes you think twice about moving. "Felix." It's meant to come off as threatening, but you're still giggling and it only makes him grin.

"What?" You bravely lift an arm, placing your palm flat on his chest. You will yourself to push him away. He pulls a hand back, giving up trapping you in favor of covering the back of your palm with the front of his. "You started it."

"Doesn't sound like me."

His smile widens. "No?"

He pulls your hand away from him, and for a second, you think he might be ready to release you, but then he presses a kiss to the side of your hand. The warmth of the gesture would normally make you dizzy, but with Farleigh's words ringing in your ears...it's impossible to fully relax.

His eyebrows pinch together, "You okay?"

"Yeah," you hum, "Just tired. Like you said."

He gently sets your hand down. "Y'sure you don't want a nap?"

"No." You're only human. "A nap sounds nice. Just need to use the bathroom first."

Felix squeezes your hand once before shifting onto his back. His absence leaches all the heat from your body. Suddenly, it does feel like a damp autumn day.

You sit up, sock clad feet instinctually slipping into Felix's discarded slippers. They're too large, and you always have to remember to watch your step when you steal them, but they're so plush it's worth the caution.

There's a familiar bundle of fabric thrown over the back of the desk chair. You unzip your jacket. The cold air bites at you as you slip off the thin fabric. You grab Felix's jumper, instinctually pulling it over your head. The material engulfs you in his essence.

You shut the door behind you as you step into his bathroom. Why is something so small getting to you so much? And something that Farleigh, of all people, planted in your head. He likes to twist things until they resemble something entertaining or beneficial. We're just friends. Are you sure?

What kind of a question even is that? Obviously, you'd know if you were dating someone. Obviously, you'd know if you were dating Felix. So of course your answer was a little forced and awkward. Farleigh should have teased you about it. Instead, he looked at you oddly, eyebrows pulled together almost sympathetically, and told you he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen anyone be that close with their friends. Not even Felix.

Okay--don't think about it. What does Farleigh know about genuine, platonic friendships?

You turn on the sink. Splashing some water on your face will he--a bottle of moisturizer and face wash. Spares that you had picked up for Felix to try, go to's for you during impromptu sleepovers.

You force yourself to look up. Your reflection stares back at you, Felix's jumper sliding off your shoulder, exposing the sleeve of your shirt.

You dab water against your face before shutting off the sink. Maybe some sleep will help. You'll take your nap, and then you and Felix will wake up, and you'll see that everything's the same.

Felix is already beneath the sheets when you step out of the bathroom. You walk to the edge of the bed, sliding off his slippers before climbing into bed.

"Darling?" You hum in response before craning your neck to look at him. Felix's gaze is fixed on the ceiling. "Are y--Did something happen?" You freeze. Has Farleigh been telling other people what he told you? Did all of it circle back to Felix in some embarrassing way? "With us, I mean?"

The clarification is too small, too uncertain to fit him. You lift your head. "What?" His attention is still on what's above. "No." With a sigh, you lean forward until your chin's resting on his stomach. "Of course we're fine." He tilts his head slightly, eyes finally landing on yours. Felix is quiet for a moment, taking in your expression. Treating him differently isn't fair. "Do you think we're too close?"

His expression falters, the slight concern behind his eyes morphing into something more closed off. "You--you think we're too close?"

"No." You don't even have to think about it. Maybe that's what bothered you about what Farleigh said. You don't want to think about what should be different because you know you don't want to feel less close to him.

He doesn't ease, and you can't blame him. You place a hand on his side, smoothing your thumb up and down the fabric of his shirt. "I--just--the other day, Farleigh ran into me in the library, and we started talking and he made some comments...." Felix groans. "About how close we were, and at first, it just felt like Farleigh, and then he said a lot of people assume things and--I--"

"Who cares what other people think?" Felix shifts, his fingers tracing patterns against your back. "We're happy with how we are."

You smile, "Yeah." It's probably easy to dismiss opinions and rumors when you're someone like Felix. You decide that it's okay to borrow his worldview. "I am happy."

Felix grins, available hand moving to grab yours. He kisses your palm before placing your hand back on his side. He squeezes your hand against the space between his ribs and hip. "I'm happy, too."

You grin, angling your head downwards to press a kiss against his chest before laying down fully. Felix's knuckles run up and down your back. It's soothing, making everything else disappear long enough to let you fall asleep.

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae

i love how much you guys seem to like bestfriend!felix 😭 i have some more requests/fics for him coming,, someone in one of my asks said they weren't sure if i was still taking requests for him and i definitely am,, he's so fun to write for

#saltburn imagine #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #felix catton #bestfriend!felix #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader

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itsonlydana · 2 months

Text

"Can you meet me halfway (I'll meet you halfway" | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader x Bard 👑 [king's special]

you went out clubbing on new years eve when a gorgeous rich couple hits on you and invites you back to their apartment to finish what you started right on the dancefloor

warnings/tags: NSWF! THIS IS ADULT CONTENT ✋️, modern!AU, threesome, oral sex (male & female), dirty talk, semi-public-sex, soft dom! bard and bratty dom!thranduil, protected sex, fingering, passing out during sex, slight overstimulation, age-gap (reader is of age, though its described that thranduil and bard are older), hairpulling, aftercare,

words: 13,8k

an: this is by far the dirtiest thing i've ever written and my god i'm not a smut writer; i get too flustered over my own writing lmao. Hopefully you can enjoy this out-of-character story even if it isn't new years anymore!

inspired by early 2000s club bangers like Kesha, Britney Spears, Black Eyed Peas (that's where the title came from) and Lady Gaga

+ masterlist +

🌿 reposts and comments or anonymous messages in my inbox are very appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

"What?!"

"I said," the barkeeper leaned closer and pushed a filled to the rim shotglass over the counter, "this one is from the pretty one to your right!"

With a myriad of people in this club who fit your definition of "pretty" you found yourself on the brink of shouting at the red-haired bartender once more.

This would mark the third attempt, given that the club's 2000s music was blaring to the extent that communication was damn near impossible if you weren't screaming or using your hands trying to get orders across the sticky, littered with neon glowstick wristbands counter.

Before you could ask her who the hell she'd meant, the bartender had turned away, leaving you to figure out the mystery man for yourself.

You lifted the shot glass to your nose and took a deep breath— pure tequila.

At least you would enjoy this one; the last few shots other men had sent over to you had been nothing but disgusting, ranging from vodka to Jägermeister and one you didn't even bother to drink.

The world spun a little when you turned your head over your shoulder and for a second the flashy lights blurred the people crowding the bar into one mass, unidentifiable and mushed together; then your eyes zeroed in on him and pretty didn't even begin to cover it.

Next to the bar, holding out his own shot glass in hands that could've fit three or five of them, stood a man that was intimidatingly gorgeous and decently tall even as he rested his hip cheekily against one of the chairs, elbow on the wooden top while he flicked his fingers against the rim of the glass.

Not even that he was just tall, and he was –surely taller than most of the men standing between you two –, but he had this quality about him that let him stand out of the crowd.

Maybe it was the hair, blonde like starlight and pulled into a long and messy ponytail, with just a few loose strands framing his strong jawline. Or maybe it was the smug look on his face, the smirk that tugged on his lips when you dragged your eyes over the see-through shirt that clung to his well... and oh so– so well-defined chest.

On any other occasion, you would have simply raised the glass and disappeared back into the crowd of dancing people, but tonight felt different.

New Year's Eve had that ring to it. The careless "Fuck it all, it's all going to shit anyway"-attitude.

Any newspaper or media marked today the last day of yet another frustrating, wonderful, soul-crushing, draining, exciting, and overall overwhelming year, full of things you regretted having done, and as you stared at the man meeting your gaze with a questioning arch of a dark eyebrow, you found yourself giving a flying fuck about whether you'll add another mark on that board.

There was a surge of power washing through your body as you toasted the glass in his direction before tipping it against your lips and letting the tequila rush into your mouth.

The alcohol went down burning, hot, and dry and left a warm trail down your throat into your stomach.

"I see you not only bear a resemblance to the devil, you drink like her as well," a sultry voice drawled, sufficiently loud for you to lift your head.

Somehow the man had managed to appear right next to you within seconds and got so close that you were confronted with a very exciting view of his chest.

You eyed it, naturally because who wouldn't take their time looking at the flexing pecs covered in silver glitter and sweat?

Slowly, you dragged your gaze upwards, only faltering for a moment at the sight of a pink tongue running over plush lips. You met his eyes again, this time with no more than half a meter separating you and you were glad your knees didn't buckle like they threatened to do.

"And what are you? Some angel that has fallen from heaven?" Your counter was weak, a bad example of what was usually some excellent flirting, if you dare say yourself, but it's all you could manage with those cerulean eyes staring down at you in interest.

He laughed, thank fucking god, and tilted his head to the side. "It must be fate that we met, is it not?"

"Buy me another drink and we'll see"

Somehow, it didn't surprise you that he simply raised his pointer finger and the server immediately rushed to prepare whatever order he'd signaled her.

"Unfair, I waited, like at least five minutes for some water," you complained, not really putting any real annoyance into it but pouting nonetheless for the effect.

It went a long way because the stranger stepped closer, up into the little bit of personal space one could have in an overcrowded club, and cooed, "What a shame. Who could ever pass such a lovely face and not serve you right away?"

"I don't know," you sighed and smiled at him sweeter than sugar, "I do know that we shouldn't let that tequila go to waste though"

"Then be a good girl and drink up"

Oh, yeah.

Suppose you hadn't already contemplated sleeping with him, that certainly solidified your decision.

This wasn't just fate, this must be compensation for all the shit you've been through this year, wrapped up nicely in 6 feet and more of dripping sex and sultry smiles.

Eyes locked, you both clinked the glasses together before throwing them back. You couldn't help it when your lashes flutter shut.

Once again, the tequila burned all the way down to your stomach, adding to the cocktail of drinks that lowered your inhibitions and made your core throb in excitement.

You would've asked him for salt and lemon if he hadn't looked so unbothered by the pure taste. His lips didn't twitch, while you're sure yours were pulled into a grimace.

"Thank you, Sir," the words left your mouth without a second thought.

Thinking, in general, started to become more of a theory than something you were willing to do tonight; much too exhausting if you could simply let your tongue run wild.

He rewarded you for that decision, for his eyes widened and he stepped even closer, now slotting one of those long legs - and fuck, was he really wearing leather pants? Who had access to your wet dreams?- between yours as he leaned down.

"I must say you caught my interest the moment I saw you on the dance floor," He placed a hand on the countertop, not touching you yet, though the invitation he gave you, the silent question for permission, spoke for itself.

The second move was on you to lure him in and you blinked up at him while you trailed your fingers over the arm, scratching hairless skin with the tip of your nails until it changed into the fishnet top and you placed the hand to rest on one strong shoulder. The red color of your nail polish made such a beautiful contrast to his fair skin that your mind conjured imagines of how they must look on other parts of him.

Surely, with the size of him…

Now that you initiated the contact, he drove forward with his second hand, and the large palm cupped your chin.

While the touch was hot in how it's delivered, so dominating, and fuck if that didn't send warm licks of pleasure down your spine, his hand itself was surprisingly cold.

The temperature in the club was almost unbearable, only manageable through refreshing drinks and a trip or two to the bathrooms, and the spikes of the cool touch fought the heat pooling in your body.

One of those silky locks of hair brushed your neckline, falling right into the cut out of your dress that his eyes shamelessly took in from his higher-up viewpoint.

You took a deep breath, maybe even pushed out your chest as he eyed it in the knowledge that the lace bra was showing through.

All you inhaled was the intoxicating smell of his cologne, vanilla (even though you suspected he is anything but...), and something sweet and without a doubt expensive.

You're addicted to it the moment it hit your nose and clouded your mind.

"Do you not believe that an appropriate thank you is in order?" he inquired; no, he demanded.

You decided to play dumb, not because you thought he's into that – on the contrary, he seemed the kind of man who admired eloquence and intellect rather than dullness – but because it's a game you both enjoyed playing.

There was intrigue in tip-toeing around what is most obvious (lust as well as the urge to rip each other's clothes off as soon as possible, maybe even a fuck in the bathrooms).

"I thought I already said thank you," you mused, pushing out your lower lip into a pout again, "and that lousy shot is hardly worth more than a few words. You can't expect something greater if there is nothing to thank for."

He raised a dark eyebrow – you wondered if he colored his hair or eyebrows – and the hand around your chin lifted your head to twist it right and left.

One smooth thumb brushed over the pout, and he clicked his tongue. "Now now, I would consider this greedy if you were not in the right. You poor thing must be exhausted after all the dancing"

His eyes flashed when yours widened; he really did notice you before, had watched you.

"Yes," he drawled as if he read your mind, and his lips curved into a smirk that flashed a row of perfect bright teeth, "I saw how you moved out there, how wanton you presented yourself. However, it did not escape my notice that you rebuffed anyone who dared to approach."

When you opened your mouth to say something, his finger swiped over your lip again. Without hesitation, you sucked on the fingertip, collecting a few drops of tequila that you made a show of swallowing.

The protest disappeared with it down your throat.

He was right, why deny it?

The way you danced was just an expression of how comfortable you felt in your own body, the rhythm provided by provocative music a tool to follow the movements.

Everything you did, you did for yourself, not for the men who attempted to touch you simply because they were captivated by the dancing. As if you would accept some clammy hands grabbing for you.

"Maybe it was wanton," you said after releasing his finger, but not without scratching your teeth over it.

His pupils dilated, his chest raised at a sudden inhale of air; he apparently underestimated you.

You nodded your head toward the dance floor, "maybe I came here to look for a good fuck, but it's my decision who I take and not theirs"

"As you should. Those boys who tried and failed miserably were amusing to watch. None of them were good enough for you, right, sweetheart?"

You hummed in agreement as well as disagreement. "I'm not searching for anyone good enough," you thought back to all the good-guys who had lured you in with promises of treasuring you only to become insufferable with their need to control in the end.

"Then what do you need?"

"I want someone bad," the tone in your voice was challenging, just like the stare you gave him. "I want someone who won't be afraid to break me"

There was a slight tug on your chin, his hand pulled you in slightly but any further without any movement from you, it would've cause a strain in your neck.

You craved it.

The blonde god, he must be, the thought became clearer with any passing second, a gift, a god, an angel, crushed his mouth against yours. There was a fleeting moment where you realized you didn't know his name, but then his other hand wrapped around your neck, and your teeth clashed, and you found yourself not caring one bit.

You're sure he wouldn't mind if you moaned "God" instead of his name. Maybe he would even get off to it.

Only one way to find out.

It turned out quite hard to manage saying anything at all, his kisses stole every last bit of oxygen, robbing you of the ability to string together words and turning you into a whimpering mess with his tongue and wandering hands.

He called you a devil yet here he was, corrupting you in a way that will ruin you for any other person.

"You taste divine," he sounded as breathless as you felt when you separated and dizziness cultivated in your lust-clouded head at the compliment rasped in that deep voice of his.

"Do not worry," he continued, smearing the string of spit that connected you over your plush lips, "If you allow me I will try my very best to break you"

Hell or heaven, wherever he was leading you right now, your need tripped over itself eagerly.

When was the last time you were this aroused? You felt yourself growing wetter and wetter, and that only through his words and kisses; the state he could push you into if he truly fucked you would be completely new territory, you realized.

A nod is all you could manage.

The last you saw on his face was a wide grin before he kissed you again, this time though, he moved on to your jaw and then your neck. You beared it to him by tilting your head, eyes falling on the ceiling where the neon lights hushed over black brick, coloring your sight while your face took on a flushed red.

The blond devil nipped and bit, sucked and scratched in a manner so animalistic you wouldn't have thought a surely unquestionably sophisticated man to be able to.

You whimpered again, and your hands rose to grab something, anything and you found that ponytail the most accessible. Your fingers twirled a few soft strands as you gasped when his teeth sunk into the delicate skin right where your neck and shoulder met, and the slight pain following wasn't unwelcome.

It made you feel alive.

You're close to pulling him away to the bathroom– an amused laugh to your side prevented that thought from festering any further.

"I'm away for one smoke and you just couldn' wait?"

Unable to think straight after the assault on your neck, it took a moment for you to come back to your senses that don't revolve around lips, kiss, bite, fuck, suck…

Your sight spun as you snapped your head back, nearly knocking your chin into the man still busy marking you up, unbothered that there was another man watching you and clearly waiting for an answer.

So you decided to do the only thing that must convince him to let go, and you pulled on his hair.

He growled, fucking growled, and his lips twisted, flashing his teeth again.

Your heart dropped into your wet panties until you found he wasn't pinning you to the floor with the hard stare but the new arrival.

"Did you not see that I was busy?" he snapped at the dark-haired man, and while you felt slightly scared he was going to rip his handsome head off, the man only sported an annoyed expression.

"Yes, exactly. If I remember correctly, we decided to wait until I get back?"

Decided, waited?

"You took too long"

The man threw his head back in a raspy laugh, "Incorrigible bastard. Will I have to sit you down with a toy to keep you busy while I'm away?"

The blonde turned back to you and smirked, "That will not be necessary as I am quite capable of finding my own toys"

"Hey!" you cut into the conversation, not amused that they talked as if you weren't right there, "I'm not a fucking toy!"

Both men turned to you now, towering over you in their height, and mustering you so intensely that you slightly squirmed under their gaze.

The man with salt and pepper hair chuckled. "I am so sorry, Darlin'. I hope Thranduil didn't play too hard?"

Considering that you still felt the scratch of his teeth on your neck and the wet spit he left there, you felt like some kind of chew toy one would throw their dog but nevertheless, you pushed your chin up high. "Nothing I can't take."

The blonde's, Thranduil's, hand on your waist pulled you into him possessively. "I told you there is some bite behind the pretty face," he smirked.

While it didn't escape you that this hinted to a previous conversation, a plan formed over you, it's the attractiveness of them that led you to turn a blind eye.

"Weren't you the one biting a minute ago?" The music made it hard to talk normally and you stood up on your tiptoes to yell the words, but all that it resulted in is a deep chuckle.

"Oh, I like you," the other man laughed as well.

You took him in, the tight pants that showed off strong thighs and the black and gold shirt with more buttons open than actually buttoned that presented muscles and hair leading down and oh–

"What a surprise," you said, looking up to meet his hungry eyes, "I find I like you too" You turned your head to Thranduil, who smirked and sent you a wink that had you blushing, "So how's this gonna work? I'm going to be blunt and say that five minutes ago I was convinced you and I were on the same page, what's with your friend?"

"Husband"

"Husband?!" you parroted, unconvinced yet when your eyes fell on their hands a gold ring flashed back at you from both fingers.

Heat curled in your body like molten lava at lustful and otherwise utterly inappropriate thoughts this provoked of these two married man having their way around your body.

Thranduil bowed his head lower again, playfully nipping at the part of your neck that surely was already bruising. "I have to admit that I promised Bard to wait for him to come back, though I found I could not follow through when I saw you approaching the bar."

You swallowed. Hard. Not that it helped your very dry throat.

Bard came closer, reclaiming your attention.

His face, more defined than Thranduil's, was adorned with a rugged layer of dark stubble, crow's feet framing his vivid green eyes when he smiled at you. He looked the picture of a soft soul, but you remembered that this couple was picking up a third partner on New Year's Eve, so you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

There was some spice behind the old-armchair-and-book-vibes.

"Will that be a problem, Darlin'?" he asked in that ruff voice, posh and Welsh accent dripping over you.

A refreshment to hear that accent in this city, so enthralling in how it wrapped around you; especially that damn nickname. There was no way you would say no to him.. both of them if he called you Darling one more time.

You shook your head. "No. I think I'll just need a bit more liquid encouragement if I am to survive this night."

"Oh, what a shame," Thranduils lips left where they continued to suck and lap on your neck, peppering kisses, leaving bruises, and moved to your earlobe. His voice dropped as much into a whisper as the music allowed it, "I had my hopes on fucking you into heavenly spheres"

There went the last string of sanity holding you back.

Hearing a man who was seemingly hell-bent on avoiding abbreviations like "don't" and "can't" at all costs speak in such a filthy way was something you never knew you needed.

"I hope you can follow through with that," you trailed a hand over his smooth chest, collecting glitter on your way and smeared it over his throat where his adams apple bobbed, "because if you break that promise like you did the one with your husband, I will just have to let him finish the job"

Thranduil yanked you back into him, back into a kiss that seared itself into your memories and burned the touch, taste, and movement of his lips into every cell of your body.

It was almost aggressive how much teeth went into the kiss, how he bit down and all you could do was gasp and whimper.

Briefly, you thought of the poor people around you, because if all you wanted to do was get a drink and were confronted with one person devouring the other, you would be seething but right now you were being the one he kissed, whose sounds he swallowed and whose hands held you to him.

So fuck them.

With your senses heightened now that you wanted these men all over you, the sensation of Bard leaning in, hair tips tickling your neck as he licked Thranduil's throat, led you to pull away from the blonde. You watched as Bard sprinkled something flaky and white onto the spot wet with spit, and only when he lifted a shot glass the thought crystalized that he salted Thranduil for you.

"Come on," Thranduil's smirk taunted you just as much as his words, "What is another lousy shot? We even made it easy for you poor baby, after you could not take the first one easily"

Rolling your eyes at the mocking, you dove in to copy Bard. The salt sticking to his neck coated your tongue and you took longer than necessary to lick the skin free of it. The rush that this sent through you was exhilarating.

As soon as you were finished, your head got tilted backward firm and yet gently.

Rough fingertips cupped your neck and one thumb moved to press against your jaw, as you felt a solid chest in your back.

"Open wide, Darlin'," Bard ordered and encouraged you to follow him as his other thumb pushed between your teeth.

You obeyed, never once breaking eye contact with Thranduil and taking in his lust-blown pupils, as Bard poured the tequila into your mouth, directly down your throat. Then, while you pulled a grimace, shutting your eyes for a second, Bard turned you around, sandwiching you between them.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw the green slice of lemon between his teeth and following the wink he sent you; you knew exactly what was to come next.

Kissing Bard was very different from getting kissed by Thranduil.

His lips were slightly cracked, not soft and they tasted like smokey whiskey and cigarettes, with hints of coffee and lime instead of fruity cocktails and rose chapstick. Lifting one hand to his face, your fingertips grazed the rough beard growing on his sharp jawline, the stubble scratching you in a promising way.

While you had been surprised when Thranduil had kissed you, you eagerly answered Bard's kiss with fervor. Your mind already teetered on the brink of shutting down and you poured the desperation into his mouth with a moan.

He chuckled, drawing back just enough that he could spit out the lemon – sucked empty – before wiping his thump over your lips.

"Sweet thing"

There was a softness in that gesture, but only short-lived before he kissed you again. His hands trailed your body, coming to rest on either side of your neck again and even that slight of pressure loaded a million images through your head.

A second pair of hands joined him on you, it's confusing until a large body pressed into your back and you realized- it was only Thranduil.

Well, only…

It had been clear that the man could and would not accept being reduced to anything. He radiated an attitude that you would call bratty but with his expensive clothes, that rich perfume, and the wave of the hand that brought him drinks, aristocratic diva seemed more fitting.

His demanding character became clear when his hands set on your waist, immediately fingering the seam of your jeans, pulling you more into him by the belt loops.

