#‘it’s no use we’ve got to have it out
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❝ 𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐎) !! ❞
❝ A LOVE TRIANGLE GONE RIGHT ?! REPORTING FROM THE SET OF THE HIT SHOW JUJUTSU KAISEN ! ❞
✧ pairing: actors!satoru gojo and suguru geto x actor!reader
✧ summary: rumors swirl about a love triangle between you and your two heart throb co-stars on the set of jujutsu kaisen. except in this case, you and your two co-stars are happily dating. but what happens when you get casted in a movie where they want you to have a PR relationship with your co-star? especially when your boyfriends find out who it is—
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut, no curses, modern au, jjk is a tv show, actor au, yes the actors and characters have the same names lol, reader is dating both of them, funny interview hijinxs, this is kind a lot of crack, jealous! gojo + geto, sukuna is here lmao, innuendos, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi-exhibitionism, face sitting (f! receiving), multiple positions, multiple orgasms, sex (p in v), double penetration, creampie, multiple rounds, swearing, fanart by @ / _3aem
✧ wc: 17,900
“Reporters say the love triangle between the actors Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto and their co-star has become even more shrouded in mystery than the show itself!” an influencer reports on your social media of gchoice that morning, nearly vibrating from assumedly her three espressos, “the stars of Jujutsu Kaisen, the fantasy horror drama series written by Gege Akutami have been embroiled in dating scandals over the last few weeks—“ your phone’s notifications cut the audio from the video for a moment until you switch it to silent, “after being spotted leaving Suguru Geto’s loft just two nights ago, she was then seen having a lunch rendezvous with Satoru Gojo—“
You lock your phone, rubbing your temples, as the device nearly had an aneurysm from your social media notifications — buzzing itself off your dining room table and into an early death. Your agent was going to have a field day with this, and the main event is going to be your murder.
“What are they saying about us now?” Suguru sighs, as he emerges out of the shower in only a towel wrapped around his waist, steam rolling out of the bathroom, as you offer him a coffee, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a sip, “my agent is demanding I call him— and I’d like to know what we’ve done now before he kills me,” he says, though he continues to sip his coffee nonchalantly, unbefuddled by the thought of his death.
“Oi oi, calm down, shouldn’t you be more upset at the reporters than me?” Satoru comes from the bedroom, “Nanamin, just take care of it. Tell them we’re just friends if they ask you — do me a favor and pay off the reporter who got a picture of us kissing—“ and you nearly snort at the thought of Nanami Kento doing any sort of favor for Satoru.
“You let him kiss you?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips, as your cheeks burn, rolling your eyes.
“Not so much ‘let’ as he just kissed me without a second thought,” you shake your head, drinking your coffee as Satoru continues to bicker with Nanami, “I told him I thought I saw paparazzi but—“
“Satoru is do first, ask questions never,” Suguru sighs, but still the smirk remains, as he leans closer to you, his large palm against the back of your chair, “you never let me kiss you in public,”
And you’re resisting the urge to bite your lip, “You know better — look at what Satoru’s done now—“
“And was it worth it, Princess?” Your mind wanders to the kiss — Satoru’s hand against the nape of your neck, his lips sliding against yours, the faint taste of the strawberry cake he had for dessert lingering on his tongue and now yours, and the sticky heat that settled over your body from the too humid night air and his warmth leeching onto your skin, and the eyes watching his need for you made it all the more—
“Maybe,” you mumble, choosing to sip at your drink as Satoru cut off your conversation with his own.
“Just deal with it, Nanami, that’s why I hired you after all, huh?” He earns a swear from Nanami for the claim that he ‘hired’ him in any way whatsoever, and then his lips curl. “No they aren’t here with me—“ the bespectacled man shouts from the other line, “eh? What do you mean I look and sound like a man who only lies?” And then he’s hanging up, running a hand through his hair, a pout on his lips, “I was supposed to wake up to the two of you, not Nanami’s tirade,” he groans, as he makes his way over to you, only to wrap his arms around you from behind.
“Well, it is your fault, Satoru,” Suguru smirks over the rim of his cup, “someone couldn’t keep their hands to themselves—“
“Jealous, Suguru?” he replies, as he presses a kiss to your neck, “jealous that our princess is much more affectionate with me,”
Suguru cuts you off, “more like she babies you,” and Satoru’s face sours into a scowl, “if she had stayed at my apartment for the week, this wouldn’t have—“
“And then they would have seen me coming to your place, and what good would that do?”
“Guys—“ you try to speak, but you’re cut off again.
Suguru tilts his head with a small grin, “Are you lonely? Why don’t you find someon—“
“Stop, guys,” you couldn’t take this bickering this early in the morning, though you had grown used to it, “we have bigger problems to deal with than your egos,” you sigh, rising from Satoru’s grip even as he pouts, “we have to be more careful,”
“But how? We’ve already cut down our appearances together for behind the scenes and even stopped going out for dinner or dates,” Satoru pouts, running a hand through his hair, “next thing you’ll want to break up,”
“That’s not gonna happen,” you flick Satoru on the forehead, “but we have to do something, otherwise our agents will have us murdered,”
“And Nanami will join them for sport,” Suguru adds, and you snort, finally finishing your drink, before he walks over to you, fingers under your chin, “so what’s your idea, sweetheart?”
“Just take a break for a few weeks until the public finds something else to fixate on,” you sigh, “while the episodes air, all we’re going to get is more attention,”
“We could just take a trip,” Satoru offers, “I own a private island—“
“Of course you do,” Suguru says, and Satoru only chuckles.
“Being envious doesn’t become you, Suguru,” the snow haired actor clicks his tongue at him, before he’s pulling you into his arms, “we could go for a few days, get away from all the noise,”
“It’s a good idea, but you’re forgetting one thing, Satoru,” Suguru tilts his head, “won’t they notice if we all go on vacation at the same time?”
“Plus we have interviews to do in the coming week,” you remind Satoru, and he’s sighing, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “but maybe we can go after?”
“Unless you get that role,” Satoru mumbles against your skin, pressing sweet kisses to the nape of your neck, “have you heard anything yet?”
You shake your head, a sigh stuck in your throat, “It’s a long shot. This is such a big role and it’s for the lead,” and Suguru is finding his way to you, warm fingers cupping your cheek.
“They would be lucky to have you — do you know how many people say you were their favorite character? They were ready to fight me and Satoru for you,” he adds with a chuckle, lips ghosting over the swell of your cheek, “I think they would beat us with sheer numbers,”
“Nah, I’d win,” Satoru says, and you snort, rolling your eyes, “but he’s right princess, how crazy would they have to be not to cast you?”
“There’s so many other talented people up for the role—“
“There’s always going to be someone else,” Suguru cuts you off gently, as his fingers find yours, lacing with yours so perfectly you wondered if it’s what they were made for, “but that doesn’t mean you’re any less valuable or incredible,”
“And you’re already far more talented than you give yourself credit for,” Satoru adds, “but when do you get the role, inevitably,” Suguru smirks at him, “when would shooting begin?”
“Probably just after our press wraps for season two,” you lean into their touch, “they still haven’t casted the two leads, but apparently both are down to the final audition,” and you’re pressing nosing Satoru’s cheek, before pressing a chaste kiss to Suguru’s nose, “and that’s why we’ll have to cool it for the next few weeks, ok?”
But you don’t — or rather they don’t.
“Who is Satoru Gojo’s…” Satoru rips off the tape off the cardboard printout of Googled questions, “favorite actor to work with?”
“We all know the answer to that,” Suguru replies with a sigh, his eyes sliding to you, and you roll your own.
“Look who’s talking — these two are obsessed with each other,” and Satoru has a shit eating grin, sitting back and watching the two of you argue, “the two of you are soulmates — and I’m not talking about your characters,”
“Don’t go there,” Suguru scoffs, and you tilt your head, lips curling, as your gaze meets his.
“Are you begging?” and you can’t help the way your tone bites back, falling far over the line of playful teasing and into blatant flirting, and you can only hope the camera plays off the dark glint in Suguru’s gaze as he smirks as teasing rather than what you know it is — lustful.
“You’re both wrong anyway,” Satoru cuts in, “obviously my favorite actor to work with is Megumi!”
And you and Suguru both snort, words falling from your lips in unison, “Poor Megumi,”
“Ehhh? What do you mean by that?” And Satoru smacks you both playfully with the piece of cardboard an intern probably painfully put together before tossing it away.
“What happened to Suguru Geto….” in Jujutsu Kaisen?” Suguru reads.
“Dead,” you and Satoru answer in unison, and Suguru raises an eyebrow.
“You both are a walking spoiler,” and you gape at Suguru.
“They asked, and he’s the spoiler warning — he read ahead and told me that his character—“ and Suguru covers your mouth, looking the camera dead in the eye.
“You’re welcome—ow!” And he pulls his hand away, “did you just bite me?”
“You weren’t complaining last night,” Satoru says, earning a whack to the face with the cardboard printout from Suguru, “when you tried to steal her snacks—“
And you weren’t really helping either.
“Do you think of yourself as a heartthrob?*” You ask Satoru, hooked up to a lie detector, the polygraph examiner studying the results closely, as Suguru didn’t bother biting back his smile.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m not—“
“It’s a yes or no question, Satoru,” you cut him off as he sighs dramatically, running a hand through his snowy locks.
“Then I’ll have to say yes,” and he’s winking at the camera, and you’re snorting, looking at the lie detector reader.
“It’s the truth,” he says simply and the examiner nods, and you scoff, as Satoru only pouts at you.
“Have you ever,” Suguru lets a chuckle escape his lips, “look at fan accounts for yourself? I can answer this one, yes he does, I’ve watched him do it—“
Satoru scoffs, doubling down, “can you blame me? My fans do such wonderful edits—“
“And inflate your ego to a catastrophic size—“ and Satoru is reaching across the table to cover your mouth.
“Be careful she bites,” Suguru warns, leaning back in his chair, as you grin against Satoru’s hand, and he shrugs, lips curling.
“Don’t worry, I like it,”
The examiner nods, “that’s the truth.”
“We’ll start out tame,” you say, as you look at the list of thirst tweets in front of you and choosing one of the more…hinged ones, “Suguru Geto, I would let you kill me like the monkey I am, and I’d thank you for it,” and you show the tweet, “monkey emoji covering their face,”
“That’s a tame one?” Suguru covers half his face with his hand, much like the emoji, “what the **** are the wild ones?” And you open your mouth to reply and he cuts you off, “I don’t want to know,”
“Sweetheart, I’ll read one for you next,” and Satoru scans his list, and he clears his throat, holding out his hand to you, your name on his lips, “the only way I could die happy ever is if I suffocated when you sat on my face,”
And heat climbs your face at his words, a single chuckle giving way to full laughter, “***, that’s a lot of pressure to put on me—“
“And on them,” Satoru adds, and you’re glaring at him only to dissolve into giggles, “I can't blame them. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go,”
“It’s my turn,” Suguru scans the list and grimaces, “I don’t want to read this,” and then he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I’d let Satoru Gojo **** me, spit in my mouth, and make my daddy issues worse, and I’d thank him for it, respectfully,”
And you’re doubled over in laughter by the time he gets to the end of his monotone reading, while Satoru only grins at the camera, leaning against the table, as he pulls his sunglasses on only to tilt them down his nose.
“I’m available.”
No, this press junket did not help at all.
“Fuck,” you grumble, propping yourself on your elbow, your knuckles pressed to your lips, “how are we still trending? Aren't there other things to talk about?”
“Stop checking it, it’s only making you crazy,” Suguru sighs, collapsing next to you on the couch, his hand thrown over the top of the couch, before it slips down behind you, warm palm resting on your hip, “there’s nothing you can do,”
“My agent said she’s definitely going to get news on whether I got the part tomorrow — and tomorrow is when the last episode of the season is airing, and when—“
“The scene with Kenjaku at the end, I know,” Suguru presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, “think I could pull off stitches?” He drags a finger across his forehead teasingly.
“If you’re asking for a lobotomy, I always wanted to try doing one,” Satoru walks in from the shower, hair still damp, as he squeezes on your other side, “Princess, you can be my nurse, hm?”
“Did you already have one?” Suguru bites back, and Satoru doesn’t reply, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “she’s still worried about tomorrow,”
“Don’t you know there’s no such thing as bad publicity?” Satoru presses a sweet kiss to your neck.
“Not when they’re speculating if I’m dating or cheating on one or both of you,” you shake your head, “what if the director thinks I’m a liability?”
“If the director thinks you’re a liability after seeing your work and meeting you, then he’s clearly blind,”
You flick his sunglasses down, “can you say that four eyes?”
“Don’t you mean six eyes?” Satoru sticks his tongue out at him, and Suguru’s fingers find yours, laced hands against your thigh, “whatever happens, happens — you know your worth,”
“And your worth is far too high for you — only I could afford it,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you shove Satoru, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you against him, his lips grazing the soft skin behind your ear, “how much?”
“For you? A billion dollars,” and his lips find yours in a kiss, lazy but warm, heat from his touch spreading like a flames carried by the wind.
“That all? What a bargain,” Satoru pulls a breath away, his lips curled in a grin, only for Suguru’s fingers to cup your chin and make you turn around.
Deep purple irises you grew lost in, his thumb dragging down your kiss bitten lips, “and for our princess?” He hums, lips grazing yours teasingly, “a steal,”
“Well, you both stole my heart so you might as well have the rest,” and Suguru’s lips finally find yours in a real kiss, deep and full, until your mind is filled with nothing but him — and Satoru, whose lips ghost over your shoulder and collarbone and hands slip under your shirt, warm palms against your far too heated skin, “fuck—“ you’re sighing, melting agaisnt them, “Sugu, Toru,” you’re whining already, drawing smirks to both of their lips.
“Let us take care of you, sweetheart,” Satoru whispers, lips finding your earlobe and sucking at the sensitive skin, and Suguru pulls away from your kiss for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips.
“We’ll get your mind off things, Princess,” and his fingers tease the waistband of your shorts, “all night long.”
And they do, they keep their promise — the three of you falling into bed in a jumble of limbs, and you forget until the next morning.
And in the morning—you get the call, “okay, thank you,” you hang up, still between mussed sheets and arms wrapped around your waist, “I got it!”
“Heh, I knew you would,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in your side, “I’m so proud of you, baby,”
“Hm? Proud of her for what?” Suguru murmurs, half asleep, black locks strewn around his head like a halo.
“I got the role, Sugu,” you lean down and kiss his nose, and he’s grinning wide, fingers winding into the back of your head to pull into a kiss, “you’re looking at the leading actor of a movie,”
“You’re going to be in demand now, Princess,” Suguru says, dragging a thumb down your lips, “will you still make time for us?”
“Of course, always — you’ll visit me on set right?”
“You sure, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll be too busy for us,” Satoru leans up and presses a kiss on your neck.
“Maybe for you,” and he’s pouting, and you lean down to kiss his pout away, and then you get an email, “oh it’s the casting sheet for the other roles,” you scan the list, “oh,”
“‘Oh?’” Suguru raises an eyebrow.
“The male lead, he’s someone we know,” you sigh, rubbing your temples, “and I’m already getting a headache,”
Satoru furrows his brow, as the two of them lean over your shoulders to look — Satoru scowling and Suguru glaring at your screen, as they say his name at the same time — as if summoning him from the underworld.
“Sukuna?”
Ryomen Sukuna was both famous and infamous in the industry — famous for his portrayals of villains and antiheroes alike, ability to make you despise the enemy to the point of near or blatant admiration, and his skill of stepping into each role and taking it as his own. And he lives in infamy for, well, what happens between takes of the camera.
“Look any longer and I’ll have you thrown off set, brat,” Sukuna says, without a glance at you, newspaper in hand as if he was pulled from thirty years ago, his phone seemingly laying discarded on a nearby. The P.A.s nearby cower a few feet away, trying to look preoccupied, as their terror has fully set in of this man.
Or should you say monster?
“I see the stick up your ass makes you as pleasant as ever,” you mutter, and you don’t see that it earns you a smirk from him, his dark gaze takes over you, earning a glare from you, “now who’s staring?”
He leans against the arm of his chair, “I was just noticing how lovely the view is without those two pests hanging on your every word,” and you’re rolling your eyes.
“Jealous?”
“Of your little throuple? No,” he smirks, rising from his chair, hands sliding into his pockets as he brushes by you, “because unlike those two,” he pauses, voice dropping to a whisper, “I know how to satisfy a woman on my own,”
And you grit your teeth, holding your tongue — your relationship with Satoru and Suguru was a badly kept secret on the set or Jujutsu Kaisen, but it never was a problem — until now.
You follow behind him, heading to the director’s trailer for your meeting before rehearsals began.
“You want us to what?”
“We spoke to your agents, and they agreed with us that it would be good publicity for the two of you to pretend to be a couple during the filming and leading up to production,” the director leans back in his seat, “it shouldn’t be a problem — the two of you have worked together before right?”
You can’t hide your aghast expression in time, not before Sukuna glances at your face and sees the horror, and it puts a rare grin on his lips, “I’m in, what’s a little more acting?”
You’re swallowing thickly, eyes flitting over Sukuna’s smug grin so fast you only hoped your gaze was sharp enough to cut, “Can I please speak to you privately?”
And Sukuna gets up from the edge of the table he leaned against, flashing you a wry grin, “see you out there, sweetheart,” and you wished you could rip out his heart and show him how very sweet you were — but you bite your tongue, waiting for the door to swing shut, “I—“
���Do you know part of the reason we choose you over the other actor vying for your role?” The director cuts you off, arms crossed over his chest, and you shut your mouth, shaking your head, “Jujutsu Kaisen has done tremendously this season — one of the most viewed shows across the world and do you know part of the reason?” and again you shake your head, “your P.R. stunts with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto,”
You knit your brow together — not your talent, your work, or art — but your boyfriends? “Your ability to have chemistry with the both of them have enticed the public and the number of times you’ve trended alone this season—“
Your fingers curl into fists, “With all due respect—“
“If you do this, the film will be a hit — i see you two already, there’s chemistry—“
You scoff, “more like a fucking bomb,” you mutter, running your fingers through your hair, “bottom line, do I have a choice?”
“You do,” he says, arms crossed, “but so do I,” fuck, you grit your teeth.
You emerge from the office, Sukuna waiting right outside, leaning against the wall right beside the doors, “you fucking make this difficult—“
“And you’ll do what, brat?” his face twists with his frown, as he leans over, lumbering over you, “what do you think you could do to me?” And he’s clicking his tongue, the condescension rolling off of it, “director told us to play nice, so be nice,” his lips curl, “but I like you mean too,”
He stalks off and you’re scrubbing a hand down your face. You were so fucking screwed.
“You what?” Satoru’s mouth gaped at you, twisted in pure disgust, while Suguru only stared at you, as expressionless as Satoru was expressive, “and you agreed?”
“She didn’t have a choice, Satoru—“
“That’s because the bastard didn’t give her a choice,” Satoru’s face twists again, this time in anger, brow furrowed, but lips in a sharp smile, “so why don’t we not give him a choice either?” Satoru is pulling his phone out.
“What are you doing—don’t—“
“One call, and I’ll have this guy firing Sukuna—“
“And there goes any actors or directors who will want to work for me if these guys go off, and you know they will,” you shake your head, “I’ve run this — it’s either I do the movie or I don’t,”
Suguru frowns, hands in his pockets, “What do you want to do?”
Your face in your hands, “I don’t want to drop the movie because of this, I can’t—“
“Then you do it,” Satoru rubs the back of his head, and Suguru tilts his head at him, “and after you become the biggest star out there, I’ll take care of that director and Sukuna,”
You and Suguru both snort, “Well that was verging on heartfelt,” Suguru shakes his head, “but he’s right, you can’t let two bullies kick you off your movie, you earned this role — and when you act circles around everyone else, you’ll have carried it too,”
You wrap your arms around both of them, “How’d I get so lucky?” You murmur, and Satoru’s nose brushes against yours before meeting your lips, while Suguru kisses wet kisses against your neck, “encouragement and threats of violence,” and Satoru only grins, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your lips.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” and Suguru rolls his eyes, before his arm slips around your waist.
“And he really means anytime, last time you talked to Toji, he pouted for two hours,” Satoru glared at Suguru, while you laughed, pulling the snowy haired actor close.
“It’s so cute when you’re jealous, Toru,” you kiss his chin, eyes sliding to Suguru, “but you’re terrifying,”
“What are you talking about?” And Satoru chuckles, tilting his head.
“You mentioned me during Toji? You nearly yanked our princess away from him,” and Suguru furrows his brow, lips a thin line, “maybe we should drop by during rehearsals,”
You scoff, “Yeah that sounds like a terrible idea,” and Suguru’s arms are wrapping around you, “Sugu—“
“If we can’t spend as much time together, then we better make this time count, isn’t that right, Satoru?”
“You’re right,” and Satoru’s hands slide under your baggy t-shirt, “better use all the time we have,” and as they lead you to the bedroom, your limbs entangled, you knew you weren’t sleeping that night.
But you didn’t know that would be the last time you’d be sleeping with them at all for the next month.
“You have to cut down the time you spend with anyone else — especially other men,” your agent told you, “that goes for Gojo and Geto too,”
“Why is this role controlling everything in my real life too?” you mutter under your breath, “why does it matter we won’t get caught—“
“Like all the other times you didn’t get caught?” and your words leave you abandoned as no articulate response comes to mind, “it’s for a couple months. You can have them visit on set, you can still see them once a month, but not every day,”
“But why—“
“Once a month reduces your chance of being seen with them exponentially over the next few months. Just deal with it. After this, you won’t have to put up with bullshit,” she hangs up, as you stare at your phone screen, squeezing it at the sight of Satoru and Suguru’s good luck texts — and why did it feel like you still always would have to keep putting up with bullshit?
“Better not fucking cry. We have to pretend to fall in love in ten minutes — I would rather not be looking at something ugly this early,” Sukuna cuts into your thoughts, hands in his pockets, as he sips his coffee.
Exhibit A.
“We’re not shooting for an hour,” you were on set after getting ready, waiting for the weather to clear up for the shoot, and he gives a gruff chuckle
“Not that shoot.”
“Looks like Sukuna not only has taken over Itadori’s body, but also the heart of one of Jujutsu Kaisen’s fan favorites,” you groan, earbud slipping out for a moment, just like your life was slipping, “the actress and co-star were spotted getting cozy off set before shooting had even begun for the day,”
Oh what the fuck.
You toss your phone away before falling back in bed, far too empty without Satoru and Suguru, only their pillows to keep you company as you twisted in the sheets. You had passed off your social media to your agent to handle — it was bad enough when you were caught in a love triangle with Satoru and Suguru, but now Sukuna? You can only imagine what people would say about you.
And you didn’t need to see it to do that.
But that wasn’t important. It was your day off, you turned over in bed, burying your face against your boyfriends pillows — nothing a nap couldn’t fix.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Or maybe not. You slide from the arms of sleep reluctantly, already missing the warmth of the covers as the cold air hits your skin. You’re rubbing your eyes as you check who it is before opening it.
“Satoru? What are you—“ and his arms are around you in a moment, your breath catching, “Toru—“
“You see what they’re saying online?” His gaze is stoic, lips a thin line.
“We can’t—“ and he’s shutting the door before locking it, before he’s had you pressed against the wood, the grain dragging against your skin.
“They said you two make the perfect couple,” he cups your chin, his breath warming your lips, “even more than me or Suguru—“ his hand slides against the swell of your hip, “a walk, a coffee? Was that all?”
Your brow knits together “Of course, you know I would never—“ and his lips ghost over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nosing at the soft skin of your neck, “Toru—“ you bite your bottom lip.
“I know you wouldn’t, sweetheart, I know,” he says softly, “but I have to make sure he knows that,” his teeth grazes over your soft skin, “knows that you’re mine,” and his teeth digs into your soft flesh, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, pain melting into pleasure, as your head lolls back against the door.
“Toru, no I have rehearsals in a week,” you whine, but that just makes him soothe the blooming love bite with his tongue, “Toru—“
“Do you really want me to stop now, sweetheart?” he’s pulling your mouth open with his thumb, “your face says you don’t,” and his large palm slides down your body and into your shorts, the wet squelch and the brush of his fingers through the drenched fabric, “and your pretty cunt seems to agree,”
“Toru,” you’re biting your lip, “fuck, you’re impossible,” and his mouth travels lower, as his other hand slides up under your shirt, squeezing your chest.
“You’re the one who slept without anything under your clothes,” he murmurs in your ear, lips sliding against your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin there, “you’re so wet already, hear that? Did you touch yourself thinking of us? Want us to fuck you that bad after a week?” his lips ghost over your jaw.
“Fuck, you talk so much,” you’re pouting, thighs pressing together, but he’s pushing them apart, “why are you teasing me so much?”
And he pauses, ocean blues stormy instead of the tranquil skies you’re used to, “Sukuna touched you. He got to hold you,” he’s pouting now, “that privilege is for us, and he got to so easily,”
“I didn’t want him to,” and he’s nuzzling your neck.
“Let me erase his touch,” and he’s lifting you with the practiced ease he always had.
“Where’s Suguru—“ and you yelp as he playfully tosses you on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head with one hand, a grin as he watches you bounce.
“He’ll be here later,” and he’s kissing up your body, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts to pull them down, half lidded eyes with deep lust finding yours, “for now, you’re all mine.”
“I-I can’t,” you’re whimpering, your hands clutching at Satoru’s back, fingernails digging crescents into his perfect skin, only hoping he doesn’t have a shirtless shoot tomorrow, but you barely can register that with three of his fingers in your pussy, “Toru,”
How many times had you orgasmed? Six or seven at least — it was nearly second nature at this point. Satoru knew what spots to touch, where to press, how to move to have you writhing underneath him in a moment. He’s knuckle deep, spreading your walls as his thumb toys with your clit, drawing another moan from your lips. Your release soaked his fingers and sheets underneath, his fingers surely wrinkled from their time spent inside your walls.
And by his smirk against the swell of your breast, he knew it.
“Yes you can baby, I know you have one more f’me,” and you’re already so close, but you have been — it’s been a repeated coil winding and snapping over and over, and you’re nearly to tears, back arching as he plunges his fingers somehow deeper, “know this pretty pussy too well, look at the way you’re sucking me in,” your insides flutter around his digits again, the tips dragging against your walls, “practically begging me to fuck you more, sweetheart,”
“I’ll say,” and your eyes barely can flit up to meet Suguru’s wry smile, corners of his lips curled, “I see you’re as impatient as ever, Satoru — started without me,” and he’s tugging his shirt over his head, “but at least you’ve gotten her ready for me,”
“Sugu—“ and Satoru adds a fourth finger, stuffed full with him, drawing a gasp from your lips.
“Don’t want you to say Suguru’s name when I’m the one pleasuring you,” Sstoru clicks his tongue, “wanna hear you moan my name, sweetheart, when I make you cum,”
“You’ll have plenty of chances to moan my name,” you make a whining noise in the back of your throat, pleasure felt as if it had burned out your nerves, but it still was able to overload them, the throbbing in your cunt a telltale sign, “you g’nna cum, pretty? Use your words for me?”
“G’nna cum—ngh, Toru,” you feel that familiar knot in the pit of your stomach, your walls wring his fingers as you cum, hard, your head thrown back against the pillow. And the squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, as he finger fucks you through your orgasm.
