#onto our next toxic fixation
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Did I re-subscribe to Iqiyi so I can watch Love in the Air on my big screen and join in the fandom shenanigans? Yes. Yes I did. Looks like the KP fandom migrated over there anyway.
#hello kp fandom#I've missed y'all#love in the air the series#love in the air#kinnporsche#kinnporsche the series#onto our next toxic fixation
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IF IT’S ONLY A TOUCH…AITA? - satoru gojo.
✩ — about. “but one day, she just grew up…and i haven’t been able to look at her the same.” satoru gojo never meant to fuck his best friend’s little sister. he never meant to make her fall in love him. he never meant to fall in love with her. satoru doesn’t want anyone to know, suguru has no idea and she wants to tell the whole world…does that make him the asshole? … ( 46.5K )
✩ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, angst with a bittersweet ending. college!au, age gaps ( reader is 22, satoru gojo is 27 ), forbidden romance, toxic relationships, situationships, co-dependency ( on suguru geto ), controlling older brother, panic attacks, violence, fight scenes, arguments, alcohol mentions, smoking weed, manipulation, gaslighting, three smut scenes, spit, praise, dumbification, fingering (f!receiving), hand jobs (m!receiving), pussy jobs, dry humping, hold the moan, light!choking, light!oral-fixation, public sex, bathroom sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m!receiving), overstimulation, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, creampies, adopted geto!reader, fem!reader.
✩ — things to note. my entry for @ohkento ‘s reddit collab ! i’d like to thank everyone for their patience with this labour of love. it was first a silly idea that blossomed into something more complex and beautiful. i love this fic so much and i hope you do too!! special thanks to @todorosie for beta reading n all your encouragement!! and to @rinhaler for the sukuna reference hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ playlist ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹
AITA (27M) FOR FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND'S (26M) LITTLE SISTER (22F)? hey reddit. i’ll get straight into it. i met my best friend, we’ll call him S, when we were kids, as young as five i guess, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. he was there for me at my lowest, and right by my side at my highest. i’ve never been the greatest person…but there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for me and vice versa. that’s why i feel so bad. he’s got this younger sister, i used to find her so annoying, but one day… she just grew up and i haven’t been able to look at her the same. we started fooling around two years ago around the time she’d settled into college but decided to keep it a secret from her brother. now she’s graduated from college and wants to take the next step…
TLDR: we’ve been fucking around for two years but now she’s graduated and is ready to be more serious with our relationship. she wants to tell her brother — i’m unsure. AITA?
coming back home after four years of brutal education, late nights studying and heavy textbooks feels… almost comforting.
sure, you’ve been home for the holidays before, and sometimes between semesters when things got a little bit rough. but this time around, being home feels more like a relief — an aura of permanency surrounding the occasion. at home, there’s home cooked meals instead of stale take-out and the house you’ve been raised in smells of warm spices rather than the unpleasant combination of old beer and dorm parties.
there’s peace in being at home instead of college after four long years. it’s rewarding almost, to know that you’re welcomed back into the arms of the people who love you most after years of blood, sweat and tears. you’ve made it. you’re on the other side. you’ve got a degree under your belt and a bright, prosperous future ahead of you.
letting out a determined huff, you throw your suitcases down onto the end of your bed — pushed up against the window of your childhood bedroom. the walls are a colour you no longer like (lime green… what were you thinking?) plastered with posters from groups you no longer listen to and movies you would only watch for comfort now that you’re a little bit older. nostalgia is warm under your skin as you look around at your teenage safe space, until your big doe eyes land on your sticker covered closet.
being home for just the weekend, you thought you’d kill two birds with one stone. unpack the clothes you no longer need at your college dorm whilst joining your parents for a celebration. they had wanted you to come down from your university town in order to commemorate the end of your degree, since they’ll be abroad on business for your graduation ceremony in a few months time. not to mention, the outstanding job offer you’d received not long after being awarded your final marks.
your brother, suguru, would be joining you for the weekend as well. temporarily taking up space in his own childhood bedroom just across the hall — the keep out sign with black and yellow restricted tape still hanging from the white wooden door. geto had long since moved out of your parents place, what with him being five years older than you. he now had a job in the city as a big shot lawyer with hardly any time for his little sister anymore. so the fact that he was making the trip down just to celebrate you meant more than you could put into words.
he hadn’t arrived yet, however, and your parents were busy downstairs sorting out your favourite home cooked dinner (oxtail, a favourite) to care about what you were up to — leaving you to unpack in comfortable solitude. you decide to start with your night clothes, the darkness of the winter’s evening starting to bleed into the purple painted sky. you’ll be sleepy soon, no doubt.
turning your back on the window, you move to set your toiletries and a fresh pair of pyjamas on the back of your desk chair — hardly noticing the way the window panes creak open, accompanied by the chill of a light december breeze. the gentle tread of footsteps across your carpeted floor go without attention as well, you’re too occupied with sorting through your things to pay attention to anything. not until it’s too late.
“boo!”
large and possessive hands on your hips make you jump in fright, relaxing only when you hear the familiar teasing baritone against the shell of your ear. “did you miss me?” gojo purrs, using his hold on the flesh at your waist to spin you around to face him. your palms settle on the broad spread of his sturdy shoulders while his fingers dip into the back pocket of your low-waist jeans — leaving very little room between your bodies.
“satoru!” you exhale sincerely with the wisps of a smile spreading across your lips and twitching at the corner of your mouth. “what are you doing here? when did you get back?” like butter in a heated pan, you melt into the man’s arms, those same arms wrapping around your waist fully to pull you further into him. you feel dumb and lovestruck, tucked into the plushness of gojo’s chest as if you’d never left.
“i couldn't miss my special girl’s special weekend, now could i?” the toothy smirk satoru gives you is enough to make your knees knock and you’re reminded that you’re lucky enough to be held up in his arms. happiness simmers hotly through your veins at the thought. a million and one girls would kill to be in your position, to have a man as handsome as the satoru gojo in their bedroom, all alone, sapphire blue eyes honed in on you and only you.
he’s unlike any man you’ve ever met before. he’s so beautiful, not just anyone will do if it ever came to replacing him. he’s tall enough to tower over you, and make you feel small in a way that isn’t terrible at all. his hair is as white as winter frosts and unfairly soft for someone who probably doesn’t take as much care for it as he should. his lashes flutter against your forehead, long and to die for. satoru gojo is a beauty if you ever saw one — and you find yourself grateful to keep him all to yourself. in this moment. of course.
the look he gives you itself is enough to keep you alive, make your cheeks tingle with heat just under the skin, make you feel like a schoolgirl about to give a note to her crush. but a million and one girls don’t have to hide their crushes or keep them secret, their relationships probably aren’t as complex or confusing as your own with the man before you.
things with gojo have always been weird…ever since you were young. he found you annoying and whiny, back then, he along with your adoptive brother would pick on you until your eyes were big and shiny and your nose a little snotty. in those times, suguru (who babied you too much for your own good on occasion) often followed his best friend’s lead, maybe because satoru was older (despite them both being five years ahead of you in age) and the more dominating personality of the two best friends. it was easy to think that he might have even despised you then, or to imagine that suguru would grow up adoring you. yet, for satoru, it all changed one summer after your eighteenth birthday, when you just… shot up. you filled out, your demeanour changed, you became everything that he ever wanted.
satoru was spoilt. he always had been, even from childhood. the gojo clan had built an empire and he was right at the heart of it as soon as he left college. the white haired man with the dazzling rows of perfect teeth had all the money and power in the world — right in the palm of his dangerous hands. obtaining what he wanted was as easy as snapping his fingers, and in an instant he could have all the booze and babes he desired. whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. the issue with being a man of satoru gojo’s calibre is the difficulty in drawing a line in the sand and knowing when to stop. men like him have everything, but only desire what they can’t have.
he only desires you.
see, early on in his friendship with your brother, suguru had given satoru one plain and simple rule. one that he could never break so long as he walked god’s green earth and breathed fresh air into his lungs.
suguru had made him promise never to go near you, sexually or romantically.
they’d known one another their entire lives, been together through thick and thin, ups and downs. if anyone knew what the real satoru gojo was really like… it would be your brother. he had seen every arc of gojo like the phases of the moon up above. satoru was a partier, he drank until his veins were 50% alcohol and poured the bourbon until all of his organs were burned black. he smoked away his burdens, numbing his brain with whatever he could get his hands on. people, back in college, were just as disposable to gojo as his father’s income and even now, with his position at the heart of Gojo Corporations — satoru was no more stable than a drowning child, struggling to keep his head above the water and air in his scarred lungs.
he was in no position to look out for you like suguru did. to the older geto, you were a prized possession and a treasure to be cherished. his innocent baby sister who was too sweet for the hard liquor gojo drank by the gallons and the papers that knew to tear him apart by name. you needed someone to rely on, someone to look out for you when the world gets tough and the rose tinted glass ceiling shatters down on you. suguru had tried his hardest to shield to growing up, becoming partly responsible for your dependence on him.
he learned how to braid your hair and cook the foods you liked before moving to japan for your adoption. when he wasn’t being mean to you along with satoru, suguru cared for you deeply. he was a good adoptive brother.
so, it was a wonder how you even managed to get into and go to university all on your own — without your older brother’s watchful eye to keep you safe from the dangers of men, sex and money.
and gojo, being gojo, was never a stickler for the rules. he’d innocently reached out to you once you’d settled into college, under the guise of checking on his best friend’s little sister. much to his amusement, you’d already broken out of the safety net your brother had cast over you — you were more brazen and adventurous, sleeping around between study sessions and partying when you’d told your family you were tired from the week’s work.
before anyone knew it, you’d become the college girl who liked to be wined and dined by older men — presenting the perfect opportunity for satoru to sweep you off your feet.
texts to check on you every once in a while became calls to ask about your day and wish each other good morning and good night. these little things, as sweet as they might have seemed, snowballed into something bigger. something more. at least to you. you were falling in love with satoru gojo, and fast. it was the first time you’d ever felt like that towards someone, and he’d gotten you right where he wanted you.
it wasn’t long before you were paying off your dorm mates to keep quiet about having an older man over, no less gojo. you were naive but not stupid, it wouldn’t take an idiot to know that geto had people keeping an eye on you nor that money was what made the world go round — people would do anything for a hefty price or designer bag. they kept their lips sealed each and every time gojo swung by your dorm to pin your knees to your ears and fuck you raw until your voice was hoarse and there was a dent in your wall from the force of his thrusts against the bed frame.
satoru had been the one to take your virginity, of course. suguru would have had an aneurism if he ever found out.
and while you loved the thrill of sneaking around with someone older, someone who seemed to know the world better than you ever could, someone who excited you — there were times where you wished your heart hadn’t chosen the enigma that is satoru gojo. your relationship with him ruined the little time you had to explore yourself in college. he knew all of your friends, he knew all of the boys in your classes and the ones that dared to hang out with you outside of them. he sometimes paid them off to break your heart or cheat on you just so that you’d go running back into his arms — bleary eyed and emotionally drained.
satoru knew about your every move — the parties you went to and the socials you attended. you were never able to mess around with people, not with the tabs he had on you. silly little you, don’t you know? you’re satoru’s property.
the worst thing he could have done to you is fail to put a label on your relationship. you were never his girlfriend and he would always dance around the question like he was avoiding a bullet to the chest. ‘what are we?’ you would ask, and like always, satoru would grin lazily and slowly — in the way that brews a hazy fog over your mind and respond with. ‘whatever you want me to be.’
what you wanted was something official. not to be satoru’s little pet, hidden away from the rest of the world while in private he promises you that you’re the only girl he’s ever loved. it hit hardest whenever you would go to visit him, noting another’s car in the driveway that wasn’t yours or satoru’s. you knew that you never meant much…but in actuality it was slowly killing you now. he gave you comfort, gave you warmth but whenever you woke, he was gone by the morning. that’s how it always was.
a piece of you threatened to crumble each and every time your lover was plastered over the tabloids and gossip magazines with another heiress. you wanted to tell the world that you were his and he was yours. you wanted suguru to know too.
oftentimes, satoru would ease your worries with a simple toe curling and mind numbing kiss to your butter-glossed lips, uttering the words ‘but, wouldn’t that ruin our little secret?’
the very secret made you feel dirty and used.
if satoru didn’t let you, then you could never bring yourself to tell suguru. it would break his heart, his entire soul to know that his angelic little sister was taking her eyes off of the very expensive prize of her university degree. and so, the track of your fragmented relationship (situationship?) with your mischievous white haired lover replays over and over again like a broken record — scratched and scathed.
satoru comes over, you fight or cry, and he ends up balls deep inside of you — creaming your little cunt in a hotel off campus or paying off your friends to spend your night in your dorm again.
when you finally graduated, you remember one of said friends asking. ‘will you ever go public with that… guy you’re always fucking? i mean… he practically lives with you.’
at the time, you’d pressed your lips into a thin and telling line. you couldn’t. you wouldn’t. they’d laughed about it then and you knew what conclusions were running through their minds. what a dumb, naive little rich girl, for thinking she was anything more than a sidechick.
if only you could just show them the lengths satoru would go to be with you in the secrecy of your own little bubble.
like right now.
“sweetheart, where’d you go?” cocking his head down at you, satoru’s sugarcoated, sickly sweet coo runs through your ears like molten sugar and drags you from the depths of deep thought. he clicks his teeth, using a thumb and forefinger to tilt your head up in order to face him — positioning you like his own marionette doll. “came all this way to see you, only for you to get lost in that pretty little head of yours.”
it’s patronising, the way he speaks to you as if you’re a child — but it’s all you’ve ever known. being babied by your lover and even your brother. “s-sorry! i was just… thinking…” you supply as a meek excuse, shuddering when gojo slips a thumb over the slightly cracked skin of your bottom lip. the impending winter’s cold had been nipping at it in his place.
“about me?”
you scoff playfully, begrudgingly pulling yourself from satoru’s grip before he makes your brain too overcast to even focus about unpacking. “about graduation. i can’t believe it’s all over.”
returning to unfolding some casual wear left in your bag, your mind begins to wander if satoru misses you as much as you miss him whenever you’re not touching. your skin feels alive, teaming with life, whenever he’s nearby — as if two magnets that couldn’t be more different have attracted one another instead of repelling. it’s like you need to be near him in order to breathe, to feel, to exist.
your…boyfriend? makes himself comfortable on your bed, trailing his index finger over the pink patterned sheets. you realise then, that you’ll never truly understand what’s going on in his head.
“i am proud of you, yanno.” gojo comments casually. he man-spreads across the edge of your bed, leaning back against his elbows as if to draw your eyes to the treasure between his thick jean-clad thighs. “not every day my pretty baby graduates with honours. such a smart little girl, hm?” it’s cruel really, how dumb he makes you out to be — but in a way, it makes your insides twist and a flutter make its way up to your chest.
you shrug as if it’s nothing, hanging your clothes up in the closet before you return to the bedside. “it’s a wonder i managed, ‘toru. you were always distracting me,” memories of your illicit activities on nights before papers were due or exams were to be taken flash behind his vibrant azure eyes, and satoru grins mischievously as his strong arms snake around your waist — his head pressed against your smooth tummy. “i have to unpack.” you remind him gently.
but then he looks up at you, like a sweet pet that begs for food, dragging you into the shining blue pools of his eyes that you can never seem to escape. and before you know it, you’re drowning in gojo’s attention once again.
“did you miss me?”
satoru let’s his fingers slide under your loose top and gives your hips a possessive squeeze, watching you with baited breath.