You followed that tug, though Bard deepened the kiss to keep you by him, his tongue exploring your mouth and enticing you to breathlessly moan against his smiling lips.

Despite the loud music, Thranduil's voice was loud in your ear.

"As stunning as you right now, I can not help but imagine you squirming on our silk sheets– moving those bewitching hips of yours," Thranduil playfully took the burning tip of your ear into his mouth, "If you want to follow this invitation, of course"

"Whatever you just said," Bard broke away from you to look over your shoulder at his husband, "It better have been the idea of finally getting out of here" he pushed his hips against yours for you to feel the hard outline of him, "because I don't want to wait til the ball drops"

"Is that a metaphor?"

"Thran–" There was a warning edge in Bard's voice, and you felt Thranduil huff.

"Funny, how this old man can not take a joke as soon as he is aroused"

It's absurd how casually he said this while his hands slid down the front of your jeans, earning himself a gasp from you.

Unashamed as a man only his status can be, he toyed with the seam of your underwear, not caring one bit for the glare of his husband.

Your body arched into him, answering the question he had whispered earlier.

The only thing keeping you from getting down on your knees to worship him and his obviously talented fingers was the blaring music, reminding you that you were not yet somewhere private and very much on display.

You briefly wondered if these two were rich enough to simply pay their way out of a public indecency arrest. You wouldn't be surprised if they wouldn't even get arrested.

Since Thranduil made no sign of disengaging himself from you, you stepped away from him, right against Bard's chest.

"Shall we go? Your husband mentioned luxury sheets which I bet are more comfortable than a threesome on the dance floor"

The way out of the club presented itself as more difficult than you would have thought.

With Bard shoving a path through the dancing crowd in front of you, holding on to one hand, Thranduil breathing down your neck and you pausing now and again because "Oh my gosh, I love this song!" it took a lot longer than necessary.

Not that any one of you minded.

Lost in the mass of people shouting, dancing, and pushing you three closer together and the tequila in your bloodstream you ended up undulating to Nicki Minaj's 'Pound The Alarm' completely lost on the fact that both men had stopped to watch you.

The lights were colorful and sharp and in their hues, Bards and Thranduil's jawlines looked even sharper tinted red, blue, green, and whenever the disco ball flashed white across their faces the lust in their eyes caused shivers on every part of you.

Thranduil's hands moved to your lower abdomen, making it easy to grind against him as you raised your hands to Bard's strong shoulders.

Two huge pairs of hands gripped your waist from either side and held you steady and close to themselves, keeping everyone else from getting any nearer than they allowed.

"Fucking hell– Darlin' you drive me crazy!" Bard yelled over the music as you suddenly decided to drop down intact with the beat, dragging your nails over his torso.

You laughed, low and full-heartedly.

Coming up, his hands moved to the flushed skin that your shirt had revealed by riding up, holding you tight to sweep you away into a kiss.

One thigh, leather, and flexing muscles shoved itself between your thighs and you responded eagerly, grinding against it without a second thought.

Just when you thought you were ready to finally go, the song ended and faded into yet another pop hit. 'LoveGame' by Lady Gaga and intact of the low thumping beat, Thranduil's hips circle against your behind, pressing what was an impressive hardness into your arse while his deep voice switched from singing to humming the lyrics.

One of his hands spread over your abdomen, the other arm blindly reached for Bard and pulled him into a kiss right over your head.

Amid the mass of sweaty people and the multicolor array of colors flashing over Thranduil's blonde hair, the 2000s music blaring through the speakers and resonating in every cell of your fevered body, they looked hot enough for the porn industry to sign them under contract.

You were never making it out of the club.

You did make it out eventually, sweat dripping down your temple, Thranduil's chest in your back whenever you stumbled, his hands steadying you.

On what you assumed was an oversight or blind eye of the club owners the crowd had doubled in the last hour.

Far too many people joined the floor and even with Bard's commanding presence leading you it had been close to impossible to step forward and not swerve out of the way of someone drunk.

Outside, the line curved around the block, and those who waited or didn't get into the club or even just hung in groups celebrating on the streets blocked the whole sidewalk.

A number of fireworks were already soaring into the air, sent up there by early birds who couldn't wait until midnight – cheered up by loud excited screams and laughter as the dark night sky lit up here and there with colorful explosions.

Quite sobered up, the dancing had contributed to that, you stared at them.

"How the fuck are we supposed to get out of here?" you asked and crossed your arms in front of you; the winds were biting cold and you hadn't bothered bringing a jacket, "It's madness."

"We will just get a cab"

You barked out a laugh though Bard stayed completely serious.

"Wait, that wasn't a joke?" you rubbed your palms over the naked skin, still warm and thrumming with the afterglow of the unbearable heat of the club, although the cold fought hard and unfairly.

"No, sweetheart, it wasn't," Thranduil said, not bothered by the chaos of people pushing each other, waving their hands like they're trying to flag down a spaceship.

On this day, the chances for that to happen were more likely than actually getting a cab.

He took one step into the busy street, and you yelped, overcome by the shock that he just walked into fucking traffic, his long ponytail swaying with his steps.

Then, like movie magic, a car swerved to the side and stopped right next to Thranduil.

Bard pulled you along, your hand cradled to his chest so as not to lose you. Thranduil opened the door, gracefully sitting down behind the empty passenger seat.

You stumbled onto the back seat next to him, and mumbled a half-hearted "Hello" to the driver, who gave you a nod – a nod, an hour before midnight, from a cap driver, fucking miracles– before shut the plastic window close.

"Holy crap," you exhaled. "Is this what the high life's like? Getting drinks and cabs without any fucking effort?"

Despite the crude and cutting words swinging in their direction, Bard and Thranduil chuckled. The synchronized deep sound reverberated in the quiet cab, warming up the space instantly.

"Do you really think that this" – Thranduil languidly gestures to all of him – "takes no effort?"

Bard huffed. He leaned into you as if he wanted to whisper a secret, but didn't lower his voice: "We were supposed to be here five hours ago. Took him that long to figure out what to wear." He shot a teasing grin at his husband.

"Oh, I have had enough of your whining," In one elegant movement Thranduil folded one long leg over the other. The point of his boot caught your shin in a soft tap that drew your attention to him.

He smirked, one eyebrow raised. "If you are interested, though, I could show you what it is like to ride the waves of the high life"

"Is that a metaphor?"

"No," Bard's lips ghosted over your neck, peppering more kisses to the skin there, "A promise for an unforgettable high"

You were unable to think of what they could propose.. well, you could, but they wouldn't, not here in this cap, right?

Bard's legs were spread a little far apart and, fuck, the flickering lights of the city flying by highlighted a very prominent bulge that he made no effort of hiding. Was he going commando?!

Your eyes snapped back, burning a hole into the roof of the cab.

A hand fell behind you on the headrest at the same moment as Thranduil's cold fingers slipped onto your thigh.

Thranduil's hand snuck to your jeans and played with the button and zipper before,

Oh-

he opened your jeans and immediately slid his cold, long, slender fingers down your panties.

Oh, fuck

Your hips twitched into his hand and you had to bite down on your finger to muffle the gasp that itched behind your teeth.

Without a care in the world, Thranduil cupped your sex, mumbling something to himself under his breath that sounded like a "So fucking wet- for us?" and worked his middle finger into you.

Pulling it out again, he started circling your clit, smearing your own slick over it, moving right over the spot where your nerve endings were sparking white and hot and you shuddered uncontrollably.

The chill of his fingertips heightened your sensitivity. Still flushed all hot from the club, you instinctively arched upward, a soft gasp escaping your lips as Thranduil's fingers tapped against your swollen wet clit.

The noise prompted his gaze to lock onto yours.

Your gasp broke off as your hips nearly flew off the seat and it was only for the belt snapping tightly against your lower abdomen that your head didn't make contact with the roof.

That, and the arm Bard put around your shoulders. He held you down and gave you his biceps to let your head fall against something that wasn't the uncomfortable seatrest.

Your cheeks flushed under Thranduils scrutiny, as well as at the general scene and obscenity of everything, and a subtle smirk played on his lips.

"Do you enjoy that?" His voice was flirty, and while you want to retort that it should be very clear how much you liked his fingers fucking into you, you only managed a nod.

"Say it." He leaned forward, a teasing glint in his eyes. His fingers stopped, clearly waiting for you to obey his order. "Use your words, you still know how, right? I haven't even started, clearly there must be something you could tell me."

"Yes," your admission was barely a whisper, but it sufficed.

Thranduil hummed, using his other hand to open your legs as wide as the tight jeans allowed it before he worked two agile fingers into your throbbing cunt.

You stared at him through half-lidded eyes, watching his relaxed demeanor while fingering you open without caring about anything else.

The heel of his hand pressed into your pelvis, giving him a reasonably steady hold in the jolting cab so that he could hit a spot inside you with precision and with every, goddamn, perfect, thrust of his fingers that made you pant out.

"Thran-" the nickname you heard Bard call him slipped out unconsciously, it's the only thing you could pull out of the depth of your mind, "Thran.. please"

"Beggin' already?" Bard chuckled, "Darlin' you have seen nothing yet and here you are, beggin' to cum in the back of a cab."

"Bard you have no idea how fucking wet she is. She's dripping down my hand, squeezing my fingers, and fuck she's so tight," Thranduil muttered and as he slipped his other hand to the one slipping and sliding against your g-spot in a maddening relentless rhythm, he rubbed them over your folds.

He collected some of your wetness on those fingers, circling your clit again before pulling them away, out of your pants, and to your horror, he held them up into the air, inspecting how his fingers glistened in the city lights.

He rubbed them together, all right in the view of the rear back mirror of the cab driver, who – thank god – kept his eyes on the road and only turned up the radio in unspoken ignorance of what was happening in his car.

God, you hoped these men would tip him adequately.

"Here," Thranduil reached his arm out past your half-opened lips and for a moment you thought he was going to offer you his fingers, but he leaned further forward.

A gasp broke out of you as you watched Bard open his mouth and greedily took both fingers right between his lips, and.. sucked.

His eyes fell shut with a contented sigh as if he were tasting his favorite drink.

You saw his tongue run thoroughly over Thranduil's patiently waiting fingers, cleaning them off every last bit of you, and god, you wanted to be those fingers so damn bad at that moment.

Then he looked at you again. There was such a deep hunger in those eyes that would look beautifully between your legs, brown hair falling messily into his sight as he ate you out.

Meanwhile, Thranduil's fingers inside you moved harder and faster, curling to brush every sensitive spot of your walls, in, out, in, another curl, and then out.

You clenched your entrance in anticipation, the feeling of two of his fingers filling you this deliciously and continuously.

You were so so close, almost there–

"Shit, you're the sweetest. I think I'll eat you for breakfast tomorrow"

The abrupt halt of the cab barely registered for you; instead, it finally propelled you over the edge.

Thranduil's precise movement hit that spot inside you perfectly, crooking his fingers just right to brush against it. Combined with Bard's downright filthy promise, you nearly let out a scream as the powerful orgasm surged through you and you had to flex your muscles so you didn't continue riding his hand.

Thranduil, however, didn't stop, even though there was no way he didn't know you climaxed and he kept up the same pace, same fucking precision and pressure that your body convulsed around those long talented fingers and you couldn't even go anywhere, the seatbelt cut off your escape to the front and you were so far into the seat that wasn't an option as well, and it took a soft broken whimper, for words were long lost, for Thranduil to press a kiss to your neck before he sucked his fingers dry.

Your legs were still shaking as the elevator took you up to the penthouse at the top of the skyscraper the cab had stopped in front of.

Four mirrors gave you a splendid view of Bard's broad back as he crowded you against one of the walls, his thick fingers down your jeans again, as he mouthed hot kisses onto your neck.

"Gonna have to work you open," Bard grunted, his slippery fingers curling inside your cunt in a sinful squelch that sounded absurdly loud in the confined space of the elevator. "You're really too tight, don't wanna hurt you"

Thranduil watched the whole scene leaning at the railing, hands curled around the pole behind him as his hips twitched whenever you let out another whimper; your hands trying to get a hold on his husband's shoulders.

The ride was far too short, Bard's fingers not fast enough for you to reach another peak though the constant movement kept your head in such a nice empty mindless space that you didn't complain.

As soon as the doors opened Thranduil led the way, sauntering into the darkness illuminated by the first exploding fireworks. He pulled on the tie holding his hair up and flung it away let his hair flow down his back, ending just barely over his exquisite arse.

You didn't get to see much of the penthouse, all three of you were very eager to take this party finally somewhere comfortable and you only made out a giant white couch in front of a fireplace, an open kitchen with two glasses, one crystal with golden stains of whiskey, and the other high, the rim still dripping red wine, and a few bookshelves.

"You can get the full tour tomorrow," Bard said while you two kicked away your shoes, leaving them behind on the dark wooden parquet.

You stumbled over his left sneaker and halted in your tracks at the offer. While you had considered his promise of breakfast a spur-of-the-moment chit-chat, it now settled in your head that this wouldn't be like any one-nightstand you had in the past.

This observation only solidified as Bard caught your hand and raised it to press an open-mouthed kiss to your palm. "Do you need anything before we go into the bedroom? Any wishes or no-gos? Safeword?"

"Red," you immediately answered, and he nodded in acknowledgment, "and no, well– maybe hold me a bit afterward?" You blushed at the question though this should be the least embarrassing thing after all these two did to you in the span of a few hours. You continued to ramble, "And sometimes I cry, so.. you don't have to stop then. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed but you can continue your.. thing. Don't bother, I'll be fine on my own–"

Bard's eyebrows scrunched together the more you babbled, the look in his eyes becoming more confused until he shushed you with a quick kiss.

"Darlin', there is no need to explain what you want or don't want. If this is what you need then we won't question those demands," his eyes wandered over your face, making sure you were listening; which you were, heart pounding fast in your chest.

"And it's important you don't push yourself just because of us. It's not our intention to use you for a simple release. Thranduil and I don't take whoever is the first best, especially not to our home. We're looking for someone who suits us, with whom we feel completely comfortable and that should also be equally important to you."

You trusted them both, Bard as well as Thranduil.

The fact that Bard was asking you, nevertheless listening and responding to you was feeding something very primal.

They had done this before, unlike you. They had experience in this, but you were willing to learn, to submit yourself to these imposing men who surely would change something inside you forever.

The pride you felt at his admission of choosing you specifically mingled with the need to get this perfect man inside you quickly, especially now that he said such meaningful and reassuring words.

You nodded and croaked out a soft: "Alright, then please hold me after we're done" which he rewarded with another soft yet sensual kiss.

"Good girl"

Then his hands traveled south and slapped your ass so that your hips flew towards him.

"Now, let's not keep Thran waiting any longer. He tends to get a bit… impatient if left on his own for too long, as you've probably noticed."

Bratty.

You were so on the money earlier.

With that as well as the guess that the blonde was more kinky than the vanilla of his perfume.

At that moment the deep voice of his called out from down the hall.

"I swear, if you two started without me, I will fuck you until neither of you can walk for a week!"

Bard chuckled, then caught your widened eyes.

"He's joking," he said and you let out a relieved breath.

Bard pulled you along, a wink thrown over his shoulder.

"Mhm, partly; he won't fuck me tonight."

You needed a deep breather to ready yourself for what was about to happen, then you nearly tripped over your own feet as you raced after him through the dark hallway and to the only opened door.

You crashed fully into Bard, who for whatever reason, stood right in the doorframe of their bedroom.

"It seems Thranduil got tired of waiting," he chuckled and you wondered what he could mean when he turned sideways.

Your eyes instantly fell onto Thranduil, spread out on the enormous bed in the corner of the room– completely naked except for black, very tight boxers.

There was no air in your lungs, not a single breath left to take as you drank in the sight of him, fair and marble skin shining in the moonlight that fell through the big window next to the bed; the remaining glitter gave his body an unearthly glow. His hair fanned out all over the pillows, silver against grey, moving with him as he lazily lifted his head to stare at you.

There was an indescribable beauty in this man, he could lounge in the bed, his long legs opened in an invitation that you yearned to take, and his lean yet softly defined body posed as if he was waiting for someone to draw him.

"There you are," the corner of his mouth twitched into his smirk, "Strip"

His words, spoken in a gentle tone, boomed loud in your ears.

Your hands flew to your jeans in no second, though they were stopped by Bard, who covered them with his larger, rougher ones.

"No, Darlin', let me"

He stood behind you, taking over the job of undressing you. He did it much slower than you would have, not ripping everything apart in a hurry to obey the command of the blonde whose eyes were heavy on your body, taking in every bit of skin that got revealed.

Bard unbuttoned your jeans first, then his large and warm hands rubbed over your arms.

"Are you cold, sweetheart?"

You shook your head. "No, not cold. I– I feel like I'm burning up"

It was the truth, and nothing but the full, honest truth; you felt as hot as you did in the club, though the reason wasn't the hundreds of people and the alcohol but rather the sight of Thranduil, whose hands trailed over his own body and teasingly played with the waistband of his underwear.

Bard followed your fixated gaze to his coyly smiling husband.

"Should we turn down the heating? We would not want you melting away," Thranduil blinked his long lashes at you in faux-concern. He must've known the goosebumps covering your skin were his doing.

You would've rolled your eyes if you were able to look somewhere else than Thranduil. The man had to be magical, how else could you explain the spell he put you under if not for some supernatural powers?

"Stop the teasing, Thran," Bard cut in, slipping his hands under your shirt and kissing your shoulder. You melted into his touch, comforted that he took care of you like this when he continued, "This poor sweet thing hasn't even all her clothes off. It would be a shame to make her blush like this and not see it"

"Oh, and who's fault is that? Certainly not mine, I have been waiting so long I was close to wrapping things up myself"

Bard pulled your shirt over your head, covering your sight long enough for a wave of braveness to surge through you. "I sure hope you wrap it up," you said and heard both of them snicker.

"Do not worry," Thranduil began.

"There is enough protection for weeks," Bard finished and the band of your bra snapped against your skin.

Despite the warmness of the room your nipples puckered as soon as the lace fell away, growing hard under the avid eyes, cerulean and green, so different yet similar in the way both are dominated by the blackness of their pupils.

Bard's hands came up to your front and he cupped your breasts first tenderly, mapping out how perfectly they fit into his large palm, then rougher as his fingers found the hard buts of your nipples and rubbed them between them until every pinch had your legs trembling and you whimpering.

You cried out, body bucking on its own.

"Oh how nice," Thranduil's comment was full of sarcasm, followed by a click of his tongue against teeth, "Why, let me lay here and play all on your own, why not? After all, I am nothing but pure decoration"

Bard huffed a puff of hot air onto you, "Grow a pair of tits like this and maybe I will get to you first"

Thranduil's dark eyebrows raised to his hairline, passing an unspoken threat that had Bard scoff before he grabbed the waistband of your jeans. He pulled them down slowly, getting on his knees as he did and you were acutely aware of how wet your panties were when you feel his lips kiss your ass.

"This must be uncomfortable," he murmured, holding one leg to help you step out of the jeans. He kneaded your thigh, fingertips against muscles and flesh, before moving on to do the same on your other leg.

He used the moment where you lifted the second leg, to dive his hand to your cunt again, dragging his knuckles over the dark-colored patch, and he laughed as you buckled into the touch. "Oh, the fun we'll have"

Finally, undressed to your panties that cling to your crotch like a second skin, you were free to walk toward the bed. You would've lied if you said you didn't swing your hips a little bit, relishing the raspy groan this evoked from Bard.

Feeling like you should await further commands you stopped (un)patiently when your knees hit the mattress.

Thranduil's lips curved into a devilish smirk at this sign of submission.

He let his legs fall open wider, waving in an elegant gesture into the space in between. "Come here, sweetheart"

The bed was raised and you rose to your tiptoes and, making sure your eyes were trained on Thranduil, you crawled over the mattress, knees digging into the silk duvet he had promised you.

He reached out as soon as he could, one hand curving around your neck to pull and you landed directly on him, legs spread on either side of his thighs, hands somehow, despite their nervous trembling, found their place against his collarbones, standing out from his broad chest rather delicate.

Not that you hadn't suspected and expected him to be big, but, fuck, he was long and hard, a pulsing pressure against your stomach.

"Be a good girl and remove this unnecessary fabric, will you?" Thranduil whispered and you scrambled to lose your panties, throwing them off into the distance only to turn again and find him smirking. "I meant my boxers, but it fills me with joy seeing you this eager"

Lowering your head to hide your laughter, you grabbed his boxers. He lifted his hips just barely for you to pull on the black boxers, rolling them over his tight ass, and after giving you a loving pat on the head, he crossed his arms behind his head, relaxing into the pillows.

His cock sprung free from the containment of the tight boxers, twitching as it hit his abdomen and you felt your throat dry out.

Of course, he was smooth everywhere; not one bit of hair covering the flushed beauty of him.

You sat up, hands pushed into his flexing thighs, to take him all in. No one should look this perfect, this utterly ridiculously beautiful, right? There should be something on him, a scar, a mole, anything to prove he wasn't straight-up carved out of marble, but you found nothing.

You glared at him as you sat down a bit lower, ass in the air, and spit into your hand before you wrapped it around his cock. The sight of his size had your mouth water, and seeing how your fingers couldn't meet had your cunt clench around nothing.

No way any of their preparation had been enough for this intimidating masterpiece of Mother Nature's creation.

"Tell me, how is it fair that you are rich and have a dick like that?" you asked and just as Thranduil opened his pretty lips for probably another witty answer, you interrupted him by letting his cock slide over your tongue deep into your throat until you gagged around him.

Whatever he wanted to say was forgotten.

Instead, Thranduil groaned a low: "Fuck" and threw his head back.

You wanted to see him come undone, to unravel him until he lost this bratty attitude and reduce him to that wild behavior he had shown in the club.

You had the feeling that that's only possible if he thought he had the upper hand.

You bobbed your head, taking him a bit past what you could manage without gagging before lifting your head again.

"Use me," you said and his eyes flew open.

"What?"

Cocking your head, you shot him a confused look, while spreading his precum over the head of his cock with your thumb. "I said," – you spit again, mixing it and coating his dick further – "Fuck - my - mouth"

Every word was punctuated with a kiss to his slit, and you swore you could see his eyes darken further; black taking over blue – desire fought whatever held him back to fucking give into whatever you offered.

Behind you, Bard swore nearly breathlessly: "Fuck me" though you stayed focused on Thranduil.

"Are you sure?" his voice was raw, his facade of composure cracking ever so slightly.

"Wouldn't ask if I wasn't"

His hand was behind your head in seconds, drawing you down his cock again and you opened your mouth wide to not hurt him. He pushed you down until you choked on him and although your eyes watered, you couldn't take them away from the sight of his mouth and the low throaty groans that passed the opened lips.

The lack of air cut off your moan, the tip of his cock bullying the back of your throat just barely short of painful. Reminding yourself to breathe through your nose, you inhaled deeply.

"Good girl," Thranduil's hips bucked, pulling back until he was only half-lodged in your throat, "Just like that, fuck"

He gave an experimental thrust, keeping his sharp eyes on you, his hand in your neck, ready to stop if he saw any discomfort, but all you showed him was how you choked on spit and salty precum.

"Oh, you sweet girl. Behaving so well," his voice was ruined, and he thrusted again, punching away the little breath left in the tiniest space that wasn't occupied by his thick cock.

This was by far the first time you have ever given a blowjob, but it was a first to let someone use you like this. Controlling when you could suck or when you just had to take what he gave you.