“Fuck, she’s so pretty everytime she falls apart for us,” Suguru groans, as Satoru leans over to kiss you, “so good for us, Princess,” you only moan in reply, lost in the pleasure that still floods your body, as Satoru pulls his fingers from you.
And your eyes catch a glimpse of Satoru licking his fingers clean, one by one, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve ever had,”
“Don’t hog her, Satoru,” Suguru is pulling Satoru away, settling between your thighs, “you both made such a mess,” and you gasp, as his lithe fingers brush against your still too sensitive folds, spreading them only for your juices to slip out, “I’m always stuck cleaning up, but in this case,” he drags the flat of his tongue up your needy cunt, a moan falling from your lips, as your fingers fisted in his black locks, “I don’t mind at all.”
But that night wasn’t the end of it — no, not by far.
It wasn’t enough for them to ravish you, now they have to show up on set — their schedules lining up just perfect to see your rehearsals (though you think their schedules had some help from using the words “contagious” and “sickly”). However the only thing they were seemingly sick with was jealousy — especially so as you sat with Sukuna, going over lines for the next scene.
You rubbed at your neck, feeling lucky that the marks they left had faded, but they still had begged you to show up to the shoot.
“We won’t make you uncomfortable,” Satoru pouted, nuzzling your side, as you snort.
“Just like you said you wouldn’t leave hickies on me?” You scoff, and suguru buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses along the marks Satoru left.
“She has a point,” Suguru murmurs, but Satoru only pouts, “but I would like to be on set so that freak doesn’t try anything,” and you run your fingers through Satoru’s snowy locks, while leaning into Suguru’s touch, “he has a reputation of making moves on all his co-stars,”
“So? It’s not like I’ll let him,” and Satoru’s gotten you pinned to the bed, your hands trying to break free but you can’t.
“It’s not a matter of letting him, it’s matter of him trying to do something you don’t want,” and your brows knit together, as Satoru presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
“There’ll be other people—“
“Other people who may very well look the other way, for someone like Ryomen Sukuna,” Suguru sighs, words almost whispered against your ear, “you know that’s how this business can be,” and it was — it could be. The Jujutsu Kaisen set was a rare exception, but this movie — the director’s words still ringing in your ears — it was different.
“Let us just make sure you’re safe, make sure you’re okay, and then we’ll go.”
And that’s how you ended up with their states boring into the back of your head.
“You bringing a pair of guard dogs with you everywhere now?” Sukuna spares a glance at your boyfriends, who were relegated to stand near your trailer — Satoru stood, arms crossed over his white t-shirt, a black jacket thrown over it, his blue eyes narrowed in frustration, as if his crossed arms were the only things holding him back from throttling Sukuna. While Suguru leaned against your trailer, scrolling on his phone in his dark navy button up, stealing glances at the two of you, his eyes narrowed and lips a thin line, “don’t know if they are ready to rip you apart or me,”
You bite your tongue, wanting to say they had already ripped you apart last night, but you only shook your head, “They insisted on coming today, I don’t know why,”
He grunts in reply, “It’s bad timing on your end, brat,” and your eyes snap to his, and he tilts his head, leaning against his hand, “you didn’t hear? The director wants us to film our big kiss at the end of the movie,”
Your blood runs cold, “Since when?”
“Since you were late to our morning meeting, assuredly because of those two,” he jerks his head in the direction of Satoru and Suguru, before giving them both a wide grin, “they don’t know do they?” Your silence is all the answer Sukuna needs to give a rare laugh, “oh this will be entertaining, brat, and I thought acting with you would be boring.”
Oh, you’re fucking screwed.
“Cut!” The director called for the billionth time, and you were about ready to wring his neck, and you were not the only one — if looks could kill, Satoru and Suguru would have had the director skewered a million times over by now. Unfortunately for them, looks did not kill, “we need more passion,”
And you’re biting back a groan, as Sukuna smirks, leaning over to whisper, “don’t look so disappointed, I see the two idiots haven’t taught you to kiss,”
“More like the partner I have doesn’t make kissing him appealing,” you bite back, running a hand through your hair as you spoke to the intimacy coordinator again, but your eyes keep sliding over to Satoru and Suguru, “fuck,” how were you supposed to do this with them staring you down?
“Let’s try it again,” you both get in place for the shot, the clap of the clapperboard, as Sukuna’s fingers brushed against your cheek again. You stepped into the role, letting yourself be consumed with the passion of your character, channeling what you felt for your own loves.
And finally your lips met his — you felt nothing, only the pressure of lips meeting one another, but you tried to show emotion, fingers clutching at his shirt in desperation, the small gasps and sighs parting your lips between kisses, and the way your hand then slid up to rest at the nape of his neck.
“I love you, more than anything,” you murmur against his lips, nose brushing against his, “more than anyone. You can’t go. Not without me,”
“What choice do I have?” Sukuna mutters back, his arm coiling around your waist, “it’s too dangerous for you to come along,”
“Who said you get to make my decisions for me?” your lips curl, “and who says I can’t buy my own ticket to come with you?” And he’s shaking his head, “listen,” your fingers cup his cheek, “don’t think, just let it happen,” and you’re leaning even closer, breath warming his lips, his breath hitching.
“Cut!” And you’re trying to pull away, but Sukuna holds you there, leaning forward, making you flinch, only to whisper in your ear.
“Sorry, just wanted to give them more of a show,” and he lets go, lips curled in a wide grin, “looks like we have a break now, so have fun, but not too much,” he laughs, as the director beckons him over.
You glance at Satoru and Suguru — oh fuck.
“Sugu—uumph—“ Suguru barely let you get a step inside the trailer before he pinned you to the metal door, his hands dragged over your sides.
“Hold still, Princess, I have to overwrite every place he touched you,” his fingers trace over your cheeks, lips grazing your jaw, his thumb dragged over your lips, before catching on your tongue, “did you brush your tongue against his — run it over the seam of his lips before slipping it inside? Flick it over like you do? Did you enjoy kissing him, sweetheart?”
“Of course I didn’t—“ and Satoru’s taking the opportunity to kiss you, teeth dragging over your bottom lip.
“Course she didn’t, but I’m sure he did,” Satoru’s fingers traced over your jaw, “enjoyed our sweets’ even sweeter lips, didn’t he?” And Satoru kisses down your jaw, while Suguru is sinking down to his knees, large palms sliding up and hiking up your dress, “should leave some marks to remind him who you belong to,” his teeth dig into the soft of your flesh.
“Toru! No, I still have to finish the shoot — the makeup artists—“ you whine, but god, it feels so good, as his tongue flicks against his teeth marks, “fuck,”
“Be careful, someone will hear you, Princess,” Suguru murmurs, soft kisses to your inner thighs, “hear how good you’ll feel,” his teeth sink into your thigh, nipping and sucking, “and how good we’re both making you feel,”
“Sugu, ah, I—fuck,” and Satoru is eagerly swallowing your moans with his lips, taking the chance to slip his tongue in, while Suguru noses at the soft of your thigh.
“She’s already dripping, how are you so pretty here, Princess?” And he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, not that you could with Satoru’s tongue down your throat, as his lips press a kiss to your messy folds, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “tastes even better,” he moans, sound reverberating against your sensitive cunt.
“Oh that won’t do at all, we’ve barely started,” Satoru tsks all the while tugging your sleeves down to reveal your bare chest underneath the dress barely on your body at this point, crumpled fabric pushed up and down into the middle by them, “no bra, Princess? For us or for the camera?”
“For you,” you manage between moans, Suguru’s tongue tracing teasing circles around your clit, “always for you—“ the word trails off into a moan, as Suguru meanly sucks on the sensitive nub, “ngh, fuck—“ your knees are buckling, quaking as if your bones were made of rubber, a gasp pulled from your lips, when Satoru’s lips press a teasing kiss to your already erect nipple, while he toys with the other between his forefinger and thumb, pinching and pulling. And he switches, welcoming the other with a graze of his teeth and the flick of his tongue.
The sounds of the lewd squelch of Suguru’s mouth against your dripping cunt filled your ears, volts from his touch reaching every inch of you, “so wet f’me, pretty, you like thinking someone could hear us fucking you?” Suguru mutters, his lips pulling away for a moment, as his long fingers spread your folds for him — every inch of you exposed, “fuck, you’ve dripped all over the floor of the trailer, Princess,”
“All that just from Suguru’s mouth?” Satoru smirks, dragging a finger down your puffy lips, while his other hand gropes at your breast, “imagine how sopping you’ll be when we fuck you,”
And you’re whining, as Suguru teases your entrance with a finger, “You fuckers—“ you yelp as Suguru picks you up with ease and tosses you into the nearby bed — a request you had made so you could nap between scenes or during times you weren’t needed on set — not that you had gotten to use it, until now.
Satoru’s pulling the dress up and over your head, tossing the garment away, both of their gazes dragging over your exposed skin. Satoru flips you onto your stomach, and you hear the creak of the bed behind you and you know Suguru repositioned himself between your thighs.
“On your knees, pretty,” Suguru’s hands are lifting your legs, his fingers already teasing your sopping hole again, and he’s bracing an arm around your thighs, “such a good girl,” and his fingertips breach you only to pull away, even as your walls try to beckon him inside.
“Fuck,” you’re groaning, needy cunt begging for release, you needed it, needed it so bad.
“Such a filthy mouth,” Satoru clicks his tongue, as he undoes the buckle of his belt, tugging his boxers and pants down to free his weeping erection. And god, his cock is so pretty — long and pink, with beads of pearly precum dripping from the slit, lovely veins running up and down his length, “how ‘bout I put it to use sweetheart?”
And the tip brushes against your face, smearing against your lips, before you part your lips and let his dick slap against your tongue, before letting it part your pretty lips. The tip of your tongue traces his slit, tasting his pre, as you sucked and licked along his length, until his sweet grunts slipped from his lips. And fuck, you know he would feel so good inside you, long cock reaching the places he always did and that you never could.
But it was hard for you to stay focused when Suguru bas two thick fingers buried in your right cunt, dragging against your walls, moaning around Satoru’s length. And it feels almost too good, as if you’d melt between them, burning from their touches. And you’d still always ask for more.
Satoru’s fingers dig into your locks, as he moans, “Fuck, s’good for me, baby,” his hips buck against your mouth, his hair sticking to his forehead, sticky with sweat, “not gonna last much longer, Suguru,”
And Suguru pulled out his fingers, licking them clean, his face still sticky with your cum, as you whine at the absence, “she’s not either, but I think she needs something more,” and you feel his cockhead drag against your folds, and you’re whining, “not gonna put it inside baby, too much of a mess, and can’t do too much, can we?” And you feel his lips curl in a smirk, “after all, your boyfriend out there might mind,” he’s pressing your thighs together, beginning to rock forward, sending you deeper onto Satoru’s cock, making him hiss.
“Fuck, take it, sweetheart,” his fingers tilting your head up slightly to find your eyes glazed over in pleasure, puffy lips with saliva and precum dripping from the corners, and it only makes him want to fuck your throat, “gonna go back on set like this? All messy from your ‘side pieces?’”
“Fuck, she twitched hard when you said that,” Suguru is fucking between your thighs, his hard cock rubbing against your dripping slit again and again, delicious friction sending you closer and closer, “fuck, g’nna cum for me sweet girl?”
And you’re moaning around Satoru, and his tip brushes against your throat with one particularly hard thrust from Suguru, and that’s it.
Satoru’s moaning your name, unable to hold back, as he cums in your mouth, his hot load pouring down your throat, dick twitching as it continues to spurt as he rocks his hips into you. Suguru pinches and rubs your clit hard, rocking his leaking cock into you, and you cum, walls fluttering around nothing, as you soak him in your release.
The moans of their names on your lips send Suguru tumbling over too, as he pulls back and pumps, before cumming all over your back with his thick seed.
You’re pulling yourself off Satoru, with a wet pop, cum and spit trickling down your lips, as your tongue flicks out to clean it off. And Satoru groans, as he lays down and settles beside you, “don’t make me fuck you right here,”
And Suguru helps you turn on your side, legs still shaking from your orgasm, as he slips up behind you, his softening cock pressed against you, pressing sweet kisses to your sweat soaked skin.
“Think anyone heard us?” you mumble, burying your face in the crook of Satoru’s neck, and their chuckles rumble against you, making you shiver.
Suguru answers, “No, if someone did, they would have come—“
There’s a harsh knock on the door, followed by the call of your name, “The director’s calling you to set,” it was your agent’s voice, “so I suggest all three of you clean up and come out.”
Well, fuck.
“How has shooting the film been so far?”
“It’s been wonderful. It’s so different from filming a television series, and I’ve loved learning the nuances of film and how it’s made,” you say, sitting in the worlds most uncomfortable chair behind Sukuna, who managed to look interestedly disinterested.
“Speaking of which, you two have worked together before, right?”
“We have,” Sukuna replies before you have a chance to answer, “the two of us haven’t had many scenes together before, so being able to finally act together is…fate,”
You force yourself to give a wry smile, “I forget he’s such a romantic, when he isn’t too busy calling me a brat,” the words slip out and you’re instantly regretting your words — fuck, fuck, fuck. You really just said Ryomen Sukuna called you brat — in an interview that will air on TV but also live on the internet.
“A brat huh?” The interviewer chuckled awkwardly, “is she a bit of a diva on set?”
“Oh and off,” Sukuna’s grin grows all the more wide, leaning against his hand and stealing a glance at you, “but I know how to tame her,” and you self consciously tug at your high neck sweater, the bites Satoru and Suguru well concealed — and you’d never have him pass it off as his own.
Oh, you would kill him. If not for the fact that you had dug your own grave, and he only did you the favor of pushing you in and burying you. No the only funeral was your own.
“How bad?” You ask your agent on the way home, earbuds in your ear as you sit in the back of the car, partition up as the driver makes their way to your home.
“How bad? You mean how great! We’re getting so much traffic on that interview. People keep talking about you and Sukuna. You’re trending again,” and that was the last thing you wanted to hear and the first thing she wanted to tell you.
Why the fuck did you want to be an actor again?
“What are they saying about me?”
“There’s some negative stuff about both of you, but that’s expected — mostly people surprisingly, uh, like you better with Sukuna than Gojo or Geto—“
“What? Why?” God, fuck the public’s want for an older man.
“I don’t know. You guys have this chemistry in interviews. The way you guys banter it feels so personal and electric I guess?” Her voice almost makes it sounds like she agreed.
“Are you saying that or the fans?” The only thing electric about your conversation with Sukuna was the feeling of rage running through your veins faster than a million volts.
“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s mostly fangirls of Gojo and Geto who are relieved they aren’t taken,” she adds, your silence seemingly scaring her, “you should look on the bright side, people are really excited for the movie, and after what happened in your trailer…the director’s happy too,” you see a text from Satoru and Suguru.
The Boys 💕🤍🖤
Bangs Baby: when are you coming home?
Six Eyed Dork: we’re already making dinner.
And you scrub a hand down your face, never having such irritation over the prospect of dinner, “Tell that to my makeup artist,” because you know you’ll be littered with marks by the end of this.
“We’re adding a sex scene,” and you nearly spit out your drink that morning, sitting at the round table with the director, several staff members, and an extremely unfazed Sukuna.
“What?” you say, trying hold your tongue, that was only writhing under your hold to say something much, much worse, “that’s not anywhere in the script or the source material,”
“It was my suggestion,” Sukuna lifts his hand casually, before pressing his hand to his chin, painted black nails gleaming in the dim light of the early morning, “the characters felt lacking,”
Then play your role better. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead you ask, “how so?”
And Sukuna glances at the director, who clears his throat, eyes shifting from him to you, “We thought it would be better to build more intimacy between the characters. Add a certain level of—“
“Raunchiness?” you scoff.
“Tasteful raunchiness,” Sukuna corrects, doing nothing to suppress his smirk, “if you don’t want to, I’m sure we can make due with the stunt double—“
Fucker. He could have his pick of any movie — he was a pillar of the industry, but you had to be stuck with him. And stuck with the director following his every, irritating whim.
You grit your teeth, “when are we shooting it?” And Sukuna grins wider, leaning back in his chair.
“About that—“
“You’re going where?” You resisted the urge to rub at your temples, as you pack your things, Satoru’s pout filling the majority of the screen.
“You heard me. We’re filming in Canada,” with a flight that left the next day, you barely had time to pack, much less talk. Fuck, you don’t have a thing for the cold, but you were told that coats and thermals would be provided — or at least they better be, “I’ll be gone for a couple weeks,” you say, wondering if the sounds of you packing would be enough to drown out or enough sweaters would somehow soften the blow.
“Weeks?” Suguru repeats, taking the phone from Satoru, “sweetheart, you had said filming would be over soon enough — you said a month of filming in Japan—,” and you sigh, it seems like you had been doing a lot of that lately.
The throbbing in your head only got worse — the long shoots and lack of sleep weighing on your body like iron weights around your neck, “I know, love, but the director wanted to add more scenes,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “there’s one more thing,” and Satoru is pushing into view of the camera as well, a click of Suguru’s as he shoots a glare at him, “the director decided to add…an intimate scene to the film,”
Silence, but Suguru speaks first, “And that wasn’t in the script before?” And you shake your head.
Satoru gives a bitter laugh, “Such bullshit. They planned it and got you to invest yourself in the movie—“ he cuts himself off, “sweetheart, I want to have a word with the director,”
“No, Toru, it won’t help,” you run your fingers through your hair, trying to keep your tone level, “it just won’t. It will just make me look like I have to rely on my boyfriends for protection,”
“It still isn’t right, what they are doing to you is exploitative,” Suguru cuts in, “adding a sex scene last minute after you already spent weeks filming—“
“You don’t think I know that?” you say quietly, “what am I supposed to do? Quit? Let you guys run to the director to protect me? Great, either way, my career would be over,” the words slip out far more cutting than you want, but this has been a knife you’ve honed against stones thrown at you, and you were tired of being the one to take the blows.
Satoru furrows his brow, “What are we supposed to do? Watch you get taken advantage of?”
“No, but don’t talk down to me like I don’t understand what’s happening,” you snap, “these weeks I’ve had to deal with fucking Sukuna and these shoots, while balancing your feelings too and I’m tired of it. I’m just done,” you shake your head, willing your voice not to break, “I’ll text you both when I board and land, ok?”
“Sweetheart—“
“Baby—“
“Bye,” and you hang up, eyes burning not just from your lack of sleep but now everything else too. You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t see them. You couldn’t quit the movie. You couldn’t fix this. You couldn’t do anything — you glanced at your suitcase — except keep going.
“You look like hell,” you don’t bother looking at Sukuna when he speaks, and out of all the seats, how did you end up next to him? Either you had the absolute worst luck in the world — or bad luck had a little help from your agents and the director.
“You look like you’d know—been to your kingdom lately?” you’re placing your suitcase away when a flight attendant rushes over to do it for you, and you thank them, before rifling through your bag for your headphones. Noise canceling headphones that were going to be your best friend as long as you were stuck with him.
“Why visit a kingdom when my queen is here?” Your eye twitches, and you only wish that planes worked the same as ships when it came to jurisdiction. And if so, you would have tossed him into the high seas without a second though. You could start over — no extradition on Satoru’s island.
You glanced at your phone — no reply to your text about getting on the second flight. And they had both barely responded to your other texts about boarding and landing. Maybe it was your fault. You had blown up at them, and ignored all their calls and texts all day, until they finally stopped (even Satoru had given up sending you selfies of him crying). You switched it into airplane mode and locked it, tucking it away into your bag, before taking your seat and buckling your seatbelt.
“Trouble in paradise?” And you scowl, pulling out your headphones, “c’mon you can tell me about your other boyfriends — I know I’m your favorite,”
“Do you ever shut up?” You put your headphones on, your eyes growing heavy as the plane begins to prepare for take off. You choose a playlist, and start to fall asleep. The only good thing about this flight was you could finally get some sleep.
And maybe your life wouldn’t be hell when you woke up.
“I already got us a private jet,” Satoru walks into Suguru’s place, suitcase in hand, as he tugs his mask off, “we can be in Canada by tomorrow—we just need to pack—“
“What are you talking about?” Suguru looks up from his phone, “have you even thought this through, dumbass? She barely wants us coming over because of paparazzi, you think if someone sees us in Canada with her that they will write it off as a coincidence?”
“If we’re careful, it won’t come to that,” he sets down his things, “you heard her, Suguru, she said she’s done,”
“She’s just tired and frustrated,” Suguru sighs, tossing his phone aside, “we haven’t exactly made this any easier on her either,”
“I know, which is why we should go make it up to her,” Satoru sighed, “I can tell by her texts that she’s upset — it’s all periods and short one word responses. Y’know that’s bad,” he’s pulling out his phone to show Suguru your texts — and Suguru ignored the several sad selfies Satoru had sent, before handing it back.
“And we should make her more upset by doing the one thing she told us not to do?” Suguru shakes his head, “we’re better off waiting for her to calm down and come to us—“ and Satoru stares at his phone, “what is it? Did she text?”
“No, worse,” he shows Suguru a news article — ARE THINGS HEATING UP ON AND OFF SET? SUKUNA SPOTTED WITH HIS COSTAR GETTING COZY ON PLANES AND IN THE AIRPORT.
And below were images of you and him asleep, fingers interlaced on the plane, and a picture of him with his arm around your waist walking through the airport.
Suguru’s eyes narrow, “Do you want risk losing her, Suguru?” And he knows it’s a bad idea, he knows it may only make things worse, but — he looks at the pictures of you and Sukuna again — losing you would be far worse.
“When’s the flight?”
CLICK!
You stir at the sound, as you hear it again and again, shifting in your sleep. Fuck, what was that noise? Everything’s heavy, thoughts swimming through thick syrup as it tries to break to the surface and into consciousness. Another click makes you grasp at your headphones with one hand, the other caught on something, but you feel nothing but your neck and shirt. And finally, your eyes fly open just to find a camera lens in front of your face, and something holding your hand.
Or rather someone.
“What the—“
“Finally woke up? How was your coma?” and the photographers are shooed away, as you pull your fingers free only for him to drop your hand, wiping your hand on the seat, “I didn’t do anything but hold it,” he shrugs, “probably—“
You scowl, “my headphones?” He holds them up, and you gape at him, “they fell off. You’re quite the restless sleeper,” and you snatch them back.
“They fell off or you took them off for that photo op,” you snap, glancing at him, “since when did I give my permission to be photographed while sleeping?”
“When you decided to go into this business,” he replies drily, dry as his skin was from holding his hand, “are you that naive? Can anyone keep anything from anyone without paying them off one way or another? I’m pretty sure that’s how your little throuple does it,”
And you couldn’t deny it — the paparazzi more than ever was a toll or a tool — a toll to pay when you wanted word to stay quiet, and a tool when you wanted things to blow up. And Satoru had been paying them off since the three of you had started this — insisting that his connection gave him discounts, but it was more likely to blow his father’s money.
“So what was that photo op about?” The plane is slowly descending now, your ears popping, as you spare a glance outside, and he only scoffs, as if to ask if you were that stupid?
“To announce our arrival.”
“Why are there so many security guards and people?” you mutter, tugging at your mask, as you hurry through the airport with what felt like a military and police escort of men around you.
“To create a scene, generate interest,” Sukuna seemed uninterested as he strolled along the airport, raising an eyebrow, “not used to this? The adoring fans,” and you spare a glance at the crowds, taking pictures more than even looking at your actual faces.
“This is adoring?” and then the security guards begin to stumble as the crowd grows a rowdy, as people push through to get through their gates, others try to duck between the security guards to get closer. A security guard knocks against you, nearly sending you tumbling, “what—“
And a wrist grabs you and pulls you hard, as the security guard tumbles to the ground, another arm around your waist. He steadies you, as you sigh, glancing to find Sukuna.
“Be careful,” you blink — wow was he actually a nice— and then he nearly shoved you away, “don’t need you getting injured and messing up my movie,” he strides off, and you watch dumbstruck, as you watch his back recede until bodyguards check on you and urge you along.
You can’t believe you thought even for a second that Ryomen Sukuna was nice.
And now you had to spend the entirety of tomorrow kissing up to him — literally.
Fucking ass.
“You can’t seduce me into letting you go,” Sukuna smiled, one hand on your hip and the other resting against the wall, pinning you against the headboard of the bed, “just because I let you win tonight—“
“Then I’ve won the battle,” you reply, fingers toying with a lock of his hair, twirling it around your finger, before dragging a finger down his cheek, “it’s only a matter of time until I win the war,”
He chuckles, hand cupping your chin, “such a brat, how did I ever fall for you?” And you only lean close, brushing your lips against his chin, delighting in the way his body shivered, “fuck—“
“You love it,” and he’s gotten you pinned to the bed in a moment with one hand, the other large palm sliding up your body, dragging your shirt along with it—
“CUT!”
You both sigh, glancing at the director as you both untangle yourselves — how many times did that make? Twelve? Fourteen?
“I think we’ll be dead before he gets it right,” Sukuna mutters under his breath, as a P.A. brings him a towel to dab at his skin.
“We’re calling it for the day,” the director announced, hair askew from the number of times he had pulled at it, “we’ll resume tomorrow, first thing,” there was almost an audible groan from the crew as everyone packed up for the day.
After all that, you’re making your way to your hotel room when someone stops you, you’re trying to brush past them absentmindedly, but his voice stops you dead in your tracks.
“Can’t run from us that easy, sweetheart,” and your head snaps up, finding Satoru in front of you, and you’re speechless, no words finding their way to your lips, before the hotel room next to yours opens up.
“Princess, in here, before anyone sees,” and Satoru’s hand tries to find yours, but you ignore it, walking into the room, not speaking until the door clicks behind Satoru.
“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” and you waver when you see Satoru’s sad gaze and Suguru’s tight frown, and you sigh, evening out your tone, “sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped — what are you guys doing here? I told you it’s risky—“
“We didn’t want to leave things the way they were, I couldn’t. Not like that,” Satoru shakes his head, “we needed to see you, baby, I couldn’t—“ he breaks off.
Suguru speaks in his stead, “We couldn’t fathom that was the last time we spoke,”
Your brows knit together, “Why would you think—“ and you’re sighing, scrubbing a hand down your face as your words ring in your own ears, and you know where their minds had went — fuck, “I would never ever break up with you two,” you’re stepping forward, “you’re idiots, but you’re mine,” and their arms are slipping around you in an instant, “I just got frustrated with everything, it wasn’t just you guys — the movie, Sukuna, long shoots, lack of sleep, and not seeing you two—“
“We should be the ones who’re sorry,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “we made it all about us and didn’t see that you needed us,”
“We’re never going to make that mistake again, Princess,” Suguru presses a soft kiss to your neck, and you sigh, stress melting under touch with the ease of a lit candle wick melts wax, “we’re sorry for being so selfish,”
“Yeah, Suguru’s sorry—“ and that earns Satoru a sharp elbow from said actor, “and I’m sorry too. We didn’t mean to add more stress. You’re already dealing with so much. We should have been there for you, sweetheart,” he finds your lips in a sweet kiss that has you sighing, “we trust you — it’s just—“
“Him, I know, but I hate him,” you say, and Suguru chuckles, fingers turning your head towards him, pressing his forehead agaisnt yours, “seriously, everything we’ve done is just for the movie or for publicity,” Suguru kisses you, teeth teasingly running along his bottom lip.