“‘toru, you’ve asked me that already.”
he squeezes again, harder, the rough pads of his fingers sinking into your mid-section, all needy like. he’s desperate to know that you haven’t found anyone else. “i missed you,” satoru quips in place of your silence. “i hate being away from you for so long, work sucks.”
as if he ever did any real work. satoru was just the pretty poster boy for his dad’s company — it worked out well though, you’d seen the amount of zeros in his bank account yourself. “i’ll be getting a job too, did you know that? at that big fashion editorial. you know the one, Heavenly Pact magazine. it’ll be in the city too so we can be closer together. it’s why suguru is taking us to dinner.”
satoru finds your gushing adorable, pulling you to stand between his legs as you go on and on.
“and where d’ya think suguru got that idea from?” he coos. “i had him set up a reservation at that place you like… yanno, the one where we spent our two years. something about the sushi there. you liked it.”
satoru talks about the day as if you were really dating. two years. seven hundred and thirty days spent fawning over him and chasing the white haired male like a lost puppy. you couldn’t even call it an anniversary, not when you weren’t official. though, he’d taken the time to spoil you — he dressed you in diamonds and designer, picked you up in a fancy car that probably cost more than your rent, booked out the whole restaurant and filled it with your favourite flowers. gojo had made you feel like you were special, something special to him, and as usual you fell for the smoke screens and mirrors that masked how he truly felt.
how he wanted to own every part of you.
you’d wanted to celebrate two years being tied to one another and he let you, because in order to take — you have to give a little.
gojo somehow feels closer than before, his lips treading lightly over your supple stomach while his thumbs trace circles over your hips. you preen into his touch, love bristling in your chest and replacing the heaviness that weighs it down. “you’re coming?”
“wouldn’t miss it for the world, baby.” comes his husky, breathy whisper — uttered against your warm skin like a promise of love and support. satoru presses a wet kiss just above your navel all while slyly tugging your shirt further up, distracting you from the task at hand (folding clothes).
something stirs within your lower tummy, a blistering hot sensation spreads from your core to your chest, your mind and all four of your limbs as if someone’s thrown gasoline onto a fire. gojo’s curious silver tongue travels further — tracing over the saltine droplets of sweat on your skin while he licks up to your rib cage. every twist of his pink muscle against you makes your breath catch in the ridges of your throat and your entire body wrack with a case of the shakes.
still, you continue to unpack, struggling with the items in your grip as large palms claw up your back and force you down into satoru’s widespread lap, not that you mind — being pressed up all against him. “oooh, that’s cute,” satoru taunts you playfully, pulling back from the love marks he’s painted where your breasts meet your ribs. he blinks over at the article of clothing between your nimble fingers, white flashes tickling your skin as he does so.
his scent is so overwhelming you can’t even think, not at all what one would expect. it’s fresh, almost cold to inhale, like peppermint, pine and cool air from the highest peak of the mountain.
you look down at gojo dumbly, earning yourself the sound of his melodious laughter. in response, he juts his head in the direction of your hand. “your bra, you gonna wear that for me?”
shifting your gaze over to the baby blue lace, you grin and toss it aside — using your free hands to push satoru back against your sheets.
“maybe, if you’re lucky.”
he growls in reply, predatory and playful all at once, lifting his head, with his pool of silver-moon hair rising from your bed, to capture your lips in a slow, spit-swapping kiss. he allows you to pin his wrists above his head, barely putting up a fight as you swallow him down and devour him whole — your tongues clash for dominance, slipping and sliding over one another while your hands do the same to the silver roots of his hair.
one of your hands travel down to cup his cheek, tilting gojo’s head up just a tad more so that you can pour more of your passion into him. the kiss becomes, in the only way that you can describe it, hurried and hungry — the more of yourself you give to him, the more satoru becomes filled with your love and innermost parts of your soul. you give and give and give until his glass is full to the brim.
you grow weaker by the second, falling victim to the predatory, hot mouth of your lover and your grip on his wrists loosen just enough for his calloused fingertips to fluidly cascade down your body — finding purchase in the loops of your pesky jeans, tugging them away from your marred flesh and soft ass. once he’s bored with toying with your clothes, the silver haired man uses his reach on your ass to push you closer, kiss you harder, grind his swelling erection into the gap between your plush thighs.
the two of you can’t be closer, noses knocking against one another clumsily and breath becoming scarce as your lungs ache and burn for a fresh in-take of oxygen between drooly lip locks. it’s messy, you’re both messy — your relationship always has been. but in this very moment, you can’t find it in yourself to care, addicted to the weight of gojo’s tongue in your mouth and the way his smooth, glossy lips feel against your own. both of your chests heave, your bodies growing hotter and tenser each time you swirl your hips down onto him or he bucks up into you.
“baby,” satoru sighs airily, twitching underneath you — all restless and impatient. “you’re so pretty like this, on’top’a me,” his crystal blue eyes have darkened to a midnight blue, almost black with a list that makes his pupils blow wide. you’ve seen this change too many times to be unfamiliar with what satoru wants. that very thing being you. “smoke with me a little?” his plea barely covers up the low moan that escapes him as your hips jerk against him. his touch scorches through the all-too-tight denim hugging your waist, leaving burn marks at your tail bone. he’s desperate for this, desperate for you.
how can you say no.
your face splits into an angelic, agreeable grin. just what satoru likes to see. “c’mon then, where’s your stash?” in reply, he lifts his hips higher from the bed — nudging the thick outline of his cock against your sensitive clothed pussy.
“sorry.” he lies easily. “back pocket.”
moving to dig around in said pocket, you pull out gojo’s tiny baggy of weed — noting the joints he’d probably rolled up prior to coming here. sometimes, you had the nagging thought that your man always loved you better when you were a little bit high. you gloss over the idea, however, reaching into your nightstand nearby for your sanrio lighter while you toss gojo the bag. he picks out a blunt for you to share and you trigger the flame.
you take the joint between your lips, plumped up from all the kissing you’ve been doing, and let satoru wrap a bulky arm around your middle — pinning you to his larger-than-yours frame. his chest is plush, warm, and you can feel your heartbeats beginning to sync up beneath your clothes. you hold the lighter to one end, bambi eyes reflecting the orange yellow flame that sets the wrapper alight and hum in content whilst you inhale.
you hold. exhale. and when the smoke clears, gojo is looking up at you as if you hold the entire universe in your gaze.
“you’re so fuckin’ pretty.”
that sweet giggle of yours rings out into the night air. you take a hit before you press your mouth to satoru’s — breathing the smoke into his lungs.
you’re spoiling him. he knows you don’t really like to smoke, but you’re always sweetest when he gets you a little fucked up.
“so you’ve said, ‘toru.”
he swipes the blunt from your grip and takes a drag for himself, tapping the ashes out against your sheets as he picks up the salacious motions of his hips again. and like the obedient little thing you are, you grind against him, mewling into his milky skin that’s illuminated by the shy slither of moonlight that peeks on you both through your curtains.
“i mean it, sweet thing,” another hit, his voice even huskier from the aromatic fumes — even as he gripes lowly into the shell of your ear. “fuck, you’re so perfect like this. grinding on my lap like a needy little girl, hm?”
whining out for him, you let satoru stick the blunt back in your mouth and sit up — bucking down on his hard, heavy erection as if you’re riding his cock like you usually do. “satoru,” you purr while the weed begins to take residence over your brain, take its effect. you recognise that the supply is from sukuna, the older brother of a boy you knew from college. yuuji itadori, was it? you’d always found him cute but he had a girlfriend and gojo told you to stop worrying about him a long time ago. the very thought sparks something in the back of your mind — at war with giving into satoru’s touch and how it makes its way underneath your clothes to thumb at your pebbling nipples. “‘toru…when are you going to tell sugu about us?”
the mention of your brother should be enough to kill the mood, but you’ve been away from gojo far too long. he’s already got his sights set on ruining you for some fun tonight, pushing his luck by slipping his fingers past your tight waistband in order to mess with your slick pussy folds against your panties.
“do i need to?” he drawls, laughs a little, voice breaking through the thick barrier of ardour built up in his throat. “s’not that important. telling him. we’re having fun, right? things are good the way they are.” gojo sticks his tongue out in concentration, fumbling between layers of clothes for your cute little clit and grinning ear to ear when he finds it — watching you quiver and fail to hold yourself up above him as he presses down on the nub, hard. “what good would it do, telling him?”
you could think of a million reasons why, but all of them fail to rush to the forefront of your mind — blocked by desire and the lingering weed in your system. “i…i want to mean somethin’ to you,” comes your babyish voice, hurt and whiny through your pout. satoru takes the blunt from you, rubbing your cunt through your words as they catch in your throat. “wanna be serious with you. want something more. i-i’m a proper adult now… i deserve — oh fuck!”
you don’t even know why you bring the fact up. that you’re an adult, that you’re grown now. because you’re still a naive little thing who wants so much more from someone older and more experienced. because you’re still suguru’s younger sister to satoru, not his girlfriend. just his forbidden plaything.
satoru smiles wickedly again as you fail to express yourself, becoming a pliant sticky mess all over his fingers while their tips graze your clit over and over again in rough circles. “‘m sure you are, my big girl yeah?” he’s so cruel to you, talking down on you while he plays your sopping mound like a fiddle. pinching and pulling at your folds and your poor little clit. “you’re so close, aren’t you? think you might cum from a couple’a fingers ‘n a bit of weed…”
heat brews under the surface of your skin, most hot at the centre of your face where you start to feel humiliated and embarrassed. even more so because you like it, when the silver haired man is mean to you like this. “satoru…t-that’s not what i meant—“ you try, gushing and crying. “s-satoru i’m g-gonna—!”
knock, knock, knock.
“hey little one, i’m home!”
the pair of you jump apart at the smooth sound of suguru’s calm and timbre voice.
it’s like a shock to your system, like being doused with cold water or waking up from a hangover after one too many shots. with wild eyes you look from your half-hard boyfriend to the open window — immediately shoving up and pulling his hands from your pants. “g-get up!” you seethe, teeth and tongue, all of your syllables rushed.
“was that suguru?” gojo asks, voice elevated with panic while he puts the blunt out against your windowsill.
you nod vigorously, using your shaky limbs to push satoru back out the way he came. “yes! now go!”
“hey, little one? it’s me, suguru..”
he scrambles to climb back out the window and you lean over the edge to watch him go — accepting the chaste kiss he gives you on the way out. the second that gojo is out of view, you chuck the half-smoked joint into your trash can and kick the rest of sukuna’s supply underneath your bed to cover up the evidence.
“c-come in!” you finally squeak, putting on your best smile for your adoptive older brother.
your bedroom door swings open, revealing a tired suguru with tousled clothes and sleepy dark eyes. he looks older, maturer, but he’s still the same brother you love and grew up with. “there’s my little princess,” he cheers, tying back the dark tresses of his (much) longer hair before he opens his arms wide to give you a hug.
you quickly accept, nuzzling your cheek against suguru’s firm shoulder (also wiping your tears on him). “sugu! when did you get back?”
“not too long ago. i tried calling, but you didn’t pick up.” his voice is laced with suspicion and you swear you hear him sniff the air from above your head — close to catching the traces of weed on you.
“i was… unpacking!” stepping back, you stumble over to your toiletries that you’d begun to unpack earlier and eagerly (a little too eagerly) spritz some of your expensive perfume into the air. “s-sorry! i’m the thinking of wearing this scent to dinner on sunday…any thoughts?”
you swear you hear gojo groan from outside, no doubt listening in on your conversation with his best friend and your older brother — no doubt finding your excuse flimsily and unbelievable. suguru, despite it all, takes the bait or chooses not to bite any further — his eyes no longer narrowed and his face relaxed.
“speaking of things to wear for sunday night…” he begins, digging deep into his left pocket for a small red velvet box. “i got you a little something, as…congrats for all of your hard work recently.”
suguru reaches forward to take your hand in his, turning it over so that he can place the box in the centre of your palm. you glance up at your older brother hesitantly, but he only gives you a warm reassuring smile — gesturing for you to open it.
you do we told, the box creaking open at his hinges to reveal a real diamond necklace with a beautiful, dazzling sapphire pendant at its centre. just by looking it at it, you know that the sapphire and silver combination will contrast decadently against the deep, sun-kissed tones of your skin.
“o-oh sugu, you shouldn’t have!”
“but i did, think of it as my parting gift to you.” the older geto sibling explains kindly. “you’re going out into the world to do something special, to help people. you deserve to be spoiled before you get there.” his gentle hands close the box for you, setting it aside on your dresser before suguru links your fingers — staring down at you wistfully. “everything out there is dangerous. people will try to take advantage of you and your kindness. but like gem stone in hard shell rock, you must preserve that little shine of yours…” you let him brush at a dry tear mark on your cheek, your fingers slipping down to his wrist to hold them tight. “i will always be here to look out for you, no matter what. but i won’t always be able to be by your side.”
the seriousness of the conversation overwhelms you with a weighty guilt. suguru has always looked after you and done his best to keep you away from any harm. you imagine that satoru would be right in how destroyed your brother would feel after finding out you ran into the arms of the biggest danger of all.
his best friend.
so you suck it up, mask your guilt and press a kiss to your brother’s cheek — hoping that he’ll forgive you if the truth ever surfaces.
“i know, thank you sugu,” comes your simple, appreciative reply. “i’ll always have you, and satoru too.”
he laughs and kisses your forehead “that you will. but don’t get too close to him okay? he’s trouble. i wouldn’t want him to mess things up for you.”
“i know, suguru.”
the exchange is left at that, with suguru patting your shoulder as he bids you a goodnight. your entire body sags with relief once he’s gone, similar to that of a snake shedding its skin. you can’t keep lying to him like this but you don’t want to break his heart. maybe satoru was right. maybe you were wrong. either way, you feel conflicted and torn between two.
when you go to close the window, satoru is still waiting for you — safely on the ground below. his blue eyes beg to come back inside, to be with you, but you’ve danced with the devil too much tonight. gojo won’t take you seriously. he might ruin things for you, just like your brother said.
“call me when you get home safe, okay?” you murmur to him in order to make sure you don’t get caught.
you latch your window closed right after, not even bothering to wait for gojo’s reply.
either you’ll keep sneaking around with him or you’ll eventually give him up, but for tonight — you decide that you’ll just shut the silver snake out.