And oh– how much you loved it.

So much that you wanted to rub your thighs together only to be stopped by rough hands grabbing them.

A confused sound left you, no more than a choked "Huh?" vibrating around Thranduils cock continuing to fuck into you, just like you had asked him, hindering you from turning to see what Bard was up to.

He didn't leave you wondering for long, just as Thranduil's thrusts took on a sharper edge, hitting the back of your throat every time, filling your mouth like no man ever had, Bard's flattened tongue licked through your exposed cunt and the moan you let out sounded so pornographic you surprised yourself.

"Do it again," Thranduil took in the sight of your wet lips, the drool dripping out of the corners of your mouth, his cock disappearing so deep inside you that felt him in your lungs, "Fuck, Bard, do that again now!–"

He talked for you, praising Bard as he licked your pussy again, this time using his fingers to pry you open further and there was the delicious scratch of his beard stubbles, burning on your skin.

You cried out, tried to do, stopped by Thranduils cock stuffing your mouth again and again, his hands curled around your neck as if he wanted to feel the imprint of himself pushing through.

"Prettiest woman out there," Thranduil groaned. His thump reached over to stuff some of the spit back into your mouth, opening your jaw up impossibly wide.

Bard's tongue was as precise as their fingers have been, covering your folds, fucking into your hole and sucking on your clit with expertise that no man should be allowed to have. Two of his wet fingers slid into you while his tongue mercilessly attacked your clit, the other hand buried itself in the soft flesh of your ass, kneading and pulling, opening you up further for his face.

"C'mon," his voice was muffled by your thighs, drowning you in his accent while he drowned his tongue inside your opening, circling the rim in maddening figures, "Give me one more, gorgeous."

Electricity flowed through your body, hot tingles of nothing but fire spreading into your fingertips wrapped around the inches of Thranduil's cock that didn't fit into your mouth, to your nipples that brushed against his muscular thighs.

"Fuck Bard, please–"

Not sure what you were begging for, for his tongue to stop the attack on your clit, for his fingers constantly finding that spot inside your spongy walls that had you wailing and rolling your hips into his face, or for him to get on with it and get you over that build-up.

Bard kept going, somehow finding a rhythm that matched the one his husband hammered down your throat and you were helplessly stuck trying to hold on.

Until you lost the fight to keep yourself upright. Your hands slipped on Thranduil's thighs, your body crashed down and if it wouldn't have been for his quick reaction of pulling himself out of you, you would for sure have impaled your head on his still hard and throbbing cock.

Instead, it just wetly slapped your face as you collapsed into his lap.

Bard's rough hands grip your thighs, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he maneuvered your legs around to give his head more space.

The other pair of hands, soft, delicate, Thranduil's, cupped your face, lifting it gently yet demanding, giving him the perfect view of your cute face, all scrunched up as you gasped and mewled, and your backside, ass arched into the air under Bard's commanding hands.

"Such a beautiful thing," Thranduil mused.

His fingers danced over your cheeks until he used another whine, another desperate moan when Bard alternated between open-mouthed, sloppy kisses and using the point of his tongue, to slip his thumb into your mouth.

As soon as he did, you closed your lips around him. Staring up at him, begging him silently for a release only Bard could give you, you started sucking on his finger as you would have done on his cock if not for the stars dancing in your field of vision.

Thranduil tutted, "So needy as well. Bard, if you were so kind as to stop, I can not stand seeing her this distraught. I think you are working her up far too much"

"Nooo! Please, please, I'm alright, I'm– please, so close," The desperate scream that came out of your mouth at his words was probably loud enough to alert the neighbors, followed by a cry and sob as Bard kissed your clit one last time.

"Of course, babe" The words were muffled, spoken directly into your dripping cunt.

Which he then shuffled away from, beard stubble scratching you, his fingers letting loose on your thighs.

"No, no please, please," you were already babbling, reaching behind you in a sad effort to force him back between your legs, "Please, I'll be good, please!"

"You sweet thing," Thranduils arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you up into a kiss, "I think–" his voice dropped deeper and you heard the rustle of plastic, felt Bard's hand rolling the condom over Thranduil's cock pressing into your stomach, "–you have behaved so well, you deserve a reward"

You nodded fast, legs spread wide apart sitting on his thighs and your cunt stretched open.

Staring into his eyes, you saw how much his pupils were dilated, how he only watched you, only saw you.

You could see and feel his chest lift as his cock slid through your folds, finding you drenched from all their playing around.

"Eyes stay on me"

Your pussy was wet enough for the tip of his cock to slip right into you and right away you wanted to shut your eyes at the sensation of him spearing you open.

"Please–," you gasped, and tried to move your hips to get more of him into you than just those few inches, but he didn't budge, didn't loosen his grip on your waist, "Please, Thranduil. Green, my color is green, fuck me, I can take it!"

"Yes, and if not," his voice was back to the self-controlled powerful tone, "I'll make you take it, sweetheart."

Thranduil let go of you the second he snapped his hips upwards and suddenly, you were split open.

You keened as his cock sunk into you in one fast, swift, hard movement. There was a burn, in your thighs as you flexed them, in your throat as you cried out, in your pussy at the intrusion of his long cock.

When Thranduil bottomed out, his head shoved against your cervix, the whole length forcing you to stretch, to make room, and fuck you wanted your pussy to be carved into the shape of that perfect cock.

It should've been uncomfortable, but you only groaned as you appreciated the second he gave you to relax while making room where they shouldn't be some.

"Fuck–" he moaned, "you are tight, so fucking tight"

Bard moved next to you, and you could only get one short look at his naked body, the brown hair coating his muscular chest, the happy trail leading down to his thick cock, before Thranduil began to fuck you.

His strokes were fast, hips snapping into you and nearly throwing you off his lap at the speed and brute force and you fell into his chest, clinging to his arms.

This, him rutting into you like your pussy could quench a year-long thirst at a punishing pace, this was surely the epitome of getting fucked. How he knew how to fuck you just right, hitting your g-spot with every single thrust was a riddle you couldn't and wouldn't want to solve; not with his cock penetrating you hard enough you swore you felt him in your throat as you called for him through moans.

You had no chance of even trying to meet his thrusts, not while he pounded into you like a madman.

"F-Fuck, good fucking girl– so tight," Thranduil groaned out his gritted teeth, his face turning a beautiful shade of rosé, "Even tighter than you, Bard–"

Bard, you totally forgot he was even there, laughed and moved on the bed again, slipping back behind you, "Yeah? Tell me more"

And you wanted to scream, to yell at them to stop talking in words that only added to the overstimulation, that spun around your head without meaning because how could anything have ever any meaning more important that Thranduil's cock fucking you a little further, a little deeper.

"So tight, s-so hot, clamping down on me like this sweet, fuck, pussy doesn't want me to leave"

"Mhm, I can see that," Bard hummed and his hands caressed your shaking thighs, before leaving his mark on your ass with a soft slap that had you wailing into Thranduil's shoulder.

It was too much and not enough at the same time.

You were going to lose your mind like this, fucked to near-unconsciousness.

"More, I–" your speech was slurred, brain scrambled into loose words hanging onto thin threads.

You tried to hold on to Thranduil but it was impossible with your sweat and the glitter covering him.

Luckily for you, Bard found the time to stop ever kindly toying with the pearl of your clit to lean forward.

"Put them inside his hair, Darlin'. He doesn't mind" There was a lopsided smirk on his face that you could barely see out of the corners of your eyes.

You still hadn't stopped looking at Thranduil.

The attempt to tentatively guide your hands to his head was prevailed by another particular hard thrust, and your fingers slid through blonde locks, grabbing onto them as you fell back down on Thranduil's cock.

You tugged on them much harsher than intended.

Thranduil's eyes blew wide.

You wanted to apologize when his lips quivered and his hips snapped into yours even faster.

Quickly you reached for him again, nails scraping his scalp as you readjusted, gripping more, much tighter.

"That's it, Darlin'.. that's my girl," Bard leaned back, and not shortly after his fingers were back on your clit, tapping intact of Thranduil's thrusts.

It was only a matter of seconds until the pleasure became too much.

Thranduil's hips fell into a stutter as your walls clenched around him; even for someone with his stamina the heat of you surrounding him, and your sweet moans drove him into a raging need to imprint the shape of his cock inside you.

"F-fuck.. Thran–" you whimpered, hands fisting his hair, trying to get a literal grip as reality started to shift around you.

Outside, close to the windows, there was a whistle as the first of many fireworks greet the New Year and just as Thranduil pushed you over the edge, your whole body shaking and tensing up as you screamed his name, the darkness of the sky exploded into an arrangement of thousands of colors.

The white fuzziness that enveloped your vision transformed into creeping darkness at the edges.

Your eyelids closed shut as you descended into blissful oblivion.

When you came back to yourself, it was to the murmur of deep voices mixed into the loud bangs of fireworks.

For a moment you had no idea where you were, enveloped in a haziness inside your mind, but the gentle nudge of something against your lips forced you to open your eyes.

There were two faces very close to yours, was the first realization.

Then, following up, you let out a giggle.

"Don't look so concerned, I'm fine," you greedily took a sip from the water bottle that the very flushed blonde held in his hands.

"You said it was possible you would cry, not bloody pass out on Thran's dick!" Bard wiped the drops you couldn't swallow away from the corner of your mouth with one hand and continued to rub your thighs with his others.

You hadn't noticed they were still shaking.

"Yeah, that never happened before," you shot a smirk up to Thranduil, "Never had a guy fuck me like this as well"

He snorted into the bottle of water, "Believe me, I never had someone lose their consciousness on me before as well. I came shortly after you and when I opened my eyes to find you completely out of it I nearly passed out on the spot as well"

"Would have been quite a shock for you," you said and let your head fall to the side to look at Bard, "both of us orgasm into fainting"

"Not funny, Darlin'," Bard warned, though he laughed as you stuck his tongue out at him.

Stretching your hands over your head and raking them into the air until your bones cracked, you sighed happily. Blissfulness was all you felt after cumming harder than you ever had.

For the first time, you could really enjoy the sight of both men in the nude, you hadn't had the chance to appreciate how fit Bard was while Thranduil had fucked you and you reached out to run your hands over his chest. Twirling some of the hair on there, traveling lower to scratch nails down his happy trail like a route description straight to his still-hard cock.

Stopping shortly before his pubic hair, you glanced up at him, a coy smile playing your lips. "You haven't cum yet." It was much a purr as it was an invitation, your legs falling open right when Bard's hand came to a still on your thighs.

He shook his head, chestnut hair swaying with the movement. "No, Darlin', no! You just passed out. I won't force myself on you. Thran can suck me off or I'll take care of it myself if you want to rest"

Your heart contracted in adoration for this man, and an embarrassing amount of slick gushed out of you.

"Bard," you said, voice wavering as you suppressed a whimper. Somehow this turned you on even more, "Bard, there is enough time to be this caring later but please–" Once again you were begging, and the man wasn't even inside of you yet, "please fuck me"

On the other side of you, Thranduil chuckled, "Insatiable, I knew it. Bard is right though, if you are not well, then he can fuck me"

Slowly but surely you were losing your patience.

As sweet as their concern was, the fact that these two gods were both sitting naked in front of you, one sweaty because he just knocked you out, and the other hard as steel and flushed, only aroused that much more.

Without saying anything else, you maneuvered yourself in the bed until you could rest your head on Thranduil's stretched legs and angled your legs in an invitation.

"Come on you stud. It's the new year after all"

The brunette scanned you with a piercing gaze, you could see him struggling with himself, but the twitch of his cock told you what he'd decided before he nodded.

"Thran, condom please"

You giggled again, excitement and the need to be catapulted to new heights spreading warmly in your stomach.

As Bard put the condom on, you wiggled around, your hand on the move to beat time, but Thranduil reached over you.

He caught your wrist before you reached your center, grasping it with his much larger hand and pulling your arm back with him enough that it forced your shoulders up, a "Tze, tze, tze" admonishing the behavior.

"Impatient brat, make up your mind!" he hissed and tugged some more until you whined, "Feel free to use those pathetic little fingers, knowing they will never fill you the way Bard could" Now that Thranduil knew you were on the same page, his voice dropped into that rebuking tone that left you whining and pouting.

He was so good, so fucking mean in the right amount you never knew you needed a man to act in bed.

"I just wanted–"

"I know baby," he cooed, and patted your cheek, "you just need your cunt to be filled, right? Just need to be stuffed full. Bard will do that for you, no need to worry your pretty head about it"

"That's right, Darlin'," Bard shuffled in between your legs, hooking them both over his thighs as he leaned over you. His cock landed on your abdomen, pressing against your pulsating clit, "Tell me what you want," he grabed himself, guiding it slowly toward where you leaked for him, completely drenched from the orgasms they had already given to you.

"I can go slow, or I can go fast"

You contemplated for a moment and lift the free hand to stroke over his handsome face. His beard tickled the inside of your palm, the chestnut waves silky as the sheets.

"Slow," you whispered, "I want you slow first"

"Alright," he gently nudged his nose against yours before capturing your lips in a kiss.

Although you were still sensitive, still pulsing and throbbing due to Thranduil (who caressed your face and your neck, having let to of your hand to arrange the pillows in his back for more comfort), you relished the stretch and sting of Bard as he guided his cock into you.

He was thicker than Thranduil, not by much but that inch made itself known, splitting you open heavenly so. You gasped into the kiss, giving up the fight of tongues to swallow back the drool that collected the further Bard pushed inside you.

It's just a little bit, one inch at a time, but you cried out all the same.

The thrum of excitement pulses, leaves you trembling and begging in incoherent moans and whimpers.

You could feel him throbbing inside you.

"Good girl," Thranduil's praise washed over you, chilled fingers tweaking one of your nipples as a reward for the exhausted smile you gifted him at that, "Has anyone ever told you that you make just the sweetest sounds? Give me one more?"

He twisted your other nipple; you moaned again.

"Fuck, Thran, you were so right," Bard grunted, his fingernails digging into where he held you by the waist, leaving crescent moon-shaped imprints that you hoped wouldn't fade for a while, "She's fuckin' tight; how are you still this tight?"

"For you," you fisted your hands into his hair again, hoping he enjoyed it just as much as his husband, "J-just for you, everything, ngh– for you"

With one last push, he sheated himself in you completely, filling you up just like Thranduil told you he would, stretching your walls thin.

You felt him everywhere, in every part of your body.

Every nerve, every tendon, every cell burns and was lit aflame, sizzling hot fire licking your skin and bursting when he dragged himself out, leaving barely the tip and pushed back in.

His cock nestled deep inside you, Bard stilled.

There was a silent vigilance in his mesmerizing green eyes. "Talk to me beautiful, is this alright?"

You nodded and pulled him down on his hair into another kiss. "Yes, god, yes"

That's all he needed to hear and while licking over your lips, entangling your tongue with his playfully, he set a slow rhythm. Nevertheless the tempo, he brushed that spot inside you with every stroke.

Pins and needles all over your skin, goosebumps wherever Thranduil's fingers wandered.

There were more fireworks, lightening up the bedroom filled with gasps and grunts, whispers of encouragement and begging. The sound of Bard's hips snapping into yours, the wet squelch of his cock driving itself inside of your pussy again and again.

"There we go," he murmured and positioned his arms on either side of you, using the balance it gives him to roll his hips instead of just thrusting. Mumbling between kisses, he talked against your lips: "Aren't you just the sweetest? Darlin', I couln' believe my eyes when I saw you in that club, shining far brighter than anyone else"

He swallowed your gasps with kisses, nipping at your lip then moved to your earlobe, "You are so perfect, letting us fuck you like this"

In one swift movement, he dragged Thranduil towards him, long blonde hair curling at the edges hanging into your vision in a starlight waterfall. Their kiss left you breathless and you would have felt left out if Thranduil didn't lean down further to you, kissing your lips upside down.

This time it was his fingers that found your slick, poor and abused clit. A couple of firm circles had your hips bucking up to meet Thranduil's fingers, crying out for both men in a mix of their names.

You whimpered as the next orgasm build up fucking fast, your breath catching in your throat.

"Bard," your hips moved on their own, trying to get him to fuck you faster, "Please– more, I need m-more,"

"Darlin'," Bards forehead pressed against yours, his grunts strained as if he was holding back himself but kept the same and steady pace you asked him for, "You sure?"

Grabbing his hair again, you weaved your fingers through it, tousling it haphazardly, achieving nothing but adding to its wild appearance.

When you met his gaze again, his eyes were fixed on you, it felt electric and charged, akin to lightning, causing you to momentarily forget to breathe.

"Yes"

He obeyed instantly, with the next thrust you screamed at the pure force of it. Bard wa spiraling the same way you were, becoming erratic as his teeth grazed over your collarbone, biting every mark they have left on you.

Raising your legs to keep him close, your ankles locked behind his back, heels digging into the tight muscles of his ass. The new angle allowed him to drive impossibly deep, reaching pleasure points inside you you didn't knew existed before him.

The pleasure was blinding, high electricity running through your veins and into every part of your body and soul. This was nothing you have ever experienced before, not with anyone and they made sure it would never feel like this with anyone ever.

Bard, feeling how your walls clenched around him, fluttering and pulsating, begging him to stay inside, sucked on your nipple, hard.

"I need you to come, fuck. Let me feel this pussy come, I'm right there with you," he rasped, voice like gravel, leaving you to scream for him, head knocking into Thranduil's legs, who dared to add to the crescendo of your pleasure and pressed down on your clit.

You found yourself gripping the bed covers, fingers twisting, in an attempt to anchor yourself, sobbing and shaking.

Instead, the coil inside you snapped.

Soaking Bard's cock choking and sobbing, tears spilling out of the corners of your eyes as every limp of you tensed up, he pushed you over the edge, his moans in your ear the most erotic thing.

You felt Bard following you, felt him spilling inside the condom, his cock twitching inside of you as he reached his peak moaning and burying himself to the deepest point, hips flushed close against yours, still rolling and shoving into you.

Moments of silence and heavy breathing followed. Of broken sobs, hushed murmurs of praise, even more affirmations.

Thranduil scootched closer to you, laying down next to you while Bard's weight on top of you was just what you needed. The heaviness of his much larger frame and Thranduil's long arms wrapped around you held back the cold that threatened to take a hold of you as the shivers of pleasure subsided.

"Gods," Bard exhaled, chest moving, pressing more into you. "That was something"

"Happy New Year" Thranduil rumbled.

Minutes passed, more fireworks exploded, celebrations of the New Year while you weren't even sure you even knew what time was anymore.

Bard tried to move, though your legs must have cramped for they felt disconnected to your body.

"Darlin'," he dropped another kiss to your neck, laughing low as your head lolled to the side.

"Mhm-mhm," you groaned, eyes still shut close, "Stay"

His lips moved to your ear, continuing to bathe you in soft kisses that leave you floating in that blissful headspace. "I know, I know–"

Thranduil's hands cupped your face, caressing your glowing cheeks and wiped away the loose tears that rolled over them. "Aftercare first, then cuddling," he whispered and cradled your head, massaging the spot in your neck that started to ache after Bard had folded you in half.

Despite knowing he was right, that you needed to use the bathroom, the warmth their bodies provided held you back.

You whined, arching your back into Bard's chest as he pried your legs away and slowly pulled himself out of you, stopping when your hips twitched at the overstimulation and only continued after a soothing kiss.

As soon as he left to stand up, tying up the used condom and going into the ensuite bathroom, Thranduil's steady hands on your back helped you sit up on the edge of the bed, where he wrapped the covers around your shoulders and gently tapped your nose, before scratching his nails over your head.

"You did very well, sweetheart," One finger tipped your chin up. "Thank you, you are a wonderful partner."

Thranduil, crouched to your level in front of you, still naked as the day he was born, simply picked you up. Legs folded over one arm, your head fell against his glittery chest that was covered in red streaks of where your nails had scratched him.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up"

The afterglow of the very much fantastic sex lulled all three of you in a comfort that blurred the barriers of you being a stranger in their home, laughter and giggles as the shower washed away sweat and glitter.

While there was a liveness to massaging soap into hair, hands rubbing away soreness and splashing water around until the mirror was all but fogged up and steam filled the entire bathroom, the exhaustion of the night caught up close after Thranduil dressed you in one of Bard's large sweaters.

Smelling like wood shavings, pine and toothpaste, hair still damp and eyes dropping close even though you tried to stay awake, Thranduil carried you to the bed.

The sheets were changed, encasing you in laundry detergent and brushing against your naked legs as you let yourself be placed on the pillows.

Outside, the world still celebrated and you did as well, in your own way.

There was a shuffle, a murmur of voices, then the bed dipped on either side as Bard climbed to your right side and Thranduil to your left, leaving not much room between all of you, legs entangling with each other, more giggling until everyone lied down comfortably.

Face tugged under Bard's chin, one arm of his reaching over your head so that Thranduil could nestle his face into it and the blonde wrapped around your back, you were surrounded by something you couldn't put into words.

"Maybe– maybe you can stay for breakfast and lunch," Bard's low words were murmured with a deep sigh, his other hand sliding down under his sweater, resting just below where your heart sung contenly.

"And dinner," Thranduil added and you heard him kiss Bard's hand.

"No talky-talky," you snuggled your face deeper into Bard, nose bumping into his neck, "But I would like that, very much"

Just as you fell asleep, held tightly by them both, you could hear them exchange quiet I love you's and you smiled, feeling their love seep deep into your bones.

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multifandomgirl08 · 9 months

Text

A Lioness Protects Her Cub [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Reporters are vultures and Max picks out a ring.

Warning(s): Mention of Jos Verstappen (in passing), Mixed formatting (Story + Article + Social Media)

A/N: Credit for this idea goes to @yeea-nah. It was a awesome prompt, and I ran with it as much as I could given the outline that I already had for this series. Switched up the order of what you gave me, I hope it's what you were thinking when you send in that comment. This really felt like it wrote itself.

Words: 2.1k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

After you and Max had made to choice to let people know about Nico there was a bit of backlash. It was always the media, the fans weren't so bad.

There were questions thrown at Max about, if now that he was a parent would it stop him from racing? Would it make him less competitive now that he had someone else to think about?

"Why should it? I won my first championship when my son was a year old. I'm not going to stop doing something that both my son and I cherish."

There had been backlash to that comment, mostly something about Max's father who you never met. Max and his dad had a big falling out after Nico had come into Max's life. Max had found out that Jos had tried to pay his ex-girlfriend off so that Max would never find out about Nico. They hadn't talked since.

You had tried to talk to Max about it but it just made him upset, so you only tried to bring it up once.

It had taken you a while to get more accustomed to going to races. It was strange to have people watching you, from what you were wearing to how you interacted with the other WAGs on the grid.

You never thought you would have to deal with reporters.

You had come to learn that reporters would do anything for a story, even if it meant causing conflicts themselves.

You hadn't heard what was said before just the tail end of it, "Think about it this way, if they ever let Nico Verstappen compete at a competitive level then what is going to happen to this sport? More of the same shit. Do you see the example that Verstappen is setting for his child?"

You didn't know what the reporter was talking about specifically, you didn't want to presume the worst. However, you still felt like you needed to say something about this. She had no right to talk about Nico that way, let alone Max. She didn't know what he was like as a parent or how he was raising Nico.

"Excuse me, I don't appreciate you talking about my son that way, let alone his father." You interjected to the reporter.