“You seemed pretty cozy with him in those pictures,” Satoru presses open mouthed kisses along your neck, and you blink.
“What pictures?” and then it occurs to you, “on the plane? They framed those—“ and Satoru’s cutting you off with another kiss, “Toru—“ and Suguru nuzzles the nape of your neck, “Sugu—“
“Just let us take care of you tonight,” Suguru murmurs, lazy fingers drawing circles on your hips, “been too long since we’ve seen you, Princess,”
In a moment they have you on your back on the bed, Satoru’s eyes gleaming with need, their hands slipping up your body, “I’m yours,” you murmur, “both of yours.”
And that’s all they needed to hear.
“Toru, I’m trying to make us breakfast,” you chuckle, half laughing, half exasperated, as he nearly engulfs you in a hug from behind, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
“So? I’m not in the way,” Satoru mumbles, sighing as he kisses the skin behind your ear, “right, Suguru?”
“You’re hindering the process, Toru,” you’re trying to flip pancakes for said boyfriend as he traces constellations of kisses against your shoulder and neck, “right Sugu?”
“Now, now, play nice you two,” Suguru replies drily, glancing at the two of you from the couch, “can’t blame us for missing you, sweetheart,”
“Y’know how many months I had to go without being able to cuddle you,” Satoru’s pouting against your skin now, “I have to make up for all that lost time,”
Shooting had finally ended three months ago — after a month and half spent in Canada, you flew back to Japan. Satoru and Suguru had taken up residence in a hotel room next door (under fake names of course) for about a week before flying back because of work. Satoru had tried to convince you to let him fly back and forth, but for the sake of the environment (and your sanity), you sent them both home.
And still, they both were acting as if you had been away for several years, not months.
“Does it have to be now?” And Satoru nods, grinning, and you relent, “well, this is much better than having dinner with Sukuna,”
“There’s a name we haven’t heard in a while,” Suguru raises an eyebrow, as he strolls into the kitchen, hands in his pockets.
“Thankfully,” Satoru adds, brow wrinkled, “what does he want?”
“Just a dinner to celebrate the end of production,” you sigh, as you step past Satoru to grab a plate for the pancakes, “the movie is going to have its premiere in a few months, so it’s also to plan ahead for that,”
“Did they announce a date yet?” Suguru asks, leaning against the counter on the other side of you, beginning to prepare coffee.
“Not yet, but it should be sometime this coming summer,” and you’re flipping pancake after pancake for the three of you, a stack forming, until you’re finally done. You catch the two of them shsring a look, until Satoru asks:
“Can you get us tickets to the premiere?”
“Of course I’m inviting the entire JJK cast,” you smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to Suguru’s cheek, “why would you two be any different?”
“And what about us two?” Satoru hums, as he shuts off the stove for you, daring less than an inch away from your lips, “Do we get the VIP treatment?”
“Uh-huh,” you bite back a laugh.
“Does the VIP package include you?” Suguru murmurs, a smirk against your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth,
“Of course,” you murmur, as Suguru’s arms wrap around your waist, lips brushing against your pulse, “once we’re away from cameras and phones and press,”
“All access?” Suguru murmurs, large palms slipping under your shirt, making you shiver from their cool touch, and you roll your eyes, as Satoru presses a kiss to your forehead.
“All access.”
“I don’t understand why we had to get ready together,” you grumble, assistants gather around you, one adjusting your gown, another fixing your makeup, and a third trying to tame your hair, “we could have just been picked up and taken to the venue together,”
The two of you had been ushered into these adjoining hotel rooms bright and early — much too early for you to even be awake, much less have to deal with Sukuna. The only consolation was while you were getting your makeup and clothes on, you didn’t have to see him.
“Someone might have seen us,” Sukuna replies, letting the assistant put his watch on, “or your throuple would undoubtedly get in the way,” you shoot a glare at him.
“Can you not call us that? They have names,” and Sukuna scoffs, fingers running over his charcoal suit coat to ensure there wasn’t even a single crease, the cut of his lapels sharp as knives.
“Like I care to remember them, brat,” and you raise an eyebrow.
“Do you even know my name?” he bears no reaction, but the corner of his lips twitch, “you don’t even fuc—“
“Are we all ready?” Your agent enters the hotel room with the director, “we should start heading to the venue,” and Sukuna brushed past you, and out the door, his entourage following behind him.
And you sighed, you were surely ready — ready to put this movie and Sukuna far behind you.
But of course he wasn’t behind you, so much so that he was beside you. Plastered to your side for the press to eat up, his arm slithered around your waist, as you both made your way down the carpeted premiere.
You had been to a premiere for both seasons of Jujutsu Kaisen — but never like this. The camera flashes were blinding, the sounds of the crowd deafening, and the walk down the carpet amongst all these others was disorienting. You were almost grateful for Sukuna’s gruff and short temper, he kept most interviews on the carpet from dragging too long,
You finally make your way inside and Sukuna parts from your side a moment without a word, beckoned off by someone or another. And it feels like too much. The day, the long hours, the carpet — all of it bears down on you at once, and you feel as if someone sucked the air from your lungs, using it to fill this hall with the smallest remnants of oxygen.
Fuck, you grasped tightly to your clutch, you were going to pass out if you didn’t go somewhere, somewhere else with less goddamn people, but where?
And you only take a stumbling step forward, before an arm is around your waist again, and a different voice murmurs in the opposite side, “Lost without us, sweetheart?” Suguru’s voice steadies you, keeps you from slipping deeper away from them, while Satoru’s touch grounds you.
“Let’s get her somewhere private, hm? Does that sound okay, Princess?” And you’re nodding; as the two of them discreetly usher you away, you barely can keep your eyes open, still feeling your breath lodged in your throat, choking on the very thing that was supposed to keep you alive. It doesn’t feel okay until you’re sitting on a bed, holding your head.
You feel the bed divut in as they both sit on either side of you, and their bodies brush against yours as if to ask for permission; and you’re leaning against their touch, until they engulf you in it.
And this was what you needed.
You don’t think about premieres, ruining your makeup, tripping, cameras, or anything else — just both of them and you.
“Are you okay, baby?” Suguru murmurs softly, and you’re nodding, “did you get overwhelmed?” And you nod again, and he sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I really wish you could have come with us,”
“I told ya we should have just taken her with us anyway,” you know Satoru’s face is scrunched up in worry, “the movie’s out anyway,”
“Not like I didn’t agree — I just told you she would never agree,” Suguru muttered, most assuredly rolling his eyes, “plus, we said we wouldn’t do that to her again,”
“Can you guys not talk like I’m not here?” and they instantly refocus on you, as you bury your head in the crook of Suguru’s neck, while Satoru does the same to you, pressing butterfly kisses to your skin, as Suguru carefully carded through your locks. And you just sat like that for a while, until you grew calmer by the second and finally lift your head, “sorry,”
“What do you have to be sorry for?” Satoru furrowed his brow, “you didn’t drool all over Suguru’s suit did you?” and you elbow him lightly in the ribs.
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t mind anyway, I’m used to you drooling on me one way or another,” and now you glare at Suguru, “you’re the one apologizing for no real reason,”
“There is a reason,” you sigh, shaking your head, “we should be out there enjoying the party, but instead, we’re—”
“All alone, with the two most important people to us?” Satoru tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “if anything, this was exactly the VIP treatment I was looking for, just us alone, in a room together?” Satoru’s tilting your head if only to press kisses up the side of your neck, nosing your pulse.
“He’s right, princess, we only came here for you — no one else, we’re so proud of you,” Suguru murmurs, his hand finding its way onto your thigh, “and all we want is to see you happy,”
Happy? When had been the last time you had been happy in the last few months? It had been far too long since it had been consistent — but the two people that ran consistently through every up, far too little downs? Satoru and Suguru. It had been so hard — and now it was almost over. Only a few more interviews and public appearances, and you would be done with Sukuna.
But you didn’t want to think about Sukuna now — you wanted them. More than ever.
Your lips find Suguru’s first, lips sliding against his — a hesitation for a millisecond, before he’s melting into it, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before you’re pulling away, soft pants filling the silence, until a warm hand is turning your head, and Satoru kisses you next, needy and persistent, as he always was, his fingers threaded in your hair, grazing against the nape of your neck. But Suguru doesn’t waste time, a hand sneaking up the silt of your dress, dragging against your pantyhose, snapping the skintight, translucent fabric against your skin.
You part from Satoru for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his, and you see the lipstick smeared on both their lips — you can only imagine what little you have left is painting more than just your lips at this point.
“If we don’t stop right now, don’t know if I can, baby,” Satoru murmurs, guiding your palm to his already hard erection, “it’s risky,”
“It is, someone could catch us,” Suguru is still drawing tempting circles on your upper thigh, his nose brushes against yours as he presses his forehead against yours, “What do you want to do?”
And you knew the right thing to do would be to fix your faces and return to the party, act as if this hadn’t happened, as the three of you suffer through an evening without each other — until you get home far too late and far too tired to fall asleep beside them. That was the right thing, the sensible thing.
But your need for them both was hardly sensible. It wasn’t sensible when the three of you had gotten drunk multiple nights after shooting together — Satoru only drinking a shot each time at your and Suguru’s insistence to get far too plastered too quickly. It wasn’t sensible when the two asked you who the better kisser was — your character the envy of every fangirl as you got to kiss the two “strongest” sorcerers — and then when you cheekily replied you weren’t sure, they didn’t hesitate to kiss you then and there, one after another — and you realized you never wanted to stop (and the three you never did that night). It wasn’t sensible to hook up again a few nights later, heading back to Satoru’s place to hang out, only for the three of you end up in bed together yet again — a habit formed, but that you couldn’t quit. And it surely wasn’t sensible when the three of you had started to date — it was far from it, in a business like this. But you did it anyway — because it was them.
It was always them.
You rise to your feet, facing them a moment, before turning your back to them, looking over your shoulder at them, “Well? You’re going to have to help me get out of this dress because I’m not letting you two ruin it.”
And they share a look, before their lips curl into grins, as they reply.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Of course, baby.”
“Suguru no—“ and he snaps the fabric of your pantyhose against you making you whimper, “I told you not—“
“To ruin your dress, you said nothing about your pantyhose,” his nails digging crescents into your lovely thighs, “and you should worry more about Satoru,”
Satoru’s lips were nearly glued to your neck, tongue dragging up the side, until he pulled away to scowl at Suguru, “Eh? Why me?”
Suguru shrugs, “who left all those marks all over her neck last time?”
“You left marks over her thighs,”
“Jealous?”
“No, but I think you are that everyone saw mine, but no one saw yours,” and Suguru scoffs,
“My marks aren’t for anyone else but me,” and his fingers tear at the fabric of your pantyhose, as you whine, lips curling as your skin is freed, “and if anyone else was seeing them, well,” his thumb drags across the swell of your far too wet cunt, drawing a pretty gasp from your lips, “I’d have to punish her wouldn’t I?” He kisses the skin exposed between the patchwork tears, making you whimper, “make her cum over and over, until she begs me to stop, show everyone how I fuck her well,”
“Not as well as I do,” Satoru replies, “isn’t that right, Princess?”
“I’m not answering that,” you scoff — you knew nothing good came from getting between their fights, except maybe getting between their bodies.
“Then maybe we’ll have to remind you,” Suguru’s hands drag over your legs again, tugging off the shreds of your pantyhose off, “give you our dicks over and over until you tell us which one’s better,”
“Sounds good to me, yeah?” Satoru leans down to kiss the valley of your breasts, before his fingers follow, finding the front latch with a grin, “planned for this sweetheart? And I thought I was the one who wanted this the most,” and he undoes the clasp with practiced ease, your chest exposed to his touch, nipples pebbling under the cool air.
“You still are,” Suguru replies, as he nips at your thigh, eyes flicking down to Satoru’s obvious erection straining against the fabric of his slacks, “ready to burst just from looking at her chest, bet you wouldn’t last a minute getting her off,”
“Oh yeah? Then let’s see who lasts longer,” Satoru undoes and tosses his shirt with ease, his deep blue suit coat long discarded, before he pulls you up into a sitting position while he lies back, and then lifts you with ease onto the middle of his bare chest, “you in her mouth or me eating her out,”
“Toru—“ you squealed, as you squirmed, your already embarrassingly wet panties clinging to your dripping cunt, slick against his skin, but he holds your hips steady with large hands, “I can’t — I’ll crush you—“
“Ride my face, baby,” Satoru smiles up at you, that same smile you could never say no to — the one that made your stomach tie itself in knots, “wanna watch you cum all over my face, wanna walk around covered with your slick m—“
“Fuck—“ you cover your face, cheeks burning, “stop,”
“Already embarrassed? That’s not good, Princess,” Suguru clicks his tongue, as gentle but teasing fingers pry your hands off your face, “can’t have that, we barely started,”
“Please, baby?” Satoru pouts, and you can’t resist — a small nod, and his thousand watt smile almost makes it worth it, “take your seat on your throne, Princess,” you snort, almost.
You gingerly shift yourself over him, still hovering as you hesitate. You whimper as he inhaled, a shudder leaving his body, “how is it possible for you smell so fucking good?” And you hear the distinct sound of him unbuckling his belt and the zipper of his pants, and you knew he was already palming at his length.
Yet still, insecurity creeps up your body from his gaze, as he gazes up at your messy folds “Are you sure I won’t suffocate—” and he leans up to drag his tongue up your clothed cunt, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “ngh, Toru,” his name comes out far too needy for your taste, knees already beginning to buckle, quivering when he tugs at your drenched panties to snap them against your glistening folds, “fuck—” and he’s pulling the thin fabric aside, his warm breath sending ribbons of heat up your body, nearly shuddering from anticipation alone, and it’s nothing compared to when he pulls you down to seat you fully on his face.
“Fuck,” your body folds forward, and you barely catch yourself, as Satoru’s needy tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, “Toru, oh my god —- fuck,”
You barely register the creak of the bed, and the rustle of clothes or the click of the belt, “That’s the idea after all, princess,” Suguru knelt before you, his pretty cock aching for you and an inch in front of you — he was thicker than Satoru, lovely veins that you wanted nothing more than to trace, and pretty beads of pre-cum dripping from his slit, “are you going to be a good girl and—” he hisses when your lips part to suckle at his tip,tongue flicking over his slit, before you let his cock part your lips again.
But Satoru wasn’t one to be ignored — his tongue circling your clit faster, as his hands rest on your ass, squeezing, before slapping his hand down against the sensitive flesh, sending you forward onto Suguru’s cock.
Suguru grunts, fingers threading into your strands, nails digging into your scalp, “s’fucking good for me, princess. Such a good cockeater,” his fingers cup your chin, forcing your gaze higher, eyes blown out in pleasure, boobs bouncing with the way you rocked against Satoru’s face and Suguru’s shallow thrusts, the heavy weight of his dick on your tongue.
And Suguru can’t resist — palming at your breasts because you’re so pretty when you whine, as he pinches your erect nipples before rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. You moan around Suguru’s length, your hands grasping at his hips, sloppily sucking him off, as Satoru grinds his face against your cunt.
The wet squelch of your pussy rings in your ears, greedily lapping at your juices like a man wanting to drown, diving deeper and deeper to depths unknown. And when his thumbs reach up to part your hole further apart, you’re nearly choking on Suguru’s dick, as Satoru’s tongue slips into your entrance.
You whine when he teasingly pulls away, pressing sweet kisses to your clit, “Gonna fuck you right, sweetheart — make sure you can’t remember anything tonight except the feel of my tongue inside you, that is, until I fuck you open,” and he’s burying you back, moaning at the feeling of your juices slipping off the side of his face, “gotta open wide for you baby — gotta swallow this whole cunt, yeah?”
And you would have moaned if you hadn’t had your mouth full of Suguru’s dick, nearly beginning to choke on it when he began to lazily thrust into your mouth, a shiver down his spine as he looks at you drooling around his length, sloppily tracing his veins, a graze of his teeth against the sensitive skin, and a hiss parts his lips, “careful there,” and he gives a particularly hard thrust, “don’t want me to fuck this throat do you?” and your moan makes a mean smirk curl his lips, “or maybe you do,”
Fuck, you were getting close — and so was Suguru by the way his hips began to buck into your mouth, and Satoru for that matter — the wet sounds of his fisting his cock along with the messy moans against your cunt sending more pleasure up and down your spine. And fuck, his bucking against his hand was making the bed shake — and god, you’d reach behind you and jack him off if you weren’t holding onto Suguru for dear life.
“That’s it, sweetheart, swallow my cock, fuck, g’nna cum soon,” Suguru’s balls slap against your face as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest, “Toru looks he’s about ready to burst too, gonna clean up our cocks before we fuck you, pretty?”
“Fuck, she nearly clamped down on my mouth from that,” Satoru says, thoroughly muffled from your heat pressed tight to his mouth, his tongue then returning to fuck you, as you ride his face to find your release, unable to think about anything else but cumming, “cum on my face, baby,” and when Satoru sucks around your clit, a sharp palm bearing down on your ass again, you’re cumming, grinding and riding out your high on his face, as he welcomes your release with an open mouth. The wet sounds of his slurping and sucking, as your juices roll off both sides of his face and stain the mattress underneath him.
And then you’re eagerly sucking at Suguru’s cock, swallowing around him as he fucks your face, “g’nna cum, are you gonna let me cum alone — are you going to help Satoru cum too?” and he’s helping you reach back, leaning back with you so his cock never parts your pretty lips, and right as your fingers brush against Satoru’s cock, squeezing around the base, you hollow out your cheeks, letting Suguru’s tip brush your throat.
They both groan your name as they cum, thick spurts of Suguru’s release down your throat, while Satoru cums all over his stomach and your hand. They slowly still their movements, Suguru slowly pulling his cock from your mouth, strings like a spiderweb of cum and your spit connecting your lips to his dick, and Satoru helps you off his face, eyes shut as your legs are still shaking from the way he ate you out still, as they lay you down on the bed.
Your eyes flutter open to find Satoru licking his face clean, still glossy with your release and his spit, “Fuck, sweetheart, how do you taste so good?” he murmurs almost reverently, a grin on his lips, “I’ll have to sit on my face more often,” and you’re rolling your eyes.
“I don’t know if I’ll be sitting on my throne very often, you weirdo,” you chuckle softly, far too breathlessly, and you turn to Suguru to find him leaning on his elbow, gaze still dark.
“Well, you do have two thrones after all,” Suguru leans down to find your lips in a kiss, tasting himself on your lips, a soft moan pulled from your lips, “you’ll have to use the other at one point or another,”
“Jealous?” you echo Satoru, and Suguru has you pulled into his lap in a moment, your back pressed flush to his chest, his cock already far too hard, far too quickly, and your head falls back as he drags the tip over your still sensitive folds, “a-ah, Sugu, I—”
“The only thing I’m jealous about is that the only thing that’s been in this pretty pussy tonight has been Satoru’s tongue,” and he’s tilting your head down, to watch your cunt rub against his length, a whine leaving your throat that you barely recognize as your own, “think we should fix that, shouldn’t we?”
“Room for another over there?” Satoru adds, drawing closer, his length in hand, as he lazily pumps it to full mast, and you whimper at the sight of him, “our princess is so needy, she needs two of us to fill her, yeah?”
And Suguru takes the opportunity to spread your folds with his hand, and sink his length into you, your head falling back into his shoulder, as a pornographic moans parts your lips, and Suguru is shushing you all the same, as he works himself into you inch by inch, “Don’t want anything to think we’re filming a different kind of movie in here, hm?”
“Imagine the headlines then,” Satoru hums, as he teases your clit with his cock, “movie star found cheating on her co star — one dick just wasn’t enough — she needs two,”
“Can they blame her?” Suguru’s finally inside you fully, his stretch far too delicious, shorting out your nerves with the pleasure — and you swear your cunt was making a mold of his cock, complete with every lovely vein, pretty curve, and each inch, “this pussy deserves the best after all,”
“S’full,” you’re a mess, walls already fluttering around Suguru, practically begging him to begin moving, while welcoming Satoru in with folds that only craved his cock, “so big,” you whine.
“Mmhmm, I know, baby,” Satoru’s tilting up your chin, lips curled in a grin, “Suguru’s almost too much for me — how are you going to fit me too?” and you whimper, shaking your head, “you still want me?” and you nod far too eagerly, and he chuckles, “well, you heard our princess, Suguru, mind giving me a hand?”
And you furrow your brow, unsure, until you feel Suguru’s hands reach around to your front and spreads your pussy lips wider for Satoru, making your cunt clamp down on him, “fuck, she just got tighter,” but Satoru takes it in stride, gathering some of your juices on his fingers to further lube himself up.
“No matter how much we fuck her like this, she’s always so tight for us,” Satoru’s pressing his tip to your spread entrance, and you whimper, “maybe tonight,” his fingers tilt your chin upwards, “we’ll finally fuck her to remember our shapes,”
And he guides his cock into you, and Suguru braces your body against his as your back arches, as both of their lengths stretch you open — like they said, no matter how many times they did this, you never quite got used to it.
But this pleasure? You were far too used to — they had ruined you for anyone else, because no matter what, no man could please you like either of them, much less both of them.
“S’full, fuck, I-I can’t—” your walls are squeezing them hard, dicks rubbing together, drawing deep groans from both of them.
“Don’t have to break our dicks off to get us to fuck you all the time, baby,” Satoru mutters, panting, as he lifts your leg, hooking one around his hip, “already gonna fuck you stupid anytime you want,”
“Shit, I’m not gonna last that long, Satoru,” Suguru says through gritted teeth, pressing heated kisses to your neck, “gonna start moving, sweetheart,” and you’re nodding, as they both begin to fuck you in tandem. Suguru thrusted upwards steadily, forcing you to ride him, allowing his dick to sink into sweeter depths, pleasure ripping up your spine, while Satoru fucked into you at a rough pace, hands gripping your thighs as he did. Both of their movements drove the other deeper into you, reaching depths you didn’t think were possible.
“F-fuck, Sugu, Toru,” you’re babbling, lost in the thick haze of pleasure, dripping over your skin like hot molasses, slow but burning all the same, as your walls fluttered around both of them, “s’good, I can’t—” tears burning at your eyes, as your hands brace themselves on Satoru’s shoulders.
“That’s it, such a good girl, been thinking about you spread out on me like this since the moment I saw you,” Suguru grunts, rutting into you faster, “couldn’t wait to rip off this dress to fuck you right — didn’t think you’d let us so soon,” and you swear their cocks were kissing your cervix at this point, and surely you’d look down and see a bulge in your stomach from how deep they were.
“Pretty girl takes us so well, no one compares to you, sweetheart,” Satoru sighs, watching the way his cock sunk into you again and again, “you’re ours, just ours,”
“I’m close, s’close, g’nna—” pleasure built like a coil in your stomach, ready to snap, and they were only more than happy to pull you apart, as long as they were the only one to put you back together.
And Satoru rubs at your clit, a moan on his lips, “Cum for us princess,” and you do, toes curling as you cum hard with their names on your lips, clamping down around both of their cocks. Low moans of your name leave their lips as they fuck you through your orgasm, hips stuttering when they slowed, “g’nna cum,”
“Where—” Suguru chokes out, and you’re leaning into Suguru, while your arms wrap around Satoru’s neck, pulling him close.
“Inside, please, give me your cum,” And they both moan, slowing until they notch themselves deep as they both cum, thick releases painting your walls, continuing to fuck their cum deeper inside, “ngh, fuck,” And Suguru finds your lips in a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, as Satoru digs his teeth into your neck, no protest coming to your mind, only just a want for more, more, more.
And they slow, creak of the mattress and the pants stilling into silence, as you lean back against Suguru, Satoru’s face buried in the crook of your shoulder as the three of you bask in the afterglow.
And finally, Satoru slowly pulls himself from you, groaning as he watches the evidence of the double creampie they gave you drips from inside you, “Fuck, sweetheart, we filled you up,”
“A shame to waste it,” Suguru murmurs, as he pulls his softening erection from inside you, “should we plug her up, make her keep our cum inside her for the rest of the night?” and you’re biting back a moan, but Satoru doesn’t miss the way your lower lips twitch.
“Oh, she likes that,” Satoru grins, cupping your face to find your lips in a languid kiss, and you taste yourself on his tongue that teases teasingly over the seam of your lips, “or maybe we should fuck her again and give her more until it drips down her thighs all night, hm?”
And the moment is fraught with tension, as the two of them lean in again to kiss you, before the door bursts open, making all three of you freeze.
Fuck (and not in the good way).
“Oi, what the fuck,” the three of you glance over, as Satoru and Suguru hurriedly covered you up with Suguru’s nearby discarded jacket, “you fucking idiots—”
“Look who’s talking,” Satoru scoffs, “fuck off,”
“I would say the same to you, but you already did,” Sukuna shakes his head, “all night you’ve been gone, and you can’t be bothered to keep track of the time?” and your brow knits together, “it’s nearly time for the fucking—”
“Question and answer, with the press,” the warmth of their embraces erased in a moment by the news, a bucket of ice water spilled over your head, “fuck,” you’re trying to scramble to get up, “fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t out there like this—”
“No fuck you can’t,” Sukuna scoffs, and Suguru glares at him, as he helps you into your dress, while Satoru stands with his jacket as a partition.
“Stop talking if you’re not going to help,” and you’re lucky the dress doesn’t require six people to get into, and you had chosen something relatively simple, with a fucking string corset you were beginning to regret as Suguru tried to retie it as best he could, “fuck, why was this dress so easy to take off?” But he finally gets it, as you open the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror.
“My makeup, my hair — I can fix it, but not the way it was before,” you’re covering your face, how was your career over before you barely started? “Fuck, what do I do—”
“It’s simple,” Satoru sighs, “as much as I hate to suggest this, and I probably will go gouge my eyes out—”
You sigh, “Toru—”
“I have an idea,” Satoru’s eyes slide to Sukuna, disgust evident in his face, until he glances back at you, “but we’ll need his help,”
“Don’t worry, I don’t know your name either,” Satoru’s head snaps back to Sukuna.
“You don’t know—”
Sukuna smirks, “What’s the plan?”
Satoru’s expression sours, as he scratches the back of his head, “Well…”
“You surprised me, brat,” Sukuna says, as he holds your arm, as the two of you make your way back into the ballroom, and you’re adjusting your dress, still far too self conscious — as if everyone could see what you did — even though that was the plan.
“That I agreed to this?” you murmur.
“No, that you bit me that hard,” he rubbed the mark you left on his neck, as your cheeks burn, “didn’t expect a tiny thing like you to be able to bite that well,”
“Well, I had to make it look real,” you look away, but look back when you’re about to reach the doors of the ballroom, “fuck, everyone is going to look at us, aren’t they?”
“Let them enjoy the show,” an arm slides around your waist, “you know they will.”
~~~
It’s only been a few weeks since the film premiered, and it’s already far surpassed some of the top grossing films this year. A lot of the buzz generated from the film has been around rumors surrounding the relationship between the two lead co-stars—their tumultuous relationship seems to have come to an end—
And you tune out the video for a moment, scrolling into the comments to see what people are saying:
sukunasthirdleg69: damn can i get on him next? 👅
gegesnumber1hater: wonder if she got back with gojo or geto again? 🤭 I’d like to see that groupchat pop off.
gogecutestprincess replied to gegesnumber1hater: no way she lost her chance with gojo and geto 😤 they deserve better…like each other
You chuckled, at least the news of you and Sukuna had spread as planned. You had enough of the coverage of the premiere with the zoomed in images of your clothes and the marks on both of your bodies. But finally it was done — but how long would it be until you slipped up with Satoru or Suguru and the rumors would begin again?