“i’ve never known you to like the colour blue so much.”
the day before your fancy and celebratory dinner — suguru geto decided that his spoiled little sister isn't quite spoiled enough. growing up, he’d bring you toys from his shitty part time job at the department store on weekends or food from the chef’s at satoru’s place after hanging out with that loser all day.
in college, it would be magnets or posters or big, surprisingly well-made hoodies from the campus gift shop because suguru would always tell you that his little one would be going to university too — that you’d do him proud and achieve big things. you were destined for so much more and had every ounce of support in your corner. from your brother, your parents…there’s always been a pressure on your shoulder to make something of yourself, become someone worthy of their support.
by the time suguru had graduated and landed his own job — the little gifts he’d gotten you became pricier and more luxurious. your brother had called them items of encouragement, a taste of what was to come once you made it out into the real world. not that he would actually ever let you spend a dime of your own, big brothers were supposed to be there for sweet little sisters like you to fall back on. he wanted you to know that he would always have you covered, have you spoiled with everything you’d ever wanted — mostly to keep your standards high, ensuring that you never settled for anything less than what your older sibling could provide you with.
that’s how days like today first came about — you called it sibling bonding time.
first on the agenda was breakfast at the humble little bakery your parents often treated you both to after a batch of good grades at school. it wasn’t too far from the house and you use the walk to catch up, bouncing excitedly by your brother’s side while he gushed to you about highly classified information from his line of work. there was always something to admire about suguru, how dedicated he was to keeping you safe and making a name for himself outside of the shelter of your home.
in some ways, you wanted to be just like him. it could've been that you admired suguru too much or leaned on him even more. interdependency as some would call it.
that didn’t matter to you though, your relationship with your brother has always been precious to you and that’s all that matters.
the rest of your early morning was spent with a pampering session, manicures, and pedicures and makeup testing — even a trip to the hair stylist who happily braided your bountiful curls into your favourite look.
next, was a late afternoon shopping spree. suguru drives you into the fanciest mall he can think of to spend the day. the elitist of the elite. designer stores were plotted at every corner, stocked to the brim with luxury goods that wouldn’t even put a dent in your brother’s salary nowadays. if you wanted it, you got it — without a word or question against you. suguru let you fill your basket with a purse and bag for the evening ahead, and right now, the last thing on your agenda would be the perfect dress to wear to your dinner.
that’s what had brought you to this very moment, the one where you completely blank on your brother because he’s noticed something different about you.
something akin to a nuisance of a crush on gojo satoru.
blinking once, you turn on your heel to face suguru and snap out of your distant thoughts. “i-i’m sorry, what was that?”
the older, raven haired man smiles at you as if you’re being silly — as though there aren’t any thoughts up in that pretty little head of yours. “i said, you’ve grown awfully fond of the colour blue recently.” he keeps his voice soft and comforting while speaking to you, avoiding any accusatory tones that might set his sensitive younger sister off. “it’s not even your favourite colour.” geto adds, approaching you by the clothes rack in what seems to be your fifth designer fashion store.
you may be spoilt but at least you have taste — the number of zeroes on the price tag was never an issue for your brother anyway.
he gestures down at the items folded over your crossed arms — the ones you wanted to take to the back and try on. heat flashes under the surface of your skin when you realise suguru is in fact right. there’s a plethora of fabric bundled in your arms with only one thing in common.
they all share the shade of a baby powder blue.
it’s the type of blue that reminds you of the sky on days where the weather is just right — when the sun is able to pierce through the veil of fluffy white clouds and shine down on you. the type of blue that hides behind lilac and orange when the sun rises at dawn. the type of blue that sometimes reminds you of clear winter skies after snowfall and drawing shapes in your condensed breath on the glass.
it’s the type of blue akin to satoru gojo’s brilliant eyes — the ones that look as though they hold unseen stars or undiscovered galaxies, the secrets of the universe yet to be known by mankind. oh those eyes, they’re so dreamy that you could get lost in them for a milenia and never be bored.
to anyone who knows about the two of you — it would make sense for blue to have become one of your favourite colours. it is the embodiment of satoru, everything down to loving him is blue, and bleak and beautiful all at once.
yet, suguru could never know that. it would ruin everything.
“i just…i just think it’s pretty!” internally, you feel yourself cringe and the weak excuse — threading your fingers through the dresses in your hold. “don’t you think the colour would like nice on me, sugu? if not, i can put them back—“
your older brother grabs at your wrist before you can even think to commit such an action — stopping you from putting anything back onto the clothes rack. “you’d look pretty in anything you wore, little one.” he lets out a nervous chuckle, moving to pet your head softly. “i just imagined you in something a little more—“
“blue. it’s perfect — isn’t it? it matches my pendant too…” spinning around to face your brother, you hold a beautiful cupcake styled tulle dress to suguru’s gaze, and dawn over its gemstone sweetheart necklace that has a twinkle bright enough to rival satoru’s eyes. you wonder how he’ll look at you once he sees it on you, contrasting perfectly with your warm complexion. a secret, not so innocent part of you hopes that satoru will just rip it off of you. the other, wishes you’d calm down and behave.
suguru offers you a wavering smile, before relenting. “if that’s what you want, sweetheart.” he hums, gesturing towards the fitting rooms. “how about you try it on, see how it looks?”
nodding your head, you shove your discarded choices into his arms and disappear into a booth — excited to see how the article of clothing looks on you. you strip easily, kicking off your jeans while suguru wanders around impatiently outside.
“so…is it a boy that you’re wearing this for?” comes his deep voice through the curtains, lifted in tone only by its teasing lilt.
when you were younger, you would always gush to suguru about your crushes — whether he cared or not, your excited and love-struck musings always struck his ear. you remember being in his room while he studied or gamed, tucked into his side or braiding his luscious black hair while telling him all about how much you loved this one boy in your class. suguru would tell you to mind your heart and keep her safe, a boy who couldn’t buy you diamonds and make you laugh wasn’t the right boy for you.
you would hate to hear what he thinks about gojo then. a man who buys you diamonds, makes you laugh, fucks you good and breaks your heart all at once.
hugging your discarded t-shirt to your chest as if to protect the beating organ, you frown. “it isn’t! why would i dress pretty for some boy?”
“good. boys are dangerous,” clothing ruffles over the sound of suguru’s voice as he reminds you of the lesson he’s taught you many times over the years. trust no man, except for your brother. “i won’t always be here to keep an eye on you or keep you out of said danger. so just…focus on making a name for yourself. especially after you’ve worked so hard to graduate from uni.”
you scoff and grab the dress — debating whether or not you should step into it or pull it over your head. “i’m not a child anymore, sugu. i don’t need you to watch out for me… i’m old enough to make my own choices. i’m responsible too.”
he watches your feet peek out from under the curtains as you mess with the dress and attempt to pull it on. geto’s senses jump to high alert listening to you struggle and shuffle to pull it over your head, resisting the urge to jump in and help you. “don’t pull it over your head when you’ve just gotten your hair done,” he grumbles in light annoyance. “step into it, little one.”
“yeah, i got it!” comes your snappy voice in return while you readjust and try again.
suguru leans against the nearest wall, crossing his arms over his chest — he slips into silence as you slip into your dress. “i know you do, you’re a smart girl.” you get the feeling he’s not talking about how you try it on anymore, and your stomach turns as you adjust the skirts. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t worry. once you lose your focus, everything comes crashing down. that’s what happened to satoru. i wouldn’t want you to end up like him.”
again, your tummy lurches in the worst of ways at the mention of gojo and how much geto hates the idea of the two of you ever getting together. sure, satoru was childish and irresponsible — refuting the orders of the higher ups in his family… he could be disappointing at times too, with questionable loyalty. yet sometimes… sometimes satoru could be so good and stable, oftentimes reminding you of why you wanted to be with him in the first place.
he is special to you, in so many ways that is beyond the web of human comprehension. you love satoru gojo so much that your lungs burn with the need for air whenever he’s not around for you to breathe in.
the idea of not having him around often because of your brother is like oxygen deprivation itself.
“satoru isn’t that bad.” you counter, toying with the beading at your neckline while you inspect yourself in the mirror. he would love it on you. “don’t you think you’re being a little harsh on him? he is your best friend after all.” it takes your all not to bust out and tell your brother all about your relationship with said best friend, even if it kills him and ruins the rose tinted glass above his head.
pushing the curtains open you step out just as geto starts to scold you again. “satoru gojo is lazy and hardly competent, he wouldn’t be right for you and you know that— oh.”
he stops speaking when you step out to show him the dress, your eye bright and doe-like, almost pleading — while the fabric sticks to all the right curves, making you look stunning. making you appear more mature. “help me do the zip f’me, suguru? i can’t reach.”
“come here, i’ve got you,” suguru whispers in quiet awe, turning you gently by the shoulders to do the honours of zipping you in at the low back of the dress. “you look perfect, give me a twirl, hm, little one?”
twirling as told, suguru watches proudly as your skirts flail about the place — it’s sparkle catching on the UV light up above. you’re the perfect angelic picture of his little sister…he doesn’t know how he’ll ever let you go.
there’s still a pout on your lips undoubtedly from what he’s said about gojo and as much as suguru finds your defensiveness for him weird — he hates seeing you upset just as much. “hey, how about we go pay for your dress…” he calls your name and you tilt your head up just a touch, giving your brother your attention unwillingly. “and since we’re here at the shopping centre, we might as well get dinner. my treat? i’ll get you some of your favourites. perhaps boba and we’ll stop by the stuffed animal store on the way out—“ suguru trails off to see if you’ve taken his snare and got stuck in his trap, he knows you can’t resist being spoiled at the end of the day.
you nod faster than your pretty little head can catch up. “sounds like a plan, sugu!”
“i knew you’d say yes,” he snickers proudly, petting your head softly for the second time that late afternoon. then, geto carefully nudges you back into the changing room, patiently waiting for you to remove the dress so he can pay for it while you switch clothes. “i think you made a good choice today. with the dress,” he adds, drawing the curtains for you kindly. “who knows, maybe satoru will even take his head out of his ass to pay you a compliment, admire the colour. he’ll like it for sure.”
you flinch behind the curtains when they close, trying to keep your voice even. “i-i can’t say i’m hoping for it!” to which suguru laughs heartily, accepting the dress as you chuck it out to him.
but what you’re really hoping for, is for him to not connect the dots.
to not find out about yourself and gojo until you’re ready for him too.
the first rule of a situationship, is to never answer the phone after the first ring. that's rule number one for satoru gojo.
it gives the girl the impression that you’re interested in something more than just fooling around, that you want more than the benefits of a relationship while sticking to the talking stage.
but gojo has never been one to follow the rules, not even ones he sets for himself…because when you call, he answers in a heartbeat — just to hear your sweet little voice relaying his name over your tongue and the way you giggle like a darling when he compliments you.
satoru gojo likes you a lot more than he lets on, he misses you even more so. that’s why he answers on the first ring, practically kicking his feet in his king sized bed — he hasn’t heard you say his name since the night you kicked him out, and for good reasons too.
hiding his presence from suguru.
“hi ‘toru.”
“hi gorgeous,” you can practically hear your lover’s smile through the crackling static over the line. “missed you,” gojo slurs lightly, of course, is high by no means other than sukuna’s supply of the good stuff — inhaling it leisurely through a nicely rolled joint while he listens to you call out for him. your voice is so inviting… so angelic… and if satoru shuts his pretty eyes and tries hard enough, he can just about imagine the way you’d sigh for him as his fingers slip right inside of your sweet little pussy—
“i almost told sugu about us today.”
that makes satoru jump upright, choking on a deep inhale of cannabis tainted smoke. his lungs ache from trying to recover and the pain spreads to his toned thighs when he’s realised that he’s dropped the roll up in shock, the lit end burning through the grey sweatpants he wears. “fuck. shit… that hurts. idiot.” the silver haired man curses to himself, forgetting you’re still on the line.
“who me?” you simper a little on the sad side, seemingly shifting in your own bed.
satoru instantly picks up on the pouty twinge to your voice and if he hadn’t been burning to death (dramatic much?) he knows that his cock would have twitched to life between his legs at the dulcet sound. “fuck baby, no not you,” he says, words rushing from his mouth as he reassures you. “why would you tell him? did he figure us out?”
you hesitate with your next words. “w-well, um…not exactly…”
“come on baby, you can say it. s’just me, satoru,” gojo goads you with a condescending echo to each of his words, not putting too much pressure on your sweet and empty little head. “don’t think too much. just be good and tell me.”
while he waits, the man fumbles his way out of bed and stands — somehow managing to tuck his splif between slightly chapped and pale pink lips. he tugs off his shirt, suddenly feeling too hot under the collar, and stalks his way over to his large, wide windows — looking down onto the bustling city below.
it’s kind of funny, how noisy it is down there, creating almost as much of a ruckus as the racing thoughts in satoru’s brain.
“i wanted to tell him…because suguru doesn’t think that you deserve me.” you finally say, submissively telling gojo what’s on your mind. it hurts like a bitch to hear, it stings at every unresolved trauma and open wound that he has — not because it’s a lie, but because gojo doesn’t want to accept that reality.
a reality where he can’t have you, because he could never be someone who meets his best friend’s standards and expectations for you.
be someone that you deserve.
gojo exhales the smoke through his nose, letting it sting at his nostrils while he decays from the inside out. if this were any other drug he’d have smokers lungs by age twenty-seven. “well ain’t that the truth.” he mumbles, grim.
“now satoru, why would you say that?” you sound like you’re about to cry.
“because, it’s not far off is it?” gojo really doesn’t mean to snap. after all, he is high, and this topic could have him spiralling into a really bad trip — but it’s not your fault that you love him, that you want him so bad you’d deny all of your brother’s wishes. that’s on him — he made you that way, and these are simply the consequences of his own action. “fuck… baby. sweetheart, you know you shouldn’t even be with me,” he starts, tucking his blunt between two fingers while running the same hand through his moonlight-kissed hair. “i’m way older than you, i’m hardly ever serious about you when i should be like you want…and hell, your brother sure as fuck doesn’t want me near you. you deserve better, and that’s the truth.”
he hates saying all that shit to you, projecting his insecurities and inability to properly love someone onto the girl he loves…but gojo does it anyway, as if he can’t control the acid in his stomach — throwing it up everywhere or otherwise it’ll burn him from the inside out.
“but i don’t want better…i want you.” comes your quiet sob, so tiny and pathetic. satoru resents himself for making you that way — pale white lashes fluttering shut and locking away his murky ocean blue eyes. he tries to picture you happier, instead of crying over the call like you are right now.
“i want… i want you too.”
“then…then let’s tell him! together! he’s my brother… and you’re his best best friend. he might understand, if you prove to him that this is what you want. that i’m what you want.” you're perkier when you speak again, and satoru (still high as a kite) wonders if he’d said that just to appease you or if he really meant it.
a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.
except gojo isn’t drunk.
he will admit, he’s pictured the day where you both come clean to the older geto sibling almost a million times. in his mind, satoru’s seen every reaction and emotion possible play out of his best friend’s face — he’s seen them in real life too. yet, the only prevalent expression on suguru geto’s face when anyone ever spoke of you in a nasty manner.. was red hot rage.
suguru would become another man, one who wasn’t afraid of murder, whenever it came down to you. countless individuals over the years had tried and failed at winning your favour from suguru — as if you were a princess in a castle. each one of them would regret trying for the rest of their lives.
and each time you remained none the wiser to how bad suguru really was and the lengths he’d go to keep you his innocent little sister.
gojo didn’t want that for himself, to face the wrath of his best friend.
but maybe he could try to withstand it, for you.
the girl he might actually love, after all.
“we can try…i’ll try for you.” he mutters quietly over the line after sometime. satoru sounds neither hopeful or hopeless, but either way it does the trick for you. you laugh for him, airily and bubbly, it makes the man smile around the blunt resting between his rows of perfect teeth. your happiness is enough to be his happiness.
he wished he allowed himself to feel that way about you more.