You knew that you probably shouldn't have said anything but you couldn't help yourself. This person didn't know Max, they didn't see the way that Max was concerned about Nico when he got sick or how Max lit up when Nico would talk about what he did while he was at daycare. They didn't have a right to make assumptions about their relationship as father and son.

"You have no idea how my boyfriend is raising our son. For someone who works in the world of sports, it is not your place to comment on how he parents. It is disgusting, not only that you would say such a thing, but that you are also talking about a child." You hoped your words would bite at her and make her think about what she had just said.

The reporter looked shocked, face slack and eyes wide. Like she couldn't believe that you would stand up for your boyfriend and son.

"I'm assuming that you just misspoke. If that's the case I would like an apology for what you've said about my son." You could tell there were cameras around you now, you could feel them.

"I'm not going to apologize. Your boyfriend is a dirty driver, who can't control himself, and I'm sure that once "your" son is out of karting, he is going to be just the same." She made air quotes at the word your. Like Nico wasn't your child, as if you weren't helping raise him, take him to school, and tuck him into bed when Max wasn't home.

The reporter was out of line for saying that.

You wanted to say something else but felt a grip on your arm and turned around to see Steve standing there. If Christian sent over Steve who was the head of social media. Then this would turn into a problem rather fast. You followed Steve away from the group before your eyes met those of Lewis Hamilton's.

He gave you a slight nod as if to say, good for you, standing up for yourself and Nico.

You knew that Max and Lewis didn't get along but you had talked to the Mercedes driver a few times and you got along rather well, even if it was only in passing.

Two Days Later - Tuesday

Max Verstappen's girlfriend gets into a verbal altercation with a reporter over comments about son Nico Verstappen

Laurence Andrews, F1 Editor May 7, 2024, 6:28 ET

Two days ago on Sunday after the end of the Miami Grand Prix, a reporter from The Sun was seen being yelled at by Max Verstappen's longtime girlfriend Y/N L/N. The reporter made comments about the example that Verstappen was setting for his child. L/N alleging that the reporter's comments were "...disgusting..."

The Dutch driver's girlfriend immediately after requested an apology from the reporter about comments made about Verstappen's parenting, and the way that they were raising their child saying that it wasn't any of the reporters business.

The reporter refused to apologise to Verstappen's girlfriend about the comments made and then proceeded to further comment about how Verstappen is a dirty driver. Then said once their child was out of karting would be just the same as his father.

Verstappen's girlfriend was visibly angry but didn't get a chance to comment further before the head of Red Bull Racing's PR team; Steve Garland came out to take L/N away from the reporter.

Full footage of the altercation can be found on YouTube.

(You can also read the full story at espn.com/f1/red-bull/......./)

Thursday - Emilia Romagna

"I have a question for Max." He heard.

Max was used to the media the day before race weekend started, it was mostly the same questions about the car and new upgrades that had been made.

He moved to pick up his mic from where it laid on the couch.

"I was just wondering how you feel about what happened in Miami with your girlfriend and the reporter two weekends ago?" He heard. He raised his eyebrows at the question.

He tried to conceal how he was really feeling. It was something he was not expecting to be asked. It wasn’t an approved question, that he was sure of.

"Well, I guess all I can really say is that I think that my girlfriend acted to protect our son. The reporter did end up apologizing for what she said even if Red Bull PR did have to step in. As a couple, we are very private in how we raise him. I didn't tell quite a few people that I had a son because of things like two weekends ago. I wanted to prevent the media from talking about him as much as possible. Obviously, that didn't happen..." He said honestly. They didn’t need to know how happy it made him to see that Y/N was protecting Nico from the media.

He and Y/N hadn't talked about what had happened with the reporter. He, more than anyone understood reacting when it came to people in the media. It was just a part of the sport. There wasn't anything that could be done, aside from asking for an apology or in the case of Miami, some form of a retraction to the statements that were made against him.

"Does that affect how you raise him? When things happen on the track during a race?" He got as a follow-up.

"No, it doesn't. My life with my family is completely different from when I'm in the car. I don't let those two worlds... collide. When I'm here, I'm focused on being in the car and what I need to do for the race. When I'm at home with them, I'm just with my family. So... No, it doesn’t affect how he's raised." He felt like that should keep quite a few more of those types of questions at bay from being asked.

"Thank you, Max."

"Yup." He said with a tight smile and a small nod.

One Weeks Later - Monaco

“No, it needs to be bigger.” He said as he stood in front of the display with the rings. They all looked too small.

“Mate, it’s a ring, not a paperweight.” Daniel said.

“I know.” He couldn't help but shift scratching at the back of his neck.

"I thought you were going to wait until the season was over to get Y/N a ring?" The Monégasque driver said.

"I was but then I realized that I didn't want to wait until then." He kept looking into all the display cases. He didn't like anything that he was seeing.

"Is it about what that reporter said to Y/N? Because if it is, she handled it like a pro." Charles looked confused glancing at Daniel unaware of what had happened in Miami.

“Maybe,” he said coyly. It wasn’t the only reason, but it was one of them.

Most of the drivers in the paddock had seen the clip of Y/N verbally chewing the reporter out. It was caught on camera and ended up on Instagram and TikTok within the next few days.

"She publically requested an apology with cameras present and the reporter wouldn't give her one until Red Bull PR stepped in," Daniel explained as they walked around the store. "You've got a good one on your hands."

Max couldn't help but smile at the memory of hearing Y/N calling Nico her son.

“Look at him, glowing with pride for his woman.” Daniel teased.

Max couldn't help it, knowing that Y/N saw Nico as her son, it solidified finally going and picking out a ring for her. Waiting until there was a break in the schedule to go and pick out a ring made him anxious. He didn’t know what type of ring Y/N would want, but he knew it had to be the best. She deserved nothing but that.

He had asked that Daniel and Charles come with him to Harry Winston to help him pick out a ring. He didn’t know what he was doing, but maybe they could help him figure it out.

“Can I help you three gentlemen?” The man behind the counter asked. He was in glasses and a pressed suit.

“Yes, our mate here is looking for a ring.” Charles gave Max a slight shove toward the counter. Max managed to keep his footing against the marble flooring.

The guy behind the counter eyed Max up and down for a second.

“Do you have an idea of what you are looking for, a carat size in mind?” A what size in mind? Carrot? Was he talking about how big the diamond was?

“No, but all of the ones you have on display look too small.” At the word small it made the eyes of the man behind the counter go wide. As if dealing with the three younger men had just made his day.

From there Max sat down with the sales manager of the store and got a custom ring made for Y/N. It was a platinum fully paved tripled shank band design with a 6-carat cushion-cut diamond and diamond halo in the center. At least that was what the man told him from what he had chosen.

Daniel had looked proud while Charles looked shocked at how much time it took to design a ring. Maybe he should have asked Lewis to come with him even if they didn’t get along. Lewis did wear quite a bit of jewelry and it was normally covered in diamonds. Oh well, he would get to see a picture of what it would look like before he had to pick it up.

They would call him when it was ready and he would be able to pick it up, he didn’t want it to get shipped to his apartment in case he was away after it was ready.

ynlnusername

Liked by danielricciardo, yourbestfriend, and 257,533 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

ynlnusername My Lion 🦁. Loving, protective, and courageous. Always.

maxverstappen1 mijn leeuwin

fan1 I am here for Y/N thursting for her man

fan2 The dad Max content is always appreciated!

fan3 Umm.. Pet names! HELLO!!

fan5 Max didn't want to mention his pet name for Y/N in his last interview. Now he decides to drop it on us!

fan4 Lipstick on his shoulder! Imagine if he got that tattooed!

Translation:

mijn leeuwin - my lioness

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence

#Mini Verstappen Series #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine

1K notes · View notes

dameronology · 4 months

Text

home (frank castle)

warnings: a little bit of frank being depressed but that's about it. probably language too? i don't even notice anymore.

this is the first thing i've written in so long and it's very short buuuut i hope you like it

--jazz xx

You could always tell when Frank had had a bad night.

The signs were clear as soon as he got home. Boots thrown to the side with a loud thunk (he would apologise for the noise in the morning); body haphazardly hitting the mattress beside you as he let out a huff of exhaustion. Normally, his hands would be on you before he even in bed. He had to sleep with his chest pressed to your back, arms wrapped tightly around you, any signs of breaking free met with intense refusal until the morning. You felt safe but he felt safer.

Tonight was different. You heard the crash of shoes, and the thump, thump, thump towards the bed. The mattress dipped beside you but instead of his hands, you were met with Frank's back to you. It was tense, littered with pink scars and red ones, and fresh cuts and bruises. You could have reached out, but you didn't want to push it. A few years ago, before you, before this, before he'd learnt love again, he probably wouldn't have come home at all. He would have stayed out til the crack of dawn, fighting, fighting, fighting; fists beaten to a pulp and every part of him rigid and exhausted to his very core. Frank had learnt now: when he got really bad, he had to come home. When the going got too tough even for him, it normally meant it was the end of night. You were just grateful he had come at all.

You said nothing; just a small sigh. For him, for you, for whatever the morning would bring.

10AM came quickly. It was a Sunday, so Manhattan was nice enough to wake a few minutes later than usual. The silence in your bedroom was quickly filled with the sound of horns and brakes and the yells of the outside world. You didn't have work that day, thank god. That meant there was no rush. Frank could rise whenever he wanted.

Except - fuck - you had forgotten to turn off your alarm. It came blaring out your phone as soon as the clock struck on the hour, vibrating across your bedside table and onto the floor with a loud thud. Frank, being the world's lightest and potentially most dangerous sleeper, quickly rose. His hair was getting longer now, so it was tuftier in the mornings. You would have laughed if your chest wasn't so heavy.

You quickly hopped out of bed, sheepishly picking up the phone.

"Shit," you muttered. "Frankie, I'm sorry."

He let out a grumble, rubbing his eyes. "It's okay. I had to wake up at some point."

"Are you okay?" you quietly asked. "I know you're not but...I gotta ask."

Frank didn't say anything - instead he just sighed. Then, he opened his arms and ushered for you to come back to bed. You did so without hesitation, dropping into the sheets beside him. Strong arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you to his chest, one hand cupping the back of your head. You'd always found irony in the fact that he had to be the one to hold you when he was upset. No matter how shit he was feeling, Frank was always the big spoon. His ability to protect you was the one thing he could control. It was the one thing that made him feel a little okay again.

"It was a really rough night," he quietly admitted. "I'll be okay, sweetheart. I just wanna take it easy today."

Frank said nothing else. What he had said was beyond anyone else's wildest dreams; this was coming from the man who made a point of closing himself off, from refusing himself love and anything good. You were the only person he would ever say anything too. It was safe to assume at any given moment that he wasn't okay, but he was a little closer to it when he was with you.

The rest of the morning went like a ghost.

You moved around each other with ease; his small touches lingered - a hand on your back here, another on your hip there - and you could tell he was coming back around. Sure, he burnt the first three pancakes and didn't realise the milk was out of date til after he'd poured it into your coffee, but he was being Frank. You would have been more worried if he'd cooked properly or made good coffee.

You'd moved to the sofa by midday, dirty plates piled up in the sink and Max snoring on the rug in the middle of your living room. Die Hard was playing quietly in the background (Frank argued it was an all year round movie). You were sat between his legs on the sofa, large thighs either side of yours and arms wrapped around your front. He had his head resting on top of yours, giving you the occasional squeeze with his legs and arms.

"I love you," Frank quietly murmured. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You turned your head to look at him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I love you too."

"I'm sorry for being quiet last night. I didn't mean to ignore you."

"You don't have to apologise," you hummed. "I'm just grateful you came home."

"I'll always come home."

#frank castle #the punisher #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle fluff #frank castle angst #frank castle imagines #the punisher x reader #the punisher imagine #marvel imagines #marvel fluff #marvel angst #frank castle x you #frank castle reader insert #frank castle x y/n

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llamagoddessofficial · 4 months

Text

An HMF x OC commission from @radpunch that made me swoon ❤️ any chance to write this big lug, I'll take!!

---

It was love at first sight.

Looking out his car window was, oddly, one of the few joys he still had. It was such a strange thing to look forward to. Papyrus wouldn’t allow him to drive anymore, given the state of him, and although it frustrated him to lose his agency having a driver meant he could sit in the backseat and stare out of the tinted window.

... He was sick and tired of the way everything would stop when he entered a room. He was sick of the world that refused to forget the parts of him he wanted to forget, but at the same time, forgot the things he desperately wished to hold onto.

His eyelight rolled over the street, taking in it all. The colours, the sounds, the sights. He could almost forget what had happened to him. He got the sense of normalcy he had been missing, craving, for so long; nobody could gawk at him like they usually did, nobody even knew he was there. From the safety of that bulletproof box he could see how the normal world went on. People bustling up and down the streets, moving in and out of stores, chatting with friends or arguing with each other, laughing and yelling and living their lives.

How things used to be.

His eyelight landed on something that should’ve been another normal sight. An entirely unremarkable flower shop, sat between a cafe and small family market. It was the kind of area he and his brother would’ve collected protection from in the early days of their ‘business’. There were flowers arranged outside of the store, grey metal buckets full of bouquets set spaced across a low wooden table.

... There was a human woman tending to the flowers. Your apron was the same colour as the store’s green banner.

...

His Soul stilled inside his chest.

“... stop the car,” he said, before he even knew he was speaking.

You weren’t doing anything particularly incredible, nor noteworthy. You blended in with the rest of the people on that busy street - standing outside your shop. Watering the plants? Pruning them? He couldn’t tell from this distance.

Impressively, the driver had heard his mumbled command, shifting down a gear despite the look from the bodyguard in the passenger seat.

“Where would you like to get out, sir?”

... It was strange. But Sans missed the days when his drivers would question him. It just wasn’t the same now that nobody ever even thought of challenging his word. Sir, this isn’t where we’re stopping. Sir, Papyrus said we must be there at eight, we cannot pull over. Sir, I’m under express orders not to let you go to the bar.

Now, even the slightest sign of questioning would probably be considered stupid.

“... florist.”

Sans didn’t miss the second strange look the bodyguard gave to the driver. He would’ve felt anger at that, usually, but instead he watched intently as you headed into the shop.

The driver pulled up to the side of the road, a few cars’ distance from the entrance to the store. Sans opened the car door.

“How long will you be, sir?” the guard asked.

Sans didn’t reply; he often didn’t, these days. He merely stepped out of the car. He knew the driver would wait.

The second he exited the vehicle, Sans saw the world around him realise he was there, and react with its usual amount of terror and disgust. His presence was always a blight. People in the street immediately began to stare, freezing in their path, refusing to cross in front of the giant that had just appeared. A mother with a child who had been walking their way suddenly spotted him, and jerked her child by the arm, turning the two of them around and rushing in the other direction.

Usually, he only had to pretend that he didn’t care. But this time, he genuinely didn’t.

... He was excited.

Sans made his way over to the flower shop, ignoring all the tiny people that flitted away from him. His Soul was... beating. It was beating, thudding against his ribcage.

He opened the door, ducking slightly under the frame. A tiny bell chimed.

... It was such a quaint little store. Clearly strapped for space, every corner was occupied with pretty things; while one wall was dedicated to shelves full of decorative pots and bottles of flower feed, the rest of the store was bursting with different kinds of blossoms, arranged in all kinds of creative ways. Every taste was catered to - elegant bouquets of dark paddle-leaves and pale lilies, stringy minimalist green stalks dotted with clusters of tiny blossoms, extravagant bunches of pink that more resembled floral fireworks than anything natural. A blackboard displayed bouquet prices, with sweet little illustrations of the various bridal styles available. *Please note that out-of-season flowers might be more expensive!

And at the far end, behind the counter... by far the prettiest thing in the whole room.

You.

Whatever had happened to him in the car, it happened again. His chest was tight, his head was swimming. His Soul felt heavy, and hot, he was certain it had manifested itself inside his ribcage - it felt as if it was twice its usual size. Everything was brighter, more saturated.

You did look at his head crack when he entered. Everyone did. You glanced up from the bouquet you were organising, a classic bunch of perfectly red roses; but your eyes quickly skirted away from the injury, aware that you were staring, and probably not wanting to be rude. It was more politeness than most bothered to afford him.

... Then you smiled at him.

He literally felt his Soul pulse. All his breath escaped him at the same time. You were smiling? At him? People didn’t smile at him anymore, not genuinely. Their smiles were sly and patronising when they assumed he was stupid, or desperate and weak when they were a cornered animal doing their best to appear nonchalant in the face of a predator.

This smile... your smile...

“Hi sir,” you said, in a voice like a lullaby. “what can I get for you?”

What could you get for him? He hadn’t even started thinking about that. He had just seen you across the road, and followed you like a lost dog. His eyelight scanned the shelves; he couldn’t say he’d ever been into a florist before, nor that he knew how to order a bouquet.

“... what’s...” For the first time in a long time, he was really really trying to get his words right. He was willing to put in the effort. “... your name?”

“Dove. You?”

It took him a moment to remember his own name.

“sans.”

Everything about you was soft. You had little lines around your smile that he wanted to trace with his claws. “It’s nice to meet you. Is there anything you’re looking for?”

you. “... just flowers.”

To his surprise, you giggled. It was a small sound, but it shot through him like lightning.

“Of course. My bad.”

“... was lookin’ for... somethin’ pretty.” He stared across the room at you, emboldened by your laugh. “... think i already found it, though.”

You went pink, and looked down at the counter.

Sans was...

... Well, he was shocked.

When was the last time his attention had incited anything except absolute terror? Regardless of gender, even just a glance from would make people shudder and cower, retreating into themselves. But here you were, blushing at his first attempt at flirting in what must’ve been years. He almost didn’t know what to do with himself.

... He couldn’t remember a single instance, after his injury, where he genuinely wanted someone. He had a vague aesthetic interest in a member of a rival gang, once, but she’d been so frightened by him staring at her that he quickly gave that up. He hadn’t felt these kinds of feelings in a long time.

... In fact... now that he was looking at you and your lovely nose and lips, he couldn’t remember a single instance before his injury when he felt this strongly about someone. His younger self had been a playboy who chased anything pretty and distracting.

He’d never felt these warm, intense, fluttery sensations before.

It felt like love.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked him. “For the flowers, I mean.”

He approached the counter. “... a gift.”

“Are there any particular flowers or colours you have in mind?”

“... which... flowers do you like?”

Your blush hadn’t gone away. Was he just seeing things because he was desperate, or were you leaning on the counter like that to be flirtatious? “Oh... I know it’s stereotypical to say as a florist, but I can’t pick a favourite. I like so many of them.”

His eyelight lingered on your neck. He didn’t want to make assumptions and scare you off. But at the same time, he wanted so much. “how come?”

“Well... there’s a lot of folklore behind flowers. Pretty much all flowers have certain meanings.” You kept fiddling with the roses, changing the position of blooms. “The Victorians were really into it, they got super specific, even down to which hand you gave flowers with. Nobody really cares about that kind of thing nowadays, they just want the bouquets to look good. Which is fair enough. But every time I find out the hidden meaning of a flower, I think about how someone long ago must’ve loved that flower enough to give it so much meaning. And I get all emotional.”

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening in the light. He dug his thumb into the side of his index finger to stop himself from reaching out and caressing your face.

“... Y’know, it does make me laugh, sometimes, when people pick rude flowers without knowing their meaning.” You looked up at him from under your eyelashes. “They have no idea they’re sending a bouquet that would’ve meant ‘I don’t trust you, and I’m extremely disappointed with you’.”

He couldn’t help but smile when you smiled. That... was kinda funny. Papyrus would like this sort of thing.

“what kinda messages... can you send?”

“Almost anything.” You moved the roses to the side. “I can’t say I know many off the top of my head. Romantic love, platonic love, wisdom, bravery. There’s a lot for love. My favourites are the mean ones, though, because it’s so funny to me - orange lilies used to mean hatred. Could you imagine getting orange lilies delivered to your door?”

... He chuckled. He could listen to you talk forever.

“... could i...” he hummed. “... get somethin’... with a meaning?”

Your whole face lit up. You beautiful thing.

“Of course! I don’t think I’ve ever actually gotten to make a bouquet that uses flower language." You were beaming. "What message were you thinking of?”

He looked right into your lovely, shiny eyes. “love at first sight.”

... He could see exactly how your mind worked, in that moment. There was an instant of surprise, then a glimmer of flattery and embarrassment, it came with another flash of warmth across your face that only deepened the colour in your cheeks. He could tell you were immediately trying to pull yourself back, convincing yourself he couldn’t mean you, reigning in the sudden feelings.

“Whoever it’s for must be very lucky.” You tucked some hair behind your ear. If only you knew. “Hold on, just let me grab my flower language book.”

You rushed over to a shelf. As you did, he looked down to double check that his Soul wasn’t shining through his clothes.

“Here.” You came back quickly, holding the book in question, already leafing through it. It was a faded beige, with beautifully illustrated blossoms on the front, encased in an embossed golden border. “This should help.”

He wanted to purr. You were so cute. Moving around with so much excitement, he liked when you were excited.

“There’s a few, I think. You’re in luck, we have these in stock.” He wasn’t paying attention to the book, he was just looking at you. “Thornless roses - gloxinia too. This one says that lilac roses are good to represent first love. We could make some really nice arrangements with these shapes and colours.”

just keep talking, was all he could think. talk to me forever...

Eventually, you looked up at him, still smiling. He had to physically fight the urge to just pick you up and walk out the door. “What size were you thinking?”

“... whatever... you think... looks best.” He wanted you to have fun with it. “... money’s... no object.”

“I think something medium would be good for these flowers. Anything bigger and it'll just look silly. Any particular styles?”

“... somethin’ romantic.”

You gently giggled. He guessed that that wasn’t a proper bouquet style. Usually, when people laughed at him, he felt the urge to cave in their skull... but when you laughed at him, he laughed too, a soft chuckle escaping his massive chest. His mind was racing to figure out why you laughed, so he could make you do it again.

“i like your laugh,” he said, before he could stop himself.

“... I like yours, too.” Your voice was sweet. Almost... coy?

He was daring to hope that, despite his gruesome injury, you liked him too.

... The store bell let out a little chime.

Sans turned around. And, much to his immediate aggravation, he saw his guard standing at the entrance.

“Hello.” Your voice was very different to the one you were just using with him. Far more customer service, far more ‘normal’. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

The guard ignored you, looking to Sans. “Sir, you...”

Sans’ glare must’ve said shut the fuck up fluently enough to make the man close his mouth again.

don’t you dare. don’t you fucking dare ruin this for me.

“... Do you two need to speak in private?” You had probably lived in this city long enough to know when it was time to make yourself scarce. “It’s fine, I can go make the bouquet while you talk.”

... He nodded.

“... sorry. s’cuse me.”

You disappeared away, into the back of the store.

...

He turned to the guard. He could feel his eyelight starting to burn, sharpening and filling with aggressive magic.

“what.”

The guard visibly shrank into himself. Sans didn’t even want guards, he didn’t fucking need them, he could more than handle himself. But Papyrus was still shaken from the incident to this day, and wouldn’t let him anywhere without at least one armed guard.

“S-sir, we’re... we’ll be late,” he said.

Sans didn’t care. The clowns he was meeting with would wait for him like nervous children, no matter how long he took to arrive. As the moments ticked by, the guard just withered more and more under Sans’ stare.