“What are you thinking about so much? Aside from me,” Satoru collapses on the couch beside you, hair still damp from the shower, arm slipping around your waist, as he leans over your shoulder, “what are they saying now?”
“Just more rumors — some are wondering if we got back together,”
“How could they ever think we let you go?” Suguru presses a kiss to the top of your head, before sitting beside you.
“I still hate that they think the marks I left are from Sukuna,” Satoru mumbles, as you flip through the comments, burying his face further into the crook of your neck, “how could they not realize it was my hard work that put those marks there?”
“Because it’s so distinct,” you snort, and he’s pouting as you press a kiss to his cheek, “not everyone has your sharp eyes, Toru,”
“And yet you saved every picture they got of her,” Suguru smirks, and Satoru glares at him, “but I did too,”
“What are we going to do when they start talking about us again?” Satoru tilts his head at your question.
“Let them,” Satoru leans back on the couch, fingers toying with a strand of your hair, “and if you really don’t like it, we can pay them off,”
“And if I don’t want to pay them off?” Both of them furrow their brows, “what if I want them to know?” You add, chewing on your lip, “about us?”
“You want to?” Suguru’s gaze softens, “but more than us, it could impact your career,”
“It already had,” you scoff, when had it not recently? If it was going to be like this, you would at least like to be in control of the narrative, “everyone is always talking about us, well,” your lips curl into a grin, why don’t we give them something to talk about?”
“And what would that be?” Satoru hums.
You lock your phone screen, “When does shooting and press start for season three of jjk?”
~~~~
A few months later….
“A successful film, several offers to be in other blockbusters, and now you’re back shooting season three of Jujutsu Kaisen,” the interviewer leans back, shaking her head, as she fans herself with her interview cards, “I think we were lucky to get an interview with you now! Although it isn’t in person this time,”
“Well, you can’t forget your roots,” and you couldn’t — this was the first show that had requested you for an interview all those years ago when season one of Jujutsu Kaisen was airing, even if you had relegate them to a video interview, “it feels like this year has been that in many ways,”
“Oh? How is that?” and your lips curl.
“Last year with my first feature film and everything else, it felt like starting over — starting from scratch with something so new that I barely recognized myself at some point,” your hands clasped in your lap, “this year, after the film gained so much traction, and going back to film the show that made my career, it just feels like coming home — especially to the cast,”
“Speaking of the cast, are you going to see more behind the scenes with Gojo and Geto?” she grins, “so many of your videos with those two went viral — are we going to see more of the three of you messing around?”
And you can’t help the smile on your lips, “Oh definitely you will be seeing more of that,” you’re tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the lights glint off a set of two rings on your finger, diamonds glinting as if begging for notice, and you hear a small gasp.
“Is that—” and you freeze a moment, before your smile grows wider, and the interviewer squeals, “Are you married?”
“Guilty,”
The interviewer grins harder than you are — and you’re not quite sure if she’s more thrilled at the news or of getting this exclusive, “Who’s the lucky man?”
And you open your mouth, when the camera goes out of focus for a moment, only for it to come back into focus with Satoru and Suguru leaning into the frame of the camera, their arms around your sides. And Satoru lowers his sunglasses with a smirk.
“Who said it’s just one?”
✧ a/n: ahh this was super fun to write just because of how much crack it was hahah, i hope you guys enjoyed <3
✧ taglist: @forest-hashira , @supilyu , @yamaguccitadashi, @kentocalls, @magicalgirlb, @ssetsuka , @isabeauwolf , @lemonintrovert01 , @astraecea-silversin , @cerene-dipity , @whorefornoodles , @hobimysolecito , @risuola , @ja-zz , @spider-fan72 , @jayathelostdragon , @therealestpussyeater , @too-much-snow , @umarureid , @rosso-seta , @maddie-jayne , @at-the-chateau , @cherrypieyourface, @sleepysaurusworld , @lucilferz , @spltbtch , @bobfloydluvsblackwomen , @johannakhalafalla , @augustwinesworld , @catsgomurp , @psychxbby, @hellkaiserinphoenix , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @cstandsforchaos , @sunamatic , @lycoris-01 , @mua-for-now , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @voids-universe , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @gorouenjoyer
#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo smut#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto smut#geto suguru smut#gojo satoru smut#stsg x reader#satosugu x reader#satoru gojo x you#suguru geto x you#jjk x reader#jjk fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#geto fanfiction#gojo fanfiction#satoru gojo fluff#suguru geto fluff
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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]
Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍
Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.
Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.
Word count: 5.1k
💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜
Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰
“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.
Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”
“For what?”
“Maybe someone will save us.”
“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”
“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”
“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”
Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.
Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”
You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.
“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”
He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”
“You don’t want to die a virgin.”
“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”
“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”
“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”
“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”
“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”
“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”
Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”
You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”
“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”
“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.
“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”
“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”
“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”
“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”
“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”
“Two.”
“Good. Don’t use them.”
You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”
“Remember what you promised me.”
His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”
Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”
“I rarely do.”
“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”
It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.
Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”
The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.
The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.
“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs
You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed
You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave
There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”
The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.
Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”
Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”
All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.
Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”
The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.
“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”
The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”
Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”
“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”
Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”
“Get bit, you poodle.”
Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”
Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.
“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”
“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”
Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”
“Odessa, Oregon.”
He nods. “We’re going to California.”
“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”
“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.
“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.
“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”
“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.
“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”
“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.
“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”
You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.
Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.
“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”
Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”
“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”
“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.
“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”
“I’m seventeen!”
“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.
“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”
Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”
“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.
“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.
“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”
“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.
“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is truly desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”
Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”
“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.
“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”
“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”
Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”
“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.
“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.
“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.
“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”
Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”
“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”
“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”
“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”
“Who’s Criston?” you ask.
“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.
“Oh, your stepdad?”
“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”
“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.
Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”
“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.
“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”
“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”
“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”
Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”
Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”
“So racist,” you agree.
Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”
Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.
“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”
“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”
Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”
Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”
“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”
There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.
“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.
“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”
“Where is it?”
“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”
Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.
“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”
“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.
Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.
Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”
Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”
Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”
“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.
“And then I have to marry Michelle.”
“You gotta.”
“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”
“It’s the only logical answer.”
“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.
“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.
~~~~~~~~~~
Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.
You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.
What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.
Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”
“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”
“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”
“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”
“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”
“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”
“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”
It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”
“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.
“Kentucky,” you confess.
“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”
“Why would I want to go back there?”
Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.
After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”
Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.
“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”
“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.
“Aemond?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to your face?”
He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”
“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”
“I did.”
You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”
He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”
You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”
“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”
“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”
He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”
“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.
Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.
There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”
Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”
#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen
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lightning strike | h. iwaizumi
✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader, recently established relationship, mutual pining, pwp, dry humping + making out, nipple play, implied raw sex, super love-dovey, deliberate name change from iwaizumi to hajime 18+
✮ wc ; 4k (???????)
✮ a/n ; something deeply frightening happened to me in writing this but whatever. made it with ten minutes to spare happy bday mr iwaizumi
pls be nice if characterization is everywhere its been a while
He’s nervous.
So nervous.
You laugh at him over a can of beer, even harder when he visibly flinches at the sound. The room is too quiet since all of your company has left for the evening. Iwaizumi is tipsy but not drunk - though you think if he has another can he’ll get there just fine.
“Your face is gonna get stuck if you keep frowning.”
He shoots you a glare that makes your lips quirk up. “Shut up. You sound like my Ma.”
“How is she by the way? Still good?”
Iwaizumi snorts and takes a long sip of his beer. He tilts his head back against the couch, arm stretched along the seats. His muscles pull taut underneath the skintight material of his turtleneck. You find yourself sitting on your hands to calm down, but you’re too unfocused for it too work.
“She’s good. She likes the countryside. Been growing squash and tomatoes and everything. Gonna try and stay with her a bit during off-season,” His voice is wistful and affectionate. An only son, filial and polite - you smile at him lovingly. “You should come visit with me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Guess it’s the same since we’ve already met but since we’re going steady I though you might be too nervous.”
The realization settles in too late. Just when you thought he’d swallow the nerves down, they make an appearance once again. He sits up straight, clearing his throat, diverting his gaze to the coffee table separating you both. A blush spreads up, all through his body. His ears turn especially turn some shade of cherry red. Dusts all along his nose. He tsks at you, tongue clicking with a familiar petulance. You bite back a laugh.
“Going steady? Seriously?”
“Well,” Your face twists in mischief as you look up at him, your eyes locking briefly. “You’d get all hissy if I called us lovers.”
His eyes go wide - in equal parts shock and mild disgust. You can’t hold the laugh back that time time no matter how hard you try. It bubbles up out of you, euphoric and hysterical. Your laughter is too loud to savor his displeasure, so caught up in it that it takes you a few minutes to calm down again,
“I hate you,” Iwaizumi mumbles. A grin splits your face.
“No, you don’t.”
He frowns and his blush darkens just a touch
The room goes quiet save for the sound of your heartbeat. You try and collect yourself. The house feels too quiet, all prior company absen. Not that Mattsun and Maki dragged out Oikawa to be considerate of your newfound love or anything. You’re sure you’ve already gotten a long text detailing your extortion related to the favor. Still, you’re glad to be alone with him.
It’s easy to split your time between all of them separately when you’re all in the same place - but complicated to be all together. And alone time with Iwaizumi has always been hard to come by.
You’ve been pining for him since highschool - the frequency you wish to see him tuned tuned by the passing years of your relationship and feelings. You’ve gone through the whole spectrum of desires. From wanting to see him everyday constantly, to hoping you’d never have to see him again. It took you well over a decade to make any progress, and the entire process (while surely heartfelt) has been unmistakably clumsy and so, so long.
Spending alone time with Iwaizumi has thus always been complicated except for this one time. You got together, officially, just last week. The day he came home, where you incidentally found yourselves alone together. Something that’d been rare years prior due to said pining and trying to get over him. You don’t even really know how it happened. It felt like the most significant moment in your life thus far and incomparably anticlimatic at once. He was just sending you home since you’d got completely shitfaced, and before you left you grabbed him by the collar and announced it. Just like that.
(You threw up half-way through the car ride back. Your Uber was nice enough to pull over so you didn’t do it in his car.)
You went home after and didn’t speak for days. It took a few more days for either of you to work up the courage to sort things out forreal, but you made it work with the help of even more alcohol.
Things get busy though, when Oikawa returns home and Hajime is off-season. It’s rare things line up, and when they do - it’s only natural you spend all your time together. You did today too, celebrating Iwaizumi’s birthday among the four of you with take-out and Godzilla movies on your nice flatscreen.
But you haven’t been alone with each other since your chat establishing your relationship as not a pipe-dream, which was notably through text.
He’s nervous, so incredibly nervous but so are you. Just a little.
You look up after being lost in thought - to see Iwaizumi stare at you. The air shifts slow and steady, thick tension stirring in your gut. You bite the inside of your cheek, rubbing your feet together as you fold over yourself, chin resting on your knee.
You wonder if you should be the one to break the distance. Iwaizumi beats you to the punch this time. You suppose you’re even.
“Come ‘ere.”
He pushes the coffee table farther away from him with ease, careful not to knock anything over. Your tipsy self swoons over his competence, but you’re sure you’d do the same sober.
The look he gives you as you crawl over to him makes you feel bashful. You go over until you’re sitting side by side - stretching your legs out. Your thighs barely touches. Iwaizumi jolts, swiping a hand over his face in exasperation.
“Sorry,”
You shake your head. “It’s okay.” Because it is, then just to make sure. “Are we okay?”
“More than okay,” He admits, a breath of relief following the words. “It was a good birthday, by the way. Thank you.”
“They’ll get upset that you only thanked me,”
He bristles immediately making you giggle. “I’ll thank those knuckleheads later.”
You smile at him, wide and bright. He looks at you before quickly looking away, laughing a little humorlessly to himself. You wonder what he’s thinking about but decide against asking, comfortable letting him go at whatever speed.
“Can I uh—“ He clears his throat. “Wanna kiss you. Just uhh… shit.”
You’d love to tease him, but you feel like your heart might explode out of your body so there’s not really much room. Nodding, you sit up on your knees and turn a little to face him. His features soften with remarkable fondness. You flush at the sudden attention. He sits up straighter, turning his head to face you. His forehead knocks against yours softly, noses brushes. His eyes are so sharp. You have to close your own when you feel him leaning in to kiss you.
Iwaizumi is warm. His lips are softer than you thought they’d be. His hands feel big as one snakes up to cup your neck. He gives you one deep kiss, followed by two pecks before pulling away to make you chase him. He rewards you by kissing you agai. The sudden pressure makes your head spin.
You pull away dazed. “You’re… super good at kissing.”
“Yeah?”
You press your thighs together at his reply. So sexy it’s unfair. “Uh-huh.”
He gives you a weighted hum.
His reaction spurs you on then. You pull away from him momentarily. Iwaizumi stares at you in reply, worry making his brow furrow. Before he can get the words out, you seat yourself on his lap. He’s taken aback as he realizes your intent, your arms around his neck. It’s not even really the alcohol, as much as it’s everything else. Cramped in your living room together, pressed up against your couch. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and shiver in his arms smelling his cologne. Spicy with a hint of pine. He hesitates, hands settling so carefully on your hips.
He lets you stay like that undisturbed until you’re ready to pull away. Like he senses you needed that. He’s always been so good at knowing what exactly you need. Suddenly restless you decide you need to look at him again - make sure he’s real. That this is real.
“Hey,” He mutters. His pitch is low, sends your heart hammering.
You giggle, fluttering nervously. “Hi,” And then, “You like me,”
“Pfft,” His voice is so tender, so soft, so comforting. “More than that.”
Suddenly overwhelmed by your own giddiness, you squeak. You want to bury yourself in his shoulder again, but he’s quick to hold your wrist and stop you. He pins you under his gaze. It’s so intense you can’t help but feel like a deer caught in headlights. Your head is empty and all he’s doing is looking at you.
But maybe that’s the whole problem. He’s looking at you, and you’ve wanted that for more than a decade. Now having it is too much, too suddenly - and you’re almost afraid of having it. It’s just a gaze, but it’s yours. He’s telling he’s yours in a way that’s just like him.
“You…” He starts on something before letting you go. “For a long time,”
He doesn’t need to explain. You already know.
“Me too,”
He calms down when you get it..
“Really?” He follows up. He doesn’t look at you as he goes on. “How long?”
You think on it.
“Since we were fifteen?”
“Same as me, then.” He’s clumsy with the follow-up. “That’s…”
“Dumb? Ridiculous? Too long?” You say, filling in the words for him. “I know.”
The extent of your own longing comes to you in waves. Love, like the sea trapped behind ice - so easily shattered. You’re drowning, your lungs aching trying to get adjusted to what is finally yours. The shock of it comes and goes, but you’re surrounded by it all the same. Iwaizumi stares at you and you stare back and nothing in the world exists except this desire you’ve kept to yourself for years.
His name comes out like a whimper on your lips. “Iwaizumi,”
“Hajime,” He corrects, so tender. So sweet to you. “Please,”
“Hajime,” You test the name out on your tongue. It’s sweet.
He doesn’t say anything after that.
Your breath hitches as Hajime crowds into your space again. His hands are firm on your hips as he kisses you again. It’s different from before, lingers longer - his tongue pressing along the seam of your lips until you open them and allow him in deeper.The taste of alcohol is clearer on your tongue, bitter remnants of malt making you drool at the corners of your mouth. You kiss hungrily, your hands carding through the short, black hair with a longing sigh. Hajime groans a little when you tug at the root and the only thing you can think to do is try to sink into him further. .
The hear raises without warning. Your skin under your clothes feels like it’s on fire. It feels different too suddenly for you to adjust and keep completely calm. Lust that borders cosmic engraves into your bones. Crumbling under the weight of it, you kiss Hajime like your life would end without it. In the moment, it feels like it would. Exchanged breaths are the only source of air for that space and time. You feel frantic, hazy - and Hajime who you know to be so steady, proves to be in the same place as you.
His hands are so big. You can feel how tight he grabs you, his thumb pressing into your hipbones - itching to go lower. You don’t want to pull away but you want more. In the second you take a breath you tell him as much. Your own delirium might bring you shame if you were in any place to really feel it. “You can touch me. However you want.”
“Fuck. Don’t say that.”
“Hajime, please.”
You mutter something but you don’t catch what it really. Your head is swimming with unrepentant ardor and your tongue feels too heavy for your mouth. Hajime kisses you again and takes the lead. The pleasure echoes in how you sigh, your hips rutting against his lap as his hands squeeze your ass. His hands are so fucking big - strong and kind and hold you with no uncertainty. The groping goes straight to your cunt, stomach starting to twist with familiar arousal. You push your hips against him again.
You’re hardly thinking about it. Hardly thinking at all - no coherency or sense thrumming through your brain except his name. Hajime, Hajime, Hajime. An incantation of destiny. A love song.
You feel his fingers inch up to go underneath your shirt - all of a sudden feeling burdened by all the layers between you. You can’t calm down.
He pulls away from you first in that instance. Before you can ask, he nudges himself close to your neck, kissing along your jaw. You feel the fabric of your shirt tug. “Can I take this off?”
You nod rapidly, then mimic him wanting him to do the same. His laugh is raspy in the follow through - your shirt and bra discarded somewhere on the floor. He stops suddenly, flicking his gaze up to you like he’s asking permission again. You just nod, not knowing how else to convey your desires.
Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal and cool air. Hajime’s tongue flicks from his lips.
His gaze makes you feel ticklish. He runs his palms over your tits with an appreciative noise. His eyes linger long enough to make your skin go hot all over, your spine prickling with heat.
“Staring,”
He looks up at your face, amused by your pout then kisses you as he feels you up, calloused palms brushing against your nipples, tits fitting perfectly in his hands. He smiles a little against your mouth. “Guess I am.”
“Take yours off,” You plea.
He obliges you, peeling the tight shirt away from his body and leaving his bare torso in full view. The proximity makes your lungs tighten like they can’t get enough air - heat radiating from his skin. His physique is toned, layers of muscle soft and comfortable He’s structured and gorgeous like a statue. You’re greeted by his broad chest and the corded muscles of his biceps. All sinew and strength, down his core. Strong and stable and big everywhere you could possibly look. You feel awestruck, mouth-watering at the sight - clit throbbing. Objectively attractive, you’re sure anyone in your place would feel the same. But this is your Hajime and the body he’s worked so hard on, full grown and yours. The trail of hairs down his stomach, getting coarse. The v-line of his waist makes you clench.
Too much.
The words tumble out of you before you can stop them, like water spilling from a broken dam. “I want you to fuck me so bad,”
His brows raise. You can feel something twitch hard against your clothed pussy. At full mast underneath the confines of his pants. \Your eyes go wet when you realize what it is. Mind sticky, you draw your lips into a pout and silent protest. Despite your desperation, you almost want to say it again, pleasure thrumming through your body at his reaction. It feels like electricity sparking up from the base of your spine all the way to the top of your head.
Hajime presses his face to your neck all over again - hot, open mouth kisses trailing from jaw to chest. You gasp when his mouth closes around your tits, tongue laving over the tender skin and making your back arch.
“Wanna fuck you so bad,” He mirrors. His voice is scratchy and his grip is tight. “Been wanting to fuck you so bad for so long, you have no idea.”
There’s something true and well pathetic about the yearning that wells up inside of your gut and settles itself in your sternum. It spreads and grows and tangles in your ribs, curls around the vessels of your heartbeat. The kind of yearning that makes your whole being tremble, makes you want to preen and sing like a canary. It’d be good if time stood still so he could fuck you infintely - never being able to go where you can’t reach.
You rock against him and Hajime holds you steady like always. His voice drops down to murmur - speaking with alarming clarity. You’re teary from the sound of his voice.
“Let’s cum together,” He offers as reprieve, so sweet despite the harsh grip on your hips as he draws your weight down closer to him. You’re suddenly conscious of your choice in clothes - how thin the fabric of your shorts really as as the rough outline of his cock presses against the seam. You’re glad you didn’t wear underwear “And then I’ll make you cum again. I’ll take care of you,”
“You always take care of me,” You say with no awareness of your surroundings. He laughs breathlessly. ‘
“Yeah..since it’s you, it’s easy.”
You go wide-eyed but don’t get a minute to dissect. Not bothering to unbutton his jeans, you gape at the hard outline of his cock confined in black boxers. his He picks you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as your spine touches the carpet of your living room floor. You make a surprised noise as you’re let down gently. He doesn’t unfurl you from him. You spark back to life as his lips meet yours again chastely. The complaint you had dies on your lips when he trails down your jaw again. His voice is next to your ear, sinfully rough - warm breath tickling your skin. His teeth tug on your ear lobe and you shiver.
“Tell me if it’s too much,”
You don’t get a chance to ask about it.
The sudden motion of his hard cock rutting and humping against your sticky, wet cunt punches the air of out of your lungs.
There’s only a single layer of wet fabric keeping him from fucking you. The very idea makes your pussy throb unhelpfully. You understand all of a sudden that this was what he meant about wanting to make you cum. But it’s Hajime, your Hajime - so making you do any work wouldn’t cut it. Humping you in missionary of all things like he’s already inside you.
The thought overwhelms and you gasp.
You don’t recognize the sound of your own voice, so high and pitchy with need. Pure pornography. But there’s no camera for you perform for, nothing but Hajime above with with a heavy gaze. Your spine arches at the sensation once it hits its stride, the angle of friction just right. The indirect touches makes your core throb. Your clit has been achingly sensitive for so long, and the release of tension in a single thrust is enough to make you shudder each time. It feels like you’ve been holding the feeling in your entire life. You wheeze his name out brokenly as he does it again - a sharp thrust, precise enough to be perfect like he already knows you that well.
Your lower body feels week as the arousal starts to climb to a steady chorus. You pant for him like a bitch in heat.
He’s not inside you but the smack of his hips against yours makes you feel like you’re getting fucked anyways. You imagine how it’ll feel when he really fucks you and can’t see straight after the fact. Each little movement spreads precum along your shorts, already wet with your own arousal. The friction of the damp fabric makes you cry out from pleasure, animalistic with need. Your nails dig into his biceps as he kisses you all over, wherever he can possible reach. Along your neck, shoulders, collarbones chest. Any place he has accsess.
You want him so fucking deep it’s frustrating, want him up to your throat - but the lack of direct touch makes you want him more desperately. And it makes it feel so, so good. The kind of pleasure that’s dull and throbbing but makes something in your spine go alight, like shoving your thumb into a bruise. You want Hajime to press himself into you hard enough to make the healed dull yellows vibrant purple and red all over again.
You gasp helplessly each time he rocks his hips into you. He’s whispering such filth against your ear, into your mouth each time you kiss and you can’t reply with anything but his name. He praises you each time anyway, goads you into saying it again. Again and again and again until you can’t find your own voice.
“Say it again,” Hoarse, punctuated by another thrust that nearly drives you over the edge and makes your eyes go wide. “Say my name again, baby”
“Hajime.” So you say it- can’t think of any substitute since you’re not sure god would suffice. Locked between you in the warm sticky air is just Hajime, all yours.
Every muscle in your body starts to lock up as you hit the final stride to your orgasm. You want to cum so badly for him and only him. All over his cock in any way he’ll light you. The thought pushes you over the edge. Over and over and over until you hang over the precipice of your own orgasm. When it hits, it hits like a crash of thunder on open plain. Like suddenly everything in you that’s every been grounded in Earth is scattered with sparks, skating and careening across your body. You feel him in the fiber of your being. Your toes curl at the sudden release, not able to voice a warning that isn’t just a soft gargle in the back of your throat. He doesn’t stop or stutter in his motion, instead gripping your hips tight as he can while lets you run through your high - nothing but praise and affection.
You can feel him more than you can see him cum along with you. Sticky, hot seed flowing in spurts as his dick twitches for you - his ragged breathing covering your skin in goosebumps. You moan at the warm sensation drenching your poor, covered pussy and find the load to be wasted though you feel contented anyway.
You’re barely sane enough to catch your breath, but he eventually lets you down - though you can’t keep from hugging him. You pull back to look at each other.
You brush the sweat matted hair away from his forehead with a lovesick sigh and giggle. He looks down at you with a grin, pressing his forehead to yours with.
“Can’t believe I came in my pants like a teenager,” He says through a laugh.
“It’s like making up for lost time,” You say warmly, all floaty. “Plus, the way you were fucking me but not fucking me…definitely a man. It was really hot, you know?”
He groans. “I’ll get riled up again.”
You smile at him. “Let’s fuck lots for your birthday, Hajime.”
“Is that the present you mentioned earlier?”
You pretend to think on it. “Mm..no. Not just the sex, anyway.”
He looks at you confused as you lean in closer to him. “It’s safe so there’s no condoms anywhere in this apartment, unless you wanna go stop to get some.”
He gives you a blown out look of lust with a soft breath, voice bordering a growl. “As if I’d make it through the door now.”
You laugh helplessly happy and kiss him. “Happy birthday.” And then a little quieter. “I love you.”
He softens visibly but doesn’t say anything else. You don’t need to hear him to know.
You think the spare copy of your keys might make him cry. So you decide you’ll give it to him later.
The clock hasn’t hit midnight yet, anyhow. You have plenty of time.
Now and always.
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Warnings: here it is, smut
Rafe can’t believe his ears. She wants an open marriage? Why? Has he not done everything for her? Bought her anything she’s wanted? Given her everything she’s ever dreamed about? Ok, sometimes he’s absent. But that’s only because he works so hard to support their lifestyle, to give her the world.
“But why baby?” Rafes voice is broken as he try’s not to show emotion.
“Rafe, trust me. This will work, we just need to broaden our horizons. We’ve only been with each other, I’ve never slept with anyone besides you.” She takes a seat next to her husband, placing her hand on top of hers soothingly but Rafe pulls away, standing from the bed and rushing out of the room.
He’s angry. How could she? After everything they’ve been through. She’s gonna throw that away just to get some fresh dick. Hell no. He can’t stand for this, he won’t.
-
You’re setting the final touches to your apartment when your doorbell rings.
You open it to find your handsome brother-in jaw standing there with some flowers and takeout.
“Rafe! What are you doing here?”
“Heard you finally moved out, just wanted to bring you a housewarming gift” Rafe smiles warmly at you.
You and rafe have always been close. Ever since he married your sister the two of you have become like best friends.
True, he was a lot older than you but you considered him one of your closest friends.
“Thank you. Come in, come in, please” you take the flowers from him as he places the takeout on the table.
“Nice place you got here”
“Thanks, daddy’s helping me pay for it until I find a stable enough job to support myself”
Rafes crotch tightens at the term you used, ‘daddy’. He images what that would sound like when your under him begging to cum.
Rafe shakes his head, pushing those kind of thoughts out. He can’t fantasize about his sister-in law like that. Your way too innocent, he can’t tell if your actually ditzy or if you put on an act to make those around you worship you.
You bend down to fish out a vase from under the sink, your shirt riding up and exposing your lower back. Rafe try’s not to stare, he really does, but something catches his eye. A tattoo, right there, on your lower back is a pair of angel wings. He smirks, maybe you’re not so innocent.
-
After eating the takeout rafe brought the two of you are settled on the couch, watching a cheesy romcom you obviously picked.