“and i for you, ‘toru. we’ll be together openly someday.” you gush.
the two of you chat for a little while longer until you adorably fall asleep on gojo and his blunt finally ends…but by the end of it, he can’t help but get this sinking feeling. where anxiety fills the cavity in satoru’s chest and drowns his optimistic heart in worry — slowing down its steady beat.
things won’t be as happy as he wants them to be.
and he doesn’t quite have the heart or guts to tell you that.
satoru gojo has always been afraid of love.
it’s not an emotion that comes easy to him — like the second nature of most human beings. there’s no innate need to love someone for satoru, there’s no urge to be tender or to hold someone in high regard because of the way he feels about them. love is not something that’s bound to his DNA or feeling he’s known since his very conception. or perhaps it was the environment in which he was raised, the way that his father was never home and his mother was always crying — her choked sobs only increasing in severity when she cast her gaze upon her only child.
that white hair and those blue eyes reminded her way too much of the man who couldn’t love her back.
perhaps that’s why he’s afraid to open up his heart, bordering up with layers of concrete and brick to protect it from the harsh reality of the world. the organ beats, it pumps blood around his body and keeps satoru alive — but it doesn’t carry an ounce of love. it’s as if he’s incapable. all he feels is resentment, towards his father and towards his mother — towards the people who did nothing but try to show him that he was worthy of warmth and intimacy.
he hates them because he doesn’t deserve it. satoru is nothing but a cold husk of a human being, a shell long since abandoned by its owner or inhabitant. there’s nothing to care for behind the walls of human flesh and tissue, no open heart to hold between one’s fingers with the promise of keeping it safe. satoru gojo doesn’t love because he’s afraid and it makes him feel like he can’t.
the people who love you always leave. to gojo, that’s a proven fact. his memories tied the emotion are never fond — his mother left him for a better life and better family with another man. his father left him for the company and late nights at work, a glass of brandy in his right hand. all satoru knew growing up was the cold, empty silence of his childhood home that should have been filled with happiness, laughter and warmth.
the people who love you are supposed to come back. for gojo, no one ever did. no one cradled him when he cried, no one held his hand through the scariest moments of his life. no one came back for him.
how could a man like that ever learn to love someone outside of himself?
how could a man like him make anyone happy?
satoru thinks that he would be a miserable addition to anyone’s life, a thick smog that hides the brightness from the world and blocks out any sunshine. no one around him deserves to be happy, it’s why he so selfishly and recklessly tears them apart in front of the media or acts rebellious to tarnish his family’s infamous reputation. his actions have no consequences, he hurts no one he loves because he loves no one.
no one except for…
“master satoru,” the matured voice of his personal driver interrupts the deep pool of thoughts gojo drowns in. “we may be slightly late for dinner with the getos. with your permission, perhaps i can make a detour? it’s not the safest route in town but it would get us there faster—“
no one except for you.
satoru sits up straight in the back seat of his expensive, sleek black car as if he’s been hit with the realisation that you exist. that you’re still here and still made to be loved. the man doesn’t believe in soulmates, or red strings of fate or happily ever after’s, yet — in the short two years that he’s been fooling around with you, satoru has somehow managed to fall deeply and irrevocably in love with you.
by all means, it doesn’t show — hell, you probably don’t even know how satoru really feels about you. he’s terrible at being genuine and hides behind a porcelain mask that only shows you the worst parts of him, that the entire world takes pleasure in seeing…but it’s true. he loves you. against all odds, the very feeling has managed to take root in the white haired rich boy’s chest, like the smallest flower blooming in the harshest of tundras. there’s something satoru didn’t know, that love has resistance, and no matter how hard he tries to act like he doesn’t — it will always find a way to thrive.
satoru might love you so much it makes him physically sick — one look at you and he’s rendered weak in the knees and short of breath. you’ve got a smile full of sunshine that warms satoru even with the bone chilling air outside. your eyes are enticing, deep pools of chocolate and hazel notes that drag him in like a fish on a line. your lashes are always soft against his skin, long enough to rival his even though you comment about how much you adore his every time you’re together.
you’ve got the man under a fucking spell and he’s not sure he ever wants it to be broken. at first, you were just something sweet to snack on, someone that gojo couldn’t have which only made him want you more. you’d be his pet — nothing more. he’d keep you at arms length until he was bored and could toss you away. however, over time, gojo’s want grew to love and even now, you’ve no clue how much you affect him, he regrets not showing that to you more.
he still treats you like you’re a child, a naive little thing because he’s terrified of opening up to you, frightened by the mere thought of you running for the high hills once you see what the man who loves you is really like.
satoru takes to adjusting his tie as the car switches lanes into a less polluted route — avoiding the evening traffic so that he can get to the destination faster. for some reason, anxiety spikes gojo’s blood stream with nervous hormones clinging to each red cell. the car becomes too enclosed, too compacted and the dark night outside doesn’t help him much either — it’s as if he’s lost in the void of space trapped with his own feelings.
his tongue darts out to wet the seal of his pink lips and his twitching fingers pull at the stupid necktie his PA had picked out for him tonight. there’s one thing that he’s forgetting, one thing that’s worse than loving you — a guilt that sneaks up on gojo when he’s truly alone with his riveting thoughts.
the man lets out a shuddering breath. “fuck. me.” he says quietly, the two words colourful on his tongue.
there’s suguru too.
and the betrayal he’ll feel when he finally realises that satoru gojo is fucking his little sister.
gojo loves getou. though it’s a different kind of love in comparison to what he wants to share with you. it’s brotherly. friendly. and it goes back years beyond the situationship the white haired man has trapped you in. it would absolutely kill your brother if he ever found out, ruining the supposedly unbreakable bond they’ve developed over the time that they’ve known each other.
a flash of pain flashes across gojo’s chest as if he’s been slashed with a knife — he grips the car handle tight, his knuckles turning white with how forceful his grip is. you and suguru are all that he has. the only family who ever truly cared for him and treated him like their own. of course his selfish actions and self-centred mindset would find a way to come between you both. he would be sure to kill the delicate sibling bond you have, satoru is an asshole like that.
it’s why he can never tell suguru about the fooling around you’ve done over the last two years — he would lose his one and only best friend. in the same breath, he could lose you too. you’re a smart girl, you’ll learn to leave him eventually and spread your own wings with pride.
the both of you were better off without him.
satoru was nothing but a chaotic storm that left nothing but wreck and destruction in its wake. it was an absolute guarantee that he would tear the two of you apart, create more than surface level crack in the crust of the world you two have created together. he’s just no good, nothing good ever comes of him.
but the love he has for you, building in slow stacks between the gaps in his rib cage, is addictive — much like that buzz from weed or the stale taste of a cigarette on his tongue. he’ll never have enough of you, and that very fact is what makes satoru gojo the most vile human he’s ever known.
he’d rather die than give you up. rather tear you apart from your brother than let you go.
the admission to himself makes the play boy’s stomach turn and twist wrongly, the air in his lungs turning bitter and clogging up his throat. gojo’s hand slams against the door of his car, fumbling to wind down the window and feel the cool bite of cold against his skin.
“p-pull over,” satoru whispers, more so to himself in the back of the vehicle than to anyone else. his nails dig into the rough skin on his palms, and the blood rushes through his ears — louder and louder. painfully so.
the driver looks to his master in the rear view mirror — concern sketched upon his features. “but master satoru, we’re just a few minutes away—“
“i said, fucking pull over!” gojo damn near screams in reply, throwing a piercing blue gaze at his poor driver. his head throbs heavily with guilt so by the time the car comes to a screeching halt, satoru’s close to throwing up on the sidewalk. “s-shit.”
the bile tastes like soured guilt in his mouth — but nothing comes. he’s sure he looks like a fool, half hanging out of his mercedes, pale as the silvering moon with the indication that he’s going to be sick.
“satoru,” his driver speaks to him tenderly, like a loving father would to his child. a comfort gojo never had the luxury of. “it’s not too late to go back home, i can have one of the maids ring suguru to let him know you won’t be in attendance. you don’t look your best.”
the white haired man’s ragged breaths as he stands hands on knees in the middle of the road accompany the late night ambience — rushing cars and sirens, heels clattering against concrete pavement and groups of people laughing away. the sounds ring loud in his ear, overloading gojo and his guilty conscience until there’s a warm hand on his shoulder.
his driver, reassuring him once again.
“it’s okay, satoru. just breathe.”
the statement somehow brings him back to present day, along with a heavy breath of frosty air. his driver rubs his back in smooth circles until satoru is able to stand to his full height — less queasy looking than he was before.
“i’d like to go,” he clears his throat, replacing his woozy expression with his signature bright eyed, sparkly-white toothy grin. “i made a promise, to the people i love.”
with a firm nod and gentle smile, satoru’s driver gives his employer one last firm pat on the back before returning to his position behind the wheel — ready to make the rest of the commute to the restaurant.
it takes a moment for satoru to slip back into the car — and during that time, he reflects. he may be selfish, he may be an asshole, he may be sick and twisted right down to the core. but at the centre of all that, is his compassionate love for you and he would do anything to prove it.
even if it means losing it all, just to be with you in the way you’ve always wanted.
satoru gojo is not as brave as he thought.
the rest of his car ride to the restaurant is uneventful — aside from the silver haired playboy’s random musings. the pep talk he gives to himself while tugging at the tight loop of his neck tie. everything will be okay.
it’s just dinner with you, and dinner with the getos. an event that he’s attended dozens of times over the years because suguru is his best friend and your parents love him.
except this isn’t just dinner.
this is make or break.
should he choose to make things official with you, it would shatter the very foundation of his relationship with suguru. the same if satoru chooses to ignore what you’re asking of him.
the nerves unload on satoru as he jogs up the smooth marbled steps at the forefront of the restaurant — hesitating when the concierge on duty holds open the mahogany framed and glass panelled door. he can’t bring himself to go inside and face the consequences of his own actions over the last two years.
just as he spins on his heels to run away, chelsea boots clicking against with every step — the sky starts to rumble and unleashes its heavenly tears upon the land below. rain.
gojo’s car has long since vacated the fancy premises — leaving him with no true escape home. he could just call a cab, call his driver, but duty and respect for his family away from family, for you, roots him to his spot outside of the restaurant.
he spends the next twenty minutes with a rolled up joint between his ever glossy, plush pink lips.
the weed does nothing to mollify gale force winds and torrential downpour set heavy over gojo’s mind. his entire body is tense with apprehension, spreading cold from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. the weather itself causes gojo’s fingers to go stiff as he inhales the addictive fumes, a burnt amber crowning the other end of his blunt.
“since when did you smoke, satoru?”
satoru coughs and the smoke goes down wrong, he looks up at his intruder with bleary eyes that soften once his gaze lands. “started two years ago,” he says to suguru as his smile turns wistful. “couldn’t find a real reason to quit.”
the reality of his words are masked by the sound of heavy rain hitting the ground, the tops of cars and the restaurant’s outer steps. it’s you, that satoru can’t seem to quit.
if he dares to stop, he’ll go mad with withdrawals and a nicotine patch won’t fix him.
“you really should stop getting addicted to the things that are bad for you.” suguru scolds his best friend, sidling up beside him.
like you, his sister?
satoru doesn’t deserve the aura of his warmth as they stand with one another. “yeah? no shit.”
the younger of the pair holds his hand out for the joint, which gojo passes easily. the city bustle fills up the silence between them — occupying every particle of air that buzzes with kinetic energy in that very same space. silences shared between gojo and geto were not uncommon, they were the type of friends who could communicate a million words to one another in a blink of an eye. but tonight’s soundlessness feels tense, thick with an uncomfortable awkwardness that neither of them know the source of.
be that as it may, satoru has always been able to mask his true feelings from the world and so he turns to his old friend slyly, giving him a casual punch to the shoulder while they smoke their worries away.
“what’s got you so wound up, suguru?” satoru asks, playing coy and covering up.
beady, blackened and tired eyes settle on his taller frame — trying to read the small print that codes each and every one of satoru gojo’s actions and behaviours. to the untrained eye (or anyone who hadn’t been practically raised by his side) gojo’s being his normal and cocky, maybe even obnoxious, self. though, to suguru — a man who’s been beside gojo through it all… there’s something missing.
a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.
suguru plays along, moving his chess piece along the board of the game satoru is playing. he’ll figure it out eventually.
letting out a puff of glacier grey fumes — the older geto sibling shrugs and taps the ashes onto the floor. narrowly missing gojo’s expensive patent boots.
“she’s grown up so fast,” he admits slowly, with a husky chuckle — probably from the smoke. “i’m scared she won’t need me anymore.” suguru’s voice is usually so full of endearment and pride when he speaks of you but this time, all dazzling and pure emotion seems to be lost on him.
the very notion scares satoru.
he swipes the splif back to relieve the queasy feeling stirring deep in his gut once again. “she can take care of herself.” gojo mutters, coolly.
“i know that.” suguru replies, smoothly and icily. “but if she doesn’t need me anymore, she won’t listen to me anymore. there’ll be no one to warn her of the people who’ll take advantage of that. her ability to care for herself. i set a high standard for her, i don’t want anyone to claim they can do a better job than me.”
your brother is protective above all things, he’d rather kill a man than let you get hurt. satoru finds the sentiment both admirable and terrifying all at once.
“you’ve done enough, man, how about you let her go?”
suguru turns snarky in response, teeth bared like a wild animal protecting its young. “maybe you’ll never understand the fickle connections of love…but adopted or not she is my little sister.” he asserts, glaring daggers into satoru’s skull as he smokes with a hand covering his mouth nonchalantly. hiding the quiver of his lip that shows how much he cares about this. about possibly screwing your life up. “i’d rip the heavens apart for her if she asked, i love her that much. i often wonder if any person would do the same for her.”
little does suguru know…satoru would do the absolute same for you and more. he would kill, he would die, he would destroy all for you. until he was bloody and raw. anything it took for you to keep on smiling up at him like that, he would do. and suguru would never know, because he’d end the world if he knew it was satoru that had defiled you.
satoru is such a coward.
neither of the men most important in your life speak after that, though, they continue sharing the joint until it’s nothing but burt orange ashes and fumes laying across their minds. the concierge does butt in at some point, kindly (and with a tight lipped smile) pointing out that the restaurant is three michelin stars and that smoking isn’t preferred.
satoru hates rules, so he spits on the steps and chucks the blunt to the floor — stomping it out.
suguru only chuckles at his best friend’s antics, smacking him upside the head as he jogs up to the grand entrance — gojo’s hands in his pockets, his once crisp tuxedo messy with burnt ash and rain water. gojo stops just shy at of the sleek, pearlescent moulded handles and throws his mop of silver hair back over his shoulder.
“are we doing this thing or what, suguru?”
they share a familiar, all knowing smile.
“yeah, satoru. let’s do this.”
without even knowing, that everything is about to change.
you’ve always been a little nervous, especially without a grounding presence beside you.
for many years… your brother, suguru, was that presence. he knew all the best ways to keep you calm — like that little tune he taught you to tap onto your desk during quiet exam hauls, or that method of breathing so your lungs were so full of air and you stopped holding it before public speaking. suguru always knew best.
but nowadays, you don’t find yourself seeking serenity in him. as if you were at a crossroads, your head always turns in the direction of someone you love with almost every corner of your heart. that someone being satoru. he may use you, he may fuck you and fling you to the side when he’s done but he grounds you. even when he isn’t trying to. in the subtle way that he toys with the beads braided into the ends of your hair while you sleep over at his place, or grabs at your waist in public spaces so that you don’t get lost or bullied by paparazzi. in the way that gojo makes you breakfast after bruising you and breaking your back beyond belief the night before — just to make it up to you.
satoru cares, even if it doesn’t look like it, he does.
and it almost makes you sick to your stomach — the thought of you craving his attention to that level.
your dainty fingers and blush-tone acrylic nails toy with the heavy pendant draped around your neck — the one that suguru gifted you. he had told you it shines under every light at every angle possible and you’re sure with the crystal chandeliers above, it’s blinding.
“stop that,” your mother scolds you warmly, in her own charming way of easing your nerves. “you’ll break that big expensive gift from your brother.” you cast a glance upwards from its fixation on the pearl white tablecloths and glinting silver table settings to focus on your parents. as per usual, your father is too engrossed in reading every detail of the menu to notice your discomfort and nerves, while your mother can’t seem to look away. reading you to filth, much like suguru does.
her efforts do nothing to help calm you down.
your hand shifts, taking to twirling the cutlery instead. she sighs, and you shrink in on yourself — trying to take up as little space as possible. “‘m sorry,” comes your hushed little bleat.