...

He eventually sighed, through his nasal cavity. Being around you had softened his mood significantly. He didn't even feel like breaking anything.

“i’ll tell... pap... you tried to rush me.”

... A wave of relief passed over the guard’s face. Though Sans was the one most feared, Papyrus’ wrath was still nothing to sneeze at.

“Here!” Your voice snapped him back to attention. He turned around, just in time to see you set an arrangement down on the counter. “What do you think? I’m happy to make adjustments.”

... It was lovely. Really lovely. He leaned in to get a closer look. He knew what lilacs and roses looked like, but he couldn’t say he’d ever seen a gloxinia before; they resembled open roses, lipstick red petals with ruffled white edges. Gloxinia and bunches of lilacs were interspersed by small lavender-hued closed rosebuds... minuscule baby’s breath flowers had been added too, on their thin stalks, floating over it all like stars.

“... s’perfect,” he murmured. You immediately smiled wider. Who would’ve known he’d grow a fondness for flowers?

He took out his wallet, rummaging until he had enough bills. It didn’t take long. He pushed them across the counter to you, and you graciously picked them up.

“Do you mind me asking who the lucky someone is?” you asked, starting to count what he’d given.

... Sans pushed the flowers across the counter a little, over to you.

“gotta go.” he murmured. “... late.”

...

You looked up at him, blankly. It was such a cute expression on your pretty face. Again, he was restraining the urge to purr, it would just be too inappropriate to do in public. Especially with someone else right behind him. Maybe if the two of you were alone...

“Huh?”

He turned, nodding to the guard, who made his way over to the door and opened it for him. As much as he wished he could just skip the meeting and stay there in that shop with you forever, he did have business to attend to.

You sounded flustered, behind him. “W-wait. You gave me too much,”

Sans waved over his shoulder at you.

The walk back to the car was a blur. His soul was still thundering. He genuinely wasn’t looking at the people around him, he didn’t care what they thought. All he cared about was what you thought.

All he was thinking about was the different ways he could make you his.

#commissions #god i love the big man #everyone else makes him HELLISH #but you make him so happy and calm

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luvjunie · 6 months

Text

— Unforgettable ( 4 )

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: angst/conflict (y’all knew it was comin), language, miles being a dunce, gwen and her awkwardness

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 3,284

a/n: i held onto this for so long my apologies i had to find time to actually sit down and edit it fr fr 😭 i read this a gazillion times to the point i can recite it from memory so if you see any typos or grammar errors no you don’t. recap of part three is in small italics

prev | next

He wanted this. He wanted you.

But any chance for another sensical thought was interrupted when the impossible happened. ‘Impossible’ being the multi-layered hexagonal portal that suddenly opened up on his ceiling, and the blonde-haired, gap-toothed girl he thought he'd never see again, appearing with it. Bright and beaming down at him with a heart-halting grin, Miles felt his stomach drop as soon as she spoke.

"Miles!"

Shit.

. . .

Love tears down your walls and leaves you vulnerable in all aspects. The skin you didn't know you wore as a shield to protect you from the unexpected is shed in one swift layer because you don’t care what the unexpected is anymore. All the space that was left for worrying about what’s to come has been stolen to make room for the one who makes your heart flutter faster than you can blink.

Love is waking up in the morning, and before you’ve even wiped the lingering dream from your eyes, you find yourself rolling over in hopes of discovering a text from your favorite person—a blur of letters you’re barely able to make out, but it causes a smile to stretch across your face nonetheless.

It’s what has your thoughts drifting from your conscious at least five times a day, chin tucked in hand, eyes dreamy with the image of him playing over and over again in your mind, face melted into the stupidest grin you’ve ever been able to manifest. It leaves you yearning for him in ways you never imagined before, wanting to see into the places of his soul he’s hidden from the world and even the ones he loves most.

So if that’s love, what’s this feeling that you have now?

What follows closely behind love is the ugly shadow that trails on its heels like a sinking suspicion you can’t shake; the one that’s never acknowledged because things are just too good for you to be worried about all the cons that come with the pros. That biting feeling that often goes undetected until it’s discovered at the most inconvenient of times.

That feeling, the one you couldn’t put a name to before?

Foolish is how you felt right about now.

As you stood in the middle of a lively party for Miles’ father, who was soon to be police captain. It was bustling with excitement, people laughing and chopping it up in every corner, like you should’ve been right about now.

You’d been greeted by almost all of them upon arrival and even managed to run into Miles’ parents, but for some reason, you still had yet to say hello to the one who actually invited you. And you’d been made aware of the reason why when you’d looked up to find him laughing with a girl you’d never seen before, and she definitely wasn’t a cousin. You knew that because you’d met all of them by now in the time you’d spent searching for him.

Miles’ hands were animatedly flying through the air as he explained something to the girl that you couldn’t make out from this far away, and his eyes were lit up in a way you’d never seen them before. Slowly but surely, even though your mind tried to stop the thought from breaking through, you started to wonder if last night meant as much as you thought it did.

The mini-pep talk you’d given yourself to instill courage was immediately deemed insignificant the moment your feet pushed you to start on your way over to them, but still, you tried to ignore the deepening pit in your stomach. You usually prided yourself on being someone who never jumped to conclusions without having an inkling to stand on, but Miles was great at making things you never even knew about yourself come to the surface. Was this one of them?

Your stomach was bubbling with nerves; a sensation of anxiety washing over you. She was the complete opposite of your image, and it made you feel self-conscious about everything, as if you hadn't fallen in love with your reflection in the mirror just before you'd left home. You began to think about how fuzzy your braids were, how you should’ve taken them down last week and redid them like you’d planned instead of ditching that very plan to hang out with Miles instead.

Was your outfit appropriate enough for a family gathering? Maybe you should’ve worn something simpler. Did he like that little snort you always did when you laughed, or did he find it annoying like the last guy did? Maybe you should fix that.

All these questions did a terrible job of hiding what you were truly worried about.

Miles was so involved in his conversation that he didn’t take notice of you walking over. It must’ve slipped his mind that he told you to meet him here and that he would introduce you to his family. Instead, you were left to fend for yourself until his parents caught sight of you being handed a baby even they didn’t know the name of.

And by the stupidly shocked look he sported as you popped up in front of the both of them, it seemed as if he’d forgotten that he invited you in the first place.

As a reflex, you dipped your hands into the pockets of his coat and forged the nicest smile you could muster as your eyes wandered over to the girl.

“Hey Miles, who's this?”

“Oh! Uh, Y/n, this is Gwen-“ the girl suddenly shot him a look you couldn’t decipher, eyes widened in warning, and Miles instantly froze.

The hell was that?

“Gw-Gwaaanda...” he continued shakily after correcting himself, brows raised toward her in silent question. He then motioned back and forth between the two of you. “Gwanda, this is Y/n. My, uh… My…” Miles trailed off, your lips parted in anticipation, and it looked as if he’d suddenly lost his train of thought.

"Your?" You cocked your head at him the slightest, expectant eyes urging him to continue.

“My friend.”

Gwen stared at him incredulously. His oversized jacket stuck out like a sore thumb on you, but a physical hint wasn’t needed. She was able to guess who you were to him the moment you stepped out onto the roof. Or who you were supposed to be.

“Your friend?” Your brows furrowed when you repeated what he’d said in disbelief. You couldn't even tell if the look he’d given you was one of pity, or remorse.

“Wow,” you breathed a lifeless laugh, lashes fluttering to keep the tears at bay with a small nod. You’d never felt so embarrassed. Your throat had that burning sensation that was all too familiar—the one that feels as if your chest is caving in on itself with the weight of disappointment. Heartbreak, you think, is what they call it. You’ve never experienced it before, but you assumed this is what it must feel like.

Gwen shifted from one foot to the other, her hand awkwardly clasped onto her opposing arm while her wide blue eyes darted between the two of you. The shift in energy was palpable, like there was a visible force pushing the both of you apart.

It was her, she realized.

She’s the force.

She suddenly cleared her throat.

“Is anyone else like, really cold right now?” Gwen's hand nervously gestured towards the air with a stale chuckle. “Cause, boy, it is definitely chilly today!”

“Here,” Your throat pushed down the godforsaken lump that was forming as you forcefully tugged Miles’ coat off your body as if it burned your skin.

“Have Miles’ jacket. I don’t need it anymore, anyway.” Thrusting the bundled green puffer into her loose hold, you ignored the graze of disbelieving eyes burning into the side of your head and adjusted your shirt as if you could somehow make it conduct more warmth. Fuck, it was chilly today.

Gwen, Gwanda, or whatever the hell her name just gaped at you.

“I—“

Miles extended a hand to you in a meaningless attempt. “Y/n stop, it’s yours-“

“It’s not. Never was.”

You weren’t talking about the jacket.

You were gone faster than you came—faster than you’d even fallen for him, which was surprising, to say the least. Ducking your body under the railing and jumping down onto the deck, you pointedly ignored the stairs descending from it. If there had been a faster route than the one you took to haul ass out of there, you would’ve snatched it in seconds.

In just a minute, everything had crumbled right in front of him, and Miles stood there and let it happen.

Gwen recognized the look in your eyes; it’d been the same one Miles had given her last year when he confessed to her and she told him they couldn’t be together. Not because she didn’t want to, but because the circumstances just wouldn’t allow it.

As if things weren’t bad enough already, Gwen spoke cautiously, lips rolled inwards and Miles’ jacket loosely clutched in her hands.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I think she was expecting you to put another word in front of 'friend'."

“Shit.”

His feet were moving before he even realized he was chasing after you. He narrowly dodged the sea of bodies blocking him from getting to you, his eyes scanning the roof in hopes of spotting the top of your head.

“Miles, wait!” His aunt called out to him. “Your mom is about to cut the cake! Where are you going?”

Miles hastily shouted a response to her with a hand cupped around his mouth, his feet moving backwards to keep up with his pace.

“Back in a sec!”

You pushed through the crowd with your head ducked, sincere apologies muffled to those you bumped into, and a few unwelcome tears rolling over the apple of your cheek as you did so.

“Sweetie, wait! You don’t want cake?”

Without making eye contact, you gave a rushed wave goodbye and a thank you to Rio and Jeff, whisking past the pair. That probably didn’t help your case, but what just happened between you and her son could probably be inferred, because you weren’t wearing his jacket like you were just a moment ago, and Miles’ previously giddy conversation looked as if it’d come to a screeching halt as she noticed that the painfully awkward girl she’d met earlier was standing by herself now.

Rio’s shoulders dropped with a knowing sigh as she watched you retreat.

“Ay, I told you that Gwanda girl was bad news, Jeff!” She grumbled with pursed lips, expression painted with disappointment to match her folded arms.

Your temporary wallowing had turned to rage in mere moments, made known in the way your hands shoved the door to the stairwell open with way more force than needed.

“Wait!” He slid his way through the doorway before it could close, managing to step in front of you before you could reach the stairs.

“Was yesterday and everything before then just a joke to you?” You stared daggers into his eyes after you’d whipped around, your gaze flitting between the both of them to find an answer faster than he could verbally give. “Because apparently, when you’re around whoever that is you forget about everything else.”

“What—No! Of course not." Miles quickly shook his head. Somehow, trouble always seemed to find him when Gwen was around. “She’s just a friend. I just, I haven’t seen her in a while—“

“Isn’t that what you called me back there? A friend?” You scoffed, arms crossing as if they could possibly shield your heart from taking any more damage. You knew you weren't giving him much of a chance to give an explanation, but right about now you felt as if he didn't deserve the chance. “Do you make out with all your friends on the roof or was I some sort of exception?”

“Y/n,” His shoulders dropped at that, and you almost found yourself feeling bad for saying such a thing. “I don’t know why I said that. I just—I froze up, and I’m sorry. But you’re more than that to me, I swear.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it.” The saliva that was starting to pool in your mouth was aggravating you, but somehow at the same time your throat was incredibly dry. So dry that it had you struggling to make your voice into something more than whisper when he took a step forward, and when you took one back.

“Don’t.“ you said, shaking your head, and Miles grimaced slightly at the subtle crack in your voice. “Do you know how long I waited for you? How stupid I looked wandering around until I found you when I don’t know anyone but your parents? You invited me!”

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Just last night, he’d made you feel as if you were the only girl in the entire world, but now it seemed like the world had gotten a whole lot bigger.

Whether you wanted to know the answer or not, you had to ask. So with a shaky inhale, you readied yourself for the worst, and so did he.

“Is she somebody to you?”

You watched as he swallowed, hard. Adam’s apple bobbing like his mind was for the truth. Gwen was just a friend. Now, at least. Telling you what you clearly already knew wouldn’t make you feel any better, but lying about it would only make things worse.

Miles bit at his cheek when his gaze drifted off to the side. You felt your heart sink at what came next.

“It… It was a long time ago. But I don’t feel that way anymore.”

Your eyes began to dampen again as they held contact with his for a pain-stricken moment, but a dejected once-over from head to toe and a repulsed frown was all you could spare him.

It felt as if the silence between you was much longer than a few seconds. With his chest rising and falling, Miles' throat was filled with words he knew you wouldn't believe. After what just happened, how would you? There was nothing he could say to rectify how badly he’d just embarrassed you and he knew that. And by the look of betrayal on your face and how your shoulder bumped his arm when you shoved past him, it seemed you wouldn’t even give him the chance.

Miles watched you descend down the stairs, his jaw clenched and his heart cramping with it.

What did he just do?

—

Maybe telling his parents what happened hadn’t been the best idea after all. But after calling you three times and leaving a voice message after each dreaded beep, just to find out at his third attempt that you’d disabled your voicemail box, he truly didn’t know what else to do.

And honestly, it’s not like he really had a choice when it came to telling them. After a couple awkward minutes of standing with a jacket that so obviously did not belong to her, Gwen cautiously returned it to his parents and hurriedly made her exit, which only left them with more questions than they had before.

They realized it was serious when Miles never came back in for a slice of cake.

Tres Leches! Miles never missed out on tres leches.

Rio was more than concerned when she knocked on his door and carefully cracked it open after no response to find her son face down in his pillow, curtains closed and his room in disarray.

She took a seat next to his curled-up form, face tinged with worry. “What happened, papa? Why’d she leave?”

Jeff settled for standing near the foot of his bed. “Yeah, son. She looked a little upset.”

Miles heaved out a sigh as he pulled his body into a seated position, hands running over his face as if they’d erase the memory from his mind. “I kinda… Like—When it came to introducing her to Gwanda, I… hesitated? I guess?” Miles mumbled, his voice raising a slight octave with the last word, as if he were just as confused as they were. Somehow, saying what happened out loud made him realize just how badly he’d messed up.

“Wooo, that’s bad.” Jeff sucked a breath in through his teeth and chuckled quietly, rocking from heel to toe at his son’s confession.

Rio rolled her eyes at her husband who wasn’t much of any help at all when it came to things like this. She lifted her chin attentively at Miles to let him know that she was genuinely listening.

“Well, you introduced her eventually…Right?“

“Yeah,” Miles confirmed, only to wince afterwards. “…As a friend.”

Rio’s mouth dropped. “Miles!”

“I know! I just— I froze! I don’t know why.” His head dropped into his hands in shame, elbows perched on bent knees.

“Alright, son. You gotta help me out here.” Jeff sighed. “So you’re telling me that the young lady who’s in our house almost every week, who we’ve been referring to as your girlfriend when she knocks on the door, isn’t your girlfriend?”

“I— She is, or… she was— isn’t? Anymore?” Something like an agitated groan mixed with a huff left Miles’ lips as he tried speaking again.

“She was going to be. I was gonna ask her up there which is why I invited her, but then Gwen just— showed up out of nowhere last night, and then I kinda sorta invited her too—“

“Last night? You had a girl in here?” Rio arched a brow.

“Who’s Gwen?” Jeff voiced his confusion quietly, eyes glancing to the side.

“Fuck, not Gwen, I meant Gwanda—“

Rio raised not one, but two disbelieving brows as Miles frantically shook his head.

“Damnit, I didn’t mean to say fuck—“ His eyes snapped up to see his parents’ faces painted with pure and utter shock at his choice of words. Again.

“Shit, wait! I—Oh God.” Miles let his head fall back into his hands as he groaned, tufts of hair clenched between his fingers. “Just help me, please.” He whined.

“Yup, that’s all you, honey.” Jeff nodded at Rio and patted his thighs with his hands that were starting to grow clammy, as if he’d actually done something useful before he discreetly slipped out the door.

Rio couldn’t stand to see her son so distraught, so she made the difficult decision to hear him out instead of addressing the string of curses he’d sent their way, or whatever happened ‘last night’.

“Respira, mijo,” She barely had to pull him into her, his body fell into her embrace the moment her hand graced his shoulder. “I thought you really liked this girl... I even invited her for Thanksgiving!” Rio gently rubbed up and down his arm, comforting him in the way she knew how.

“I do!” he insisted. “A lot… I’m just an idiot who messed things up, and now she probably hates me.”

She pulled him away by his shoulders, looking into his eyes intently to make sure she got her point across.

“Listen to me. You are not an idiot, papa. A little slow to understand sometimes, yes—“ Miles rolled his head to the side in annoyance, but she gently brought his face back to her with a hand on his cheek.

“But—you always get there because you’re smart. And I know that, because your father and I raised you to be.” Miles almost managed a smile when Rio softly pinched his cheek. “That also means you’re smart enough to know that you’ve hurt someone you care about.”

“But… What if I can’t fix it?” Miles' voice was heavy with uncertainty. “Then what do I do?”

“Well, that’s life, papa. Not everything is something you can fix, but you won’t know unless you try.” Her hands fixed the crooked hemline of the cotton thermal beneath his jersey, gently smoothing out the wrinkles with flattened fingers.

“It’s a leap of faith, Miles. That’s all.”

. . .

a/n: tres leches was a total self insert that shit is fire

taglist: @burymeinside @secret-ssociety @whatamidoing89 @urmotherswhor3 @valovesyou @inlovewithfictionalppl @edgyficuselastica @motherwanda @mybfmiles @axeoverblade @miumiulicious @sukisprettyface @gwennesy @simpnotapimp @kanvis @cleo-dearts @retirement-home @lunaramune @silas-222 @citrusequalsfrogs @itsberrydreemurstuff @spritecranverry @mewhenimanangel @wisteriaflowersss @chadychadyy2k @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @junipurr101 @bakugouswaif @luvdenisposts @aleluvsuu @wonylxv @attractivepie @cry1ngmyey3sout @silas-222 @idkkk343

masterlist

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse fanfiction #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales x black reader #miles morales x fem!reader #earth 1610 miles x you #earth 1610 miles x reader #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales fic #1610 miles x reader

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suguru-getos · 7 months

Text

୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 24﹕✦﹕┈・୧

-> Event Masterlist

Geto Suguru x F!Reader -> Size Kink

Summary: After returning from your trip, you found out your boyfriend is not okay. Maybe a vacation (To Venice) ;) would help. (Mentions of Deppressed!Suguru, angst, breakdowns, toothrotting fluff and comfort, Satoru being a wonderful best friend, Suguru healing) ❤️‍🩹 Basically hurt-comfort with size!kink 😭

Warnings: Angst, breakdowns, Suguru’s deranged and suc!dal and has murderUrges, Reader (us) comfort him and pull him out from it. Mentions of reader’s breakdowns, cus I mean— 🤷🏻‍♀️ Look at him!!?? Nipple-play, breeding, softsex, sensual, FLUFFY AND NICE AND SUGURU’s so Spoiling towards us it’s just 🙈

A/N: Guys I had sm fun 🥹😵‍💫🩵 writing this I swear!! Hurt-comfort is like my favorite thing in the whole wide world <33 I love to characterize Suguru & to play around with his character. *Screeches and screams* 🍨🍦 I made him yummy thank me later xx Also can we look at the images of him above 🥵 size kink BRRRR

"If you really think, you can do everything, take everything in, save people, and somehow save yourself along with the deceitful thinking that you will protect me. Then you're wrong!" Tears welled up in your eyes, the pain clearly imminent in Suguru's eyes. He looked dead inside, and no mourning was soothing your ache for your older Suguru. You just, missed him beyond beliefs… even when he was right beside you. You hoped he would response to your cry of pain, your bleeding words, but he didn't have it in him anymore. Suguru had almost, given up on himself.

Your hands found themselves clasping onto his collar, pulling him closer to you. "Suguru, look at me, I am telling you something. Can't you fucking see how much it hurts!" You screamed, losing your calm, your temper. It felt ironical to complain to him about how much it's hurting you. You can see he's got it worse; the nights full of terrors and the days full of decaying cursed spirits. You were an empath for your lover, and it was clear staying near him was subjecting you to everything he felt. He doesn't want to see you this way, desperate and hurting…

"I'm sorry, Angel." Suguru sighed, wrecked with the way you burst into tears and hugged him. Voice choking onto sobs as you earnestly tried clutching onto him for dear life. "Sugu, come back to me please come back…" You cried, wailed and eventually dropped onto your knees. The incomprehensible feeling, the heaviness of the things Suguru was going through was making you breathless.

Suguru's heart was only breaking further apart, watching you slowly scrape away in front of him. "I want to kill myself." He finally spoke up, "No, truth is, I want to kill everyone."

This was the first time Suguru was opening up, and no matter how brutal it sounded, his eyes were still kind. Maybe because it was you, in front of him. "You are a sorcerer, too, I shouldn't say this to you, but I hate those monkeys." He radiates pessimism and negativity through him. Yet, you smile a little.

"Come with me, go away with me." You held his hands, squeezing them tightly as if you were grateful they're not cold. You truly were. They were warm, they were still your Suguru's hands.

"Please, Suguru, let's go away for some time." You urged, and he knelt with you, hugging you tightly, not caring about the whimper that escapes you because of his firm grip.

"Running away, won't solve anything." He echoed, and you felt your stomach sink. Soft sniffles echoing in the room as you shook your head like a tantrum-y child. "No, we will solve everything. You and I, we can solve everything. No matter what it is." You cupped his face, becoming stronger for him. "It's okay to feel like this Suguru, it's okay. I'm here." You nudge, watching his eyes showing signs of at least, some life in them. "Can you, not give up?" You meant on himself, you meant on everything.

To make sure, he understands… you hummed again, "makes me feel like, I'm being abandoned."

Suguru blinked at that, letting your words settle deep within. "Makes me feel like, I'm not even worth fighting for." You looked down, not having the guts to say this to him while making eye-contact. "Please, let's elope somewhere Sugu." You crooned, babying him almost. "I will follow you to the ends of the earth anyway, even if your path is changed." You hum, and with the way your pupils fixated on your hands intertwined, Suguru knows you mean it.

"Okay, maybe… I do need a little get away." Suguru smiled tenderly, partial charm returning to his eyes.

Oh it felt like rain in famine, "Good, thank you, I love you."

"I love you too, my Angel."

---

The next thing was you booking tickets to go to Europe. You urged Satoru and Yaga to not assign any more missions for Suguru. It was hard, you and Suguru were both powerful special grade sorcerers; but hey- you both had Satoru to rely on. "I told you the moment he lost weight, he wasn't doing okay." Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes, tapping at his feet impatiently in the café you decided to meet him in. "What the fuck is up with being the one to hide things?" Satoru was pissed, why would his best friend not communicate? "Makes him feel less of a man?" You chuckle at that, you knew Satoru loved him almost as much as you did. "I've persuaded him to go on a trip with me." "You did?" Satoru was… amazed. These days, Suguru wasn't even joining in for any normal outings. Wasn't going out of his house for weeks, wasn't even meeting you. Things worsened when you left to Korea for a mission longer than 3 weeks. You had to stay there for some Jujutsu School Collaboration initiative. That's when Suguru was off his leash, truly at his worst. Taking missions more than he should, succumbing to the darkness of his mind and the curses.