“Can you massage my feet?” You place your legs over his lap, wiggling your toes to entice him. “Pretty please? My feet are killing me from shopping all day”
He smiles warmly, “sure”
Rafe starts massage your toes and moves lower to the pads of your feet. He hits a particularly good spot and you moan, “right there, oh god!”
Rafe pants tighten more, his hard on becoming more and more visible
You pull your feet away, “thanks so much” Rafe prays that you didn’t notice his erection as you stand. “You cold? It’s freezing in here” you walk over to the closet and pull out a blanket.
You sit back on the couch, covering the both of you with the blanket. You continue watching the movie, but it’s pretty boring and you have other things in mind.
Your hand rakes up and down Rafes thigh, inching higher and higher until you reach his zipper, he doesn’t mutter a word. His eyes looking straight ahead. You continue unbuttoning his pants and pulling his cock out under the blanket. “Y/n..” he swallows hard. “What are you doing?”
“Shh” you move the blanket and get on your knees, licking a stripe up his length.
“Oh fuck” rafe head falls back, his hands coming to your hair, creating a makeshift pony tail. “So good” he groans.
You take more of him in, moaning around his cock and you start bobbing.
“Fuck it” Rafe pulls you off his cock and lifts you up, seating you in his lap so you’re straddling him. He tears your shift off, noticing that you’re not wearing a bra and he groans. “You naughty girl”
“What can I say? You’re just so hot” you kiss him, sucking on his tongue and biting his lip as you pull back.
“And here I thought you were innocent” Rafe pulls your shorts and panties down, helping kick them off your feet before lifting you up and taking his pants and boxers off. “I’m anything but” you help him out of his shirt before pressing kisses on his chest and nipping at his nipple, causing him to hiss.
You take his cock in your hand and position it at your entrance. Looking deep into his blue eyes you push down, filling your pussy to the hilt. Both of you moan, the stretch too good. Your pussy so tight it’s gripping around him like it’s afraid to let him out.
“Holy shit” rafe groans as his head falls back and his eyes shut.
You start lifting your and slamming back down, feeling his tip probe your cervix with each bounce. You knew rafe was carrying but you never imaged him to feel this good.
“Call me daddy” Rafe moans as one hand grips your hip and the other massages your breast.
Your insides flutter from his request. “Fuck daddy, you feel so good inside me” you move up and down faster, nails raking and clawing at his chest.
“Shit” Rafes lost in pleasure. Feeling your warm pussy around his cock making his head dizzy. He knows this is wrong, but fuck why does it feel so good.
He wraps both hands around your hips, stopping your bounces and thrusting up into you.
You give in as your back arches and moans fall from your lips. “Fuck, daddy. Right there. Oh!” You moan and moan until you feel your core tighten.
“Fuck, close”
“I know baby, I know. I can feel you” Rafes lips suck on your neck and he keeps thrusting into you, you slowly bouncing to help him.
Rafe groans loud as his cock throbs and your pussy squeezes him.
As both of you come down from your high, you keep him seated inside you as you lay on his sweaty chest.
“Mmm, that was amazing” you hum and look up at his exhausted face.
“Yeah” he chuckles breathlessly. “It was”
You caress his cheek as you peck his lips.
“Your sister obviously can never know about this. She asked for an open marriage yesterday, but if she finds out I slept with her little sister I don’t know what she’ll-“ rafe rambles on and you kiss him to shut him up.
“Rafe, relax. Who do you think gave her the idea to an open marriage”
Taglist
@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart
#rafe cameron#outer banks#drew starkey#smut#dark rafe cameron#drewstarkey smut#outerbanks#rafecameron#drewstarkey#fanfic#thick vibes only#rafe x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe x you#love you#rafe cameron imagine#obx imagine#rafe imagine#obx fanfic#jj obx#obxedit#obx fic#obx#odessa#sofia and rafe smut#drew and reader smut#drew angst#hot as hell#dark smut#rafe breeding kink
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Every Second Counts - Part 1
Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader
Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the first one you trust to help you find him.
AN: Finally, here we are at Part 1! Remember that A Line and a Half functions as our prologue here.
Word Count: 5.7K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for some mature thoughts. Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, drug use, mentions of drug addiction and alcoholism, skeevy men, and a tinge of spice.~
💜 Series Masterlist
Part 1: "Permission Granted"
“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips.
You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still at the Wyoming University campus after your last class.
Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.
“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.
After brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, she went to you and set her hands on your shoulders.
“You have my blessing,” she said. “All I ask is that you don’t scar me with any gushy details afterward.”
Your face began to heat up in a blush. You crossed your arms.
“All right, no one said there was going to be any of that,” you replied. “It’s just a date. Barely a date, mind you.”
“A-huh,” Dory said with a sneaking smile. “Out of curiosity, what was it about him that hooked you? You’ve been dodging Chris’s valiant attempts for like a month now.”
Chris was a French and Spanish professor. His office was on the same floor as yours, so you two occasionally crossed paths whenever you ventured into the teacher’s lounge.
He usually caught you in the morning while you were grabbing your free coffee fix at the Keurig. He’d chat you up about his classes and his dog and his new boat, and all the while you’d struggle to get a word in edgewise. Despite that, he was good-looking and pleasant, for the most part. It was just…
“I don’t know. He’s not my type, I guess,” you shrugged. You kind of liked conversations where both people got to speak.
“And Russell is?” Dory said, in a teasing tone. You chewed the inside of your lip, fighting a smile.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Kind of want to find out though.”
“Okay, well, let me know what you find,” Dory said, more wryly. You caught a bit of melancholy when her gaze drifted off. Your brows furrowed in concern as you drew closer, setting a hand on her arm.
“What do you mean?” you asked.
She was hesitant, but she eventually answered you with a confession.
“You know, it’s been about twenty years since I’ve seen him,” she said. “We’ve had entire lives already. I see him now, and there’s some of the Russell I knew when we were kids, but…there’s just a lot I don’t know about him, who he’s become.”
You could understand that. You squeezed her arm in sympathy.
“Well, he really seems to want to know you now,” you said. You remembered all the questions he asked you when he helped you carry your files back to your office after lunch today—most of them about Dory, about her career, your friendship, and ultimately, if she was happy.
“What happened to you guys?” you asked. “Why are you all so distant? Colter included.”
Dory’s face tightened. “It’s a long story. I’ve told you some of it. But basically, after our dad died, nothing was ever the same again.”
You dimmed at that. You knew their mother still lived in the cabin they grew up in, but Dory had never quite been able to tell you what happened to their dad. You’d never pushed the subject. You knew better than anyone what kind of pain that was.
“I just wish we’d been able to stay with each other. Me and my brothers, at least,” Dory said. But she adopted a smile for you, before she returned to her desk.
“Okay. Go on your non-date at your favorite bar with Russell. I’ll be here, grading papers until Judgment Day,” she said, with a small laugh that felt like a coverup for thoughts she no longer wanted to think about.
You let her do it. You grabbed your purse and work bag off the spare chair in front of her desk.
“So you’re sure,” you wanted to confirm. “One last chance for me to tell him I came down with food poisoning.”
Dory collected her stack of midterm papers and gave you a cheeky look that said, class dismissed. Then she clicked her red pen and pointedly looked down at the first batch of papers to read through.
You smiled. Okay, you thought, giving her a little wave goodbye when you turned to leave. You had just a couple of hours to drive home and get ready to meet Russell.
“Goodnight,” you called.
“Goodniiight,” Dory replied.
You heard the smirk in her voice without even having to look back.
After fighting through rush hour traffic, you were exhausted when you got home from work. Your tentative excitement and nerves about tonight gave you some new energy though, even if you thought those nerves were silly to have.
Barely a date, you reminded yourself, as you unlocked the door to your house. Barely a date, barely a date.
The Ring Camera beside the door chimed when you entered the house, signaling your arrival. You had to wrinkle your nose at the dank-ass smell that greeted you.
Frowning in annoyance, you dropped your stuff on the kitchen table for now and shucked off your heels. You made a beeline down the hall, to the bedroom that lied across from yours. You pushed it open without knocking. There you caught your older brother, Charlie, snoozing in his bed with the covers half pooling on the floor.
His room was a mess, as usual. Your gaze locked on the evidence of half a blunt on his nightstand and two smoked roaches beside it. You were glad it wasn’t remnants of white lines of powder, like times before, but there was also a large bottle of whiskey. It was almost empty, and hanging loosely from his hand.
He managed to raise his head a bit when you came in.
“Hey,” he said, blinking bleary eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to sit up.
You shook your head and picked around piles of dirty clothes and a couple of used paper plates on the floor. You swiftly grabbed the bottle from his hand and slammed it on the nightstand.
“You promised me, Charlie,” you snapped. “You promised me for the hundredth time that you’d quit all this shit. Where even were you last night? You weren’t home when I left for work this morning.”
He sighed, frowning at how loud you were, and sat up in bed. He swung his legs over the side and held his swimming head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair. It was nearly black, like Dad’s had been, but he’d inherited Mom’s lighter eyes.
“I got invited to a party,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know. This is the last time.”
You expelled a frustrated breath and shook your head.
“You’re a grown fucking man, Charlie! Do you really need me to give you the just say no speech?” you said.
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it,” he said. He shut his eyes tight, probably trying to fend off a headache.
Good, you thought. Let that be a reminder of how bad he’d screwed up again.
“And while we’re at it, what about your half of the bills? You’re a week late,” you said, testily crossing your arms.
“Yeah, I’m a little behind,” he said. Once again, he cleared his throat past a wad of phlegm. He was still a bit crossfaded too, you could tell. “You know they cut my hours to part-time at the museum. I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking into getting another job—”
“I already paid the phone bill. And the internet, the water bill, the electricity,” you said. “The house may be paid off, but the least you can do is pay your half of living here.”
The longer you stared at him, seeing the guilt hidden behind drunken eyes, you realized he wasn’t just late on his half of the bills.
“How much?” you asked.
He frowned up at you. “What?”
“How much do you owe?” you said. Your voice was as cutting as your gaze. Charlie lowered his.
“It’s okay, don’t worry—”
“How much,” you pressed.
He looked up at you again, this time with pursed lips. After a beat, he sighed and gave in.
“About two grand,” he admitted.
You raised your eyes heavenward, muttering a curse. Your hands went to your temples as you had to pace the room. You were angry and exasperated in equal measure.
“Who the fuck do you owe two grand?!” you asked.
Charlie shook his head. “It’s better that I don’t tell you that.”
You paused. As you looked down at him, your anger dissolved into sadness, like it always did.
“If Mom and Dad could see you now, they wouldn’t recognize you,” you said.
Charlie fought not to react to that, his brows furrowing. Instead, he just looked down, unable to answer you.
“Charlie, you need help. I can’t keep doing this with you,” you said. Your shaky breath gave way to the burn of tears.
His red-rimmed eyes became glassy as well.
“I’m sorry,” was all he said.
He was always sorry. And you always had to be the one to nurse him back to health, pick up the pieces, pay the bills. You were exhausted. The bone-deep kind of tired that felt like gravity wasn't so much keeping you down, but pushing you.
“I’m going to ask for two things: do what you need to do to get paid, and clean up your shit. If you can’t accomplish that, then I’m taking you to rehab,” you said.
“You know I’ve tried that,” Charlie said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Didn’t really work for me.”
“You left the program after two weeks!” you retorted.
“I did it on my own! I’ve been clean for months,” he argued.
“And what happened? You go to one party and all your good sense, all your training, mentally and physically—that all goes out the window?” you said. You had half a mind not to believe him.
“Yeah well, maybe just for one night, I wanted to relax without you harping on my back,” he said, glaring up at you. “Is that too much to fucking ask? For you to give me some goddamn slack?”
Your mouth fell open incredulously.
“I’m on your back?” you said. “Okay. I’ll get off. Do whatever the hell you want, Charlie. I’m done.”
You left his room in an angry huff. You headed over to your room so you could take a shower and start getting ready to meet Russell at Howley’s.
By the time you got to your bedroom, you heard the front door slam closed.
The truth was, you were no longer in a mood to have fun when you pulled up to Howley’s, but you needed to escape your house. Also, you weren’t someone who canceled on people last-minute, especially not on Dory’s own brother.
You found Russell waiting for you at the bar. He waved to you with a fifth of whiskey in hand and an easy grin. He’d saved you a seat beside him.
You found yourself smiling. Your mood began to lighten as you went over to him. He looked more or less the same, but this time the jacket and jeans combo was navy blue and dark wash, respectively. His hair was swept back, lightly gelled. You smelled the familiar, rich woodiness of his cologne when you drew near, along with a hint of spicy soap.
“Hey, there.” He greeted you with a warm hand on your back. He helped you into your seat.
“Hey, yourself,” you replied, and thanked him for the assist onto the tall stool. You’d opted for jeans and a blouse, paired with your favorite leather boots. It was less dressy than he’d seen you before, but that was “work mode.” This was a more casual affair, even if you’d spent at least twenty extra minutes on your makeup.
You were glad he picked a spot at the end of the bar though. It put some distance from the group of guys getting rowdy as they cheered at the football game playing on the TV.
“How was the rest of your day, Professor?” he asked. “And what’re you wanting to drink?”
You let out a long sigh and turned toward him, resting your elbow on the counter.
“Awesome. I’m going to need two shots of tequila and an order of something fried, and preferably covered with cheese, please,” you replied.
Russell’s grin deepened. “Okay, I’m thinking ‘awesome’ is code for something. But we can get started on that order of Forget Today’s Unfortunate Events.”
He flagged down the bartender with a raise of his hand, but he shot you a glance.
“Though I’m hoping it’s not all of today that you wanna forget,” he said.
Your lips threatened another smile, as the memory of your hand being swept up into his, and soft lips meeting the back of your hand filtered through your mind.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s possible,” you said.
After about ten minutes of playfully debating the appetizer menu (you swore by the pretzel and beer cheese, but Russell had his eye on those spicy wings), he finally settled on ordering both.
“When in doubt, don’t go without,” he’d remarked.
You swept a pretty coil of hair over your shoulder and downed your tequila shots with a lime wedge. Meanwhile, Russell tried not to linger his eyes on the way your tongue swept over your finger to catch a drop of lime juice. Your nails were manicured, and the shade of the polish matched your lipstick.
Russell didn’t pretend to know the art and science of a woman’s wardrobe, but everything about you was thought out, it seemed, falling in line with what he’d expect from a (sexy as all hell) college professor. You’d also told him at lunch today that as of last year, you now had two doctorates: History and Ancient Studies.
Even with all that under your belt, you also seemed refreshingly down-to-earth, a lot like Dory in that sense. He could see why you two were friends.
“So, are you from here, or are you a transplant, like my sister?” he asked.
Dory hadn’t come to live in Wyoming until their aunt and uncle took her in, when she was about eight years old. Before last month, Russell hadn’t seen her since. It hurt his heart to think about, but he tried to focus on you.
You now seemed to be staring a bit listlessly at the glass of whiskey in his hands. He laid a hand on your arm and called your name.
“Hmm?” Your brows rose as you blinked to attention. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes, I’ve lived here pretty much forever.”
“You okay?” Russell asked. “Tequila hit ya a little hard?”
You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry…”
You raised your hands up to your temples. You debated whether you wanted to open up about this, but…considering who Russell was, you thought he might just understand.
“Dory told me you’ve been trying to reconnect with your brother, right? Colter?” you said.
Russell nodded. He wasn’t sure how much Dory told you about their family business, but it dimmed his mood.
“Well, you could say I’ve got a brother issue of my own,” you said, laughing humorlessly. “You don’t have to talk about yours, but maybe you’ll understand… My brother is a veteran too. He was a Captain, air force pilot. He fought in Afghanistan, mainly.”
Russell processed that with a nod. “Yeah, I was there too. Special Ops.”
“Wow, okay. Then you know what it was like for him, coming back home,” you said. Your gaze fell to your empty shot glasses. “It was hard, after…”
“After?” he prompted.
You sighed. “Near the end, he lost half his unit in a raid, off of some flawed intel.”
Russell’s brows knitted together. Hmm. Grief, survivor’s guilt, feeling like you don’t belong.
He was starting to get a clearer picture of who your brother was. It struck at familiar chords inside himself that he wasn’t so comfortable with. He shifted in his seat, fingers flexing over his glass on the counter.
You didn’t notice, but you did push the shot glasses away from you.
“I helped him the best I could,” you said. “I got him a job at the museum I interned at when I was in undergrad. He’s there as a security guard, but it’s not really enough, you know? It’s like, nothing satisfies him. I just…I don’t think I know how to help him anymore.”
You couldn’t help it. Emotion bubbled in your throat, making it close up on you as tears stung in your eyes. Your lower lip wobbled, and you tried to turn your face away. Embarrassment coiled up in your chest and made your face hot.
You felt a hand cover yours on your thigh, squeezing warmly. You looked up and met Russell’s gaze, both sympathetic and understanding.
“I’m so sorry,” you said, trying to calm your shuddering breath. “This isn’t exactly first date material. I can’t believe I unloaded on you like that.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Believe me, I get what your brother’s going through.”
He pushed the plate with the last piece of soft-baked pretzel over to you.
“You finish that if you want, then you go ahead and pick something else off the menu. I won’t even argue with you this time,” he promised with a grin.
It got you to laugh, at least, and he gave you a napkin for your tears.
God, get it together, you told yourself. You’re a damn mess.
“Thanks,” you said. You managed to smile as you blotted at one corner of your eye. You hoped you hadn’t just irreversibly smudged your mascara.
Russell surprised you by brushing his thumb against your other cheek, wiping a stray tear away. Your face began to warm with a blush.
“Again, I’m sorry for dumping on you. We had a fight right when I got home,” you admitted.
“What’s his name?” Russell asked.
“Charlie.”
“Older or younger than you?”
“Four years older,” you replied. “He enlisted a few years after he graduated high school.”
Russell flickered at a smile. Enlisted, huh?
Yet another thing he and Charlie had in common, except Russell hadn’t made it through high school in the classic sense.
“What do you think?” you asked.
“I think your brother sounds lost right now. I’ve known a lotta guys like him, unfortunately,” Russell admitted. “Walking back into civilian life, it ain’t easy. That I know my damn self. Just like I know a thing or two about being an older brother. He’s probably doing his best to keep it off your shoulders.”
You shook your head at that. Trying, maybe.
You weren’t even sure of that anymore. Still, it made you all the more curious about Russell and his family.
“I know I said I wouldn’t ask this, and you don’t have to answer. But did you and Colter have a falling out or something?” you asked.
Russell expelled a deep breath and took a sip from his glass. How was he supposed to navigate this minefield with you?
“You gotta understand that me, my brother, my sister, we didn’t grow up like a normal family,” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “Dory’s told me some of it. It sounded…rustic.”
He snorted. “Putting it mildly.”
He shook his head and drained the rest of his glass.
“Well, my brother’s got an idea about me that isn’t true,” he said.
Your head tilted in curiosity. “Which is?”
His lips briefly raised in a wan smile.
“We don’t gotta get into that one tonight. But uh, the truth is, I’ve tried reaching out to him several times now. He just doesn’t wanna hear from me,” said Russell.
You considered him for a moment. You laid a hand on his arm, covered by his jacket.
“Don’t give up,” you said, with a sigh of your own. “Despite some things I said to him today, I know I can’t. My brother’s the only real family I have.”
Russell grew curious then. “What about your parents?”
You gave a weak smile.
“They passed away when we were young, but…we don’t have to get into that one tonight,” you said, borrowing his words.
His expression fell. “Jesus. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you,” you accepted, twisting the napkin around your fingers.
An awkward lull of silence fell between you, until Russell nodded and blew out a breath.
“Well. Heavy, huh?”
You chuckled and rested your head against your hand.
“I know. Again, my fault,” you replied.
“It’s okay, swee—. Mmm,” he cut himself off, shooting you a knowing glance.
“Were you about to sweetheart me?” you asked playfully, nudging his hand. “You know how I feel about that.”
“No, ma’am. Not at all,” Russell shook his head. His smile gave him away though. You laughed and grabbed his arm.
“Come on,” you said.
He allowed you to lead him out of his seat. He already had a tab open, so he’d settle up with the bar later. “Where we going?”
“You’re gonna lose to me at pool,” you said with a smirk.
Russell laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist instead.
“Oh, okay. I’m gonna give you a run for your money, though,” he promised.
And he was true to his word.
Russell Shaw turned out to be a more than worthy opponent. You studied the board as you changed the angle on your cue stick no less than five times.
“You gonna make a move, or we going to be here all night?” he said.
He was smiling as he leaned against his own cue on the other side of the board. His clever moves had left you in a difficult position to get your three remaining solid-colored balls into the pocket.
“You hush. I’m thinking,” you said, fighting your own smile.
“Careful, you’ve got steam coming out of your ears,” he teased.
You shot him a narrowed look for that. But then you smiled, as the answer came to you. You walked around to his side of the board and nudged him with your hip.
“Excuse me, sir,” you said to him over your shoulder.
Russell made way for you, but his eyes followed the way you bent over to line up your shot. Namely the curve of your ass in those tight jeans. He could see you knew exactly what you were doing, in more ways than one.
You shot your shot. The solid green ball leapt over his white-striped blue one and managed to sink into the pocket. You straightened up and gave him a triumphant little smirk.
He tried to temper his smile (and ignore the way his cock twitched).
“All right, go on, do your little victory lap," he said. "But remember, I let you go first.”
“Like that matters,” you quipped back.
You went back to the other side of the board to line up your next shot. Russell noticed a pair of drunk men ambling your way from the bar, but before he could make a subtle move to put himself in between, one of the men’s gazes slid down your form and gave into the base urge to let out a low whistle.
And he slapped you right on the ass.
You gasped, grabbing hold of the pool table. Then your shock melted into ire.
Russell was already heading toward you with an angry frown of his own, but even he had to stop short, when he watched you throw a punch that cracked the drunken man across the bridge of his nose.
Good form, Russell thought, when the guy reared back with a howl. His nose dripped blood when his hands came away from his face.
His buddy started to raise his hackles, but that was when Russell stepped to your side. He angled himself toward you and loosely gripped his pool cue by his hip, like it was an extension of his arm. He was fully prepared to use it like one.
“Fucking bitch!” said the one who was still dabbing his nose in vain. He glared at you, his eyes watering involuntarily, while his friend tried to keep him upright. You rolled your eyes.
"You're the one who's crying, bitch," you returned. Russell held in a snort. He cleared his throat and looked on at the pair of idiots.
“I’d have a little sit down if I were you,” Russell told them, with a smirk. “Let that be a lesson to ya. And if it don’t stick? Well. Whatever you start, I can damn well finish.”
His steely gaze reinforced the promise of his words. The other men were still angry, but even drunks had some sense of self-preservation. They ambled toward the back of the bar to find another pool table.
Russell focused his attention back on you, finding you looking down at your hand, rotating your wrist and flexing your fingers.
“Well, look at you, slugger,” he said. You met his smile with one of amusement.
“That’s just what I needed tonight. A broken hand,” you quipped.
“Aw, it doesn’t look as bad as all that. But can I see?” he asked. You allowed him to take your smaller hand in his. Your knuckles were red and tender to the touch when he gently pressed. You hissed in pain.
Damn, she really gave it to him, Russell thought.
“Sorry,” he said, but your hand felt fine, at least. More than fine. His gaze flicked up to yours as his amused grin deepened. “Good hit though.”
If he liked you before, he might’ve fallen half in love with you right there.
You laughed through the pain. “Yeah, my brother did teach me something. Shit.”
Russell led you back to the bar after you grabbed your purse. There he called to the bartender for some ice. The guy nodded; he’d seen the entire exchange and was sympathetic.
You knew this sort of thing was just par for the course at this kind of bar, but they had the best drinks. Charlie had to carry you out of here on your twenty-first birthday, drunk off your ass. Not to mention, he’d punched out two handsy dicks that night.
You recounted the story to Russell over a couple more drinks. Your conversation was lighter then, filled with laughter and a warm, companiable feeling. He was still rather evasive about his job, but you supposed he had to be, since it was government contract work.
Private security, mainly. Or so he'd said. This man made you infinitely curious, and a bit apprehensive, if you were honest.
And yet, at some point while you two shared and laughed and split a hot sandwich with another round of beers, you realized it.
I like this, you thought. And I like him.
However, the night had to come to an end sometime. Your third involuntary yawn told Russell it was time to call it.
"I'm okay," you tried.
"Nah, you've gotta work tomorrow," he said. He signaled to the bartender. "Let me go ahead and close out my tab."
“Oh, I can pay for half,” you said, reaching for your purse now hanging from your hip.
“You kidding me? Put that away,” he said, guiding your hand with your wallet aside.
Smiling, you accepted his generosity with a small thank you. Then, you let him take up your sore hand again, just to carefully press the half-melted bag of ice over it.
“Feelin’ better?” he asked.
Your smile became softer. “Yeah.”
You had no doubt that this man, tall as he was, with his broad shoulders and the controlled way he carried himself, could’ve laid both of those drunken assholes onto their asses. His intimidating gaze had promised as much.
But his hands were gentle for you.
“I was about to win that game, no contest!” you said, laughing as you and Russell headed out of the bar and into the parking lot.
“Hey, hey, I still had time to win it back,” he argued. “I only had three more balls to go. I could’ve sunk that with my eyes closed.”
“Three balls, huh?” you said slyly, and maybe, a little tipsy. “Might wanna get that looked at.”
Russell snorted. “You think you’re funny, huh?”
“Hey, you laughed!” you said, pointing at him.
He shook his head, despite his amusement. He slowed to a stop in front of his car.
“Where’d you park, huh?” he asked.
“Over there,” you said, pointing several parking spaces down. Your eyes were drawn to his car, however. “Wow. This is your car?”
Russell grinned and patted the top of his black Chevy.
“Aw, yeah. That’s my baby,” he said. “She’s a Chevelle, 1967.”
You didn’t know much about cars, but you could see this was a classic beauty. You passed a hand over its sleek paint job without touching, so you didn't get any fingerprints on it. Though you quirked a smile over your shoulder at him.
“She?” you intoned.
“That’s right. She,” he confirmed.
You smirked and crossed your arms. You paused in front of the passenger door, and when Russell drew in closer, you had to crane your neck up to meet his warm gaze.
“Now, if I go in for a kiss goodnight, are you gonna deck me?” he asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.
You tilted your head, your own eyes dancing.
“I’m sure you’re brave enough to find out,” you said.
Russell decided he’d take that bet.
He leaned in slowly. He made a show of hesitating, raising a brow, as if waiting for a blow. You were tempted to laugh.
But then he let loose a true smile, and he bowed his head to press his lips against yours. Your eyes fell shut, and your hands moved to flatten against his chest. A firm fucking wall. Jesus.
He circled his arms around your waist, bringing you in closer. Your fingers wound up in his hair, while he tilted his head to kiss you again. You met him with the same fervor with each new kiss, and the feel of your body, soft and pliant under his hands, each little sweet sound that you made, it all drove him to delve in deeper.
You moaned into his mouth at the first warm swipe of his tongue against yours. He tasted like the burn of good whiskey.
You pressed yourself flush against him on instinct. He found no other recourse but to back you up against the side of his car. His hand tangled into your hair, gripping, then easing through the soft strands.
Russell veered away from your soft mouth after a while, just to burn a line of warm, wet kisses along your jaw, and down your neck with the added rasp of his beard.
His lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. He kissed and sucked at your skin, even grazing with his teeth. You gasped softly in his ear, shuddering against him. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his strong back out of a need to feel him.
His hands were heavy along the curve of your waist then, squeezing your hips. It all felt incredibly right. And by right, you meant body tingling, warmth churning in your lower belly, and wetness growing between your legs, for sure dampening your panties.
You tugged him back by his hair, so you could reach him for another steamy kiss.
“I’m staying at a motel, if you wanna…” he said, between kisses.
You paused against his lips, parting from him softly.
“Or not," he added. "Just thought I’d mention.”
You giggled, catching your breath, and then smoothing your hands down his chest. The faint throb of your core was telling you one thing, but the warning signals of your more cautious mind were telling you another. You thought for a moment…but then you sighed.
“How long are you really in town?” you asked.
His wet lips tugged to one corner, ruefully. “A few more days, probably.”
“Right,” you said with a frown. “Russell, I like you. I actually, I really do. If you were sticking around for a while, it’d be one thing. But you’re my best friend’s brother, and I—”
“No, I get it. I can’t predict when I’m gonna be able to swing back into town, and you’ve gotta live your life,” he said, but not without care. He curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear.
Your heart tugged, almost painfully.
“You’re a good guy, Russell Shaw,” you breathed. “Why can’t you be a good guy who’s staying?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Then he cringed, knowing how you felt about sweethearting men. “Ah, sorry—”
You smiled and covered his mouth with your fingers.
“It’s okay. You have permission to sweetheart me.”
After blinking his surprise away, his face eased into a grin.
“Then I’ll wear that badge with honor,” he said.
Your shoulders shook with laughter when you let your forehead fall against his chest.
Russell remained what he had been throughout the entire night: a gentleman, who accompanied you over to your car.
After another stolen kiss or two in front of your sedan, you parted ways from him with a bit of a heavy heart. You wondered if you made the right decision, or if you should’ve just gone for it for once, instead of second-guessing yourself like usual.
You did know this. The rumble of his Chevelle driving down the opposite road would be imprinted on your memory.
When you returned home, you realized that the house was empty, and in complete darkness.
Charlie still wasn’t home.
Worried, you flicked on the lights and began to text his cell, only to find a note for you on the kitchen counter.
And it worried you even more.
I’m sorry. I’m going to make it right.
— C.
AN: 😬 Well then! lol We're diving straight into the drama and feels on this one. What did you think of her "barely a date" with Russell? 😂
And where do you think we're going next with Charlie?
Next Time:
Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.
“You should call the police,” she advised.
You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.
You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.
“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:
“Colter, the tracker.”
Series Masterlist
Ko-Fi Me ☕
Russell Shaw Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Russell S. Tag List:
@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007
@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373
@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum
@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady
@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy
@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad
@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73
@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj
@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways
@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato
#Permission Granted#Every Second Counts#Part 1#russell shaw#tracker#russell shaw x reader#russell shaw x female reader#russell shaw x you#russell shaw fanfiction#russell shaw fanfic#dory shaw#colter shaw#jensen ackles#jensen ackles characters#tracker fanfiction#tracker cbs#russell shaw series#tracker series#zepskies writes
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hiiiiiiiiii I've had three glasses of wine and here's a WIP preview of the fic I'm calling "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood (Library)" (aka Steve Rogers gets a library card circa 2011 and quickly learns about Librarians Vs. The PATRIOT Act)
“I can help who’s next.”
The next man in line at the reference desk of the Brooklyn Public Library was so handsome that Marian’s brain quickly supplied a list of five potential nicknames for him that the staff could use among themselves if he became a regular.
“Hi, I was uh, wondering about getting a library card?”
“Sure, I can help you with that! Are you a Brooklyn resident?”
“For a long time.”
“Have you had a card with us before? If you have I’ll check and see if you’re still in our system.”
“I did, but it was a very long time ago.” Neighborhood kid, she wondered, maybe just moved back to the old stomping grounds?
“Well, we keep the records for a couple of years, and we do like to check so we avoid duplicates. What would the name on file have been?”
“Is there something else you can search by?”
“If it’s under a name you don’t use we can try address and date of birth.”
“My birthday’s July 4th.”
A year would have been helpful, but they could circle back to that. “What’s it like sharing a birthday with a country?” she asked as she started typing.
“Well, the fireworks always made me feel special when I was a kid.”
“I’m sure. Do you remember what address we might have had on file?”
He took a moment to reply, and when he did his voice was calm, but soft enough that she had to learn forward to hear him. “I don’t think it’s there anymore.”
House fire? Gentrification?
This sort of thing happened from time to time—a patron came in who clearly had a story that made getting them what they needed less straightforward that it might otherwise have been. That wasn’t a problem; sorting that sort of thing was literally what the fine people of Brooklyn paid her for, but she was always curious about people’s stories. Sometimes they told you, sometimes they didn’t. She wasn’t going to ask, though. Curiosity or no, it was ultimately none of her business.
“None of that’s a problem,” she assured him. “I can make you a new card right now, if you have an ID and proof of address. Driver’s license would work for both, or a passport, state ID, student ID plus a piece of mail…”
“This is going to sound like a silly question, probably…” He looked at the ceiling, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase it.
“No such thing,” she said lightly. “Besides, we’ve probably heard it before. Probably ten times a day.”
“If I do get a card, does anyone…know? Besides you all, I mean.”
Marian sat straighter in her chair and immediately became all business. “Not a silly question at all. Any record that identifies you by name is confidential under New York state law. We don’t even let law enforcement have it.”
A genuine grin dawned on his face and she immediately thought of three more possible nicknames. “Seriously?”
“Not unless they’ve got a warrant or a subpoena.”
“Huh. But it would have to be under my legal name?”
“We do need to have it on file, but if you have a name you’d rather use, we can make a note in the record. That’s the name your mail would come addressed to, and what the staff would call you.”
She watched him glance down, smile, and put a hand in his pocket.
“Yeah,” he said, producing his wallet and handing her his ID. “In that case.”
She set the ID on the counter in front of her while she opened a new card registration form and didn’t give it a proper look until she had her hands on the keyboard.
Well. That certainly explained a lot.
After entering ROGERS STEVEN GRANT into the record in a rapid clatter of keyboard strokes, she glanced back up at him and said, “What would you like me to put in the preferred name field.”
He gave it a moment’s thought. “Fred.”
She couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Excellent choice. Same last name?”
“Joke’s not as good if I change it.”
“Fair point.” She grabbed a fresh card from the drawer and scanned the barcode into the system, then saved the record. “Welcome to the Brooklyn Public Library, Mr. Rogers.”
#fic#mine#steve rogers#captain america#wip#mg says stuff#fixed the typos thank u augacity#best friend for this very reason
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Will never stop thinking about how Louis’ words were Daniel’s lifeline, and kept him in journalism all these years, that Louis “followed his career with great interest,” that no matter how bad things got he was able to hold onto that drive at the core of him because of him.
And they’re only here, remembering, because Daniel is a really good fucking journalist now. He wasn’t back then. To use his own words, was high, he didn’t follow up, he didn’t fact check, he didn’t challenge or draw anything out. But the years and years he’s spent in investigative journalism have honed his abilities, and we’ve seen it over and over again, poking holes into the too-perfect story, questioning intention and withholding, looking for inconsistencies.
All of those moments, pushing and prodding and challenging, that have lead to both Louis and Daniel uncovering these truths that were hidden to them — Daniel got there because of Louis speaking to him all those years ago, and Louis is only reaching a point of being honest with himself, with others, and reaching for the truth, because of Daniel now.
#interview with the vampire#interview with the vampire spoilers#iwtv 2x05#iwtv spoilers#iwtv#they’re making me lose my mind#loudaniel or Danlou or whatever you’re called I was unfamiliar with your game
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protect | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,
summary - you get badly injured on a case, and the hospital visit ruins your surprise.
genre - fem!bau!reader x spencer, hurt/comfort, little bit of angst and arguing, fluff, happy ending!! reader can bear children (has female anatomy)
warnings - pregnancy, major injuries, mentions of gross hospital things, r uses she/her pronouns, usual criminal minds violences
w/c - 2.2k
a/n - thank u for the request! loved the idea immediately and this is the first time i’m writing abt pregnancy and stuff so pls do not quote me on anything!!! also this writing isn’t my best, sorry abt that. okay bye have fun reading
request - (@ursuu-la) hihihi idk if you're taking requests, but what if u write something where Spencer and a fem reader are dating and she's pregnant, but she's kinda scared(? or nervous to tell Spencer. And maybe she could tell it to one of the girls of the team to find a way of approaching Reid, but then she gets hurt or something happens to her in a case.
“Oh. My. God.”
You turned your attention from the open manila folder to Garcia’s multiple screens, searching each one for something important, “What?”
“Y/n M/n Reid. You’re pregnant?” Garcia spun in her chair with an angry expression while pointing a ringed finger at the main computer screen. It was your medical history - which you allowed her to search so she could experiment with a new hacking technique - but you had forgotten about your recent discovery.
Your hand was clamped over your mouth as you stared in shock and started rambling through your fingers, “Garcia. I swear, nobody knows - I wasn’t keeping this from just you,” you placed your hands on her shoulders when she stood up in disappointment, sending her office chair to collide with the desk, “Spencer doesn’t even know, please Garcia. Don’t tell anyone.”
Your eyes searched hers for a promise or compromise, but instead you got welling tears.
“Garcia?”
“Y/n, your pregnant with a little Reid! This is amazing- How come you haven’t told him? I’ll have a new little nephew or niece! Y/n!” She squealed and took your hands to spin you in a circle in her small office. You immediately felt nauseous and slowed the excited girl, her hair accessories threatening to fall off in her happiness. You held your stomach and whispered,
“No spinning, I’ll throw up.”
She glanced to her computer screens and shut them down immediately, sitting back down and taking a deep breath. “This is great! Right? Please tell me this is great, you’re already 6 weeks pregnant.”
You bit your lip and nodded, “I mean, I think it’s great but..” You lost yourself in thought.
Last year when you and Spencer got married, you had talked about starting a family many times. But every time you both agreed to wait a few more years in order to save up more money and maybe move into a bigger apartment or even a house. This was not what you planned.
Spencer liked having a plan, it was one thing you grew to love. He was organised and, due to his amazing memory, remembered everything, especially everything about you. And though you two had grown so close you were basically one person, this was the only time you had no idea how Spencer would react if he found out your secret.
“I don’t know how to tell Spencer.”
Garcia grinned, but it was quickly wiped away when she noticed a certain figure in the doorway. You spun on your heel, heart attacking your ribs. Luckily, it was not your husband, but your boss. He stood sternly and started, “We’ve got a case, wheels up in 30.”
You nodded and turned back to Garcia, all she did was wave and whisper, “I’ll text you.”
In the plane, you sat next to Spencer in the aisle seat, stomach feeling queasy and phone vibrating non-stop in your back pocket. You pinched the bone between your eyebrows and squinted at the case files that Hotch had quickly gone over. Morgan was spilling some theories, Prentiss backing him up, when Spencer lowered his head and whispered in your ear, “Are you okay? You seem tired.”
You put on a small smile and nodded, the fact that Spencer had noticed something wrong meant that the rest of the team would notice soon too. You raised yourself and squeezed Spencer’s hand that had been in your lap. You murmured a small excuse me to Hotch and excused yourself to the plane’s toilet.
Spencer began to get worried for your health. The past week and a half, you’d been eating less and then more, and then you’d say you felt sick, and then you were full of energy. You cancelled plans, you slept more, and you had started avoiding Spencer. You were getting sick, and distant, and he hated how you wouldn’t let him help you whenever he asked. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head slightly, attempting to focus on the profile.
Sat on the toilet, ready to double over into the bathroom sink, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through Garcias texts.
What about a baby onesie with Daddy’s favourite child on it?
What about a candle lit dinner?
What about donuts that spell out ‘I’m Pregnant!’
I’ve seen people purposefully burn bread and wait until their husbands understand, maybe that?
Maybe. But right now, that was not what you wanted to think about. On top of the case and the whole pregnancy situation, your symptoms were becoming harder to conceal.
A whole day of analysis, interrogating, leads and dead ends led you to a one story run down house with broken windows and an overgrown yard. You threw the FBI bullet vest over your shoulders as Spencer approached you with a tight smile. His hair was shorter these days, after he finally let you start cutting it, but nothing could change his attractiveness. His cologne wafted into your senses as he went behind you, tightening your vest and patting your back and waist down to make sure you were at optimal safety.
You could almost imagine he knew you were pregnant.
“Remember, if he’s in there, keep your distance. He’s a big guy but silent, and not all there.” He furrowed his eyebrows as he did a last check over of your vest, belt, and the position of your gun. You smiled and nodded,
“I know, Spence. I’ve been here too.”
He sighed and nodded, placing a small kiss on your cheek as a good luck.
You were married, but there was no guarantee you’d both make it out of any case. Every movement could be your last, and every interaction could be your last together.
Morgan slipped through the door after a man picked the front doors lock, Prentiss behind him and you behind her. After you, followed Hotch and Spencer.
“Clear!” Morgan called from the kitchen. You turned right down a hallway, Prentiss disappearing into a small room on the right and yelling,
“Clear!”
You entered the small bedroom, gun high and steps careful. It was an adults bedroom, maybe a teenager. There was posters of horror movies, a thin mattress on the floor and shelves of books and wooden cupboard holding what you believed to be clothes.
“Clea-“
The wind got knocked out of you, your shoulder colliding with the wall to your left and a sharp handle being jabbed into your side, as you plummeted against the floor and hearing a loud thump and shattering glass beside you. Miniscule, rainbow, dots clouded your vision, the adrenaline and the concussion you were sure you had numbing the pain coursing through your veins.
You screamed in pain, Hotch entering almost immediately.
You lifted your right arm to point out the window, the glass shattered from where the unsub had escaped.
Spencer entered the room in a rush, eyes running over the fallen cupboard that would've been taller than the both of you, and then your small body in the corner. You held out your arm for him, and he placed his hands under your armpits, jolting back when you screeched in pain.
"Y/n, your..." His eyes widened in shock and fear at the sight of your dislocated shoulder. Your right hand clutched to your left side - no doubt trying to comfort a massive bruise or worse.
He gulped, helping you up and throwing your good arm around his shoulders. The sudden movements blanked your vision for a few moments, a small lump forming on the front left side of your temple, and your legs trembled in the sudden need to hold yourself up.
"Y/n, we just need to get you to the ambulance, alright?" Spencer told you reassuringly. He didn't know how much you could understand, your eyes were cloudy and your movements spaghetti-like, but he continued to reassure you anyways.
The paramedics set into action as soon as they saw your near limp body strung across Spencer's taller build. You were placed in the ambulance on a bed and before you knew it, there was a heavy clamp on your finger and two paramedics touching you and saying unexplainable things to each other. A short one with a beard came close to your vision, obvious aware it was still slightly blurred, "Agent Y/n. We need to take your shirt off in order to fix your shoulder okay? We need to pop it back in as quick as we can."
All you could do is nod, Spencer making most of the choices for you as your husband - he wouldn't put you through something he knew you would disagree with. They asked him questions, and while the voices came in and out of focus, the adrenaline was wearing off and suddenly your senses heightened.
"Is she pregnant?"
The question rolled off the paramedics tongue like a rehearsed poem, and Spencer shook his head like there was no possible way you were. But as you saw needles being prepared, your heart started pounding so fast it got the attention of the professionals.
"Y/n, are you still with us?"
To Spencer, you looked like you had just woken up to a bad dream, but there was something deeper - you were not unconcious, if anything you looked alert.
"I'm pregnant." The paramedics glanced at each other and Spencer's eyes widened. The one with the needle placed it down carefully on a table, and before you knew it, you were being pushed through hallways and into a awfully bright room.
You passed out, fear and exaustion catching up to you. But Spencer couldn't sleep. On top of the fact that his wife had just gotten her shoulder dislocated and then fixed, and a slight rib fracture, she was also pregnant.
Spencer doubted for the first half hour of waiting for you to wake up that you actually were. You were saying nonsense, you were injured and the adrenaline... usually causes people to tell the truth. He paced and went over everything that had been happening. The change in your behaviour, the tiredness, the sickness. It was all coming together like a puzzle, and he wondered why he didn't realise sooner.
"Spence?" A small voice called out, and he approached the hospital bed almost immediately.
"Y/n." Spencer smiled in relief, overjoyed that you were alright and breathing. He knew you'd be fine, but anything can be unpredictable. Anyone can be unpredictable. "I'm so glad you're okay."
"What happened?" You tried to sit up but Spencers soft hands encouraged you to stay laying down.
"The unsub pushed a cabinet at you. You collided with the wall and dislocated your shoulder." He explained softly, the doctors told him that the specific pain killers they gave you may cause some loopiness.
"Oh." You whispered, eyes searching his face like you had never seen it before, and you smiled. You were here, and he was here, and you needed nothing more. Other than more pain killers.
Spencer bit his lip, and sighed, not sure if it was the right time to bring the blindside up at that moment.
"Y/n, darling, are you... pregnant?"
The small grin wiped off your face and you took some deep breaths, nodding and avoiding his gaze in fear of rejection. Spencer sighed, and pushed his hair away from his face, a smile rising onto his cheeks. Tears welled in his eyes from happiness. "This is great, this is... wow Y/n, I can't believe.." He gulped, "I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner."
Confusing his disbelief for anger, tears started dropping down your cheeks as you sat in silence. Spencer started to worry, "Do you... not want to have a baby with me? Or at all? Do you think I won't be a good father? I know that I've had my problems in the past but I promise I can be a good father-"
"Spencer." You called his name in shock, heart aching over his insecure questions. "I do want a baby, especially one with you. And I don't think you'll be a good father, I know you'll be a great one. I just," you wiped your cheeks and he sat down in a chair beside your bed, taking your hand in his. "I'm scared. I thought that you wouldn't want to have one right now because of our... plan. This is really early and we didn't get to save- and- I thought you'd be mad-" You had started blubbering now, the heart monitor becoming a ticking time bomb for a full on breakdown, before Spencer took your face in his hands and smashed your lips onto his.
He pulled back, smile wide, eyes full of adoration and sorrowfullness.
"Y/n, I don't care about that plan anymore. And I'm not mad." He searched your eyes with his, "I just wished you told me earlier. Maybe you wouldn't have been injured, because god knows I wouldn't have let you go out into the field."
"Spencer, I'm so sorry." You sniffled, placing your other hand on top of his.
"Oh, darling. You don't have to be sorry. I've made my injured and pregnant wife cry, I should be sorry."
You giggled, and leant forward to kiss him on the nose. "So it's really okay?"
"Of course. You just have to heal quickly, and I'll do all the rest."
taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m
#criminal minds#spencer reid#cm#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid oneshot#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x fem!reader#🍵 —☆ pia’s pages
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Now that the last episode of flashback is out for not just members let me briefly put on my parasocial shipper hat and talk about ianthony moments in that vid
First we’ve got “I’m just going to be staring at you” accompanied by this look
Erin reminding us all of the fanfic trope “did you do any rehearsal” I can guarantee there’s about 100 Ianthony fics out there using that exact concept inspired by kiss currency “gotta practice for our scene bro”
This being their faces at the Ianthony kiss scene. Look at Ian. This man does not find any part of that awkward.
Editor Kourtney once again doing gods work and feeding the Ianthony shippers because this was the cut after Anthony said he had to turn off his brain when he was kissing Ian.
“Was there one more in the script or did I just ask for one more”
“I think you just asked for one more, we’re already in it so much we might as well right”
“Yeah yeah yeah”
Not exactly the way they pitched the idea of them kissing for years “oh no it’s so awkward I don’t want to kiss my bro” and then the minute they do it it’s “one more”
Then Ian says “was that the first time we kissed” then the way Anthony says “It’s the only time we’ve kissed” felt very like “we’re being recorded right now they don’t know that we’re busy smooching and getting each other sick constantly”. But also they have kissed another time.
Also when Ian says “I remember you say one thing in here that’s really funny, I still think about it and it still makes me laugh” we’ve gotta love Ian hyping Anthony up
Ian’s smug little face everytime he makes Anthony cringe successfully
Also later talking about watching the videos for the first time to pick them for this flashback Ian said “well you were in the room I think” and yes yes they could have chosen them at work. Or.
Also just gonna drop it now Ian is acting so fruity lately I feel like there’s a possibility the first podcast ep will be Ian coming out
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Have you played APOCALYPSE WORLD ?
By Vincent & Meguey Baker
Something’s wrong with the world and I don’t know what it is.
It used to be better, of course it did. In the golden age of legend, when there was enough to eat and enough hope, when there was one nation under god and people could lift their eyes and see beyond the horizon, beyond the day. Children were born happy and grew up rich.
Now that’s not what we’ve got. Now we’ve got this. Hardholders stand against the screaming elements and all comers, keeping safe as many as they can. Angels and savvyheads run constant battle against there’s not enough and bullets fly and everything breaks. Hocuses gather people around them, and are they protectors, saviors, visionaries, or just wishful thinkers? Choppers, gunluggers, and battlebabes carve out what they can and defend it with blood and bullets. Drivers search and scavenge, looking for that opportunity, that one perfect chance. Skinners and the maestro d’ remember beauty, or invent beauty anew, cup it in their hands and whisper come and see, and don’t worry now what it will cost you. And brainers, oh, brainers see what none of the rest of us will: the world’s psychic maelstrom, the terrible desperation and hate pressing in at the edge of all perception, it is the world now.
And you, who are you? This is what we’ve got, yes. What are you going to make of it?
Apocalypse World is the award-winning and critically acclaimed game that launched the Powered by the Apocalypse school of rpg design.
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Sibling Comparisons
Leia rose from her bed, confused, as the door hissed open.
Something seemed off about the situation, she could feel it. But she didn’t want to tip her hand – and a moment’s thought turned up an answer.
“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” she asked, thinking about minimum-height requirements that had been instituted in the days of transition from the clone army and never been rescinded.
“What?” the ‘trooper replied. “Oh, the uniform.”
He took off his helmet. “My name’s Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you.”
Leia did a double-take.
“What is Kenobi thinking?” she asked. “He brought my brother here?”
Luke practically fell over.
“Brother!?” he asked. “But – you’re a princess-”
“Yes, yes, excellent cover identity, sheer audacity,” Leia replied. “Nobody would suspect the Senator for Alderaan, and if you’re going by Skywalker then the same idea must be in play for you. Where’s Kenobi? Is he going by Ben or Obi-Wan these days?”
“We were coming to Alderaan,” Luke said. “Ben’s off shutting down the tractor beam so we can leave – look, what do you mean, brother?”
“We can talk about that later,” Leia replied, striding past her brother to the door of the cell. “What’s your exfiltration plan?”
“My what?” Luke asked. “...we’ve got your R2 unit?”
“Hey, farmboy!” a voice called from up the detention block corridor, accompanied by the sound of blasters firing. “We’ve got company!”
Leia sighed. “Where’s R2-D2?” she asked. “He should be able to get us out of this.”
“About… what, ten floors above us?” Luke guessed, then a wookiee joined them along with someone else in stormtrooper armour.
“We’re not getting out that way,” the man said.
“I don’t suppose you brought a spare blaster for me?” Leia asked. “Is there another way out?”
“Let me check with Threepio,” Luke said, reaching for his comlink. “Seriously? You’re my sister?”
“Right now I’m mostly hoping I’m better at planning than you,” Leia shot back, as blaster bolts flashed down the corridor.
“...well, that worked, eventually,” Leia muttered, brushing herself off as they exited the trash compactor. “Which is a marked improvement on your way of getting us out of here, I have to point out.”
“I’m still waiting on an explanation,” Luke protested. “How can you be my sister?”
“What, you want me to draw a diagram?” Han asked.
Chewbacca roared something.
“Hey, he’s from Tatooine, it’s not an animal farm,” Han protested. “He might just not know.”
“That’s not what I mean!” Luke objected, flushing.
“We’re twins,” Leia replied. “Both of us were put into hiding because being known descendants of Anakin Skywalker is a serious health hazard, beyond just being Skywalkers which is separate… how much training did Ben give you?”
“A few hours,” Luke replied. “On the flight to Alderaan.”
“What was he doing with his time?” Leia asked. “My tutor is literally a state secret without any hands-”
She stopped, swallowing.
“Was, now,” she said, before shaking herself. “Anyway, I could only learn from him while on break on Alderaan and I still got a lot more training than that…”
Han made a curious noise.
“What are you talking about, exactly?” he said. “More of this force nonsense?”
“Where did you dig him up?” Leia asked her brother, with a sardonic eyebrow. “He looks old enough to remember the Clone Wars.”
Chewbacca sniggered.
“Laugh it up,” Han countered. “The Clone Wars weren’t that long ago.”
“That’s my point,” Leia replied, sharply. “The Clone Wars had the Jedi literally leading armies-”
She shook herself. “Okay, we need to focus. How exactly did you plan to get off this thing?”
“Once the tractor beam is down, we’ll be able to just fly right out of here,” Luke volunteered. “Han’s ship is more than it looks – which isn’t hard.”
“Hey!” Han protested.
“Well, if you’ve got Chewbacca with you, that’s a good sign at least,” Leia said, then held up her hand. “Wait – not this way, that way.”
“Based on what?” Han asked.
“That thing you don’t believe in,” Leia replied. “Master Windu couldn’t teach me to fight but he could teach me to avoid trouble…”
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Hey everyone! Our participants are well into the creation stage now, which means that we’ve got fics taking shape that could use beta readers. Missed your chance to sign up as a writer/artist but still want to participate in the bang? Shoot us a message and we’d be happy to invite you to the server as a beta.
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The Sun of Ambrose IV (Lost Sinclair!daughter AU)
Hi everyone, this is fourth part my Sinclair!daughter AU in which the reader is Bo's daughter and she has been taken away and adopted by a new family. You can find part I here.
Hope you'll enjoy! <3
Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of a suicide, violence, killer!reader, mentions of pain and intense grief, of panic and despair, angst and more angst
You kept the promise you made to Bo.
Without your parents knowing, you decided to come back to Ambrose. You waited for the next school break and you paid some friends for them to pretend you were going on holidays with them. Being mute was a new advantage for you, because your parents couldn’t ask your friends to speak with you on the phone. Plus, you stopped talking about the Sinclairs so they were certain you were finally at peace with your past.
You didn’t have Bo’s phone number so you couldn’t warn him you were coming back. You hoped he would be happy to see you.
You said goodbye to your adoptive parents and took a bus, and then another bus until you arrived near Ambrose. You found some people who agreed to drive you to Lester’s town and soon enough you found yourself walking on the dusty roads of the region.
Luck was on your side this time as Lester found you.
“Y/N!” he yelled in pure joy as he stopped his truck and got out of it. He hugged you very tightly before checking on you to make sure you were alright. He gave you some water before asking you what you were doing here and where your parents were.
“They don’t know I’m here. I told them I was going on holiday with friends. I wanted to come back home without them… I wanted to talk with all of you without them around because they are scared of you” you explained and Lester hummed
“And you, darl’?” he asked
“And me?”
“Ain’t ya afraid of us? After what your mom said and… did” he added and you shook your head without thinking about it “Ya sure ‘bout it?”