“never you mind.” she comments, giving you a once over before digging through her purse for a napkin — no doubt to dab at the corner of your mouth like a mother usually does. “i don’t know why you’re so skittish. your exams are over and you’ve graduated! tonight is about celebrating you! it’s just your brother, his friend, and us.”
that’s just it. it’s your brother and his friend. neither of them are aware of what might go down tonight.
you wished you hadn’t told satoru that you want his commitment — maybe then you wouldn’t be scared shitless in a tight dress at an upscale restaurant downtown. maybe then you wouldn’t be dreading satoru’s decision or suguru’s reaction to that decision.
you only wished you weren’t so selfish, to crave love from more than one person in two completely different ways.
the love from your brother should be enough, he’s only gone and done so much for you.
but it isn’t. and that makes you feel sick.
you want to be loved in the way that plays out in movies. where the guy chases the girl through an airport just to confess how much he needs her. or stands in the thunderous rain to tell her how sorry he is.
you want that from satoru. deep down, you know he wants it too.
the only thing that stands in your way is the affection that radiates so strongly off of your brother — like an umbrella protecting you from heaven’s downpours.
it’s been almost twenty minutes since your brother left his seat at your side to retrieve satoru from…well, wherever he is — like a stray cat picked up by a caring and kind-hearted stranger. you don’t know how’ll act when you see them together, side by side but you do know that ever second ticks by has you angstier and angstier.
the waiter has come by at least four times, asking if you’re ready to order, ready for drinks, ready to be served. “no,” you mumble politely on his fifth return — anxious to the point where your grip on your sterling silver fork has your knuckles turning white. “we’re waiting for two others, we’re waiting for—“
“there you two are! we were starting to think the wind had swept you up!” your mother coos as she always does whenever she sets her sights on her favourite two boys. she stands, immediately moving to wrap her arms around suguru’s taller, broad frame as if she hasn’t seen him in a millennia. “suguru! you had your poor family worried sick.”
your father doesn’t look up from the menu and you’re sure that you look a frazzled mess — but all your brother does is offer up his signature, delightful closed-eye smile, squeezing your mother back in reply. “sorry, ma. i got caught up with looking for this one.” he says warmly, jabbing a thumb into satoru’s side.
satoru hasn’t looked away from you since he’d arrived at the table. his gaze even follows you as you stand.
he can’t help it, you’re beautiful.
the dress that you wear hugs every dip and curve of your body, the satin material of your corset and tulle of your skirt in a shade of baby blue to rival his eyes contrasting perfectly against your deep skin. you’ve done your hair in the way that he likes, curled the ends of your braids with loose ones framing the roundness of your youthful face. if you were the last thing satoru gojo ever saw, surrounded by angelic light, he would be happy. he would be content.
for you, satoru looks like a god amongst mankind. even though his clothes are askew and lightly washed with rain, he’s still perfect to you. pearlescent droplets coat is luxurious white lashes as they flutter against his pale ivory cheeks. his air, all the same, is pushed back from his forehead — exposing those dreamy eyes to you. they hold so much love, interwoven between each greyish-navy fleck dotted against his pupils. love that is all saved up for you.
a bright and angelic grin breaks out across your hot chocolate fenty glossed lips — almost blinding to the regular man but the most beautiful thing to satoru. the waiter prompts you, asking if you’re ready to order once more, to which you respond without looking “yes, thank you.” in a breathy, wispy tone.
jumping between both yours and gojo’s line of sight, your mother pops the bubble that you’re both in. “satoru gojo! is that you?” she squeals with a fond tone. “why do you look so skinny? have you been eating properly?”
your lover squirms like a child being picked apart as your mother reaches up to pinch his cheeks.
“leave the boy alone, dear, i’m sure he’s been eating just fine.” comes your dad’s uninterested quip. “satoru my boy, how have you been?”
you sink back into your seat patiently while satoru greets your parents — the charm rolling off of him in radiating heat waves. “i’ve been eating ma, though i think you’d have a fit if you saw what i was eating,” he kisses your mother’s cheek softly while she laughs so hard you think she might pop, and sets a firm hand on your father’s shoulder. “i’m good old man, thanks for askin’! hope you’re cutting back on the liquor.”
“oh son, you know i don’t do any of that anymore!”
satoru scoffs kittenishly, gesturing between your dad and himself. “yeah, and i’ve stopped being the family disappointment!”
your parents love satoru. you can tell by the way they helplessly fall for his bravado and charisma. he’s magnetising — it’s hard not to fall for satoru in all of the ways possible to mankind. if he wasn’t so afraid of taking you seriously, you can’t help but think that he’d fit right into your family unit of four. it would be perfect, he would be perfect…as your boyfriend. your man. always by your side without hiding in and calling for you from the shadows.
if only you weren’t such a coward.
if only he weren’t so afraid.
if only…
suguru clears his throat in faux annoyance, pushing his best friend down by his wide-spanning into an unoccupied seat at the round table so that he’ll stop making a scene — despite how cheery it is. “behave yourself satoru! at least until i order the drinks.” your brother laughs, ruffling the moonlight locs on gojo’s head. he turns to you, face so bright and full of love. “any preferences, little sister?”
“moscato!” you nod without hesitation. you like things on the sweeter side.
“i knew you’d say that,” suguru affirms, taking his leave from the table. “i’ll see if the staff have anything special for you in the back.”
if only suguru wasn’t your older brother.
maybe then you wouldn’t feel such nauseating levels of guilt as gojo swaps chairs to be one closer to you. maybe then you wouldn’t have to keep your face plain and your body rigid as familiar, pale and slender fingers danced up the inner thigh of your dress — beneath the cupcake skirt, to settle comfortingly and dangerously on it’s apex. maybe then you wouldn’t have to try so hard to control yourself around satoru and especially in front of your parents — who have taken to digging through the fancy menu together while the buzz of the table dies down in suguru’s absence.
you’re so nervous that you fear someone might hear the loud thump of your heart against its cage and the blood rushing through your ears — you don’t even want to look at satoru because you know that with how close he is, you’ll fall apart the minute that you do.
but then he squeezes your thigh, in a tender and affectionate gesture — tracing a heart over the blistering hot patch of your beautiful brown skin just to calm you down. because satoru gojo knows you like no other man. better than anyone, better than your brother even.
“you look…” he starts, his usually husky voice barely above a whisper. the words coagulate in his throat — held back by tethers of spinelessness and debilitating fear. “you’re stunning, sweetheart.” gojo compliments you quietly, the sweet string of words nipping at your ears softly — his long, lavish lashes tickling at the crown of your head from how close he’s gotten by leaning down.
if you turn your head now, you might even kiss him and every fibre of your being prickles with anticipation — desperate to do so. “you’re not so bad yourself, satoru.”
his laugh fills your lower tummy with warmth. your heart rate picks up too.
“i mean it,” gojo reiterates. he’s desperate for you to look at him, for you to touch him. instead you bury your nose in an à la cart menu that you’re not even truly reading because the circumstances don’t allow for kissing, and holding and touching. not until satoru grows a pair and tells suguru the truth about your relationship and his feelings for you. “i’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.”
you can feel the heat from his breath coast across the surface of your cheek like a condensed mist over the warmed layer of seawater. it caresses you softly, sending shivers down your spine. “you look rather handsome too, satoru.” you joke, poking the hungry bear in its den by tilting your head ever so slightly in his direction.
he smiles like he always does right before he kisses you, slow and sexy, but the sweet moment is interrupted by the sound of heavy glass borderline slammed on the table — right into the crevice between yourself and gojo.
you dart apart, hearts racing and mind frazzled, only to find that suguru has returned with the wine he requested specifically for you. his face is hard set when you look up at him, his obsidian eyes darkened with suspicion and fear strikes you in the chest — he knows something, he suspects even more.
“sugu what are you—!”
your older brother lifts his chin with narrowed, cat like eyes. “i want to make a toast.” he announces, slicing through your words with a butcher's knife so sharp it makes both you and gojo squirm uncontrollably. like children being scolded for breaking the rules.
both of your parents put down their menus, excited, happy to be with the children they raised (including gojo) — they mistake your brother’s interruption for enthusiasm to celebrate your achievements.
“suguru, we’ve hardly ordered anything!”
“it’s never too late to start the festivities, ma.” he responds with a sly tone and slips into gojo’s previously empty seat to open the bottle of pink moscato. the cork popping makes you jump skittishly, and gojo’s hand slips away from your thigh underneath the table.
the loss of his touch reminds you that as long as your brother is around, you’ll never be anything more than a little secret to satoru.
liquid gold in the shade of dusted rose pink is passed around the table in crystal glasses — raised in honour of you. suguru says your name, the bulk of his voice full of pride.
“a toast to you, my little sister.”
you smile, tight lipped but warm — the guilt rushing back you.
but then gojo’s hand returns to the apex of your thigh, smoothing over the skin under your dress to calm you down once more.
“and everything that you have achieved. congrats on graduating, squirt.” satoru finishes suguru’s toast lovingly, approved by your parents who break out into a round of applause before flagging down a waiter to get the real celebrations underway. they tell you to order whatever you would like, but you take to downing the crisp, sweet flavours of your wine first.
you chug the beverage like it’s cheaply made beer from the college parties you’d been to — the ones satoru stopped you from going to, the ones that you avoided out of loyalty to him where you sought out the commitment he wasn’t ready to give you, a light buzz simmers over your brain, dulling down your high-alert senses and you hope that the alcohol makes you feel anything but present in the moment so that you miss the tense look that gojo and geto share beside you.
suguru is politely seething and satoru is playing pretend — acting as if there’s nothing wrong or nothing between you. your lover swirls his wine around in his glass, the pink tinted elixir sloshing over its edges before he takes a casual slip, ignoring your brother’s obvious dissatisfaction with satoru’s little addition to his toast.
“satoru.”
you gulp and fixate your gaze on other happenings deeper into the restaurant. your parents make their order. satoru squeezes your thigh once more.
“suguru.”
could this be it? the moment that gojo tells the truth and the moment that your eldest sibling accepts what you have with his best friend? you twitch in your seat as the confrontation brews and the thunder of their clashing personalities and morals begin to strike. all suguru has to do is ask if he suspects something, and all satoru has to do is confirm the truth. say that he loves you, that you’re his girlfriend while your brother accepts it and is happy for you.
you wish. that would be an ideal world.
“you’re in my seat, satoru,” is what geto settles on, the crescendo of their confrontation falling flat — missing a key note. “you’re sitting next to my sister. i was supposed to sit there.”
“really?” all satoru does is grin, and if you looked close enough, you could see the mischief dancing between the navy flecks in his stunning eyes.
the waiter comes to take yours, your brother’s and your lover’s orders (after tending to your parents for most of the interaction) — not giving suguru any time to protest his best friend’s faux confusion.
gojo takes to swirling his moscato once more — daring to look your brother in his eye over the rim of his crystal glass.
“i hadn’t even noticed.”
the rest of the actual dinner seems to go smoothly after that.
your boys tone down their bickering in favour for scaring down tiny Michelin star starters — micro herbs and all. they’re still so childish, even as they sit either side of you, picking from one another’s plates in the same way that they did back when you were kids. you find yourself relaxing as the night progresses too — maybe this isn’t so bad and things could work out between the three of you. suguru and satoru have been joined at the hip for as long as you can remember, a girl (one that they both knew), let alone suguru’s sister wouldn’t come between the bond that they had.
by the time the main dishes are served, you have enough alcohol in your system to feel nothing but a pleasant buzz in place of the nerves that once contaminated your bloodstream. you had nothing to be worried about, everyone was getting along, laughing and smiling while your parents indulged the three of you in drunken repeats of famed moments from your childhood.
you do your best to listen in, though the story about how suguru and satoru pulled out one of your wobbly teeth in third grade is one that you’ve heard too many times to count. it’s sweet though, that your parents are able to reminisce like this while you’re all together…especially since suguru works long hours so far from home and you’ll be off to a new city by the time the month ends.
even just having satoru there makes the night feel complete. there’s so much love to go around.
there would be even more love if suguru knew about how you and satoru truly felt for one another.
you’re only sucked back into the bustling conversation when geto pinches your side — jutting his head in the direction of your mother so that you can give your attention to her next story. “oh honey!” she coos and you cringe, chugging back your latest glass of wine in order to prepare yourself for whatever embarrassment is about to come next. “do you remember when your poor brother threw his white laundry in with those cute red undies you brought — suguru was wearing pink for months!”
the whole table bursts into obnoxious laughter, and you sink down into your seat.
“mom! oh my god!”
“i remember that,” your brother comments casually, gaze slinking over to his best friend in amusement. “satoru wouldn’t let me hear the end of it, told me i looked like a barbie doll. what were you even doing with underwear like that anyways.”
“sugu, not you too!”
“now i remember the pink shirts but… the underwear? i would have loved to see the culprit.” safely says with a voice as sultry as it is silky smooth — sending a jolt of electricity down your spine until it fizzles out at your tailbone. he gets scolded by your parents (more so by mom) and earns himself a harmless glare from geto who’s been loosened up by alcohol but from you — you’re furiously humiliated.
under the table, you lift a foot to stamp down hard on his own with your heel, but gojo is quick to react — instead dragging his foot up the length of your calf, inciting you to join him in an enticing game of footsie.
you slam your hands down on the table in surprise causing everyone to look your way before you sheepishly wave them off. “stop it, gojo.” you snarl through the cage of your gritted teeth.
he clicks his tongue, delighted by how flustered you are. “i’m not doing anything, pretty girl,” he purrs shallowly into your ear. “c’mon now, pay attention to the story.”
“it was a frilly little thing, far too inappropriate for someone her age.” your dad chimes in and gojo nods — lifting his foot higher and higher until you’re shuddering all over. you don’t even think to stop him.
“mom, dad. please stop before i end it all.” you struggle to place your words in the correct order, distracted by gojo’s touch. you place your hands under your thighs, keen on controlling your squirming as they squish together ever so slightly. you just know that satoru is enjoying this and if you looked at him you’d see satisfaction evident all over his stupidly handsome face. he likes knowing how much of an effect he has on you, that it’s easy to make you writhe all for him.
“sorry sweetheart, but they really were cute! i know you were just trying out new things. starting to act mature for your age.”
satoru chimes in again, leaning in a little closer so that his breath just tickles the shell of your ear. “bet they looked even cuter on her.”
squeaking in embarrassment, you kick your chair back until it screeches loudly across the floor in a weak attempt to put some distance between yourself and the man who’s practically torturing you. of course, your escape plan doesn’t work, because satoru keeps a strong grip on the bottom of your seat — dragging it forward, back under the table, and closer to him, that same hand now resting on the wooden frame beneath your locked knees.
coughing to cut up the tension growing between the two of you, suguru cuts in. “not as cute as her diaper phase!” from there, everyone is distracted by gushing over even more embarrassing childhood memories of you as a baby. obviously, leading to some tears from your parents’ end — you’ve grown so much, come so far. it’s only natural that they’d be emotional on a night like this, one meant to celebrate your achievements.
what isn’t natural, is the fact that you’re three seconds away from jumping satoru gojo’s bones right in front of them.
god, he drives you fucking insane. just from messing with you under expensive linen tablecloths too — his thumbs brush over your knees, your feet tangled together and if he leans over you anymore you might just turn your head and kiss him.
you fight that urge to do so by grasping at the cool silver pendant around your neck — tapping your acrylic jelly nails against the fat sapphire gem at its centre. the jewellery feels like ice against the temperate surface of your skin, a dirty need starting to bubble and brew beneath it hotly. one that can only be satisfied by satoru gojo.
the heat spreads to the back of your neck and under the collar of your dress, even warming the chain that hangs loosely around it. it could just be the alcohol, but you know it’s something more. it’s an itch you can’t scratch on your own and a fire you can’t put out without help. suddenly the metal of your pendent is warm to the touch and slippery between your fingers whilst you continue to play with it in newfound sweaty hands.
a subtle gasp slips past your chocolate glossed lips when the chain snaps somewhere and the rest of the metal slides between your buttery fingers, your pendant gathers at your bosom before dropping to the floor with a clatter. feeling around your neck for your precious gift, you let out a louder whine upon realising where it’s gone. suguru spares you a moment of his attention, concern drawn against the gentle slopes of his features.
“you okay, little one?”