"Just, want you to handle things while we're gone." You sipped onto the iced frappe you've ordered. Meanwhile Satoru ate a mochi, seemingly absent-minded and bored. "You don't have to worry about that, you know I'd do that in a heartbeat for him." He bratted, raising a brow at you. "And you…"

You smiled at that, nodding gently. It felt good to have the 'Strongest' so whipped for your boyfriend, and platonically you, as well.

The higher-ups posed a threat, as always. 'Why is Suguru Geto not on missions?' ; 'Did he get off the job of a Sorcerer?' especially the cunt-faced Principal of Kyoto. You and Satoru personally paid him a disrespectful visit at his school. Nothing he can complain against, wouldn't sit well to anger two special grades, will it? Despite showing that the Sorcerer world is only filled with people who are willing to take on the role- example: Nanami switching from corporate jobs to a sorcerer job… it was still, at the end, a disgusting, foul powerplay hidden beneath shackles of rules. If you are a special grade sorcerer, they'd do anything to hold on to you. Even blackmails are not far off the list. Emotionally draining…

---

"I have booked us a flight to Venice, baby." You sat cross legged on the swing chair Suguru's house has, fondling with your iPad and searching for hotel venues. "Venice huh." Suguru was still numbed, but at least, not he couldn't avoid you because practically you lived with him now. "Yeah, we can go to Switzerland, and also wherever you want. I hear Germany this time of the year is beautiful." You croaked excitedly, swaying your legs as he walked towards you, sitting on the chair in front of you. "Satoru told me you and I are on a vacation for months." He came directly on the point. "The trip isn't that long, is it?" He manspreaded, raising a brow.

You gulped, smiling softly, the last thing you need is him feeling 'weak'. You had to approach this carefully. "Suguru, I think you and I have done enough missions for a while. I want us to spend some time together, to ourselves." You added some degree of truth, "Also, I don't want you to keep eating curses and letting them eat you from the inside and I don't want to lose the person I love the most in my fucking life." With the way you affirmatively snapped, there was no way, Suguru would battle against it. A soft nod was all you got as a response.

"Alright, I will handle the packing. Don't want you screeching like a wild animal when you discover you forgot your charger." He leaned in, giving you a chaste peck & you giggled. "Of course."

---

The packing, the preparations, the dressing up and going to the Airport, the flight where you slept leaned against his shoulder. All went by in a tender haze of beautiful memories. Inflicted and infected by his sadness, still. Though you wouldn't mind. You're ready to accept him rotten if needed.

When you two reached Venice, the Victorian style hotel with the boats and the beautiful lakes was in fact, refreshing for him; and you. You knew it because Suguru had stopped going to your shared balcony of the house, now here he was, standing there, observing the people. The couples giggling and kissing each other, the boat rowers singing in their native Italian language, the streets with so much hustle and bustle… yet calming. You hugged him from behind, breathing in his scent. "Like it?" "Love it, my beautiful baby." He crooned back, turning towards you and pulling you closer to him by your hips. "I love you." He chanted, almost in a way that he used to when he first asked you out. These past few months were hard and rough, but if you were able to have him back, even infinitely slowly… you'd dedicate it to eradicating all his sadness.

"If you want, I can dress very Lana Del Rey today and we could make steamy love." You giggled, leaning in and kissing him softly. Suguru and you… yeah, haven't made love in a while. You'd never push him when he isn't feeling it, and naturally, someone who's suffering so much would have it at the last thing on his mind.

"You're right, how disappointing of me… I don't remember the last time I treated you, I worshipped you." He thought out loud, and you pouted. "It's okay Suguru, don't think about it like that. Think about how you're gonna make it up to me." You stuck your tongue out, giggling.

It's the way he looks at you, like he's starving and you're delectable. It's the way his eyes are loud enough with their projection of love that it quiets the world down for you. It's the way Suguru Geto breathes, that makes you love him so much you'd break.

Right now, he's doing the same thing… being himself. Hands wandering to your sides and helping you wrap your legs around his waist as he walked towards the shared bedroom of the hotel. Leaning in and kissing you passionately, shoving his tongue just to show how much he's been deeply yearning. Admiration coated in every action. "So lucked out that I have you." He smiled to himself, kissing your forehead deeply once you were nestled into the succumbing softness of the mattress.

"Same," you grin back, watching him undress you with his eyes first, and then his hands followed. You mimicked the same movements.

"I can't handle the fucking hotness!" You whined, once he was left in his pants, upper body naked for you to devour. Suguru chuckled, heat rushing through his cheeks and core as he cupped your face, kissing you once again.

The thing about you and him is, Suguru is big. He's built like a bulky man. Stretched to 6'3'', broad shoulders that'd hold two of you, hands big enough you miss almost an inch if you were to compare his with yours. Yeah, Suguru was big and you were tiny. Something that only aided to you being subbier and smaller to him. Letting him manhandle and take all the control that he wants to.

"Who do you belong to, darling?" He cooed, watching you instantly answer. "You, forever and always."

It warms his heart when he hears that, spreading your damp pussy lips with his fingers and thrusting a finger into you. It's been… long. He knows it with the way you're clamping for dear life, just on his digit. "Sh-i-t," You croak out, while Suguru hushed you with a soft kiss, slowly moving his finger in and out of your pussy. Once he felt you had accepted his finger's girth, he inserted another one. "AH god-" You whined, mewling at the delicious stretch of his thick and long fingers being coated with your essence. "You want to make sweet love and you're so worked up with the fingers alone." He chuckled to himself, stretching you out so good, curling them against the familiar sensitive spot.

Your back arched, the way your pussy clamped as if she was a slave to his hands and cock.

"Oh she's close." He cooed, "Go on, cum for me then I can ruin you with me." He kissed your pelvis, holding it down as your orgasm raked through you, approaching fiercely and shuddering your body against him as waves of pleasure took over you. "Good girl. Good little girl." Suguru praised, riding it out for you. Once the orgasm's high settled, Suguru took out his fingers and suckled onto them, eyes never leaving yours.

"Want you, so bad!" You gasped out, pulling him closer to you by wrapping your legs around him, feeling the imprint of his cock into you. "Alright alright, impatient little girl." He smirks, pushing the tip of his pre-leaking cock into you in one swift stroke. Mean, Suguru Geto is mean sometimes… especially when he wants you to be scream at the stretch only he can give you. No one else, he wants your pussy to know only how he feels. Damn he's big, and when he pushes himself balls deep, your pussy is strained beyond its limit. "Shit- s- so big Sugu." You whimper out, tearing up at the ache.

"Ssh, it's okay darling. I'm still. Adjust to me, go on." Suguru patiently waits, kissing your face all over, leaning in and kissing your breasts, suckling onto your nipples while you clamped and waited for the pain to settle in.

"Move, please…" You glance at him now, doe-eyed and insatiable.

"Of course, took you some time to adjust to me huh? Tiny little baby." He smiles, thrusting into you without relent. Your womb stops him from going in any further, your insides torn apart deliciously at the feeling of being ploughed by him. "Oh- G- oh God," words fail you, the air choked out of your lungs with how good it hurts, with how pleasureful it feels.

Suguru's hand laced around your pelvis, pressing on it gently. "Got you," He smirks cockily, holding your hand and keeping it on your pelvis, enveloped by his own as he pressed.

A shrill scream filled the room, "Oh you can sense it, can't you sweetheart? Sense how deep I reach?" You moan at the pressure, pushing you closer and closer to the edge as you hopelessly nodded. Gasping and choking on air. "God yes, Sugu- AH please- oh my- g'nna," You whimpered, while Suguru was at a rhythmic pace now. Sometimes pulling all the way out and pushing back all the way in. He loved seeing you walk the rope between pleasure and pain.

"Good girl, with the way you're holding onto me, I can sense you're close." Suguru hummed, grounding you with his kisses, his spoiled little praises.

"Go on, show me how much you missed me."

"Just like (thrust) I (thrust) missed (thrust) this (thrust) pussy-" Suguru toppled off the edge right with you, painting your insides white with his warmth. "Oh god- fuck-"

You shudder, spasming around his cock and milking him further.

"That's it, I got you. I got you." Suguru reminded, leaning in and kissing you softly, tenderly, as if you'd break if he were to touch you wrong.

"I missed you, I missed this." He mused to himself, blushing a little at the sight of you fucked out and half-lidded. You nodded, still taking ragged breaths. "I love you"

"I love you too, Angel."

1K notes · View notes

lisired · 2 months

Text

keep on

pairing: johnny x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, angst, non-idol au, fwb!johnny, alcohol consumption, mentions of addiction/alcoholicism, daddy issues, mommy issues, unprotexted sex (dont b silly wrap ur willy!)

summary: All things love and commitment are feared upon by you. You keep a tight crew and let few people in, cynical of other’s intentions and leaving a trail of broken hearts in your wake. If you break other people’s hearts first, they can’t break yours. And yet, it was all too easy falling for Johnny, digging yourself into a depthless hole of love. But he is no exception to your heartache games.

word count: 13.6k

a/n: this was a pretty quick write. inspired by keep on by kehlani, garden (say it like dat) by sza and off the table by ariana grande featuring the weeknd. have fun reading <3 feedback is appreciated!

Through the blurry lenses of your eyes, love was a synonym for heartbreak.

It happened everyday. People gave people their all and in return, they received nothing but brutal agony. You had seen it happen and experienced the heartache firsthand.

Like when your father left your mother. And thus, the baby they had brought into this world together. It stung like nothing else to watch what became of your mother, drowning her sorrows in liquor. She was never the same.

Perhaps she had passed her bad habits down to you. The apple never falls far from the tree, they say.

Irene’s house was your deemed safe haven for the night. It was Friday and you were having a girl’s night out, but given the gruesome work week everyone had, no one wanted to truly go out.

You strutted inside and collapsed against her island, dropping your purse on the surface. “Get me drunk,” you sighed, tired beyond imagination. Not to mention the text message creeping in your mind.

Yeri giggled and slid you a glass. She had already been drinking, you could tell. She got all bubbly when tipsy. She reached for a bottle, and said, “Irene’s getting the good shit. She’ll be right back.”

They got the bottles and poured the glasses. When they were empty, you didn’t hesitate to fill them up again. There was no doubt that the next morning would bring you a terrible hangover, though you wanted to drink like there was no tomorrow.

You wanted to forget everything. Forget men. Forget the way that they all hurt you. Fuck that, you didn’t even want to remember what hurt was or meant.

They were nothing but trouble.

As the hours ticked by, less and less of your sullenness was masked by your inebriety. It became evident that there was something plaguing your mind. You sat slumped on the couch, bitter.

Irene sat beside you when the coast was clear. The girls had either passed out or gone back home if they were sober enough. But you were seated on her sofa, reeking of depression.

“We can always talk about it, you know,” Irene said softly. She grabbed your hand and let you rest your head on her lap. “It might make you feel better to open up.”

You shook your head and quipped dryly, “And ruin your perfect girl’s night? I thought the point was to de-stress.”

Irene gave you a faint smile and patted your head gently. She was one of the few people who knew the extent of trauma you dealt with. Your every secret was kept under lock and key but she protected them with her whole heart. Irene cared for you, that was undeniable. All things considered, she was like a mother to you. But you depended on no one but yourself and you hated seeming weak. Even if you were.

Besides, there was a time and a place, and this was neither. Ranting about your daddy issues wasn’t the point of tonight. It was to clear your head. Nothing good came out of recalling the irreversible damage your father had inflicted upon your broken family.

I’m sorry. Let me make things right, the text you received read. It made you feel a fusion of emotion - anger, sadness, confusion, disgust. What he did, upping and leaving, was unforgivable. It was a sin.

He broke your family. There was nothing he could do or say to make things right, to mend the shattered pieces. If he wanted to leave then he should have stayed gone. He had no right to try to come and intrude years later. He didn’t get to pick and choose when he could be in your life.

Irene was firm when she told you, “I’m here for you whenever you need me. I know you like to think that you don’t need anyone, that opening up makes you vulnerable, but being vulnerable is okay. I’m not going to attack you for being human and having the feelings you push away.”

Right in the heart - that was where her words always hit you. Irene had a habit of always being right, even if the truth hurt. Even if you desperately wanted her to be wrong. And yet, she never was.

But your lips were sealed. It was too much. Irene could try and soothe you, but even she couldn’t always break you. She sighed, but had another solution.

Irene lifted your head off of her lap and stood, rummaging for her keys. You stared at her with confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you to Johnny’s. No buts. If there’s anyone that can get you to open up, it’s him, and the very last thing that you need to be in this state is alone.”

Your eyes flickered with shock. It wouldn’t be the first time that a drunk you had been dropped off at his doorstep - and it more than likely wouldn’t be the last - but you always woke up penitent the next day.

Johnny didn’t deserve that. He deserved better than you.

“But…”

“Ah, ah, ah - I said no ‘but’s,” Irene wielded her dismissive weapon of a finger. Her motherly instincts were kicking in and it meant that her decision was final. “Let’s go.”

With no other option, you followed Irene to her car with a slight stumble in your walk. Given they lived in the same neighborhood, you were at Johnny’s place in a blink. For some reason, you felt nervous. That was how you always felt around Johnny, even if you knew deep down that you had nothing to worry about.

He keeps on taking me in, you thought somberly. He’s nice to me. Even when I don’t deserve it. And I don’t know why.

If you were sober, you might have felt more guilty. Scratch that, you would have felt like nothing short of a villain. And maybe you were. Maybe you were the bad guy, the wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing.

But that was because you couldn’t help but think everyone else was out to get you. Whatever much excuse you could bring yourself to give.

Irene walked you up to Johnny’s doorstep and rang the doorbell. It was late at night and Johnny liked his rest, but he was wide awake when he came to answer the door. And his entire expression changed when his eyes fell on you.

Johnny had seen you too many times too many in this state and just enough to know when you had spent the past few hours maintaining your friendship with alcohol. It was much more effort than you were putting into yours.

Irene squeaked in her soft voice, “Hi.”

He looked stone cold. It made your stomach twist, just a little. Although you knew Johnny was the warmest person there was. He stifled a sigh and said, “Come on, y/n.”

You shuffled right past him and through the doorway. By now it was routine, yet Johnny thought he would never get used to seeing you this way. He tried to help you, tried to get you to break out of your bad habits. And you were genuinely improving. For you to relapse out of the blue meant that you had been triggered.

When the coast was clear, Johnny shot Irene a glare, and snapped, “Why would you let this happen?”

Irene kept a straight face and took his harsh words in stride. If Johnny lashed out at her, she understood. It wasn’t easy dealing with you, loving you, and she could only imagine what it was like to be in love with you. “I know you’re stressed, but don’t antagonize me for her actions, Johnny. I can’t control what she does.”

“No, but you can enable her. And that’s exactly what you do,” Johnny barked.

“She’s one of my closest friends!” Irene shouted, tears brimming in her eyes. “I would never do anything to hurt her. All I want to do is help her. I’ve been trying. Trust me. I’ve been trying so hard, Johnny. But you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves.”

Irene never cried. Much less in front of men. She was too busy being strong for everyone else to let herself be weak. She deserved to lash out, too. Being the calm friend, the responsible one, was hard. And she felt like she only got closer and closer to losing you everyday.

Johnny simmered down once he realized that she was right. All of this was unwarranted. He knew that doing this for you over and over again was only hurting the both of you, and everyone you loved, but he loved you too goddamn much to let you go.

It was frustrating. It made him angry - loving you. Being in love with you. Hearing his heart call out your name. And watching you use him just to dispose of him when you were done like he was some replaceable toy. What made him even more upset was that you were showing progress, and he thought that maybe something good could finally come out of it. Now he had to watch it all go down the drain.

Johnny rubbed his temple and sighed out, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Irene took a deep breath and exhaled. Johnny knew it wasn’t like her to lose her sense like that, but as long as you were hurting, so was she. “Just take care of her. Please. That’s all I ask.”

Johnny gave a nod of head and turned around. He was about to go inside and check up on you when he heard Irene call his name again.

“Please be patient with her. She’s trying.”

She loves you. Irene didn’t say it, but it was clear as day. Written all over her face, swimming in her dark eyes.

He nodded again, more reluctant this time, then pushed his door open and came inside the house. Glancing around, he didn’t spot you nearby. He called out your name, and when you responded, the sound of your voice led him upstairs to his bedroom.

You were now wearing one of his t-shirts, but it looked more like it was wearing you. Things had been like that since you were in high school. He towered over you with the skies above and yet he was filled of nothing but adoration. The memories of you wearing his clothes almost made him break into a smile. Almost.

Instead, Johnny sat down beside you and said, “Are you gonna tell me what happened now or in the morning?”

You frowned. People always wanted to talk, as if talking would make all your problems magically disappear. All you wanted to do was forget that they existed for as long as you could.

Without saying a word, you unlocked your phone, went to your messages, and handed it to him. Johnny gave you a confused glance, but read the text nonetheless. It was from an unsaved number, but the contents of the message gave away everything he needed to know. Clearly, it was from no one other than your father.

“Shit,” Johnny said, more to himself than anything else.

You pushed your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around your legs. “Yeah. Apparently he wants to make up for leaving his daughter and her mother when she was a toddler and driving the woman he used to love into substance abuse. Funny, right?”

Johnny sighed. No wonder you were beginning to sink back into your old ways. This was a trigger and you knew nothing else.

“How’d he even get your number?”

“My mother’s rash decisions or my cousin’s spite for me, who knows,” you shrugged, chuckling. Family reunions weren’t your favorite. At some point of becoming fed up with your family fiascos, you stopped attending. There was no way that you would see your evil cousin, your old-fashioned grandparents, aunts, and uncles, or even your mother. The only thing she and you shared was resent for your father, but you weren’t sure what she was capable of when drunk.

Johnny frowned. As much as it hurt to see you like this, he understood why you reacted the way you did. He was your best friend and your lover and knew you better than you knew yourself. He knew every bit of your trauma, down to the rawest detail - your childhood, all of the boys you once loved that weren’t him.

Part of him wished that you had given your heart to him first. He would have guarded it with a sword and fought off dragons for you. Instead, the boys you trusted handled it carelessly and shattered it into pieces. Now it was much harder to salvage what was left of it.

Johnny pulled you into his arms. He was angry. Angry at your father, angry at the world, even angry at you. But he wanted to be there for you, even if you took advantage of his kindness. When you felt his hands around you, you wept into his shoulder. He smoothed the palm of his hand against your back, and whispered soothingly into your ear, “It’s okay. Let it all out.”

You wept and wept, until you had no tears left to cry. God, you hated crying in front of other people. You hated being vulnerable, but it came naturally when you were with Johnny. Ever since you became friends in high school. And though Johnny never made a move to hurt you, he could have. That was the part you hated. Being vulnerable to someone meant trusting them not to hurt you the way everyone else had.

When you were done, you pulled away and noticed the damp patch on Johnny’s shirt. “Sorry,” you croaked.

“Shirts can dry,” he reminded, and lifted it above his head. “Let’s go to bed. You can talk to me in the morning when you’re sober.”

You nodded, then climbed into bed with him. To say that you hadn’t been in this position before would have been a lie, but you liked being so close to Johnny. He was your refuge from the world that liked to throw knives at you. And when you bled, he was always there to tend to your bloody scars. He made you feel safe, and that scared you more than anything.

Johnny kissed your forehead. “Goodnight.”

Heat flared in your cheeks. Safe didn’t even scratch the surface of how Johnny made you feel, but it would have to for now. You weren’t ready to unpack your feelings for Johnny. You weren’t ready to confront them.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

Even in the dark, you saw Johnny smile. And beneath it he hid the storms of emotion induced by you that were killing him softly.

Between the pain of knowing Johnny was hurting because of you and the pain of your hangover, you couldn’t tell what hurt more.

It was a well-practiced routine. You woke up with a splitting headache, a bottle of water and Aspirin waiting for you on his bedside, and sometimes Johnny would be tucked into the sheets next to you. When he wasn’t, he was downstairs making breakfast.

And when you woke up, taking in your surroundings and realizing they were nothing like your bedroom, the regret settled in. You’re so fucking selfish, you chastised to yourself. Johnny was in love with you. That was positively the only reason he put up with your bullshit, but he deserved better.

And you were trying to give him better, to be the one that he needed. Given your habits of sleeping around to ignore the weight tugging at your chest when you thought of Johnny and drinking away your problems, you were trying to stop. Instead of drinking, you ranted to Irene or Johnny. Instead of finding someone to toy with for a night, you tried to be a good friend to Johnny.

It worked. Even the rest of your friends caught on to how much better and healthier you seemed. Then, your dad sent that stupid text and your whole world went crashing down. You didn’t know what to do. You were torn. Ripped and shredded to fucking pieces.

Maybe it was time Johnny accepted that he deserved someone better than you. For his own sake. You were a tainter that ruined everything you touched and rotted it to the core.

You popped the Aspirin and came downstairs. Johnny wasn’t there when you woke up, but judging from the delicious scent wafting through the air, he was downstairs cooking.

“Morning,” you whispered, sitting at the island.

Johnny shot you a glance over his shoulder and tended back to the stove. He was making pancakes. “If it isn’t Sleeping Beauty.”

You blushed and tried to hide it, asking coyly, “Momma’s recipe?”

“You know it.”

That made you crack a soft smile. He was right - you did know. Part of you envied the relationship Johnny had with his parents: strong and healthy. That would never be you. You didn’t remember the last time you spoke to your mother and your father was self-explanatory.

You shook your head, and hopefully the thought away. It was too early. Instead, you focused on Johnny. He was still half-naked, and you caught yourself gazing at the details of his bare back. Damn, did he look good.

Then, you watched him cook, subconsciously trailing off into your own head again. I don’t deserve him. He went above and beyond for you, from making you breakfast to even letting you inside in the first place. He held you and listened to your rants and tried his best to aid you, but you threw that all away. And yet, here he was.

When Johnny was finished cooking, he fixed you both plates and sat across from you. Apart from giving him your gratitude, the two of you ate in silence. After a while, he commented, “I thought you weren’t drinking anymore.”

You stared at your plate, refusing to look Johnny in his eyes. That would kill you - seeing the pain submerged in his eyes staring back in you. It was obvious that you didn’t want to have this conversation, preferring to leave words left unsaid. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.

Maybe you already knew and you were trying your hardest to ignore it.

“Old habits die hard,” you murmured, fiddling with your knife and fork.

Your relationship with alcohol was typical. Although you weren’t addicted, it was still unhealthy. For the most part, when you drank, it was to forget about the feelings and thoughts plaguing your heart and mind. Escapism was your go-to coping mechanism. You weren’t strong enough to confront your problems head-on.

“You can’t keep doing this.” We can’t keep doing this.

“I know.”

Johnny sighed. “What’s on your mind?”

You bit your lip. Of course, Johnny could tell when there was something troubling you. There was no hiding from him. He was the only one capable of coaxing you of an answer.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shown up here unannounced expecting you to take care of me.” Just like you always do.