“None of you ever hurt me and… I’ve always wanted to come back home. It is true that I don’t fully understand why she did what she did, but I need to give Bo a chance” you replied
“Bo?” Lester laughed and you arched an eyebrow “He won’t be happy if you call him by his name. Ya betta call him ‘father’ ya know” Lester warned you
“The thing is… he isn’t my father anymore” you replied. Lester gave you a sad smile
“Don’t let him know such things, ‘kay? Or he’ll lose it.” Lester asked you as Ambrose was coming into view. You nodded in agreement. You needed to be careful.
Lester parked in front of Bo’s garage. Bo got out from under a car when he heard Lester’s truck. His eyes instantly lit up when he saw you. He wiped his hands on a cloth before coming to open your door and hugging you even more tightly than Lester did a few instants ago.
“Watcha doin’ here?” he asked with a bright smile, gently cupping your face
“Wanted to spend time with you… without my adoptive parents in the way” you replied
“They ain’t knowin’ ya’re here then?” he asked and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders when you shook your head “Let’s get home then. We’ve got so much to talk ‘bout” he hummed as he guided you towards the house
“Weren’t you working?” you wondered, you didn’t want to bother your father
“Work can wait. Vinny’ll love to show ya ‘round the House of Wax too” Bo said, so excited. Lester trailed off behind the two of you. He was certain it was going to be a very nice day.
And he was right about it.
You quickly felt very at ease with your biological family. You could tell they wanted you back and you teared up when you saw that they hadn’t touched your bedroom since you left. They helped you settle in. Lester went to buy you your favourite food, Bo chatted with you until it was time to prepare dinner and Vincent showed you some sculptures he was doing. You even started a project together.
You ate in a relaxed atmosphere. But you needed to know:
“I don’t remember much of my life here when I was a child. But I remembered very well the House of Wax and I also remembered about the ‘tourists’ because you never let me out of the house when people were coming in here. But I never saw them leaving Ambrose and there were often gunshots and screams. I couldn’t understand before but mother accused you all of being killers and… Well I’m wondering about it now” you signed. The twins exchanged a look
“Ya feel in danger with us?” Bo asked you. You gave him an unimpressed look as it was obvious he was trying to get the conversation to his advantage
“That’s not the subject. Are you killers?” you asked more bluntly this time
Bo didn’t have time to find the right answer as you all heard a car coming. The engine clearly had known better day and stopped in the middle of Ambrose. The twins quickly got up to take care of the situation.
“Lester, bring Y/N to your place while we take care of this” Bo ordered and your uncle quickly nodded and helped you to your feet.
You felt particularly annoyed at the situation but you followed Lester back to his truck.
“Sorry, ‘bout that darl’, but business can be a little tough here sometimes, especially at night” your uncle tried to smile at you.
“I need you to bring me to the bus stop. If you don’t want to tell me the truth, I have got no reason to stay here or to want to talk with you. I asked a simple question, I wanted to understand. But if you prefer to lie to me, I don’t want this. I’m not even a Sinclair anyways” you grumpily replied.
Lester tried to convince you to stay at his place but you refused, so he brought you where you asked him to. He also gave you his phone number, as well as Bo’s and Vincent’s. He asked you for your number in exchange.
“I know ya’re upset with us, but stay in touch, darl’. We’ve missed ya, and we’ll do betta. I promise” he told you and finally agreed.
After this, the twins spent a lot of time trying to coax you into forgiving them and forgetting about the discussion.
Bo wished you a good morning everyday and often checked on you throughout the day. Vincent as well. Lester was sending pictures of the road kills or of flowers, insects and rocks he enjoyed.
You were happy. You sculpted a lot more and often sent pictures of your creations to Vincent so he could tell you how to improve. He was really proud of you and found you very skilled for your age. He was really excited about it, even if the twins hadn’t decided yet how to let you know about the killings. You seemed so sweet and innocent… They didn’t want to drive you away. They didn’t want you to understand why your mother killed herself.
But at the same time, you were refusing to come back to Ambrose without them telling you the truth. How could you be a Sinclair if they didn’t share everything with you? You couldn’t tell them you were a killer too then.
Things changed again when your mother discovered you were talking to the Sinclairs. If you had been smart enough to change their names, when she stumbled into one of the notifications, she understood it was Bo Sinclair messaging you. She was terrified for you, she was terrified of what these men could do to you. She needed to do something to protect you, she needed to make sure you wouldn’t end like your biological mother.
She was ready to call the cops and to let them know where the Sinclairs were. She was certain the police would find terrible things in Ambrose because the town was so strange and quiet. You managed to convince her to wait for the next day to do something about it: “it’s late mom, you can’t call the cops now. You need to wait until tomorrow morning at least…” you said and she agreed but only if you gave her your phone. You reluctantly obeyed, knowing the Sinclairs would be very distraught to not have news from you anymore.
More importantly, you needed to find a plan so your mother wouldn’t call the police on your family. You got mute to protect them, and you felt the same kind of panic you had when you were a child being interrogated by adults. You couldn’t really think straight, you could just act on instinct.
So you did something terrible. You took several different sorts of medicine and put it into your mother tea she always took before bed. You weren’t too sure what it would do to her, but you hoped it would make her sick enough for her to forget about the Sinclairs.
It did make her sick. So sick, she couldn’t leave her bed the next day. As you helped take care of her, you felt awfully guilty. It was your fault she was in such a bad state. However, what could you have done? You needed to protect the Sinclairs like you always did. Otherwise you would never live in Ambrose again, and you would die from the inside. You loved your mother and you were so grateful for the way she took care of you and cherished you… But deep inside, you were a Sinclair.
You thought that it was going to be okay, but when she started to feel better, she asked her husband to call the cops. You were forced to poison her again so all the attention would be back on her. How could your dad call the police when his wife needed to be looked after so badly? It was a vicious circle: whenever she was feeling alright, she wanted to protect you and to prevent her from doing it, you had to hurt her again and again. To appease her, you were barely speaking to Bo and your uncles anymore, just letting them know you were alright but that you needed to be with your mother, because she was very ill.
The doctors couldn’t find what was going wrong and her health only got worse and worse. You knew you were going to kill her if you didn’t stop the poisoning… But what could you do then? She would destroy the future you wanted, the future you needed for you to be whole again.
The irony wasn’t lost on you though: you were fully aware that you lost your biological mother because of your father, and you were now picking him over your adoptive mother. It hit you when you realised you were indeed choosing Bo. You gave her one last time the poison and she had to be taken to the hospital.
She died two days after.
And you cried so much with your dad. You felt shattered, because you loved her but you had to do it. No one could understand your pain full of guilt and duty. You simply sent a message to Bo “Mom is dead” and then you didn’t reply to him for days, which drove him ill with worry and despair.
You wondered if you shouldn’t kill yourself but then her death would be in vain, and it would make things even worse.
Your adoptive father was an absolute mess. He forgot how to take care of himself and of you. He couldn’t get up in the morning. The pain broke him in a way he never felt before. You couldn’t stand to see him like that, because you knew it was all your fault. You were really a Sinclair, you couldn’t touch something without breaking it. And more terribly, you could only truly cherish your own blood. You tried to be there for him but he couldn’t stand to see you for a while; having a child with his wife had always been his strongest desire, but now it was only reminding him of her absence.
You were 18 and you were going to go to college after the summer break. Your father told you you were a big girl, and he needed some alone time. He gave you money and asked you to leave for the summer. You hugged him and left, already knowing your path was going to lead you to Ambrose.
When you arrived, Bo and Lester were out of town. Vincent greeted you with a bear hug and quickly started to take care of you. He made food for you and removed enough of his mask to kiss your cheek. You remembered his scarred face then, but you didn’t feel disgust. It was normal. He asked you a lot of questions and it felt nice to talk to him about what you felt. You didn’t tell him you were the one who killed your mother; you still felt a lot better. Bo came back home, and like the last time he saw you, his whole demeanour brightened up. He kissed your cheek and hugged you for a long time, until he felt you were completely relaxed against him. He sat you back down and knelt in front of you.
“Does anyone know ya’re here?” he asked
“No. My dad asked me to go away for a little while. He isn’t doing well now that mom is dead. He needed some alone time. He gave me some money though” you explained and you saw anger moving through Bo’s eyes
“He ain’t your dad, love. I am. He’d be takin’ care of ya if he really was lovin’ ya, don’t ya think?” he hummed with venom lacing his voice
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you” you signed before looking away, so Bo grabbed your chin to make you look back at him. He gently smiled at you
“It’s just that I’m your father, and ya’re home.” he smoothly told you and you nodded, which appeased him “Tell me, love, what happened for ya to stop talkin’, we’re all quite missin’ the sound of your voice?” Bo hummed and Vincent gave him a little disapproving sound.
“You made me promise to never talk about Ambrose to strangers” you shrugged and the twins hugged you with fierce love after such words.
--
PART V
--
Taglist : @murder-hobo - @lacychick ; @magical-sass ; @limehaspassed ; @loveinglymessedup ; @bloodmoon-bites ; @iwantsleepplz ; @kawaistrawberry21 ; @12gaugefalls ; @kriston1210
#house of wax x reader#house of wax x daughter#bo sinclair x reader#bo sinclair x you#bo sinclair x daughter#lester sinclair x reader#lester sinclair x niece#lester sinclair x you#vincent sinclair x you#vincent sinclair x reader#vincent sinclair x niece#slasher x daughter#slasher x reader#slasher x you#slasher x niece#slasher x y/n
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Online & Anonymous 10/16
Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.
Odd year = Bradley's POV and Even year = Jake's POV
>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)
>>Jake chatting (italics)
2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014
2015 – Bradley
He doesn’t have the location feature in Grindr turned on by default. He can’t and won’t pick up while he’s deployed, not considering the fact that they have all sort of security hoops and communication blackouts, the location hasn’t ever been important. Except when he’s on leave and he’s looking at it now and Jas is in the same state as him. Not close by any means, but holy shit he’ll travel if he has to. Jas is meant to be deployed, however Texas is a huge state, and Jas has no reason to lie about being deployed. Unless their luck has changed, and Jas is somehow on leave and they’re in the same state. There’s a chance that Jas is on base, and if that’s the case it rules out the Marines and Coast Guard, but not Army, Navy or Air Force.
He wonders if it’s even possible for them to meet. He would totally fly a couple of hours to finally meet Jas.
>>Not to creep on you, but I can see you’re in Texas.
>>You here long?
>>You have got to be fucking kidding me.
>>What?
>>I’m here for two days. Just here to attend my grandma’s funeral.
>>And avoid my family as much as possible.
>>Okay. Not exactly ideal meeting conditions.
>>Fuck.
>>I’m almost tempted to just ditch the funeral.
>>But I can’t.
>>Of course not.
>>God I hate this entire state.
>>Special leave to attend.
>>Turn around is tight.
>>I’m sorry for your loss.
Bradley isn’t sure what else to say, because he hadn’t even realized that Jas spoke to any of his family members, had left them all behind when he joined up whatever service it is he’s in.
>>Thanks. She was the last decent family member I had.
>>Not that I was the best grandson.
>>Another thing to feel shitty and guilty about I guess.
>>But I don’t think I’ll be coming back here unless it’s for work.
… … …
He studies his calendar and the dates Jas has sent through of when he’s on leave. There’s not more than twenty-four hours of overlap with his own leave and he gets that people come and go and in a twelve-month period it’s fine, however this has been going on for several years now. The world feels like it’s going crazy and he doesn’t know if it actually is, or if he’s just paying more attention now, as he gets older and aware how world events will impact where he might be sent next. Where Jas might be sent next.
Massacres.
Shootings.
Coups.
Wars.
Foreign airstrikes.
And that’s just the first two months of the year. God, no wonder they can’t seem to catch a break. He scrolls back up to the pictures Jas had sent through last night and studies the tan lines, wonders where he might be to develop them. It’s not a comms blackout, but it’s close. They’re time zones apart now and it makes him regret not appreciating all the times when they were only hours apart.
“Is that your guy?”
“Jesus Christ! Natasha!” Bradley presses his phone to his chest and squirms away from where she’s trying to sit on his thighs in an attempt to pin him.
“I mean, I’d be distracted too if someone sent me pictures like that. Maybe worth the money you paid for that ridiculous phone,” she says, poking him in the thigh.
“He’s not my guy. Just… okay. Yeah. I guess it is my guy. He’s also a friend. He doesn’t need you drooling over him.”
“A friend you have pretty regular sex with… And I’m sure you drool over him enough for the both of us.”
“Yeah. But we’ve never met and it feels like we’re never going to. And we don’t even know each other’s names. It’s not a romance for the ages.”
“And yet you admitted it’s one of your most important relationships. And not just because of the sex. That does sound pretty romantic to me.”
“This is why people think we’re sleeping together, all you talk about is sex.”
“I just said it was romantic! But I talk about sex because it winds you up.”
Bradley groans.
“Is it phone sex, when your still just sending messages? Isn’t phone sex when you’re actually on the phone with each other? Have you tried that? Does he have an accent?”
“Why are you so interested?” Bradley replies, because he’s wondering now, and he hadn’t really thought about it before and he’s annoyed at himself. Wonders if they could talk on the phone, hear each other’s voices. Wonders if Jas has an accent, because he is Texan.
“Because I’m bored.”
“What do I have to do to make you leave me alone?”
“There’s nothing you can do. You need to entertain me. Can I talk to your friend?”
“No!”
“I could find him and talk to him. You’ve given me enough details to find him I think…”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“The entertainment value alone would make it worth it.”
He rolls his eyes but pulls a deck of cards from his pocket, because while he doesn’t think she would go through with it he also wouldn’t be entirely surprised if she did.
… … …
His next deployment once again finds him on a carrier with Jake Seresin. Carriers are huge, there are thousands of people on board and yet Seresin seems to be there every time he turns around. Fortunately Seresin’s squadron are meant to leave in two months so at least that’s only one-third of his deployment he has to suffer through, and another squadron is cycling through in one-month, so between them he can at least try and avoid him. It works better in theory than in practice. Their downtime in the rec room nearly always seems to coincide and he’s not really listening to what the others are talking about until he hears Seresin mention going home to Texas.
“You’re Texan?” Bradley asks, eyes shooting up to meet his and Seresin raises an eyebrow.
“Born and bred. How did you miss that fact Rooster? It’s not like you haven’t heard my gorgeous dulcet tones.”
“I guess I just never thought of it before, about where you’re from.”
He doesn’t mean it as an insult, he just really hadn’t thought about it, because he was in Corpus Christi where everyone seemed to sound Texan. And Seresin sometimes doesn’t sound as Texan as he does right now. He’s pretty sure that’s the case anyway.
“Proud Texan through and through, go back every chance I get.”
“Of course you do.”
… … …
Bambi arrives like a breath of fresh air with five others, and he grabs her and swings her around and then brings her in for a tight hug.
“God it’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too BB!”
“Congrats on the promotion.”
“Yeah, now you can stop being an asshole about it.”
“Only with you. And Natasha.”
“Yeah yeah. It really is good to see you. Come on, think we can get a party started up in here and do some dancing?”
“I’m certain you can achieve anything you want.”
“And don’t you forget it! You can play the piano for me later!”
“As you wish…” Bradley says, and she cackles madly and he grins, glad that she’s here.
… … …
Things get a lot less fun for a while, they’re in the air dropping bombs, patrolling airspace and this is what he’s trained for, years of training paying off, and it’s necessary, and he loves flying, and when it comes down to an enemy plane or Seresin being shot down he’s glad that Seresin made the shot. As much as he might find him arrogant and annoying he doesn’t want him dead. He does wish the guy would learn a little humility though, and he definitely snaps when he hears him re-telling the kill.
“Judge, jury and executioner… You’re just a modern-day hangman now aren’t you?”
The nickname of Hangman sticks to him, and he can tell it grates him a little, but then he starts leaning into it and somehow becomes even more arrogant and Bradley didn’t think it was possible but he’s been wrong before. Two weeks later Seresin and the rest of his squadron leave and he lets out a mental sigh of relief.
Four months to go.
… … …
>>You ever kill anyone?
>>No.
>>You okay?
>>Probably not. Good enough to fake it.
>>You shouldn’t have to fake it.
>>I’m assuming this isn’t a hypothetical?
>>No. Not hypothetical.
>>I’ve probably been responsible for people dying before.
>>Just never seen faces before.
>>I’m having nightmares.
>>Shit. I’m sorry. Wish I could give you a hug.
>>Thanks. I’ve got J helping me out.
>>They aren’t going to keep me down.
>>I’ll be fine.
>>Jas. Take some time. Talk to someone.
>>And say what?
>>I throw up every time I think about it too much?
>>It’s okay to feel upset about it.
>>Yeah? Then why is everyone congratulating me like what I did was a good thing?
>>War on terror… fucking hell.
>>You’re on leave right now right?
>>Go and get laid?
>>If I could be guaranteed a good lay, I would take that advice.
>>You know what I feel like?
>>What?
>>Just… pinned down and fucked until I can’t think about anything except how I’m feeling physically. Nothing in my head.
>>I mentioned once about tying you up… would you let me?
>>Yeah. Of course.
>>No. Not of course. We can talk about anything and everything, but actually doing it is another matter.
>>You know what I want the most?
>>What?
>>Giving you what you need.
>>If that’s tying you to a bed that’s all well and good, but I can pin you with my body, hold you down while I just rub against you. Get you hard and desperate for it, just rubbing up against each other like horny teenagers.
>>Would be an interesting experiment to try out.
>>Yeah, especially if I was already stretched and lubed up, that potential for more just there on the edge for both of us…
>>But you’d have to figure out how to keep me pinned and get you dick in me.
>>God you’ve gotten so good at this.
>>All the practice with you baby.
… … …
He’s back in a squadron with Natasha and for the first time also Hangman, and it’s a learning curve and a half because he remember Seresin and how he was at Top Gun a few years ago. He seems to have embraced the title of the only naval aviator in active duty to have an air to air kill, and all it does is make him wonder what has happened to Maverick, because surely he’s still active. The idea that he might have died and he wouldn’t know about it scares him, so he sends a carefully worded email to Ice and asks about them both. The response he gets back isn’t overly open or encouraging, but it is still a response and Bradley takes it as the small stepping stone it is. He’s still angry, but not angry enough to not want to know that Mav is alive and well. Ice too. It’s been over fifteen years and what he really wants now is answers. So he sends another email back, shares a funny story about something that happened and hopes for the best.
… … …
“Every turn he assumes I think the worst of him.”
“Don’t you?”
“No! He’s an asshole, but I think he maybe uses that to cover up stuff.”
“Hmm. Deep.”
“Shut up,” Bradley mutters.
“Maybe the two of you have more in common than you think.”
Bradley looks at her sharply.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t say. Just… keep an open mind I guess?”
“Oh my god Nat. I don’t need an open mind,” Bradley says with an eye roll, putting sarcastic quotation marks in the air when he says open mind. “He made a pass at me.”
“Oh, so you know he’s gay.”
“And so do you…” Bradley observes.
“Yeah well, best friend privilege I guess? I haven’t said anything about you though. Other than you being in a long-distance relationship.”
“Oh, great, thanks for that.”
“What?”
“If I go and hook up people are going to think I’m cheating.”
“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t think about that. Wait, how long have you known Seresin’s gay?”
“Uh. Few years. When I was at Top Gun for the year.”
“When you spent a large chunk of time bitching to me about how annoying he was?”
“He asked me out for a drink after that. After most of that…”
“Did he?! Really?” Natasha sits up and leans forward, eyes wide and excited.
“I turned him down obviously.”
“Why obviously?”
“I was sort of an instructor at the time. Didn’t want a reputation of sleeping with people anymore than I want one as a cheater,” he says, poking his toes into her thigh in annoyance, although all she does back is pinch the delicate skin of his ankle and he yelps in pain.
“So… you haven’t slept with him.”
“Nope.”
“Thinking about it now though right?”
He groans and she laughs. It’s annoying because they both know she’s right.
… … …
It wasn’t him. That’s the only thing he can think of when he hears the news. Who ever it was got the target wrong and hit a hospital. He hears all the talk about collateral damage but he still thinks he’s going to be sick. He didn’t sign up to kill injured people and doctors. He sends another email to Ice, wonders if he’ll have any magical words that will help him sleep at night.
… … …
It hits him over dinner one night that Seresin’s first name is Jake. He has the same initials as Jas, is maybe born the same year and is also from Texas. That’s quite a few coincidences. He starts paying a little more attention. He knows Natasha thinks it’s because he wants to maybe fuck him, and okay, she’s not wrong, but it’s not the only reason he’s looking. Then he hears Hangman on the phone talking to someone, his sister he tells Natasha later when she asks (at Bradley’s not so gentle request). It’s that that makes him realize that’s all they are; coincidences. Jas doesn’t talk to his family and hates Texas, Seresin is the opposite. Seems about right.
… … …
>>How are you going?
>>Good. Didn’t need to vomit when a nightmare woke me up this time.
>>That’s what I call winning.
>>You and I have very different definitions of winning.
Bradley walks into the rec room and Hangman is there on his phone, thumbs flying over the screen and he wonders who he’s talking to. He looks happy, clearly not as troubled as Jas is feeling, and he guesses they’re different people and have very different experiences.
“Hey Hangman, you okay?”
“Would you care if I wasn’t?” Hangman says back, and he’s smiling, but his eyes are glinting with a challenge. Bradley shrugs, because he can extend an olive branch, but shoving it down Hangman’s throat pretty much defeats the purpose.
“I just thought I’d check in on you. Some people… struggle, when they’ve killed someone,” he doesn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, or detached, but they’re not friends. Maybe he should be checking in with Coyote instead, asking him if he thinks Hangman is okay. He’d definitely get a more honest answer, that’s certain.
“I’m in the wrong profession if that’s something I’d allow to bother me.”
“Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”
God, he’s such an asshole.
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Strawberries and Cream
Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader
Word count: 5.2k
Notes: I’ve said it once I’ll say it again, I’m Autistic, your guess is as good as mine as for whatever is happening in chapter 8
Episode 7: I can hear the bells
And now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for
Eddie stands in front of Buck's door, flowers in hand. He smooths out his suit and gulps quietly, before knocking.
It’s odd that anyone knocks on Buck’s door and doesn’t just shout for him to open it
“You’re acting weird,” you tell Buck and he shrugs feigning innocence
“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about. What? A guy can’t want to do his cousin's hair? Especially me??”
“Yeah, I suppose that does sound like you when you put it that way…”
Buck had woken up that day in a very older brotherly mood. He made you breakfast and even made you get in the shower afterwards while he cleaned up.
“Here I got you this. I ran out of razors for you to steal”
He’d tossed you a can of magic shave powder and you narrowed your eyes at him. He was being oddly… nice today.
“Thanks”
You open the door and your mouth drops open, Eddie is standing there, and he looks fine as hell. You’d never seen him in nicer clothes than this. That suit is tailored to the gods. It fits every dip and curve of his body perfectly. It’s the deepest shade of black you think you’ve ever seen with a red tie and a gold tie pin right in the center, in the shape of a star. Even his shoes are nice and shiny
“I picked today when you’re staying at Buck’s so that way we would have space after, you know.” He sounds a little nervous as he stands in front of you, his heart on his sleeve
“After…what?” You ask as he hands you the beautiful flowers and a pretty pink box
“After our first date”
Good thing you stopped being suspicious and used the damn powder.
“Our- our first” you stutter and he smirks, that little nervousness gone for the time being because the way you’re short-circuiting is priceless
“Mhmm… do me a favor and go change? I knew I was springing this on you so Buck and Maddie helped me pick an outfit for you” he taps the box and you look dumbly at it
“I think you broke her” Buck comes over and takes the flowers to put in a vase for you before he grabs your shoulders, pulling you inside as Eddie follows. He gives you a little shove towards the stairs and you walk slowly up them, occasionally turning around to glare at Buck and Eddie suspiciously.
“Would you hurry up!” Buck yells at you and you scurry up the stairs. Eddie snorts and shakes his head following Buck over to the kitchen
“You look so damn good I told you I knew what I was doing” Buck compliments him smugly and Eddie rolls his eyes, watching him trim the stems
“Yeah-yeah you were right…Thank you, honestly Buck”
“Hey, anything for the two of you. And don’t worry,” he wiggles his eyebrows “I called Angelo’s and got you my special table”
“I told you not to do that!” He groans and slaps his hand over his face
“Hey! I did not wait this long to not give you my make-out table. God you know the strings I had to pull to get that!”
“You just called Emery and reminded him of your one-night stand,” Eddie says plainly and Buck’s mouth drops open
“Or you called Alyssa” He adds and Buck whacks him with a rose
“I’ll have you know it was Vanny. Asshole! You know my friend?! The owner's daughter?!”
Eddie looks at him skeptically and he gasps loudly, before pulling out his phone. He shoves the recent calls in Eddie’s face
“See!”
“What are you idiots fighting about now?”
“Bucks stupid make-out…table…”
The end of his sentence is whispered as you come down the stairs carefully. Buck and Maddie took their time choosing an outfit for you because if he was finally gonna do this you were gonna look good.
It’s a relatively simple dress, it flows behind you as you walk down the stairs carefully in your gold heels. The dress is red and silky, with spaghetti straps and a slit up to your thigh. You’ve got a small gold necklace on and your hair is put up with fancy gold pins in it. One is shaped like the moon and the other is shaped like a shooting star
You stand in front of them, doing a little spin and Eddie feels exactly like he did all over again when he’d first met you.
“H-hi,” He says and you blush, giving him a little wave with your fingers
“Hi… d-do I look okay?” You ask shyly and he nods slowly, coming around the counter to take your hands in his
“You look gorgeous, Y/N.” He says softly and you roll your eyes playfully
“Oh, you’re just saying that!”
He cups your face in his hands carefully and kisses your lips, tasting that sweet strawberry glitter gloss. His touch is soft and tender, the way he looks at you, his gaze so full of warmth and adoration.
“No, you’re beautiful… I-I’ve been waiting a long time for this night… and it doesn’t matter how it goes anymore, because I got to see you like this”
Your heart melts over his words and you look up at him, biting your lip gently. He leans in again, kissing your forehead
“Be a little more sappy, I haven’t thrown up yet” Buck snaps his fingers and you and Eddie look over, he’s got at least three cameras on you guys
“What?” You say under your breath and Buck chuckles gleefully
“This one’s got everyone on FaceTime” He points to the open laptop he’d spun around when Eddie had walked over
“I’m taking pictures with this” He waves his phone
“And this is recording the whole thing” He points to his iPad
“You FaceTimed everyone?” You groan as you let your head fall against Eddie’s chest completely embarrassed. And sure enough, the entire time is on FaceTime cheering and whistling for the two of you
“We did not wait this long not to see this moment,” Athena says from the laptop and you shake Eddie who snorts and pulls you away from him
“Look how pretty she looks” He holds you in front of him and you cover your face with your hands
“Really!!” You hiss and they all ooh and aah over you. You yank Eddie in front of you now and he stumbled forward
“Oh yeah! Well he looks even better”
“Do prom poses” Chimney says and Eddie turns around, grabbing your waist and picking you up to make you face them again
“Oh I was totally already gonna make them do it,” Buck says and comes around the counter
“Alright come on, you know what we want”
“Oh my god” you mutter and Eddie just giggles, putting his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his body. He doesn’t care about how embarrassing any of this is, and it is embarrassing as hell don’t get him wrong. But how could he care, when he gets to go on a date with you, a real date?