“y-yeah,” you exhale slowly, trying to calm the anxiety that fires across your neurons. “i think i um… i dropped my necklace under the table.”
an award winning beam slots itself perfectly on your brother’s lips as he chuckles under his breath. “you’re so clumsy, need my help?”
“just keep mom and dad distracted for me? it’s just under the table, i’ll be back for their next story before anyone notices.” you attempt to joke in order to appease him, you don’t need suguru to get a closer look at how wildly turned on you are nor the fact that gojo is sitting comfortably with his hand between your knees — inches away from where you need him most, where he’s been so many times behind your brother’s back.
not to mention the fact that you’re still fucking playing footsie.
suguru shrugs and drops the subject, tuning back into your father’s rendition of your first skatepark experience. the one where you’d tried to copy satoru and suguru and attempted a trick on your chunky bratz scooter and went flying off the ramp. ouch.
you dip beneath the table cloth like you’re diving back under the surface of water, fishing around for your lost and precious pirate’s treasure. you can’t tell if satoru’s moved his hand, you don’t feel it slyly ghosting over the insides of your thighs while you lean forward and search for your necklace… not that it should matter, it’d be far from appropriate to have his long, slender fingers brushing up against your panties from under your skirts. it wouldn’t be right for that to escalate, for said fingers to push past your entrance and brush up against the spot satoru knows is guaranteed to make you scream. it would be immoral for you to even think about him sliding his cock into your wet, needy cunt too. somewhere secret, somewhere—
oh!
you giggle with triumph when your fingertips graze the cold metal decor of your necklace… however, when you move to grab it, you touch something else. something warmer. you touch him.
with baited breath, you let your bambi eyes carefully trail up to gojo’s face — drinking in the hazy look that he gives you, the swirl of desire taking a flame in his brilliant, cerulean eyes. just by being under his gaze you feel as though you’re drowning and burning alive all at once. satoru is the one who moves first, taking your smaller hand in his large one before he turns it over — palm facing the sky and places your sapphire pendant inside of it.
then, one by one, he closes your fingers around your brother’s gift and then brings your closed fist up to his plush lips, pressing a wet kiss to your knuckles as you gasp. “quiet, baby. wouldn’t want anyone to know what you’re up to down here…”
his words die off, licking his lips slowly, stare predatory while it trails all over your body. “but ‘toru,” you mewl enticingly, keeping your tones hushed under the table. the sweet, dulcet sound makes his eyes flutter shut and body quiver with a wave of hunger, his sexual appetite for you growing by a tenth fold . “i need you.” you never make this easy for him. if someone were to take a peek beneath the table cloth, they would see the tension brewing between you both and put two and two together.
you’d be discovered before having the chance to tell everyone yourself.
time is ticking, your guests might start to grow suspicious if you don’t make a move and goad satoru into solving the ache between your thighs. so you jump the gun, grabbing his collar and tug him forward for a sly, sloppy yet quick kiss. “i won’t say it again after this, ‘toru,” comes your cheeky pant. “i need you.”
satoru chokes.
with that, you withdraw from your scared little bubble below the table and stand straight up — a dazzling and guiltless gin on display for your entire family to see. “i’m going to the bathroom,” you explain sweetly. “need to fix my pendant ‘n powder my nose. i’ll be back.”
your family stops chattering briefly to acknowledge your wish, but as you leave — suguru stands too and grabs your wrist. “need me to help? i know the clasp can be finicky. i should have gotten you something easier to use—“
god bless suguru, your loveable brother, ever the cockblock.
“that’s alright man, i’ve got her covered,” satoru suddenly appears behind you, the sweltering heat of his heaving chest singeing through the fabric of your dress. he places a hand on the small of your back, grinning with a charming spark to his eyes — deliberately masking “you should keep an eye on your parents, you know how they get when they’ve had too much to drink.”
now, it’s not that geto doesn’t trust his best friend… after all, gojo has been a constant presence in your life ever since the three of you were kids. it’s just that sometimes, a feeling of unease stirs within suguru at the mere thought of you being alone together — it’s like one of those gut feelings you get before something goes terribly wrong.
yet, as usual, satoru is right. if no one keeps an eye on geto’s parents, who knows what trouble they’ll get into on their own.
“alright, fine. just don’t take too long, there’s only so many stories they can tell before dessert.” suguru reminds you plainly, as if not to assume the worst. he gives you both an approving nod, before letting you go. “and satoru, wait outside for her?”
the white haired man snickers, a languid and jeering smirk slowly tugging on the corners of his mouth. “you got it, suguru!”
he even adds a salute for effect, allowing you to lead him away from the table and towards your gateway of sin.
the uneasy feeling in suguru’s stomach intensifies as he watches you both walk further and further away.
they say that a mirror is the window to your soul, reflecting how you truly feel on the inside.
the girl staring back at you in the squeaky clean glass looks nothing like the little girl suguru helped to raise. her soul is impure, blackened by sin and the dark desire for human contact — the salacious dance and ritual between scorching hot bodies and saliva tainted tongues. she laughs at you over rushing tap water from the bathroom sink and calls to you like a siren’s song, inviting you to give into her — let her take the lead on the temptations plaguing your mind.
why did you even suggest this?
you’d been bold, hinted to satoru that you wanted him to devour you, ruin you in the bathroom of the restaurant your loving, kind older brother had picked especially to celebrate you. you knew better than this, you wanted better than this. you no longer wanted to be just a quick fuck to satoru gojo.
you wanted to be his girlfriend.
that’s what you’d asked him to do tonight. to make you his in front of everyone who loved you. but here you were, slutting yourself out for him like you always do.
over the water pouring down the drain, you pick up on the sound of knocking at the bathroom door — prompting you to twist the tap and cut off the flow of water. unlike the flow of lustful hormones that shoot through your bloodstream and straight to your clit.
a new kind of excitement blossoms in your chest once you turn around to unlock the door — suguru would hate to see you so thrilled at the concept of doing something so wrong. you return to your position in front of the bathroom sink before your lover enters, toying with the silver chain on your pendant again — ignoring the burning feeling you get as it weighs down your palm.
the burn of underlying guilt.
“i can help with that.”
satoru purrs seductively as he enters the bathroom, gesturing to your pendant. you don’t turn to look at him but keep your eyes trained in his movements in the mirror. even when he isn’t touching you, you feel like you can’t breathe. his presence overshadows your own, shrinking you down into a tiny toy that sings oh so pretty for him whenever he wants.
you hear the lock click shut behind you. anticipation hums through the air like an electric current.
“the clasp is a little tricky,” comes your dreamy sigh, high pitched and needy — earning you a choked groan from your lover. “i can’t do it on my own, not without help.”
the next time gojo speaks, he’s right behind you — chest pressed to your back, arms either side of your hips and large hands on the bathroom counter, his head practically nestled into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. wisps of snowfall like hair tickle at your bare skin while warm breath causes goosebumps to rise across its surface.
“then let me fix it for you,” satoru suggests enticingly — keeping up this little act, pretending to be raunchy strangers, while your fingers brush against one another and he takes the jewellery from you. you straighten your back, hold your breath and nod cautiously as he brings it up to your neck from behind. your eyes catch each other’s in the mirror, his darkened with devoir all while he offers you a enthralling, toothy smirk. “relax, pretty girl. i don’t bite…”
except he does. if satoru is a hunter, a lion, then you are nothing but a sacrificial lamb that serves to be his prey. if he really wanted you, he could take your dainty neck between his vicious jaws and snap it — you wouldn’t even mind…because you’d let satoru do anything to you so long as it meant having all his focus be on you.
“lift your chin for me.” he commands you huskily, nipping at the shell of your ear. “good girl.” satoru continues to drawl, extending the ‘o’ sound in his words when you follow his instructions obediently — tilting your head back so that he can adjust your necklace to sit perfectly in place. “such a good girl f’me.”
when his fingers fix the clasp and touch teasingly at the nape of your neck — you find yourself instinctively pushing back against gojo’s lap, the curve of your fleshy ass sweeping over the slight tent beginning to form in his expensive designer slacks. slacks that you know you’re going to destroy before the night meets its end.
“t-there we go,” gojo doesn’t dare step back after finishing up with your necklace, enjoying the sight of you slightly bent over the counter as you grind your hips back on him painfully slow — testing the waters. “fuck lil’ lady…what’s this all about, hm? tryna thank me for doin’ such a good job, helpin’ you out?” his hands slip over your own as they rest by the sink, lacing your fingers together while satoru puts some weight on you — looming over you as he starts to rut forward and meet you in the middle of this raunchy bump and grind. “s-shit…keep…keep throwin’ it back on me like that.”
“we don’t…we don’t have long, satoru. hah, fuck!” you sigh breathlessly, rocking back and forth on your man eagerly and clenching around nothing when his erection catches on your budding clit. satoru’s lips ascend on your neck with careful thought, using their plumpness to shift the strap of your dress to the side and reveal more of you to his greedy, deep blue eyes. they’re wet on your skin, perhaps he’s been licking them in anticipation, hot at the very tip of your cervical spine — but he can’t leave marks, not unless he wants your brother to see.
satoru trembles behind you, lazily dragging his tongue to the sweet spot just behind your ear — leaving a shimmering trail of possession across your skin. “i know baby, i know,” he says almost instantly, delayed by tasting you on his tongue. suddenly, you feel a wetness against your cunt that isn’t your own — you’re already so wet that the seat of your panties are practically glued to your fonts, but this… this is satoru. his dick dribbles pathetically with precum, gearing up to fuck. to breed. satoru grows angstier by the second, one hand letting go of yours to manhandle you back onto his stiff hard on, his breath much heavier against you than before. “but it feels so good doesn’t it? just wanna keep…my cock…nestled against you like this.”
pride flutters through all four chambers of your heart simply because you know that you’re the only one who can get satoru gojo to act like such a slut. he’s so desperate for your pussy it doesn’t even matter how he takes it, just as long as it’s his.
only you get to reduce gojo to a needy mess, soft pink fanning across his nose and cheeks as he humps you from behind like a wet, mangy dog in rut. he circles his hips, pushing them forward so that his throbbing length meets your sticky, fat panty clad folds in a constant motion — his needy moans like music to your ears.
“i wanna fuck you,” you huff impatiently, using your strength to push gojo away from you just long enough to turn around. he follows your lead, hiking you up to sit on the bathroom counter before you wrap your legs around his tiny waist and squeeze him close. “gonna fuck me, ‘toru? or do i have to — fuck…do it myself.”
now that you’re facing each other, you can see just how wrecked the man is. his eyelids grow heavy, long and lavish white lashes weighed down by mirth. gojo pants, his tongue doused with spit lolled over his bottom lip with a hankering urge to kiss you. “jeez,” he simpers in awe, impressed with how controlling you’re being this time around — squeezing your hips to control the flow of you grinding back and forth on him. “at least kiss a guy first.”
grinning, your fingers surge upwards from the counter and into the depths of white rooted hair. you tug gojo down to meet you halfway and before he can even register it — your lips are roughly slotted together, bruisingly close and your tongue laps tracks into the hot cavern of his mouth. the kiss quickly turns sloppy, needy, spit is easily exchanged between synchronised moving lips while your noses become neighbours and your lungs burn from how desperately they need oxygen.
you don’t want it, you think. you don’t need it, you say to yourself — hardly pulling away from gojo as you both suck in a much needed breath. you’re back on one another in a heartbeat, drowning in one another while his practised hands traverse up the curves and dips of your body. they settle at your throat, a thumb gently pushing against its centre just to test you. a dark chuckle reverberates in satoru’s chest when you whine, back arching up to meet him and your eyes growing misty.
“how’s that for a kiss?” you whine against his wet mouth, yanking at gojo’s roots again. the action earns you a grunt in response — blissful, low and predatory. his hips jump up too, tucking his swelling cock into the snug pocket of your puffy folds.
“think i want another,” he muses out loud, the chocolaty octaves of satoru’s voice making you shudder — liquid gold beginning to gather between your ravaged pussy lips. using his grip on your throat, the silver haired man pulls you closer — his perfect white teeth sinking into the delicious swell of your bottom lip before he tugs it away from you salaciously. it’s barely enough to quell the spark of hunger spreading throughout all four limbs of his body, hardly calming down the blood that rushes to his achingly hard dick as he rubs it against your increasingly soaked mound.
when your lips find each other again, they’re swollen, cherry red and raw — smacking against one another loudly over the sound of rustling clothes while you buck into one another. everything is so hot and heavy, you’re so wet and so sticky for satoru and your little rendezvous has barely begun. the way he sucks on your tongue, let’s you push it down his throat while his clothed seedy tip nudges your clit over and over again has you bouncing off the walls in your mind. you can’t think without thinking of all the ways to fuck satoru gojo.
he’s on your mind all the time and you’re not sure if you want that to change.
“can…oh man—can feel how wet you are through your fuckin’ clothes…” satoru hums in astonishment, releasing you from the prison of his lip lock with pretty pink swollen lips, allowing his head to drop to your shoulder in favour for sucking on it to pacify himself. he keeps his tip on your pleasure bud, revelling in the way you keenly pulse at the sensation. “oh fuck…so sticky.”
your pussy flutters at his observation, even more so with how cute satoru sounds when he’s so needy for you. “satoru…” you mewl, stroking back tufts of his sweaty pale hair — though it hardly distracts him from feverishly fucking you over layers of fabric. “wanna suck you off, gojo. can i? wanna have you in my mouth.”
satoru pauses, his breathing uneven and pulls away from his safe spot in your neck. “fuck…really? now?”
you nod, tiny hands forcing their way between your heated bodies to toy with his belt, unbuckling it with practised ease. “right now.”
“okay…fuck, okay.” satoru steps back and uses a grip on your hips to help you down onto your feet, watching with pride as you slowly descend to your knees in front of him. “oh baby. you’re so dirty. such a dirty little girl, mmm?” he grins, a little twisted. “show me how pretty you look on your knees for me.”
you sit back on your haunches as satoru adjusts himself to lean back on the counter — looking up at him with sweet shiny eyes which occasionally shoot down to his throbbing hard cock as he manspreads in place. the sight makes your mouth water and
“you’re staring, baby. go ahead and open your present.” he tilts his head with an air of condescension about him — teasing and taunting you through a faux pout, making you simper out for satoru. “come on now, what happened to my brave little girl? you wanted to suck me off so bad, where’s all that big talk now, huh?” satoru continues to leer down at you, his eyes darkening malignantly — the sapphire shine within them dimming with a raging storm cloud as if to block out the sun. “open that cute little mouth, lemme see it. don’t disappoint.” he cups your cheek, entire body bristling with joy and underlying pleasure when you keen into satoru’s touch like a good girl.
obediently, your lips part and mouth falls open — revealing ropes of saliva that tie your tongue to the roof of your mouth. it does something to satoru, it’s like a power trip to have you on your knees for him. you’ve got love in your eyes taking the form of heart-shaped pupils, as you admire him like he’s your god. and you want that god’s cock stuffed into your waiting, drooling mouth.
you shouldn’t adore satoru, treat him as if he’s your lifeline. he’s the whole reason your family might fall apart, he keeps you hidden as if you’re a treasure only he is worthy of seeing. he doesn’t show you off, he chooses to use you for his own gain, he chooses you when there’s no one else left to turn to. your relationship with satoru has never been stable, but even now when he’s hanging above you — rosy cheeked and starry eyed about to fuck you in some bathroom, you still want him. you still love him.