Johnny was quick. “It wasn’t unannounced. Irene texted me.”

“That’s not the point and you know it,” you said, finally looking up at him. The expression he sported was grim. It hurt to see the way he looked at you, but you knew that you didn’t deserve his beautiful smile.

He sighed and glanced off, almost looking offended. “Then, what is your point?”

You shook your head. You weren’t ready to have this conversation and you doubted that you ever would be. “Forget it.”

“No. Talk to me. I just hate when you freeze me out,” Johnny urged swiftly. He hated it more than anything else. All he wanted was your love, but he was quick to realize that it was hard to thaw your frozen heart out.

Eyes drifting back to your plate, you shook your head and whispered, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Johnny softened up. For fucks sake, you were impossible, but he had too much sympathy for you. He understood why you acted the way you did, even if that didn’t ease the pain or validate your behavior. Most of all, he didn’t want you to follow your mother’s footsteps and become the person you swore you’d never be.

Last night hurt him, too. Patient was all he had ever been with you. He had been patient with you for at least ten years. He was so sick of waiting, but it was safe to say that no matter what, you would be his first and last love.

When the room got quiet, you spoke up again in a little voice, “He texted me Thursday night. I still haven’t responded. I don’t know what to do anymore, Johnny.”

“Do what you wanna do,” he told you, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s up to you. You don’t have to forgive him. You don’t even gotta respond. What he did was fucked up and he shouldn’t expect you to give in easily. But whatever you choose to do, your first priority should be letting go.”

Letting go. Easier said than done. All your life, letting go had never been your forte. Part of you was still scarred by your past lovers. Grudges ruined your life.

There were reasons why you came out this way. Of course, part of it stemmed from your childhood, though not everything and your identity was intricately layered.

In high school, you fell for Lee Jeno. He was the sweetest boy that you’d ever met - or at least you thought he was - and he almost instantly swept you off your feet. Jeno had all the girls swooning and the fact that he chose you made you feel a special type of bliss. Until you found him making out with a cheerleader in the locker room.

Then, in college, you decided to give romance a second try. It was Osaki Shotaro’s turn to break your heart. You remembered like it was yesterday and it was all so sudden. Out of the blue, Shotaro broke up with you and told you that he wasn’t in love with you anymore. He left you for another woman. You couldn’t imagine how many times he had been with her all while being with you. It made you sick to your stomach.

After that, you were scarred for life, scared shitless of love. Boys proved time and time again without fail that their only intention was to treat your fragile heart like dirt on the bottom of their shoes. They walked all over it, taking advantage of your blind love. Fed you lies and empty promises of forever.

That was why you kept your heart guarded and under lock and key. You intentionally kept your relationships short and discardable - no strings attached. You didn’t want to trust anyone else with your heart. They threw it in the middle of a busy highway and now it was in traffic.

Trust issues, they called it. Issues - that was your forte. And you had a variety. Trust issues, abandonment issues, daddy issues, commitment issues. Whatever the label slapped on them, they all controlled every moment of your life.

Johnny added, “I know that’s easier said than done, but promise me you’ll try. Will you?”

You nodded your head and fought back tears. Weak was the word you used to describe yourself in your head. It was far too easy to break you. “I’ll try, I promise. But I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I believe in you,” Johnny whispered, voice soft yet powerful. You were convinced that he had too much faith in you. Never had anyone believed in you this much. Never had anyone loved you the way that Johnny did and you didn’t know how to accept it.

Your heart was at constant war, unable to choose between two stances. Johnny wasn’t like the other men once in your life. Or maybe he was, yet hid it well. Maybe he was waiting for you to trust him to break your heart.

Both of you finished eating and changed the subject. It was a relief. Johnny hated making things awkward and you were grateful for that.

After a while, Johnny drove you back home. You hated leaving and Johnny hated watching you go, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t used to this cycle. You stood at your doorstep and said, “Thanks for breakfast.”

Johnny nodded. “Any time. When will I see you again?”

He liked seeing you. Just not after a long night of you disregarding your troubles with sex and alcohol.

“My schedule’s packed Monday through Friday, but maybe one of those nights,” you said. Often you found yourself making time for Johnny when there was none. And in return, he did the same. He showed you a good time and to your definition, that meant a night of relieving pent up stress. “If not, I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Okay,” Johnny nodded again. “Later, alligator.”

Before he could leave, you leaned on the tip of your toes and smashed your lips against his. Johnny seemed genuinely caught off-guard, but he wasted no time in kissing you back, stealing your every last breath like there was no tomorrow. You liked kissing Johnny. Apart from the warm feeling boiling in your chest whenever he pressed his lips to yours, he was just so damn good at making you feel like you were on a cloud.

You pulled back and caught your breath, smiling. “After a while, crocodile.”

Johnny grinned and walked back to his car.

You didn’t see Johnny again until the following weekend.

Not that you didn’t speak. You and Johnny were inseparable and spoke everyday if you could, via texting or phone calls when there was no chance of seeing each other in person. You told him that you needed time to yourself and he both respected and encouraged your decision.

You were busy thinking - an upside of Johnny’s influence. Most of the time you hated being in your head and avoided it at all costs. It was a dangerous place to be, but you were trying harder to not disappoint him once more.

In that time, your father sent you another message. He wanted to meet up with you and was unyielding. The ball was in your court. You could agree to hear him out or you could block his number and pretend it never happened, but it was no easy decision.

Saturday approached far too leisurely. Uneventful days of work and pondering led to the date of your friends’ betrothal party.

With a very Yuta-esque spin to it. The event was casual through and through. The dress code was loose and neither party held good relationships with their family, meaning most of the guests were close friends. It was a pool party and everyone would be in the backyard.

When you caught up to Yuta and Winwin, you didn’t hesitate to ask, “Okay, I’ll bite. Who did it? Who popped the question?”

Yuta fought a smirk and shrugged blithely. “Guess.”

“Winwin?”

Winwin shook his head. “Nope. Contrary to popular belief, Yuta’s quite the romantic. In his own way, of course. He even crouched down on one knee.”

It was somewhat believable. The Yuta from before he met Winwin wasn’t the Yuta that stood before you now. He had seen the light and became a man of all things love and cheesy.

Still, you teased, “No way. Can’t believe the main hoe of the town is settling down. What happened to being non-monogamous buddies?”

“Shit changes,” Yuta said, sighing blissfully as he wrapped an arm around Winwin. Then, he teased back, “Besides, we both know it was either me and Winwin or you and Johnny next in fate’s line.”

You blushed and spluttered, “Where’d you get that idea from?”

Both boys laughed like you had told the funniest joke. You narrowed your eyes, and Winwin answered for his future husband, “I know I’m the latest addition to the gang and all, but even I can see the sparks between you and Johnny. There’s obviously something there. I don’t know why you haven’t acted on it.”

Yuta exchanged knowing glances with you. He probably understood you the best out of everyone present. Your life’s weren’t carbon copy’s of each other, but he had lived the closest thing to your trauma. You weren’t ready. For a while, neither was he, but if he could let go and move on, maybe so you could you.

“There’s been sparks since motherfucking junior high. It’s always been a given that you two like each other and you’ll get together one day in the future. I couldn’t see it any other way,” Yuta said.

That should have made you feel happy, but all you could feel was dread and regret fused with yearning. All of your friends could see you together, but you weren’t sure if you could give him that. How selfish of you to be the one holding the two of you back.

You should have told him to move on and let you go. Instead, you avoided confrontation for as long as possible, craving every moment of his love and attention until the flame went out. You didn’t want to give him all of you yet, but you didn’t want to give him away either. Losing Johnny meant that he would never be yours. Maybe that was what it would take for you to open your eyes.

New guests caught Winwin’s eye and he tugged on his fiancé’s arm. “We’ll catch up with you later, we have to greet the other guests. Come on, Yuta.”

“You go ahead, babe. I’ll be right behind you in a minute,” Yuta dismissed. Winwin only nodded and went to greet their guests. Then, Yuta turned to you and quietly asked, “Everything okay between you and Johnny?”

“It’s your engagement party. Don’t worry about us,” you sighed, searching for the bar through the corners of your eyes.

Yuta was quick to retort, “And you’re my friends. I can worry about you whenever I want. Now, what’s up?”

You bit your lip. This wasn’t the kind of conversation you had in the middle of a betrothal party, but Yuta was adamant. You thought about the last time you had seen Johnny, how you felt when you kissed him. God, you missed the feeling of his lips on yours. Whenever Johnny was near your side you wished that you could hit pause on time. It was funny how the most beautiful moments in life were the most short-lived ones.

Your voice was small when you said, “I’m not a good person, Yuta.”

Yuta glanced at you curiously, eyes urging you on. “What you do?”

“I let Johnny down. A couple of weeks ago I told him that I’d try to break out of my habits. And I was actually doing better. I stopped resorting to drinking whenever something inconvenienced me and finding one-night stands to forget about Johnny.”

Yuta nodded along. “And then?”

“And then, my dad texted me and said he wanted to make things right between us, and I didn’t know what else to do. I got drunk last Friday night and Irene took me to Johnny’s house. I don’t remember much, but I know I winded up telling him what happened and crying on his shoulder,” you chuckled sourly. “He made me breakfast the next morning and we talked about it. And I feel bad because he doesn’t deserve none of this shit. He deserves someone better.”

He deserves someone that isn’t afraid to love him.

“Are you gonna be that person?” Yuta questioned, tone genuine.

I want to be. You exhaled. You didn’t know the answer to that.

You blinked, feeling tears threatening to fall. “I don’t know. The worst part is he has so much faith in me when I’m not even sure about myself. He should have walked away a long time ago, but he’s still here, waiting for me.”

“He’s ready when you are. But you aren’t ready yet, are you?”

Shaking your head, you frowned. You were far from.

“Be better. Do better,” Yuta said assertively. “I know that’s harder than it sounds, but you gotta try. Figure that shit out with your dad. What you choose to do is none of my business, but you have to heal and let it go so that you can be a better person for yourself and for Johnny.”

“That’s practically what Johnny said.”

“Great minds think alike,” Yuta grinned.

You snickered. “You got engaged and got all wise and shit, huh?”

“You know the tale. My dad was a drunk and treated me and my Mom like shit. It was up to me to decide if I wanted to grow into him, or if I wanted to be better,” he spoke monotonously.

But you were scared. You wanted to do things the right way, but you weren’t certain if you knew how. “What if I mess up?”

Yuta didn’t hesitate. “The point of mistakes is to learn. We all fuck up once or twice. That way, you know what not to do so you don’t fuck up the third time. It sucks, but that’s the way life works. Don’t make the same mistake thrice.”

He spoke the gospel. Where your family lacked, you were at least glad to have supportive friends. They were kind and you knew at the end of the day, they were people you could confide in. Maybe you would do it more often.

“I won’t,” you told Yuta. You sounded firm.

“Good,” he replied, and scanned the crowd for Winwin. “Now I gotta go with Winwin before he beats my ass in front of everybody. You go find Johnny, alright?”

You nodded. That you would. It had been too long since you had heard his voice and felt his touch and you were craving a taste. With that, Yuta left to join his husband-to-be and you scanned the crowd for your own lover.

In an instant your eyes landed on Johnny and you could spot him in any crowd. He was at the edge of the pool talking to Ten, who you caught casting Johnny a wink before walking away once he noticed you coming over.

When you got there, you crouched down and sat next to him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Johnny greeted, instinctively wrapping an arm around your waist. “You look great.”

You blushed. This morning you had deliberately chosen the sexiest bikini set in your wardrobe. It raised the stakes and given how addicted Johnny was to your body, your chances at getting laid tonight. “You look the best.”

Johnny was also half-naked, obviously. And damn did he look gorgeous. You bit your lip. You were thoroughly convinced that the gods themselves had sculpted him. His body was to die for and you were offering yourself up.

Johnny joked, “I won’t argue with that.”

You snickered and nudged his side.

“How was your work week?”

Johnny groaned and you immediately knew the answer to that question. “I’m stressed and exhausted. I need an outlet for my pent up frustration.”

“Oh?” you stammered, mouth suddenly dry.

“Yeah,” Johnny said. His hand ran up and down your back and he leaned to your side, whispering, “Good thing I have you, right?”

There was a crushing weight on your chest that made it difficult to breathe. Whenever Johnny was near you, the pressure came back, and it only got more intense when he did things like that. The effect he had on you was strong and he had you tingling with lust.

“Yeah,” you murmured back, trying hard to keep your cool and avoid appearing anything other than indifferent. But he could see right through you. “Good.”

“What about you?” Johnny pressed. “How was your week?”

“I don’t wanna think about it,” you grumbled.

Johnny was so close to you that you could feel the warmth of his body radiating your skin. Given the sunny weather, you were already hot, but something about this felt internal. It was like trying to breathe on the moon. Johnny parted his lips and suggested, “Kiss me until you forget about it.”

There was no need to tell you twice. You initiated the kiss, steering his lips to yours until they met with a clash. Johnny took control, arms still wrapped around you as he took passion to another level. It wasn’t long before you were sucking on each other’s tongues. You crawled into his lap for easier access, wanting to be as close to him as humanly possible.

Heat flared from your chest to Johnny’s and vice versa, spreading from bone to bone at the skin on skin contact. Whenever you made out, it was like you were floating in air or navigating through space with no gravity. His hands clung to your body and you were on a cloud, elevating and trying your hardest to refrain from grinding down on his crotch.

Johnny deepened the kiss, holding you tightly as possible and moving his mouth against yours fiercely. His heart was thundering against and threatening to leap out of the cage of his bare, burly chest. God, there was no greater pleasure than kissing you and feeling your warm body on his. But you both were putting all of your strength into resisting each other and it was too much. The feelings were overbearing.

When you both pulled away, you exhaled little breaths, hearts racing. You looked Johnny in his lustful eyes and heaved, “I like kissing you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You taste good as hell,” you flirted.

“Mm,” Johnny hummed, nodding his head. He pulled you square to his chest, face hovering hardly inches over yours. You gulped, which undoubtedly didn’t go unnoticed. “What do I taste like?”

You pressed your palms to his naked chest, purring, “Strawberry champagne.”

“Yeah, you missed the bottle popping,” he chuckled. God knows you would have loved that.

Faking a pout, you replied, “Bummer. I was too busy trying on different bikinis.”

“You wear this all for me?” Johnny flirted, ever the intuitive man. Unbeknownst to you, he had been eyeing you from the moment you stepped onto the scene. And the second he laid eyes on you in your bright red bikini, he knew that he had to have his way with you.

“Especially for you. I know blue’s your favorite color, but red suits me better.”

“You make short work of supermodels in anything you wear,” Johnny growled. He was looking at you from head to toe, as if he were going to swallow you whole.

“You’re just saying that because you wanna have sex with me.”

Johnny wasted no time in shutting you down. “I’m saying it because it’s true. Sex would be a nice bonus, though.”

You laughed.

“Come swim with me,” Johnny said, gently sitting you back on the edge of the pool before coming to his feet.

You hesitated. “Won’t Yuta be upset we ditched him at his engagement party?”

“That wasn’t a question,” Johnny added, lowering his voice. Which definitely did unspeakable things to you. “And trust me - Yuta doesn’t give a flying fuck as long as we join in when it’s time to gather around and shit.”

That was true. It didn’t mean Yuta had unsophisticated tastes, he simply just didn’t care for rules and formalities - untraditional by any means. Winwin was the opposite. Conventional to a fault, he was a man of decorum and the party was a clear mix of both of their personalities. Somehow, they both made it work.

Ignore the pace of your heartbeat, you muttered, “Okay,” and sunk into the pool.

Johnny followed suit with a tiny splash, swimming to your side. Being in the water felt good, all things considered. It was cold and gave your brain - and body - a quick refresh.

“You know, this reminds me of high school,” he started, pensive. “When Joy threw that pool party on the first night of summer break, and Jaehyun pushed you into the pool as a joke.”

The memory made you roll your eyes. In high school you were nothing if not a bunch of stupid teenagers. “He’s lucky I didn’t let myself drown and have my Mom sue him for everything he’s worth. Now that I think about it, I should have. Every penny to his name. Mommy and Daddy Jung would have killed him.”

Johnny chuckled. “Oh for sure. He would have been taking the city bus instead of high-end luxury cars and gotten a job at the nearest McDonald’s like the rest of us.”

“Damn nepo baby,” you shook your head and sighed. “Gotta love him, though.”

“To be born into wealth,” Johnny sighed dramatically.

You giggled.

Moments later, a thought passed your mind. A memory - the beautiful kind. You fought a smile and asked, “You know what else happened at that party?”

Johnny gave you a long, hard cook. It was practically inscrutable and noncommittal. If he had any idea what you were referring to, the only thing that gave it away was the slight smile on his face for a mere fraction of a second.

Of course, he knew. How could he forget? It was easily one of the best moments of his life, made even better because it was spent underneath the moonlight with you.

He shrugged, feigning oblivion. “What happened?”

“We made out for the first time,” you reminded, voice little. “We were each other’s first kiss.”

The memory was anything but vague. The both of you were a little drunk, and somehow found yourselves in each other’s embrace. And then, in each other’s mouths. For someone who had never made out with anyone before, then-Johnny kissed you like royalty. With every intention to conquer your mind, heart, and body.

In that sense, you guessed he had been successful. Johnny lived rent-free in your mind and had built a little home both there and in your heart, with enough room for the both of you. Not to mention your body. You were counting down the seconds until you could get him in the sheets right now. In your attempts to keep him out, you had simultaneously been giving him access to the most vulnerable parts of you.

To say nothing of himself. Johnny wished he could turn back time. Part of him wished that he could undo meeting you and falling in love with you, because he was beginning to lose faith in the two of you. The other part of him loved you too goddamn much to even begin to imagine a world without you in it. It wouldn’t be worth living.

“I remember,” Johnny assured, finally letting himself smile. He couldn’t control it. “Wanna know what you tasted like?”

You squinted. “What?”

“Guess.”

You rolled your eyes and deadpanned, “Your mother’s chocolate chip cookies.”

Johnny’s laugh was mocking. “You wish.”

Whining, you said, “Tell me! I don’t remember.”

He gave in - though because he wanted to and not because you told him to - and replied, “Tequila.”

“The cheap kind?”

“Nope. I’m sure Jaehyun stole that from Mommy and Daddy Jung’s liquor stash,” he quipped.

You snickered. It was a relief that he was good at directing conversation. For a moment, you thought that it was going south. God knows the past was a sensitive subject.

Although he said nothing, Johnny couldn’t help but think about it. For years, he had been in love with you. He remembered meeting you like it was yesterday - you were the new kid in school and Johnny was the one kind enough to be your friend. He showed you around, ate lunch with you, studied with you, and introduced you to his friend group. In no time, you were best friends.

You were his first kiss. Johnny knew he wanted you that night. When he pressed his lips to yours and felt his body elevating into the clouds above, he knew.

Eventually you became a series of each other’s firsts. First kisses, first times, first loves. You had been vulnerable to each other in ways that you hadn’t with anyone else.

And you, you were multifaceted. Johnny had seen the rawest sides of you and fell hard and deep in love with each one - the beautiful and the ugly. All of those things made you fall for Johnny, too, but you noticed it a little later than he did, once it was too late. Which hindered his progress.

By the time you realized you were in love with Johnny, you had already given your heart to the wrong people. That was why you couldn’t comprehend how someone would ever be able to offer you their love, and mean it. That was why you trusted no one.

Forget being your first. Johnny wanted to be your last and as the clock ticked, his chances felt slimmer and slimmer.

You stared at his lips, not even attempting to hide the direction your eyes were searching. “I want strawberry champagne.”

Johnny tilted his head. He had x-ray vision when it came down to your intentions, though this game he wouldn’t mind playing along with. “Do you?”

When you nodded, Johnny took the bait and leaned in to kiss you. It was like magic. Every time felt as surreal as the first one. You just couldn’t believe that you were blessed enough to have him at your fingertips.

Johnny was the same. I love her. It was old news to almost everyone, though the realization hit Johnny the same way it had that night when he first tasted you. When he realized that you were the one and only love of his life.

Sucking on Johnny’s tongue and moaning into his mouth, soaking in all his little sounds was all you wanted to do. Maybe this was why Yuta said you and Johnny would be next in fate’s line. It would be a lie to say that you hadn’t dreamt of having your daddy walk you down the aisle to the man of your dreams.

Though if there was anything that you had learned, it was that fate was an evil lady and she had it out for you.

Johnny soon backed off. He hadn’t had his fill, but you were driving him crazy. And as much as he wanted to be a good friend to Yuta, the urge to drag you away for a fuck was growing stronger. He warned in a low tone, “We’ll miss the rest of the party if you keep kissing me.”

“What’s so bad about that?” you purred, leaning closer to his face. You could feel each other’s breath on your skin. “We can have a party of our own.”

To your credit, you were dangerously skilled at tempting Johnny. It made him feel bad to think that you practically already were having a party of your own. Both of you were surrounded by people, but to him, it felt like there was no one else around you. The sound of your voice and laughter had been drowning out the sound of the presence of people.

With the last of his restraint and self-control, he said, “Mm, that’s tempting. But no. Be a good girl and be patient.”

Immediately, you frowned, but didn’t dare disobey. Johnny would give you what you wanted sooner or later because you knew that he wanted you, too. And though you had your flaws, you weren’t terrible enough to dip in the middle of your friend’s betrothal party.

“Fine,” you said exasperatedly, peeling yourself off of him. “But you better make it up to me later.”

Johnny gave you one last kiss to placate you a little, then whispered softly in your ear, “Don’t I always?”

That he did.

For the better half of the evening, both of you decided to interact with other people, including the ones being celebrated. Most of the time you and Johnny were incapable of resisting each other, and with the thoughts plaguing your minds, there was no way on earth that you would survive side to side without breaking your agreement.

You had a fun time, but you were more than relieved when Winwin announced that he and Yuta wanted some alone time. Everyone said their goodbyes and you raced to Johnny’s side.

“My place or yours?”

“Mine’s closer. Meet you there?” Johnny asked, though he already knew you would. You were practically careening to your car the moment he got the words out.

“Meet you there!”

Both of you arrived in turn, with you slightly ahead of him. You didn’t even wait for him to pull into the driveway before you were rummaging through your purse for the extra key Johnny had bestowed upon you long ago.

It was game over once he stepped out of his car and you were only alone for a split second before he entered, wasting no time in backing you against a wall and stealing a kiss. Johnny always kissed you like it was the last time he would ever get the chance. There was something eager in the way that his mouth moved against yours. It was heated, unchaste. He kissed you so hard that it was impossible to keep up with his pace.

“Someone’s desperate,” you teased through shallow breaths. Johnny nibbled at your ear and you sighed, pitching your head back against the plaster.

He ribbed, breath tickling your neck, “You’d oughta know a thing or two about being desperate. Seeing as you got to my house before me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Under any other circumstances, Johnny would have teased you and made you wait before he kissed you again. Though seeing as he had been waiting too goddamn long for this moment, all he could do was cave.

Goddamn, his lips were soft. In contrast to the rough manner he handled your body. Everything was escalating too quickly and you were being dug into the wall by the weight of his body. There was so much tension in the room that you could hardly even breathe through it.

Johnny nudged his knee between your thighs and stuck his hand down your bottoms, the other roaming your body. “You’re so wet for me.”