Buck makes you guys do a few more ridiculous poses while you all talk, but eventually, Eddie manages to drag you out the front door and to the car so you’re not late to your reservations. He opens the door for you, kissing your hand as he helps you in and you blush, collecting your dress so he can shut the door
“As much as I hate all of their guts right now that was super cute” You giggle as he gets in and buckles himself in
“Oh I totally agree, we’re gonna get all of them back for that. God, I can’t believe they all actually called to see this”
“Well it’s been a long time coming” you smirk “Two friends going on a date”
“And who knows if they’re even gonna get together” Eddie snickers before taking your hand in his as he backs out of the driveway
“Maybe you’ll end up dumping spaghetti in my lap or something,” you say and he scoffs
“First of all, I’m not ruining that dress. Second of all, I’m not ordering spaghetti”
“I don’t believe you now. Should you even be driving?” You ask as you hold his hand in both of yours and he shrugs when he gets to the stop sign
“Do you know where we’re going?”
“No”
“So how are you supposed to drive us?” He raises an eyebrow and you roll your eyes
“There’s this weird little thing our phones have called GPS! Oh, and you know this other odd phenomenon, where humans? Yeah they can give directions” you sass him and he bites his lip, holding back a laugh
“You wanna drive that badly, Princess? Because I’ll let you. But I like the way you look in the passenger seat”
Your cheeks flush as you watch him driving, he looks over at you occasionally and you frown, because he’s making you all shy and mushy inside and you know he’s enjoying every second
“I’m just worried about your shoulder that’s all,” you say, all calm and proper and he smiles widely, squeezing your hand
“Thanks for worrying about me cutie”
“Thanks for worrying about me cutie” You mimic him and he chuckles, pulling his hand away and swatting your thigh
“So full of sass tonight huh?” You reach for his hand again and he pulls it away from you
“Nuh huh bad girls don’t get what they want”
Your mouth falls open and he looks over at you for a second, eying you up and down
“Something wrong Sugar Cube?”
“You give me your hand back right now!”
“Gotta beg for it, sweet girl”
“Eddieee” You whine and he swats your leg again
“Aren’t you lucky I can’t reach your ass right now… you want it back? you beg for it sweet thing or you’re just gonna have to sit by yourself and pout about it”
You cross your arms over your chest, huffing as you stare out the window. He smirks as he watches the road in front of him, watching you through the corner of his eye. You peek over at him a couple of times, watching the way he flexes his fingers on the wheel. You sigh quietly and lean your head on the window
“Please can I have your hand back” you mumble and he leans over
“Huh? I don’t think I heard you. Gotta speak louder Sugar Cube”
You grit your teeth, narrowing your eyes for a second before turning to him
“Please, can I please, please, have your hand back… I n-need you”
The little wobble in your voice gets him and his eyes roll back as he sets his hand back in your lap, locking his fingers with your”
“Good girl”
Eddie opens the door for you and helps you out, making sure you bunch up the bottom of your dress a bit so it doesn’t get dirty. You take his arm and walk in, this place is nice. You know, oddly too nice to be called Angelo’s. But the fancy sign on the front kind of makes up for it
Vanny comes over immediately, hugging Eddie and cooing over how beautiful you look. She says that Buck talks about you all the time and you blush as you shake her hand warmly. She leads you both back to a quieter table, there’s not many people around and it can’t be seen from all sides
Yeah okay make out table makes sense.
There’s a bucket of ice, chilling a fancy champagne bottle, and little candles on the table. Red rose petals decorate the table and spill slightly onto the floor around it.
“Oh this is beautiful,” You say quietly, and Vanny winks at Eddie. They really did have this all planned out.
You scoot into one side of the small booth and Eddie sits on the other, his arm coming up to rest behind you, you blush as you look at him, and he boops your nose
“Aaron will be over soon to take your orders and there will be minimal interruptions. Everything is already taken care of, so please order whatever you’d like! You two enjoy your night!”
Vanny walks away and you scoot closer to Eddie, toying with his tie
“Can’t wait to light myself on fire! This is really romantic you know, who knew you had it in ya!” You poke at him and he scoffs
“I’ve been like top-tier romantic like sixty times okay” He tilts your chin up and places a soft kiss on your lips
“Champagne?”
“Yeah okay” you say softly, batting your eyelashes “What kind is it?”
Eddie fixes his sleeves to avoid getting them wet and grabs the bottle, drying it off a little
“Uhhh strawberry” He chuckles, popping the top “Kind of our thing” He pours you a glass, handing it to you, and then pours his own, he also blows out a couple of the little candles and pushes them away from you. Because you joke… but he can just see you burning the whole place down
“What should we toast to?” You ask watching him and he puts his arm back behind your shoulders
“Whatever you want Sugar cube,” He says, and the way he looks at you, with those deep brown eyes just melts you to your core, you sigh softly, tilting your head to the side and he bites his lip, chuckling a little
“Is it cheesy to say “to us” because that feels cheesy” you giggle and he smiles, nuzzling his nose against yours
“How about the tiger who bonded us with tiger PTSD”
You snort and laugh into his chest, nearly spilling your champagne in your lap, he holds your glass steady as you hide your laughs
“Or to that night you were a total nerd and took me to the car to warm me up before kissing me on the beach”
Eddie groans loudly and you laugh more
“Please god don’t remind me about that, I’ve thought about that way too much”
You pull away from him, wiping away little tears as your giggles die out
“You’ve thought about that?”
“Are you kidding me? I think about that night constantly… That was one of the best nights of my life. Which you know would have been ten times better had I not waited to kiss you like a dumbass”
You laugh through your nose and he rolls his eyes clinking your glasses together and you both sip
“If it helps… that was one of the best nights of my life too” you blush as you hide behind your champagne glass, taking a longer sip than necessary
“Really?” He’s blushing just as much
“Of course! I kinda felt like I was really yours you know? And like I was a part of the family…”
Eddie sips his champagne again, wondering which one of you is gonna win drinking all of their alcohol first just to try and hide the blushing
“Just gonna drop that on me? In public? Where I can’t roll around and kick?”
You swat his chest and cover your mouth, he’s making you laugh way too much. But he likes the sound of your laugh, he likes the way it makes him feel.
“We should probably actually look at the menu” You tease as you grab yours, he doesn’t bother with his own, just stays close to you, laying his head on top of yours
“What sounds good to you Sugar cube?”
You look over the menu, humming softly “You know what we completely forgot to talk about?”
You feel Eddie’s finger running slowly up and down your arm
“Hm?”
“She said everything was taken care of? What the heck does that mean”
“That means Buck did a lot more than just get his make-out table” He sighs, pulling out his phone and calling him. You lean into him, enjoying his cologne that he put on a little heavier this time
“Did something happen??? Are you guys okay??” Buck answers immediately and you smile a little
“Yeah we’re fine,” Eddie says “Look, Vanny said everything was taken care of?”
“You’re calling me in the middle of your first date to tell me what I told her to tell you?”
He deadpans it and you snort
“We just wanted to tell you not to freaking do that,” You say and Buck curses under his breath
“My cousin, who is practically my sister, gets with my best friend in the entire world who is practically my brother - wait that's weird”
Eddie laughs
“Anyway. And you think for one damn second I’m not gonna pull strings for the both of you???”
“You really didn’t-“ Eddie starts and Buck cuts him off
“I did have to Eddie. Because I love you two more than anything in this entire world. Now shut the fuck up, hang the fuck up, and order the entire damn menu I don’t care. Just don’t call me again unless it’s an emergency”
You both hear the click of him hanging up and Eddie rolls his eyes
“Your brother is annoying”
“So is yours”
You both chuckle and go back to looking through the menu, you decide on chicken Alfredo, which Eddie teases you and says you always get and he decides on chicken Parmesan and you tease him back, saying he always gets that in a high-pitched voice and he scoffs
“I have no idea what you’re talking about”
He makes you both order different drinks so you guys can stop downing the champagne. They weren’t kidding when the bottle said it was high-quality stuff.
Aaron comes by and takes your orders, promising he won’t be back until it’s ready and you blush, he even adds it’ll probably be around 20 minutes and winks
“I’m not gonna lie this is a little embarrassing,” you say as soon as Aaron leaves and Eddie nods, putting his hand on your hip and pulling you into him
“Oh no it’s totally embarrassing”
He nuzzles his nose against yours before kissing you softly, he tastes good, like the strawberry champagne you’re both drinking, and a little minty from the toothpaste he used. You smile against his lips and he cups your cheek, deepening the kiss
“But we’re gonna do this anyway right?” You mumble against his lips, pulling him in closer by his lapels
“Oh hell yes”
You spend the majority of the 20 minutes halfway in his lap with his hand caressing and teasing the soft inside of your thigh, always inching closer but never where you want it. Your hand stays steadily over his crotch, and every time you lean in more he groans as you put more pressure on it. You can feel how hard he is through his perfectly tailored pants
“Quit it, you little tease” He growls against your lips and you giggle into his mouth as you attack him, wrapping your tongue around his. He whines and pulls you fully into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. You feel him shoving your dress up as high as he can without exposing you too much and your breath hitches as it bunches around your waist. He’s using the slit in your dress to his advantage, he’s so happy you were okay with such a high one too.
“Eddie Diaz!” You hiss, but it’s cut off by a soft moan as his hands knead your flesh
“Yes, baby?” his voice is sultry and teasing as he slides his hands under your dress, feeling over your bare hips.
Maybe this table wasn’t the best idea.
He’s busy kissing down your neck, and sliding your spaghetti straps down when someone clears their throat. You whimper when he pulls away, both of you panting harshly. You have just enough time to fix yourselves up when Aaron comes back with his serving tray, clearly walking slowly towards your table and setting it down on the table behind him. He hands you both your plates, and you thank him, a deep blush on your cheeks from totally being caught, while Eddie completely enjoys this.
Aaron sets a breadstick basket down which is full of a stupid amount of them and Eddie raises an eyebrow
“Buck?”
“Buck”
They say it at the same time and you grin, taking one “Oh he knows us so well”
Dinner is utterly delicious and you and Eddie both share, he starts a breadstick fight and it’s funny until half of his goes flying across the room, your mouths drop wide open as you watch it sail through the air, and that puts an end to the fight very quickly. Not to mention he bites yours in half when you’re not looking and smiles widely with his cheeks full when you ask where the heck it went
Eddie holds your strawberry lemonade for you as you sip it, watching the way your lips wrap around the straw
“So when are you gonna do that to me?” He asks suddenly and you choke on your lemonade, nearly spitting it out at him and literally through your nose. He throws your napkin at you, setting the glass back down so he doesn’t drop it with how hard he’s shaking from laughter as you cough up a lung and a half
“I’m going to kill you!” You wheeze and grab his water to clear your throat
“Not if I kill you first apparently”
You punch him in the stomach and he wheezes, bending over dramatically. He pretends to fall over but nearly topples out of the booth anyway You grab his arm, yanking him back towards you and he crashes into your chest
“I think we need to chill with the champagne” you giggle uncontrollably as Eddie keeps his head on your chest, nuzzling his face against your soft breasts and effectively getting glitter on his face. He sighs contentedly as your cheeks flush deeply
“I thought we already did”
“You’re literally buried in my boobs” You gesture down to him and he looks up at you
“Oh this is just because I can”
“Eddie!!”
You both eat way too many of the breadsticks after that, just to sober up some. Or else neither of you will be driving home tonight, which Eddie teases would be just fine with him because that would mean he could get you in the backseat.
The lights around you have been dimmed and bit and neither of you is really sure what time it is, but you’ve been promised they’ll stay all night if you’d like. Aaron whispers something in Eddie’s ear and he smirks, looking you over before nodding to him
Eddie has no idea what the hell kind of connections Buck has but he’s loving them.
Dinner plates have been taken away and you’re given a dessert menu
“I’m pretty sure I’m way too stuffed for dessert,” you say, patting your tummy and he chuckles, nodding his head
“Maybe we can just take it home… or, maybe we could dance it off?”
Literally on cue, a man walks over as Aaron puts a computer down, bowing politely before putting a violin to his chin. Your mouth drops open as Eddie scoots out from the booth and holds his hand out
“Can I have this dance, Sugar Cube?”
You start giggling as you get out of the booth “That was the smoothest thing ever”
Eddie gets so giddy as you take his hand, wiggling a little “Oh my god I know right that was so hot. Like I don’t mean to toot my own horn but damn we were on time” He puts his hand up and the man high-fives it before going back to playing for the two of you with his accompaniment
Eddie holds you close to his chest, just where he likes you to always be. You dance together smoothly, swaying back and forth for a bit before he makes you do a little spin and you giggle
“Okay wait is this Wildest Dreams??” You ask and Eddie smirks as you come back to his chest
“Yeah, you like Bridgerton right? I thought you’d like this”
Your mouth drops and he grins widely
“Oh we’re officially getting married someday” You joke and he shrugs
“I thought that was already established but okay”
Your mouth drops open as you freeze in place, staring at him. “Y-you want-??”
He looks down at you “More than-“ He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence as he stares into your eyes, watching the way they sparkle just for him. Because neither of you could handle that right now, you’re not even “daTiNG” yet. You haven’t even said that you- you haven’t even said those three little words that are constantly on the tip of his tongue in everything he does with you, every day he spends with you.
But how could he say that to you? He’s not even sure you could say that to him. It’s… god it’s not that he doesn’t want to either, he’s just- afraid not ready. What if he isn’t good enough for you? What if he hurts you? What if he has another PTSD attack and you decide you can’t deal with that? That you can’t love him if he’s like that.
Neither of you can even breathe in this moment, you know for sure you’re not. Because you want to say it. But you can’t bring yourself to, because what if he doesn’t say it back? You know Eddie by now, you know he lets his insecurities get in the way of living sometimes and this just feels like one of those things he can’t do unless he’s ready.
But you’d sure as hell spend a lot of time helping him work through them because he’s worth it. No matter how much reassurance it took, no matter how many hours you spent learning to help someone with PTSD so you could help him. You’d take the time to do it.
So you’ll wait, you’ll wait for him to say it first. Because you know what you feel, you know you’ll never feel this way for anyone else for as long as you live. So you just give him a little smile, a little smile that you know he’s gonna know exactly what it means. You watch the way he relaxes, you see the little tears in the corner of his eyes that he blinks away and just puts your head down against his chest.
He wants you to hear his heart beating solely for you, because without a doubt, both of you know what you’re saying at that point.
I see you, I hear you. I-
“Patience, Sugar Cube. First, we have to stop pretending to be friends”
“Why did this kind of feel like all our other hangouts? Just fancier” You ask Eddie as you lean against the front door, you dig through your bag to find your keys
“Aha!” You pull them out and look up and he’s staring down at you with that look in his eyes. Your hand falls to your sides slowly as you reach up for him, pulling him down to your height and kissing him. It feels different now, you’re not really sure why… it feels… like the start of something
“I don’t think this was our first date baby girl” He says against your lips, settling his hands on your waist
“I think I’ve been an idiot calling you a friend this entire time…Because let’s be honest… you’re my girl”
“But we’re not gonna tell them that right?” You ask softly, feeling his emotions through the way he kisses you and he smiles, nodding
“Nope”
“So…” you pull away a little, looking at him, the moon and the stars shine behind him and they don’t hold a candle to the way he looks right now.
“Will you please, finally be my girlfriend?” He asks softly, nuzzling your nose a little with his “I refuse to go one more day not calling you mine”
It’s funny, the way your heart beats out of your chest when he asks that. Because really… haven’t you been his girlfriend this entire time? But that little label that both of you denied for so long, the reasons you denied it all seems stupid now
“Okay. Eddie’s girl kinda has a nice ring to it anyway”
Eddie scoops you up in his arms, spinning you around as you squeal and giggle. Your lips find his and he moans into your mouth, making sure you wrap your legs securely around his waist.
Your back hits the front door and you gasp, as he grinds against you, your cunt already starting to drip into your panties
“Eddie!! Buck is home!” You hiss and he scoffs.
“We’re outside… you didn’t seem to mind when he was down the stairs”
Your mouth drops open and he snickers, setting you on your feet gently and kissing you, his tongue sliding into your mouth and wrapping around yours immediately. The way he teases you laps at your tongue like he’s ready to devour you… maybe you’re gonna have to kick Buck out.
Eddie reaches down for your keys now, taking his time finding the right one as you two kiss. He’s just about to stick it into the lock when the door whooshes open.
“Jes- Buck?!” Eddie curses and you squeak, jumping and nearly falling backward into the house. Eddie grabs your arms, yanking you against his chest.
“Why!??” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose and Buck just stands there, smiling like the sweet little adorable angel he is
“Oh! I just thought you were ready to go”
“Ready to go where?” He asks and you giggle, leaning your head against his chest
“Duh back to your place”
“You’re coming back to my place? Since when??”
“Since my best friend had his first date with the girl of his dreams and me and Chim set it up??” He scoffs like that’s common knowledge and takes your keys from Eddie’s hand, placing them nicely in yours
“Come on they’re waiting” he walks right between you two and Eddie throws his hands in the air, exasperated
“Who’s waiting?” He gives you a quick kiss and you laugh, leaning against the door frame and watching him follow after Buck
“Chim and a uh…friend of mine! Y/N, Maddie, and Hen are inside! Have a good night!!” He runs back and kisses you on the cheek, giving you a tight squeeze as Eddie gets into the passenger side of his own car, he knows Buck isn’t gonna let him drive
“Don’t worry, Maddie is gonna text me everything and I swear I’ll keep it a secret!!” He ruffles your hair and you push his hand away, swatting at him
“Alright, okay!! Go!!”
Eddie stares at you from the window and you give him a little wave, blowing him a kiss. He smiles and shakes his head and you know he’s blushing. He actually catches it and kisses his hand and you giggle, rolling your eyes at how cute he is
What a way to end your first date
“Oh come on! One date and I have to suffer through this now!!” Buck stomps his way to the car and gets in, flipping you both off as he drives away
#words by rhys#eddie diaz#911 x reader#eddie diaz x reader#rhys writes#911 fox#strawberries and cream#911 abc#911 show#911 fandom#911 fanfic#evan buck buckely#maddie buckley
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nct dream as yearning songs
a/n! This is for funzies only! I don’t know any of them personally so I’m only comparing and linking their behavior shown through videos with the behavior of those I know in real life (me included). And also, If you haven’t listened to any of these songs, PLEASE give them a listen bc I feel like it’ll help you guys better understand my vision :)
Mark - End Of Beginning, Djo
Just one more tear to cry, one teardrop from my eye
You better save it for
The middle of the night when things aren't black and white
Enter, Troubadour
"Remember 24?"
Mark’s always talking about finally beginning a project whenever he’s with the dreamies, so I always get reminded of this song (that’s not the only reason tho) once the “is it really starting this time?” teasing commences — even though it might pass as a “funny” quirk, the need to establish out loud that they are “restarting” or finally starting things as if from scratch, might be because of something deeper. Mark seems like the kind of guy who works hard and reminisces about his past, especially when it comes to where it all (ironically) started. He works so hard and is almost never relaxing or taking a vacation, he says he’s fine, but since I'm a workaholic as well, I can tell you guys that we always end up breaking down because of how much stuff we’re doing. So, in those overwhelming moments, I can imagine Mark looking back to when he was in Canada, being able to rest and take in all the small pleasures the world can offer, not having to worry about his image, his feelings, his needs or if he’s “korean enough” to be working as an idol (idk about you guys, but that distinction between being a pure korean vs a mixed korean would drive me insane. I’d be so upset to always have to prove myself and prove that part of my nationality), reminiscing about the times when he was full of dreams, peace, and most importantly, energy.
You take the man out of the city, not the city out the man
Renjun - Abstract (Psychopomp), Hozier
See how it shines
Renjun is a very simple and honest man; he knows what he likes, what he doesn’t and knows how to set up his boundaries. However, he’s really sensible when it comes to life (in ALL its meanings), which is why I’m reminded of this song whenever I think of him. I’m grateful for all the things Renjun has shared with us, such as his mental health, hobbies and just his personality in general. Abstract is a song that shows how much its “subject” is sensible, brave (for jumping into traffic in order to rescue the dying/already dead animal) and never seems to catch a break, while the one singing (in this case, Hozier) can only take in the sight, not being able to do anything to help. In this analogy, Renjun is the subject and his friends/family/fans are Hozier, y’all. I feel like he strives to protect those he loves, and yearns for their well being when he can’t do anything to help.
(it was tough to choose just a small part of the song, when in fact, in my opinion, the whole thing describes him so well)
The speed that you moved
The screech of the cars
The creature still moving
That slowed in your arms
The fear in its eyes
Gone out in an instant
Your tear caught the light
The Earth from a distance
Jeno - Yes To Heaven, Lana Del Rey
If you go, I'll stay
You come back, I'll be right here
Like a barge at sea
In the storm, I stay clear
We’ve got ourselves a lover boy! No surprises there, I think. Even though this song comes from a female point of view, I think it still describes Jeno really well. Getting back on track, I feel like this suits him given the fact that when he likes someone, he likes someone — if he feels strongly like that, it’s even more intense when it comes to his loved ones, hence the song. Jeno would do anything in the world for his partner, and that includes fighting for them, to keep them by his side even if things get incredibly tough.
His reason to yearn would be his person, before he even managed to win them over. Jeno would yearn for a life next to his loved one, for their acceptance and approval of him — nothing would make him happier than hearing a yes from his lover.
Say yes to Heaven
Say yes to me
Haechan - Gilded Lily, Cults
Now it's been long enough to talk about it
I've started not to doubt it, just wrap my head around it
I remember when you told me it's an everyday decision
But with my double vision, how was I supposed to see the way?
This boy is one of the most hard-working human beings on earth, methinks. Because he’s always giving, exposing and donating parts of himself to the world, not gaining anything back… The amount of hate and fake news he gets thrown at him is insane, being the reason why I always think of him when listening to this song. He has the biggest heart ever, and he pays the price for it every single day of his life. Haechan’s personality is bright and it should shine as much as it needs to, he might look overly confident but I wouldn’t doubt that in fact, he’s totally insecure about himself and about his skills, lost in the world yearning for appreciation. Gilded Lily suits him so much it actually pains me to make this connection anywhere other than my brain.
His hard work isn’t half as repaid as it should be. Some “fans” should be embarrassed to call themselves such when the first thing they do is to attack Hae.
Haven't I given enough, given enough?
Always the fool with the slowest heart
But I know you'll take me with you
We'll live in spaces between walls
Jaemin - Chemtrails Over The Country Club, Lana Del Rey
I'm on the run with you, my sweet love
There's nothing wrong contemplating God
Under the chemtrails over the country club
In another life, I believe that Jaemin could’ve been living peacefully in a suburb, white picket fences and all. This song is filled with nostalgia and the wish to run away with your loved one, which painfully reminds me of Jaemin. He’s the perfect man, the perfect gentleman even, so that’d make his partner want to elope with him. However, this image of him resides only in my (and now, your) imagination — that’s why I chose this song for him. Whenever I take in anything that Jaemin does, I can help but think about how I’d feel in his shoes: he had the plan to become a doctor, did charity work, played the piano, got good grades and was handsome. Having such high standards and some fondness towards the academic way of life, would I be 100% satisfied living an idol life? The answer is no, ergo my need to choose this song for him. If my hunch about Jaem is correct, he’d be yearning for the possibilities of having another life, especially when it comes to love. From what he has shown us, he wouldn’t be the type to voluntarily want to hide his loved one — I feel like he’d want to boast to the world about them.
I interpret this song as a life the singer would like to have had with their loved one, but couldn’t since the opportunity passed, and is now cursed to live forever with their “what ifs”.
My love, my love
Washing my hair, doing the laundry
Late night TV, I want you on me
Like when we were kids
Under chemtrails and country clubs
It's never too late, baby, so don't give up
Chenle - loml, Taylor Swift
If you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary
You and I go from one kiss to gettin’ married
Still alive killing time at the cemetery
Never quite buried
In your suit and tie, in the nick of time
You lowdown boy, you standup guy
You Holy Ghost, you told me I'm
The love of your life
I apologize in advance to all you Chenle stans out there for bringing this up, but… IT NEEDS TO BE SAID. He fits this song so much it’s actually insane. He doesn’t have many regrets in his life (as said by the man himself), so in a world in which he’d yearn, it’d definitely be because of love, hence why his song is loml. Chenle wouldn’t be able to get over his first love, leading to countless daydreaming sessions and longing sighs. He’d reminisce about his time with the person, over analyzing everything that was said and done, remembering even the smallest things the other person said he didn’t care about. Losing something makes you realize what that thing really meant, thus creating the eternal heartache of knowing that you took it for granted — despite all the fights and wrong-doings, Chenle would never be able to forgive himself for losing the person he loved.
His first love would stay with him forever, but as time goes by, they’d be only a soft memory instead of a lingering sadness.
Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire
Your arson's match, your somber eyes
And I'll still see it until I die
You're the loss of my life
Jisung - Brother, Kodaline
If I was dying on my knees
You would be the one to rescue me
And if you were drowned at sea I
'd give you my lungs so you could breathe
If there’s one quality I’d use to describe Jisung, It’d be loyalty. He’s extremely loyal towards his hyungs, and that’s why I chose this song for him. Once the dreamies weren’t a fixed unit, Jisung shared his fear of being alone, and without his older brothers by his side, he knew not of what the future had in store for him. Hence why the lyrics (this one in particular: When we were young, we were the ones // The kings and queens, oh yeah we ruled the world) and just the “desperate” vibes of the song scream Park Jisung. He loves the dreamies so much that losing them would be as devastating as losing one of his family members. We don’t get to see the clingy and soft side of Jisung as much as the boys do, but just because we as fans don’t experience it, doesn’t mean that they can’t feel it.
There’s just not much to say besides that he loves his members to the point of sacrificing himself for them.
I’ve got you brother
The whole group - Home, Edith Whiskers ver.
We laugh until we think we'll die, barefoot on a summer night
Nothing new is sweeter than with you
I couldn’t do something like this without mentioning the dark period of when Mark was removed from the unit (sorry in advance <3), so here it is! Home would be their song from when they missed Mark, and kept reminiscing about their debut and previous comeback when their leader and older brother was still there with them. The song might come from a romantic point of view, but it’s just as fitting for a friend group, therefore making it perfect to describe the dreamie’s situation.
Losing someone important is awful, especially when that person is “removed” from your day-to-day life thanks to other people’s choices — it isn’t fair, and I’m sure the boys felt this way for a long period of time until they could shine again with Mark by their side. They’ve never been better and nct dream is now on the way to become even more powerful than before, and for that I’m incredibly proud of the children they were, who maintained themselves strong and brave throughout a heartbreaking moment. The dreamies deserve the best and my heart is at ease to see that their recognition is finally arriving. They are my home, and I’m sure they are your home as well :)
Oh, home, let me come home
Home is wherever I'm with you
#nct dream#nct dream drabbles#nct dream imagines#nct dream fic#nct dream fanfic#nct fic#nct imagines#mark lee#lee haechan#park jisung#na jaemin#lee jeno#huang renjun#zhong chenle#chenle drabbles#renjun drabble#chenle imagines#renjun imagines#mark drabbles#mark imagines#haechan drabbles#haechan imagines#jisung drabbles#jisung imagines#jeno drabbles#jeno imagines#jaemin drabbles#jaemin imagines#dreamies
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