“don’t get lost in that pretty little head of yours baby,” gojo leans forward and brushes his thumb under the well of your wet lips and over your Cupid’s bow — smudging what's left of your gloss. “‘m gonna need you to think for a little while. only ‘bout me ‘n my cock. yeah?” his free hand that once had been abandoned on the countertop takes yours — guiding it over the bulge in his crisp dress pants, hissing when you start to rub at it on your own, your mouth still wide open for him. “you’re so pretty. feel that? you make me so hard that it hurts.”
you find yourself dazed and enchanted — panting, chest heaving as your hunger for him grows. “feel it, want you, ‘toru.” satoru thinks you’re so cute, cupcake dress poofing up against the cold floor as your tiny hand paws at him back and forth, back and forth and the little smile you give him when he pulsates beneath your talented little fingertips would be nearly enough to make him explode.
“of course you do, baby. you want your reward.” gojo relents, giving in to you. he swoops down to give you one last kiss, barely ghosting his lips over your swollen ones to keep you on the edge — craving just a little bit more. he dangles the static pleasure of a kiss that you get over your brain in front of you like a carrot in front of a horse. he knows that if he keeps you that way, you’ll stay desperately in love with him, malleable into the perfect girl for him.
it’s selfish and both of you know that.
you rub harder and harder at the outline of satoru’s shaft and scoot closer to rest your chubby cheek on his firm thigh. he sees the way your own squeeze together from under your dress, probably in an attempt to keep your arousal at bay while your hole slicks itself up — but he can smell you, sweet and potent like a flower in bloom. if he were to pull you up to his height and take you now, satoru is sure your panties would be soiled, ass cheeks and pussy lips coated in a layer of your opaque, honey-like arousal while it oozes directly from you.
that’s just how you are, a candied little mess for satoru gojo. it’s almost a fact and the very notion should be humiliating for you, should be shameful to you. if your brother were to ever find out how weak your resolve is when it comes to satoru, how you fall to your knees so easily for him — then you might never be able to look him in the eye again.
but isn’t that what you want?
to have suguru know just how badly you’d fallen for his best friend?
how you might fail to live without him?
all night all you’ve been thinking about is satoru telling your brother the truth — but here you are, locked in a bathroom ready to worship this man while you hide from your entire family. from reality.
because you’re happiest in this bubble with gojo and you’re sure he is too — he can have you in all the ways he’s ever wanted and you’d let him do it all to you too. yet again, you remain entirely unaware that from gojo’s point of view, you’re more than a pretty girl about to suck his pretty cock. you’re everything to him.
“come on baby, stop playin’ with me. baby please.” satoru whines petulantly into the sex tainted air that fizzles with suspense. his skin buzzes with every touch you give and a wicked chuckle resonates deep within his chest when you scoot closer on your knees — dragging the tip of your tongue over his dick print hesitantly. though the sound is cut short when you give his hard-on a tentative squeeze to text the waters, opaque and runny white smearing against the inside of satoru’s underwear.
you adore how much he trembles, gripping your shoulder to steady himself since knows that you don’t like the idea of your head being pushed down on. even if it’s torture for him to be so patient — he’d never do anything you didn’t like.
but it really is killing him, and you’re fully aware. he deserves to be punished like this, after everything he’s put you through — it doesn’t mean you’re not suffering yourself. circling your hips into the cold bathroom floor to get some friction yourself, beyond turned on at the sight of a breathless satoru gojo above you.
“say that again.” you moan.
gojo’s head drops and he lets out a shaky breath as if he’s about to cry. “w-what?”
“beg me again, then i’ll suck your cock.” you sneer up at your silver haired lover evilly just as your mouth meets his sticky clothed cockhead, the spit and heat from your mouth seeping through the layers of fabric in your way. “i wanna hear you moan for me, ‘toru. like you love me.” you press, switching to taking the man’s zipper between the rows of your teeth.
satoru gojo has never been a stickler for the rules, whatever he does is usually for his own personal gain…but when you command him like that, he can’t help but to blindly stumble after you, hanging onto your every sugar-coated word. “fucking hell, please baby. need to feel your mouth on me…fuck, your tongue,” gojo rambles on weakly. “please, please, want it so bad i might fucking die.” he does some of the work for you, shedding his belt and causing it’s buckle to clink satisfyingly against your ears.
satoru’s eagerness sends a shockwave of pleasure straight to your clit. your patience seems to be wearing thinner than his, for you jump forward like a cat on the prowl and peel back the remaining layers of satoru’s clothes without mercy for any of the fabrics. his gasps and muttered pleas coax you into the dark, addictive enigma that is satoru gojo — clouding your mind whilst setting your body on fire with hell flames.
you kiss at satoru’s slender hips the more his pants and boxers come down, twirling your tongue into the tufts of silver hair that form his happy trail too. a soft, honeysuckle chuckle from you resounds in the bathroom’s echoing chamber when you finally reveal enough of gojo’s cock for it to spring free — twitching as it’s exposed to fresh air. satoru is longer where he might lack thickness, though he’s chubby enough to keep you plugged full of his cum usually. his balls are plump and pink, heavy with a load that’s just waiting to be spent on you — evidence of his arousal taking the form of opaque pearls set at the tip of his dick.
speaking of, gojo’s cockhead burns bright red and shines as if it’s glossed and sticky like your lips — blue pulsating veins spiral around his flushed shaft, rivalling the shade of his eyes as he observes your next moves. you’re sure to make your touch tender as you take his entire length between your fingers, smoothing the supple pad of your thumb over his sensitive tip and rubbing the precum into it sweetly.
he smells so good, the musky scent of satoru’s cock and his arousal act like the fumes of a drug you know all too well — it takes over your consciousness and stream of thought, controlling your actions from then on. you feel everything all at once, your tongue writhing in place at the bottom of your mouth, satoru’s thighs trembling lightly and his cock throbbing while blood rushes through it. a haughty moan scratches at the ridges in his throat when you finally grip him properly — soft little hands dwarfed by his sheer length, palm brushing over the flushed forked veins that separate at the base. “j-jesus, beautiful,” satoru hisses, lips between his sharp white teeth. “you gotta give a little…drivin’ me insane with these little touches. please just suck it…please i’m beggin’ you—“
the air in his lungs grows thin like that at the peak of a mountain when you finally give in, dragging your lips over the cream gathering at his mushroomed cockhead before kitten-licking through its seedy slit in order to tease him a little more. opening up your mouth, you prepare to swallow satoru down, just as you have done many times before. you know everything he likes, what makes him tick, what has him cumming in seconds…however, just as your warm breath coasts along his shaft — he pulls back from your hold.
“wait,” he says through a shudder. “you wanna smoke?” satoru pulls a joint from his crumpled pocket, licking his lips as he searches for its partner in crime — a lighter.
you frown, choosing to palm him instead of taking him into your mouth just yet. his cock jumps at the simple movement, leaking milky white against your knuckles, tainting your skin. “we’ll get into trouble, ‘toru.” you state like it’s obvious, speaking over the slick sound of your hand gently pumping satoru. your movements are aided by just how wet his cock is, fingers slipping and sliding up and down his girth whilst being guided by the thick globs of precum beading at his tip.
“s-since when did you care about the rules? you’re fucking me here, aren’t you?” his breathing falters as he shakily attempts to set the end of his joint alight. you don’t dare stop pleasuring your brother's best friend, even if there’s a nagging voice at the back of your head telling you that this is bad, that it’s all too much. “help me out for a sec, beautiful? hold this in your mouth while i light it.” satoru’s voice drops an octave as he shoves the splif between your arousal glossed lips (replacing the fenty that once spread their shine across them) — he stares you down through his long, white lashes as he flicks the lighter at the end, setting fire to the rizzler. “thank you, little one.”
the pet name makes your skin crawl and the weed in your mouth only amplifies that voice in your head. you should quit while you still can, you might be able to cope with the withdrawals then, and spend the rest of your life making it up to suguru for leading him astray. little one. the nickname he’d so fondly called you quickly becomes something you hate. it’s meaning changed easily by none other than satoru gojo.
his power over you is still so strong despite his cock being at the mercy of your feather light grip and plush lips. once you set a steady rhythm to jerking gojo off and the joint burns dangerously close to your nose, he takes it from you and lovingly pats your cheek — placing it between his own lips before blowing a ring of smoke into the humid air.
satoru’s head collapses back against the mirror, his moonshine hair perfectly tousled despite being out of place. his locks stick to the icy surface of the glass, brought on by the cold sweat from your temperate mouth. the pair of you share a harmonious tune of wet whimpers and gargled gripes when you take your lover down your throat, sinking down on him until your nose nudges the prickliness of his happy trail.
you flex your tongue, letting it swirl around satoru’s girth from the base to the tip. “o-oh fuck, baby!” he exclaims through a hybrid sound, a cross mix between a raspy chuckle and high pitched moan. shakily; satoru takes a puff of his joint as if to calm himself down. he looks down at you with a lustful, love laden gaze, dropping a hand to the top of your head — careful not to push on it as you work your mouth down on him. “don’t worry… ‘m not gonna fuck your mouth. know you don’t like that, just wanna…touch you.” it nearly kills him as well, the way you look up, with shiny eyes and full cheeks. “god, you take it so well, huh?”
of course, satoru had been the one to teach you how to suck dick back when you first started messing around two years ago. he’d coaxed you through it, teaching you step by step so you could get him off just how he liked. he made it so that you wouldn’t ever want to please a man the same way you pleased him — rewiring all the nerves in your brain to make sure it was only gojo that you wanted to deep throat.
so you nod diligently in reply, swallowing down on gojo and letting out a gentle hum that causes dopamine to crackle along the insides of his skull. hollowing your cheeks, your throat contracts around his thick length until you feel his bulbous tip dragging over your uvula — testing your own talented mouth. he’s so glad that he taught you how to do that, you down on your knees, entrapping him in the searing heat of your hellfire mouth. if suguru could see you now, he’d only be able to picture the spawn of the devil and it’s cruel how you don’t even care. after everything he’s done for you.
your eyes flutter shut at the heaviness of satoru’s dick on your tongue, forcing you to taste the viscous precum that oozes down your throat in slow waves. the flavour is just as addictive as the scent of weed tangling with sex in the air — you don’t see yourself going to rehab either.
eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru with a lewd pop, filling your lungs with the oxygen they so dearly missed. you find yourself light headed for deep-throating him for that long but you also find it to be completely worth it — especially because of the look of pride satoru gives you. “such a pretty little cockslut,” he sucks his teeth, petting your head and brushing his hand over the square partings of your braids. “you look so happy sucking on my cock, baby. didn’t think you were gonna come up for air.”
in place of your mouth, your palm starts to stroke satoru at a steady pace — slickening up the centre of your hand. he’s so big between your hands you can only imagine how he’ll feel stretching you out later tonight, causing drool to pool in your mouth like a hot flash flood as you catch your breath. vivid azure eyes flutter at the salacious mix of pain and pleasure when you give satoru’s shaft a teasing squeeze, using your other hand to give the same treatment to his plump, sore balls.
somehow, he manages to continue on muttering taunting you. “cause i’m the only thing you need, right? who needs air to breathe when you have me feeding my cock into that hot, wet open mouth.” he drags a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down as he looms over you — breathing a cloud of cannabis smoke into you. shot-gunning you while you continue to jerk him off, it tastes of him and the alcohol in his breath and the weed on his tongue. he looks so good above you like this, hooded eyes and rose tinted cheeks. satoru is the perfect picture of god’s work and you’d be foolish to pretend that the sight of him didn’t make your cunt throb and a familiar feeling begin to stem in the pit of your stomach. “good fucking girl.”
he thrusts shallowly through your closed fist matching his rhythm to the tune in which you flick your wrist. you waste no time in working up a pace fast enough to have your lover melting like putty in your hands — literally. you miss his cock in your mouth, how heavy it makes your tongue feel and paw at his spit slicked erection like a puppy begging for treats.
“when you t-touch me like that…” satoru drawls, notes of praise layered over his whiny voice makes your own juices gather at the crotch of your panties, makes your head spin but that might just be the weed. “i could fucking cum, baby.”
sweat beads in large, fat droplets at gojo’s hairline, darkening the bright colour of his hair. the liquid soaks through his white shirt too, showcasing how fucked out he truly is. he thrusts again, and again, and again, chasing the high your hand gives his creamy aching cock. “then let me make you cum,” you giggle, dropping your head slightly to make out with the sloppy tip of satoru’s dick, lapping happily at whatever he gives you. “let me taste you.”
a dirty laugh rings in the buzzing air and gojo throws the burly arm that holds his joint over his wet face, wiping it clean of all the sweat. in the next moment, he cups the youthful roundness to your pretty face — calloused fingertips digging into your baby fat cheeks and sun-kissed skin. “that’s cute, but i’m not quite done with you yet, gorgeous.” still hunched over you, gojo finds the milky trail his cock has left over the seam of your lips and kisses you — dangerously slow. he simpers at the taste of himself on your lips, tangling with the plastic-like taste from the remainders of your gloss. he licks the sweat from your Cupid’s bow as well.
he sucks the precum from your tongue and licks harsh stripes into your mouth — reaching further back to cup the back of your head, keeping you pressed against him. the both of you moan like idiots into one another’s mouths, drinking down the song of blissful laments and greedy gripes. the kiss seems to last forever, going on and on until you wince at the slight burn of satoru’s joint against your cheek, but you never stop jerking him off — slick and dewy sounds of skin meeting skin providing the adlibs to your nasty, sex song.
only then does satoru let you go, though, his hips continue to dart forward and ram into your closed fist — they contradict with his words. while gojo wants so much more, they chase his innate desire to cum. paint your pretty face or your talented tongue. their rhythm is assaulting and aberrant.
“but you’re so close…” you tempt him with your silky voice, dipping your head and bobbing it once more to encompass his lengthy girth into your heated mouth again. dopamine sparks like explosions across the synapses in his brain when he witnesses your cheek bulge from the force of taking his tip in, his slit rubbing deliciously against the soft epithelium there. gojo doesn’t know how he’ll survive after tonight, when you force him to confess to your family and everything blows up in his face.
oh how he’ll miss your cute little mouth sucking down his cock like your life depends on it.
“you’re right, shit…you’re right, princess,” satoru pants avidly, taking another drag of the joint nestled between his shaky fingers — he throws his head back as the grey smoke hits the fresh hair, tainting it with the scents and flavours from the kiss he’d given to your sinful mouth. “i think i might…ohhhh ohhh. i really wanna—“ he throws his head back and you can tell that your lover is really trying to stave off his orgasm to make this last forever.
you still in surprise when he jams a boot between your soaked thighs from underneath your dress. “‘toru!” comes your little gasp, grinding down on the cold leather if his shoe instinctively. he used the toe of his chelsea boot to pull back the hood of your clit, pressing down on the swollen bud to stimulate you. w-what are you doing?”
“g-gotta make you cum before i do,” he offers as a weak explanation all while spreading your puffy pussy lips apart.
you lavishly run your tongue through the opening of satoru’s cockhead, moaning at the taste and texture but continuing to hump his foot happily. “s’a bit late for that, baby.” you say with a sultry voice, low and sexy. “you can just eat me out afterwards.”
“do we even…? o-oh, okay. ‘m there… i-i’m close,” he trips and stumbles through his words, losing control of his taut hips that batter your poor, dripping fist while you spit down onto him. the frothy mix slides down and catches on the prominent veins spiralling around his dick to the base. which you give a squeeze. “do we even have time for that?” gojo asks, struggling to breathe through the smoke from his joint.
“i guess you’ll just have to hurry up ‘n cum for me. be quick, and we’ll see.” you glance up at him, so debauched yet so innocent. like a pretty flower tended to and cared for (by suguru) except you have prickly, threatening thorns.
gojo’s release starts to sneak up on him, senses heightened by the recreational drug coursing through the healthy blood in his veins. “y-you’re so bad. h-how the fuck did i get involved with you?” he laughs loud and menacingly, whilst looking completely and utterly deranged. gojo doesn’t let up on stimulating your pussy, humming around the spliff tucked between his perfect lips when you gush in response to him. dirty, depraved little girl. “g’na cum. g’na cum! let me cum. fuck, where do you want it?”