“Do something about it,” you whined.

Johnny sneered. Part of him was half-tempted to tease the living hell out of you and see how much you could take. The other was losing hold of his heavy load of patience much more quickly than he would have liked.

“Wanna fuck in the shower to wash off the chlorine? Kill two birds with one stone.”

“Just don’t let me fall.”

He smiled. “I would never.”

Before you knew it, he was lifting you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. You squealed when you felt yourself being hauled into the air, locking your legs around his waist and resting your head on his shoulder. It felt too right being in his hold. As if it was supposed to be this way.

Maybe it was.

Johnny carried you to his bedroom and you clung to his chest for dear life. While he went in the bathroom to run the shower, you began to quickly peel off your clothes. You were on the threshold of insanity, bursting at the seams with lust.

When the water was hot, Johnny stepped into the shower and you followed suit. As soon as your feet hit the non-skid shower mat Johnny shoved you against the wall, and the noise you made was eaten by the force of his lips. Your palms rose to his wet chest and his mouth fell from yours to your collarbone, soft and plush against your skin.

He simply couldn’t stay away. He spread your thighs apart and slipped one of hands back between them, this time moving them inside of you. Much to your pleasure. “Johnny,” you whimpered, breathless.

The sound of your lips parting to emit his name was like music to his ears and a melody stuck in his head. Thoughts of you underneath him, crying out his name whilst taking his size kept him up late at night, wishing he could rewind time to feel you back in his arms again. Where you belonged. It took every bit of willpower he had not to beg you to stay.

“Think you’re ready for me?” Johnny asked, leering at you with the darkest gaze that made your stomach churn.

You nodded. Johnny was big, that was undeniable, but you had taken every inch of his ungodly combination of length and girth countless times before like a champ. It was almost nothing to you.

He removed his fingers from your cunt and before you got the chance to whine from the emptiness, your lips were widening to sigh at the feeling of his bare cock brushing against your folds. Every second felt like minutes and your patience was wearing more and more thin. You needed him and you needed him right now.

Then, Johnny finally pushed inside, taking his sweet time to fill you. You swallowed him in with ease, simultaneously sucking in the deepest breath you could take. His eyes fell on your chest, water trickling down the swell of your breasts as you inhaled and exhaled.

Maybe taking him wasn’t like nothing. You felt not an ounce of pain, but the pleasure of having him fill you to the uttermost was overwhelming. The stretch meant something.

The moment the head of his girth prodded your entrance Johnny had already felt you pulsing tightly around him and you only kept clenching the deeper he pushed inside. You raced to anchor yourself, clawing at his shoulders while he pushed you firmer against the wall and he caged you between his big arms.

Johnny kissed your neck, then growled, “So tight for me.”

“All for you,” you stammered through thick breaths. It was too hot to breathe. The water burned your skins and Johnny made you erupt in flames all over.

Johnny grinned smugly.

Through hooded eyes, you soaked in the sight of water cascading down his neck - where his muscles flexed - and chest. For the better half of your life, Johnny had been a presence, but you would never get used to how gorgeous he was. His beauty was so ethereal to the point that it felt forbidden to be able to touch him like this. He was sent from the heavens above, both a blessing and a curse to you and your body.

The chains of restraint that bounded him snapped and Johnny latched his mouth to your nipple, meriting an automatic sigh of pleasure from your lips. With how close he was, you wondered if he could feel the thud of your heartbeat. It was racing inside your chest, the feelings you had for him raining hail and begging for freedom. Your heart was bursting at the seams with your love for Johnny and it pleaded desperately for you to unlock its door.

“You’re so hot,” Johnny whispered, keeping himself occupied with your body. Your brain was going into autopilot.

From Johnny’s perspective, your body was a treasure, and he knew its map by heart. All of your weaknesses were on display in his mind and he could choose whichever one he wanted to use to his advantage. He knew what felt good and what felt earth-shattering, and judging from the way you throttled his cock, this was the latter.

Neither you or Johnny talked too much during sex. It was difficult to speak when you were being fucked divested of every little thought you possessed and your mouth was too busy producing other noises.

And all Johnny hoped was that his body could say everything that words could not.

He couldn’t think of anyone else when he was with you, and when you were with someone else, you were still thinking of Johnny. Given the amount of nights you had spent searching for one-night stands you were no stranger to sex, but Johnny made it feel different. The emotions were stronger and so was the yearning. The two of you fucked each other like you had never wanted anything so badly before in your lives.

Johnny struck you somewhere deep and you rasped, “Fuck, baby.”

Fuck, he felt good. Even though you were prone to running away, there was no doubt that you would find yourself coming back for more. Johnny was your home and your heart would always drag you back to him. He owned your body. Whatever he desired to do with you - to you - you would let him. At the end of the day, you were his. Whether he knew it and you accepted it or not.

It wasn’t a choice. It was a feeling.

Looking at the dazed expression on your face gave him deja vu. The first time Johnny had sex with you, he genuinely thought that his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He was nervous, but if anything, dedicated. He vowed to himself that he would learn the ways of your body and put your pleasure before his. Which he did.

It was college, months before you met your soon-to-be ex, and you were freshmen. Giving your virginity to one another was one of the most unsurprising things that you two had ever done. At least back then, you were thick as thieves and did everything together. Who better to give it to than the one you could always bet on?

He still remembered that night like it was yesterday. All of your friends were going to a party, but you snuck inside his dorm while his roommates were away. One thing led to another and soon you were writhing beneath him, calling out his name like it was the only word you knew.

His feelings for you only heightened.

Johnny could still remember how heartbroken he was when you got with another man again - and how angry he was when he broke your heart just like the last guy. The emotions were so prominent that he could still feel them now. How long would it take you to realize that the man meant for you was already right by your side?

Even if he wasn’t the perfect match for you, Johnny knew deep down that he could love you better, because he already had without even needing to be in a relationship with you. Maybe if those boys had treated you right, then he could have came to peace with the fact that fate wasn’t on his side and you weren’t meant to be. But watching you cry after other men treated you like nothing only fed his flame.

“You close, baby?” Johnny asked, aiming to take you over the edge. His number one goal was to drive you out of your mind.

You could only nod, willing yourself not to speak. The words that would have left your mouth if you did were unimaginable.

Johnny fucked you even harder, chasing relentlessly for your orgasms. And you were just as - if not more - eager. He fought a complacent simper as he admired the way you were maneuvering your hips against his, whimpering with every touch.

The look on his face made you run your tongue over your dry lips. Barely were you resisting the urge to smash your lips against his. That look alone made you want to milk him dry of everything he was worth.

As badly as you wanted to savor every last moment, you could feel it in your bones that your orgasm was approaching. Listening to the noises resounding throughout the bathroom was what finished you - the sounds of your moans and Johnny’s hips slapping into yours with every thrust drowning out that of the shower pouring down on you both. You convulsed with release, gripping Johnny’s biceps for dear life as you met your orgasm with a high-pitched cry of his name.

Johnny wasn’t too far behind you. He couldn’t even grunt at the feeling of your nails digging into his flesh - it was outweighed by that of the pleasure of you clenching tightly around him with orgasm. It triggered his own, and he held you bruisingly tight as he spilled inside you with the lowest groan he could muster.

“You okay?” Johnny asked the moment you both were in the clear to speak.

You nodded weakly. “Perfect.”

Johnny smiled.

The two of you actually showered once you had caught your breaths, occasionally interrupting the other with a kiss. When you got out of the shower and re-dressed, Johnny pinned you to his bedroom wall and enveloped your lips in the biggest kiss yet. It was noticeably different from the other kisses that you had shared as of late. They were lustful and impatient. This was slow and steady - like he wanted nothing more than to savor the very taste of you.

He pulled away and whispered adoringly, “I love you.”

Your brain immediately went into overdrive. Given that you were childhood best friends, of course you and Johnny had said that you’d loved each other before. That was indubitable and not to be questioned. But this was different. This was in the context of a post-sex I love you.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Johnny bristled. “I do mean it. I love you.”

Sighing, you walked off to his bed. You weren’t ready to have this conversation.

He stared at you incredulously, and reminded, “I’m not them.”

It was obvious who them was. Your past lovers. The ones that had left you so heartbroken that you could no longer let anyone inside your glass heart.

You shook your head, voice small when you replied, “I don’t know that.”

Johnny was visibly offended and upset. “How can you say that?”

“I don’t want to fight, John,” you said, exhaling loudly. This had escalated far too quickly and everything was heading in the wrong direction. For as long as you could, you wanted to steer clear of this course. But deep down, you knew that it had been inevitable.

He ignored you, walking closer to you and pestering, “I need answers. Do you really think I don’t love you?”

“Johnny…”

He didn’t relent. “Answer me.”

Frustrated, you shouted, “I don’t know what to think, Johnny! I’m scared to trust people - you know this!”

“And do you think I deserve to be punished for that?” Johnny snapped, white-hot rage seeping through and his restraints falling loose. “You and I both know I’m not just ‘people.’ We’ve known each other longer than you knew them. I’ve been here with you, for you, for a goddamn eternity. When have I ever let you down, huh? Tell me!”

His tone made you flinch and you were given whiplash. Johnny rarely got upset and never did he ever yell at your face, even if you sometimes deserved it. He was patient with you. For him to finally snap meant that you had wounded him deeply.

“I’m scared,” you croaked, teary-eyed.

“Right, you’re scared,” Johnny groused, turning around and heaving a thick breath. “Forget it.”

Pain burned through your chest in flares much like the anger spreading like wildfire throughout Johnny’s. Goddamn, this hurt. Was love supposed to be so complicated? Was love supposed to ache like this?

It hurt so good to love Johnny.

You stood up and shook your head. “No,” you told him, demanding, “Get it off your chest. Everything you want to say to me - say it right damn now!”

It wasn’t for you. No, you knew that the following words to come out of his mouth were going to scar you indefinitely. It was for Johnny. You knew that he had been holding all of this back for a long time and now this was his chance to erupt his heart volcano.

Johnny stormed right back over and said, “You want me to be honest?”

You nodded, tears rolling down your cheeks. He deserved it. You deserve it. You treat him like shit.

“Fine. I’ll be honest,” he seethed. You gulped, bracing yourself for his words to come. “You wanna know something? You’re so fucking selfish. You’ve been breaking my heart just because you’re trying not to get yours broken.”

That was true. You had been sacrificing his feelings in an effort to preserve yours and it was a futile plan - Johnny had already crawled his way inside your heart, yet you were still trying to keep him out.

“You have too much pride to show people your scars and that’s why every time I get closer, you push me away. Because all you know how to do is run like a coward. That’s what you’ve resorted to your whole life because you don’t know any better. But you can’t hide.”

You bobbed your head, willing yourself not to speak. Both of you needed this.

Johnny’s voice got lower as he said, “You think you can hide, but you can’t. You can’t fucking drink all your problems away. You can’t fuck them away, either. You can’t keep running to me and using me to dry your goddamn tears every time you realize all your problems are still there!”

“Johnny…” you called out through tears. As true as his words were, they stung. And guilt was eating at you from the inside.

“No. You fucking asked for this shit,” Johnny snapped, scowling. “I’ve been nice to you and patient with you, but all you do is take me for granted. And it hurt when you said you didn’t think I loved you, because I could have stopped putting up with your bullshit and cut you off a long time ago - but I didn’t. You know why? Because I fucking love you. And walking away would hurt as much as it does to stay.”

You told him softly, “I love you, Johnny.”

“Do you love me enough to stay?”

The room got silent. Did you? You knew that you wanted to, but damn was it hard. You were just so goddamn scared of hurt and betrayal. You had been left before and it broke you. It shredded you to the tiniest of pieces. But Johnny made you feel complete and whole again.

“Answer me. So I know if it’s time we move on,” Johnny commanded, impatient. “Am I just some booty call to you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what the hell are you saying?”

“That I need you!” you screamed, the tension getting to your head - and your heart. It was too goddamn much. “I can’t live without you, Johnny. I can’t. I won’t. I’m scared because I don’t want to lose what we have. Losing you would be like losing the other half of me.”

Johnny got in your face again, but instead of yelling at you, he smashed his lips against yours. Just like that, you were relieved of the burden of all your fears and worries. He absorbed them and kept them somewhere safe, just like he did with all of your other secrets.

He kissed you with an emotion that was unmistakable - love. So much love. Maybe you had been blind to it before, but you could see it all clearly now.

Johnny was in love with you. And you were in love with Johnny.

“You’ll never, ever lose me,” Johnny swore in your ear once he detached himself from your mouth. He wiped at your tears with his thumb. “I promise. You’ve got me for life, alright?”

With a couple nods of your head, you crashed into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you snugly, welcoming your touch. This was where you were meant to be.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized after a couple of moments. It didn’t undo the pain you had been inflicting upon him for years, but it was a starting point for something better.

Johnny held you closer and kissed your forehead, then whispered softly, “I forgive you.”

He shouldn’t have, though you were grateful that he did. If it weren’t for his tenderheartedness, you weren’t sure what you would do.

“Let me be yours,” you sang.

It was tempting. You were offering him everything he had ever wanted on a silver platter. Granted, it didn’t take much to satisfy him - all he wanted was you. But as much as he wanted you, he wanted the most authentic version of you.

“Not yet,” Johnny said. You gawked, but he finished before you could interject, “I want to be in a relationship with you, but you need to take care of yourself first. Start tackling your problems. For starters, figure out what you’re going to do about your dad. Okay?”

You exhaled a long breath, but eventually nodded. “Okay.”

Johnny fought a content smile. “I’ll support whatever decision you choose to make,” he assured, pulling you closer to his chest. Then, he glanced down and asked, “Now - are you gonna run away or are you gonna stay the night?”

“I’m going to confront my fears and stay with you,” you whispered, refusing to separate yourself from the warmth of his body. You weren’t sure how you had done it before in the past. Tonight had given you an epiphany.

“Atta girl,” Johnny praised and led you to his bed. You flopped to his side, snuggling to his chest. “I have to go to work in the morning. Promise me I’ll wake up to your pretty face for motivation.”

You giggled, your laughter ringing through his mind beautifully. “I’ll be there. I promise, baby.”

Johnny was beaming from ear to ear. God, you loved seeing him like this. Happy. And he was happy because of you.

He couldn’t wait to wake up beside you in the morning.

Given their engagement, Yuta and Winwin were to have plenty of parties and the betrothal party was only one of many. Today marked the day of the housewarming party.

Their engagement meant that their relationship had developed into something serious. With marriage rapidly approaching, they were certain that they wanted to spend every moment of their lives together. And thus, they decided to move in with each other.

Which was how their new home came to be.

Guests spread out and filled the house to its brim, most of the ones you didn’t recognize being associates of Sicheng. After a couple of hours, you got off of your feet and went to rest in the living room.

And when you saw two very familiar men approaching you, you knew that you would be doing anything but resting.

“Oh no.”

Jaehyun and Ten sang in harmony, “Oh, yes.”

Watching the two of them take seats beside you, you could only wonder what in tarnation they were up to. Jaehyun and Ten were individual wildfires all by themselves, so you weren’t sure if you were ready to face the aftermath of combining the pair. Part of you was certain something would blow up in flames.

Narrowing your eyes, you asked cautiously, “What do you two bloodthirsty leeches want?”

“Chill, babe. We just wanted to hang with our favorite friend,” Jaehyun said. Given the untamed smile on his face, you highly doubted that. Jeong Jaehyun was nothing if not sheer trouble. And his partner in crime, too.

Ten nodded his head in confirmation. “Right,” he smirked, then pointed to the cup beside you. “What’s that - Bacardi?”

“Ha, ha,” you responded, deadpan. “No, bitch. It’s water. Contrary to an oddly popular belief, I’m not an alcoholic.”

Jaehyun interjected, “Babe, I can’t tell the difference between you and an alcoholic. That’s a problem.”

“What he said. I can hear your liver screaming ‘Ten, help me. Help me. Please…’”

You snapped, “Did you guys just come over here to terrorize me or is there something meaningful you have to say?”

Jaehyun leaned and asked quietly, like he was telling you a top-notch secret, “It’s because of Johnny, right?”

You spluttered, “What?”

He smiled, adding, “Don’t worry - you can tell me. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, enough of the bullshit. Fess up,” Ten groaned in your other ear. Meanwhile you were thinking of ways to remove yourself from the Jaehyun-Ten you were between. “Something happened between you and Johnny. Something good.”

It wasn’t a question. He was saying that something happened and he knew it - he just didn’t know what. Yet.

You bit your lip. “Why do you say that?”

“Johnny’s been doing better lately, too. He’s been smiling more and in a better mood recently,” Ten replied, a spark of something raw and tender in his voice. “I like seeing him this way. It feels like I got the old Johnny back.”

Jaehyun nodded, all of the signs of jokes and games gone from his eyes. His expression was nothing short of soulful. “Me, too. There’s clearly been a shift. And whatever happened between you two, I hope it doesn’t shift back. He’s in a good place right now and so are you.”

Johnny had been happier lately. Everywhere he went he stood like a tall beam of light, radiating energy and warmth. And you two technically weren’t even together yet.

There was no way in hell that you would mess that up again. True to your promise to Yuta, you wouldn’t make the same mistake thrice. You had learned from your wrongdoings and decided that you were going to treat Johnny’s heart the same way you wanted others to treat yours. With caution and hypervigilance.

He deserved to be loved. Every bit of him. And you loved him to pieces.

“I won’t mess it up,” you assured them, confident. You knew what you wanted. And though you were still scared to go after it, you were willing to face your fears for Johnny. “I swear.”

Ten and Jaehyun smiled contentedly and replied in sync, “Good.”

Across the house, Johnny was having a similar conversation with your friends. And you were none the wiser.

“Hey, tough guy!” Yeri called out, grabbing Johnny’s attention. If it weren’t for the fact that she had bestowed the nickname upon him ages ago and was hellbent on sticking to her guns, he would have kept walking. She folded her arms across her chest and said, “Let’s talk.”

Johnny flickered his eyes between Yeri and the woman beside her - Irene - and a terrible feeling settled in his chest. Reluctantly, he admitted lightheartedly, “I feel unsafe.”

Both women responded in unison, “Good.”

He brought his plastic cup from his lips, then asked, “What’s this about?”

“You and y/n,” Irene said, eyeing him suspiciously.

Yeri wasted no time. “Are you two dating?”

On cue, Johnny’s heart seemed to boom at the mere thought of being in a relationship with you. As much as he wanted to make you his that night and as terribly as he fought against his every irrational decision, it wasn’t convenient timing. He wanted you to heal before anything.

Johnny feigned indifference, replying honestly, “No, we’re not. Why?”

Irene sat on the couch nearby, glancing off pensively. “She’s been… better again. She told us that she wouldn’t be drinking again for a while and she’s been opening up to me more and I’m proud of her. I just thought that it might’ve had something to do with you. You’re one of the biggest influences in her life, you know?”

“Yeah.” Johnny nodded. “I know.”

“And considering you haven’t given me the side eye yet, I think you’ve been happier, too.”

Johnny chuckled.

Then, Yeri cut to the chase and warned aggressively, “Take care of her, Johnny. I trust you, but you know how she can get. And if you break her heart, so help me I will…”

Irene reached for her friend’s hand and quickly interjected, “Yeri, I think they’re gonna be okay.”

Gladly, Johnny thought so, too. Things were far from perfect, though they were still going well and he was simply content to see that you were giving the two of you a try. He was tired of giving more than he was receiving and he had faith that those days were coming to an end.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Johnny repeated, assuringly. He believed it. He believed in you and him together. “But I appreciate all of your concern.”

Arms still folded and eyes still narrowed, Yeri eased up and nodded. Content, she walked off.

Irene rose from the chair and gazed up at Johnny, whispering softly, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being patient with her,” she replied, full of gratitude. Then - in an even tinier voice - she added, “And for doing what I couldn’t have done.”

Johnny said with no hesitation, “I would do anything for her.”

“I know. You’re strong.”

“So are you.”

Irene smiled. With that, she went to go meet back up with the rest of the girls.

Over the course of the following couple of weeks, you had been putting your all into becoming a better person. You kept to your word, steering clear of alcoholic beverages - more especially in mentally trying times - and you vented to your friends whenever necessary. They didn’t mind one bit. Anything was better than your typical methods of extreme self-destruction.

The passionless hook-ups came to an end, too. Johnny and you had never been exclusive, and though you weren’t yet together, it was impossible to do as much as imagine yourself with another person. Johnny’s touch was the only one that you wanted to feel on your body. You wanted to feel the way he poured his heart out to you whenever you had sex.

You wanted love. You wanted passion and fondness and intimacy.

And Johnny delivered.

After a while, you came to a decision about your father. One day, you chose to answer. In those that followed, you stalled to the best of your ability, still indecisively wavering over the option to meet him in person.

But the conversations, both through text and over the phone, swayed you. It broke you to hear his voice and vice versa. Talking to him for the first time in decades was life-changing.

That was how you ended up outside of a restaurant, fast forward some weeks later.

Johnny helped you out of his car, walking you to the front of the building. Your fingers were interwoven, and he let you clutch his hand when you felt nervous. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

You nodded. Though you were sure, you were anxious. And you were grateful that he had so much power over you, to the point that his mere touch made you feel at ease again.

“I’m sure,” you said, clinging close to him.

“Breathe, baby,” Johnny whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll be right outside waiting for you. Okay?”

Waiting for you. What would you do without him?

Instead of replying, you whirled around and stood on your tiptoes, kissing his lips. Johnny kissed you back with fervor, holding you like you would fall if he were to let you go.

Through your heavy breaths, both nerve-induced and from the breathlessness of making out with him, you confessed gently, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Johnny replied without hesitation. It was a no-brainer. He loved you. So goddamn much. And that was exactly what you needed to hear. “Now go meet your old man.”

That was the last push you needed. You were standing on the threshold of a self-healing journey and that was what made you swing the gates open.

You approached the table your dad reserved. It must have been miles away, because when you got there, you couldn’t breathe.

Your father looked at you, face full of sincere emotion. He stared at you with so much awe, incredulous through and through. Tears threatened to fall from both of your eyes.

You croaked thickly, “Dad.”

“Princess,” he heaved back.

His arms were wide open and you raced in, desperate. The tears began to rain. You couldn’t even remember the last time that your father had held you. This is what you had been missing. During all those heartbreaking times, this is what you needed most.

Soon, he began to apologize profusely, voice bursting with shame and regret. There was absolutely no satisfactory explanation that he could offer you - you just needed to know that although he couldn’t take it back, he would do whatever it took to earn your forgiveness.

And once you reached closure, you were talking as if the past had never happened and he had always been there.

Your father looked at you and sighed - contentedly. He shook his head, all sullen when he stated, “You’re a woman now.”

You quipped, “And you’re an old man.”

Your father chuckled. He was adapting to your humor very quickly. Perhaps there was a reason why.

After a moment, he asked curiously, “That boy outside your boyfriend?”

“His name’s Johnny,” you smiled, teary-eyed, then confessed, “You should meet him some day.”

“Do you love him?”

There was not a bout of reluctance. “So much.”

“Then, I will.”

You beamed.

There was no holding you back, no reason not to say it proudly anymore. Johnny was yours and you were his. His heart would always belong to you and yours to him. That was the way it was supposed to be. Meant to be.

And some day, your Dad would be walking you down the aisle to the man of your dreams.

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