“i can swallow, satoru. give it to me.” your mouth and wrist begin to hurt — but you find it all worth it to have satoru collapse above you, lose to the snap of the thin thread of his sanity. he grabs ahold of his own dick, taking over from you, and smiles brilliantly when you stick out your tongue just for him. it rolls over your pretty lower lip, cherry red from your ministrations and slightly swollen from it all.
one. two. three.
he taps his soiled cockhead against the slobbery palette of your tongue — feeding you the last stream of his precum right before his big release. you press a hand to gojo’s tummy, feeling it fight and contact against your touch. he can’t hold back anymore, everything is too hot and too tight and too much. the roll up of weed between his teeth is gone, his beautiful eyes are hidden away from the world and before either of you know it — his high is hitting him like a tonne of bricks.
just like that, gojo loses the steady stream of his hips and his orgasm rips through him, warm and viscous seed floods your mouth — even seeping out at the corner of your bruised lips. it spurts copiously from his ravaged cock, painting your throat a shade of white too.
“h-holy shit!” satoru cries out loudly, tears springing to his eyes and gathering in his lashes. you don’t stop pumping at his dick until he’s done cumming, catching any misfires of his arousal with your tongue. you swallow in satisfaction and take to leaving small kisses against his tummy and hip bones until he stops trembling and returns to earth from the bright, silver moon that blessed his hair.
he quickly abandons his joint.
even though his legs are shaky and he can hardly breathe, static ringing loudly in his ears — satoru finds the strength within himself to pick you up from the floor and manhandles you against the bathroom door. a streak of excitement courses through you while you set your palms flat on the surface, allowing satoru to squish your left cheek against it too.
you’re barely able to turn your head back to look at him, a shy and coy smile spreading across your lips when you catch a glimpse of the dark expression coasting over satoru’s handsome features. “oh? what’s gotten into you?”
“you think i’m just gonna let you make me cum like that, and i’m not gonna get you off?” he answers your question with a question, growling out the syllables of each word impatiently. “i wish i could just rip this damn dress off’a you. it’s such a shame we have to go out there and say hi to your family afterwards.” using his foot, gojo kicks your ankles apart so that you’re nice and spread open for him — he inhales nastily while pushing your skirts up to sit at your hips, breathing in the scent of your gooey cunt as it cries for him. cries to be filled up by him. if asked, he could recognise the sweet aroma from your sex like a bloodhound chasing after a target. he’s got you committed to memory, he loves you that much.
the tulle of your dress rivals the colour of his eyes even when darkened with debauchery — it turns him on to know you wear his colour so proudly even in front of suguru. his hands shake as he messes with the fabric and you can just tell he’s fighting off the urge to tear it away from your body. if only you had the time. if only you were the only two people in the world.
without suguru, he could love up on you for hours with no issues. without suguru, you could perhaps be together without having to hide. without suguru — well, you hate yourself for even thinking that way. he’s your brother… and you need him. but clearly not as much as you need satoru to fill you up with something — tongue, fingers, cock. you’d take it all right now. take all of him.
you’re distracted by the feel of your lover’s searing lips against your naked shoulders, swooping down to place kisses on them tenderly. they’re more fluid, softer as satoru’s fingertips trickle over your breasts and pinch your pebbling nipples from over the bust of your dress. they cascade down to your waist next and suddenly your dress feels all too tight around your hips. your panties too sticky between your folds. you want them both off, and fast.
“s-satoru,” you murmur needily, arching your back into his broad chest — shivering at the roughness of his shirt on your skin. “satoru, please.” you add, hissing when his curious fingers delve beneath your skirts to press into the seam of your underwear, getting a feel for your wetness and how ready you are for him.
he shifts his fingers upwards, working them up to massage your clit in warm and rough circles — distracting you from giving gojo a proper answer so he can play with you a little more. “hmm?” comes gojo’s lazy reply. his head drops to your neck again and his tongue leaves a snails trail of saliva over the path of kisses he’s left on your skin “what’s the matter, baby? what do you need?” he mumbles in a lower octave right into your ear, tufts of white hair tickle your skin, only causing goosebumps to rise across it in a ripple effect.
pouting, your hips rise enough for him to possibly stick his hands down your panties to touch you properly — but satoru chooses to be mean, moving up to rub your tummy teasingly. “for you to… mph, please.”
“come on now little one. what is it that you’re after?” he scolds you playfully, toying with the little ribbon on the scalloped edge of your panties. you hate that him teasing you only serves to make you hush and turn you on more, a small trickle of your arousal running down your inner thigh. “use your words, be my good little girl,” pinging your waistband against your stomach, satoru adds to the seed of desire growing there — helping it to grow and nurturing it. “my fingers? my tongue?”
“t-tongue!” you squeal at the painful sting, not in pain — because you like it when gojo hurts you a little bit. it’s like a punishment for betraying your older brother.
“thank you for telling me, baby, your wish is my command.” at first, satoru doesn’t make a move to eat you out — instead, forces his hand deep into your panties to touch your clit, nice and raw. the silver haired man grins at the way you clench around nothing as he circles your tight little entrance and squirt small dribbles of your juices for him. “fuck, you’re so fucking wet for me, even now. even after sucking my cock and grinding on my shoe. if only suguru could see how nasty you are right now.” he could, at any moment geto could knock on that door and see you dripping on his best friend’s hand. the sentiment shouldn’t make you more aroused, you should make you feel horrified.
but as gojo dips a finger into your greedy little pussy, you realise that you’re just as depraved as him and that in the moment — you really don’t care.
because all you feel is ecstasy.
pushing back onto the sole finger squirming about against your squishy insides, you decide that you’ll deal with geto and the consequences of fucking his best friend later — rather, choosing to focus on how satoru immediately finds your g-spot because he knows your gummy, rippling walls like the backs of his masterful hands. the same hands and digits that skilfully trace the letters of his name into your pulsating clit.
“mmph… oh fuck. f-fuck you!” reaching between your soiled thighs and underneath a plethora of tulle, you grip gojo’s wrist to keep him in place, locked between your legs with his fingers stuffed in your cunt.
“fuck me, baby?” he coos to you in a patronising tone. “oh, sweetheart. i’m about to fuck you. gonna make you cum so hard. make you see stars…no, galaxies.” satoru pulls his finger out and nudges your sticky thighs apart again just to make sure that he has the space, enough room to cup the entirety of your sopping mound from over the fabric. so hot and filthy and sappy for him. satoru laments in satisfaction, yanking your panties down in one fail swoop and watching with perverted cobalt eyes as strings of your slick tie your honeyed sex to the material.
sniffling, you turn your head back as far as it’ll go to stare down your boyfriend with big, wet eyes and a blubbering voice. “please... i can’t wait anymore…” you hiccup like a petulant child who had their favourite toy stolen. pleading for something, anything to alleviate the unbearable yearning twisting in your gut.
your lover tsks in response, slowly descending to his knees behind you while his fingers coated in your succulent nectar grasp and knead at your fleshy ass — streaking it with clear marks. “okay, okay…poor baby.” gojo says airly in an attempt to console you like a mother would her crying infant. “you’re so needy, pretty girl. if anyone walking by could hear you, they’d think i weren’t fucking you right.” that’s far from true and the both of you know it, satoru is the only one who could appease you, take care of all your sexual needs — outside of that…you’re not so sure. you’re then reminded that suguru wouldn’t want satoru taking care of you ever. it makes your stomach flip with a confusing mix of lust and guilt.
“you want it that bad, don’t ya? you wanna feel good.” the man purrs from behind you, salacious voice a breath’s width away from your cunt while he licks a trail up your inner thigh. the vibrations reverberate through your skin, dancing right up to your swollen, unattended clit. “promise i’ll make you feel so, so good.” you’re almost embarrassed at how much you throb against gojo’s lips when he shoves his face into your pussy from behind, nudging his nose over your pleasure bud in circles until you open up for him like a flower in bloom.
you grind back against him passionately, rubbing your luscious and drenched folds all over his handsome face in an attempt to tame the itch of bliss that spreads through each and every one of your limbs. you’re tempting him but your sweet little whimpers and circling hips hardly coax satoru away from what he’s planning. his tongue doesn’t fuck it’s way past your quivering entrance like he’d said, but instead is replaced by a heavy hand smacking down hard on your pussy.
“satoru!” you cry out in an awful mix of delight and shock, sounding a little unhinged. “y-you promised!”
“yeah, yeah. i know… couldn’t help it. i just love it when you cry for me.” juices run down his forearm as if he’s bitten into a ripened peach and satoru gets the perfect view of your juicy ass jiggling for him too. he amorously slurps up the trail, leaning forward with an appetite to eat you out for real this time and nestled his tongue between your twitching, titillating folds.
he repeats the process again and again and again, smacking your poor pussy until you really are crying — chest heaving while you sob from both ends, tears ruining your perfect baby blue eyeshadow for the night. not having gojo’s mouth on you is like hell on earth, being spanked until you’re raw is torture too, especially when you’ve been holding back an orgasm for at least fifteen minutes. nevertheless, it all feels so fucking heavenly.
you search for a vice, something you can ground yourself with and settle for scraping your nails along the doors. satoru chuckles, tapping your sticky ass lovingly and even going as far as to kiss you there. “alright, i’ve had my fun and i’m done messing with you baby,” he hums sweetly, “lean back for me, put it on me baby. let your man eat you out.”
wrapping a strong arm around your middle, gojo pulls you back onto his awaiting, eager mouth. the first thing he does is slot his mouth against the entirety of your soaked slit, moaning loud and tugging at your heartstrings while the vibrations send you spiralling. the very tip of his tongue slips past your entrance with slight resistance from how thick it is, wriggling about in order to search for that special spot that makes you see stars. he press kisses, wet and sloppy, miscalculated, between your swollen folds and slurps up whatever you leak as if you’re drooling valuable liquid gold.
not a drop can be or will be wasted on satoru gojo.
keenly, your hips canter back onto gojo’s face — your plush ass cheeks jiggle with each thrust onto his tongue as though you’re reverse riding his cock. it fills you up just as nice too, warm and slippery against ecstasy inducing pinpoints along the ridges of your sluice walls. he can’t help but whine loudly at every roll of your pussy over his face, you taste so fucking good and he’ll drink you in as though you’re a tall glass of water. between sucks and slurps, your lover kitten licks at your core animalistically — lascivious sounds from between your thighs topping off the air in the bathroom.
your cute little clit, prominent and hard because of blood rush and it’s burning desire, is next on satoru’s bucket list. the sharpness of his teeth latch onto it, rolling it between their two sets roughly until you’re clawing at your own throat for air — trying your hardest not to scream and frighten the poor passers by. you’ve become such a mess and it pleases the white haired man, to see you gushing like a fruitful stream straight into his thirsty mouth, down his chin and cheeks — even over his bobbing adam’s apple.
your hands leave a track of sweat as they slip down the door you’re plastered on and your chest rises and falls rapidly while you’re tongue fucked by your boyfriend. there’s no room to breathe or to cope, satoru’s tongue pinned to your clit like a moth to candle flame — drawing rough shapes on your clit before sweeping downwards just beneath your clenching hole to catch what oozes from it before it can hit the ground. oh, if only you could see him, his bright blue eyes just as watery and lovesick as your own and his face pink with a sun-burn type of blush from how hot he is for you.
if you tried hard enough, to listen in over the sounds of your wet pussy being sucked on for dear life as well as satoru’s content gripes and laments — you can just about make out the vehement and delectable noises of him avariciously jerking off his pre-cum flowing cock while he prepares it to fuck you later on.
“y-yeah…oh my god, satoru. satoru don’t stop!” the words feel tacky in your mouth as you try to get them out, communicate to gojo how good he makes you feel. he likes it when you’re vocal with him, and you the same, it makes you both feel heard and happy to know that you’re pleasing your partner. though, it’s a little difficult for you, when you’re so dizzy you don’t know what’s up or down and you can’t help but to cream around the base of gojo’s tongue while it twists against your lush and gushy inner walls.
briefly, your brother’s best friend pulls away from your cunt — remaining connected to you by a rope of clear elixir leaked from your tight hole. “wouldn’t dream of it, pretty girl. god… i just wanna fuck you up. make you scream a little more…” he snarls like a beast, his big hands roughly grabbing your ass as he spreads them — watching the webs of arousal form while he peels each cheek away from one another. “fucking hell… you’re drenched. but we can’t be too loud, don’t want someone to hear.” there’s a higher pitched lilt to gojo’s sacchariferous mithers as he delves back under your skirts, bobbing his entire head to drag his tongue between your fat pussy folds.
jolting at the sensation, which provides a welcome distraction from the fact that your family…your brother, are waiting obviously just metres away, your hips begin to chase the high you’ve been holding back for what seems like hours now. viciously, you ride satoru’s tongue like it’s a perfectly plump cock made to plug you full. “uhuh, oh…fuck yeah. ride it for me, pretty girl, ride my t-tongue. m-make yourself feel good. fuck my face…please, please, please.” gojo begs you, even though most of his speech is muffled and you’re the one at his mercy.
shame should be running through you, not hunger for gojo, you shouldn’t want to drive your hips down onto his face so hard that his nose prods your clit over and over again. you’re so dirty, filthy and nasty for doing this…here of all places. but you can’t help the way gojo fucks you nor the way gojo feels. you don’t think you want to give that up for your brother. even if it costs you.
you can’t imagine a life without hearing satoru’s needy groans between your legs, the ones that set fireworks off at your tailbone — where all of that unreleased pleasure builds up.
“you’re gonna cum…” he sighs dreamily. “want you to cum for me. let it go, let it all out f’me.” gojo adds and from then on — his mouth stays married to your needy cunt, focused on working you right to the edge and pushing you over. he licks you up and down, anchors you to his face with that same arm snaking its way around your waist again — mostly to hold you up because you’re so shaky from the ecstasy in your veins that you can’t do it on your own.
the whole ordeal is sickening and beautiful all at the same time — no one knows your body like satoru does. no other man has any idea how to please you in the way that he does. they don’t know that you like it when he flicks his tongue against your sluice and sweet sex with an open mouth just so you can hear him eat you out. they have no idea about how sensitive you are when you’re close, that brushing up against your g-spot with the tip of gojo’s tongue is enough to have you spewing a fresh wave of your essence from your pathetic hole.
the delirium and rapture that mounts within you, like bricks stacked in bricks, becomes too much for you to bear — some of your release already starting to trickle out of you in clear streams. “‘m cumming, ‘toru!” you warn him in a high pitched squeal before it’s too late, white noise filling your ears as you succumb to a powerful orgasm.
satoru gojo thinks that if he died right here, right now, he would be happy — he wouldn’t even care. what, with the way you gush into his mouth like tidal waves of a wild tsunami, guilt flushed out of your system by tonnes of arousal. you clamp down on his tongue and practically suffocate the man, humping weakly at gojo’s face until your entire body is limp and you have absolutely nothing left to give.
once you’ve made it through the aftershocks of your high, satoru slowly retreats from between your thighs and makes his way to your body, spinning you around and capturing your lips in a delicately placed kiss before your brain has the sense to wake up. the night should end here, you should push him away and fix yourself up in a good enough state to return to suguru and the rest of your family to enjoy dinner…stop the guilt from bubbling up.
but satoru has always had a way about charming you.
“we’re not finished yet…” he whispers to you passionately, his own hips pinning you to the bathroom door so you can feel his second erection rub against your tummy. “there’s more of you to ruin.” he continued to lament, his lips stained with your arousal grazing your own before he licks into your mouth so you can taste what he tastes too. automatically, your body bows into his — ready to have what he’s got waiting for you.
perhaps your mind is still lagging, because you feel it before you see it — the tacky love taps of your lover’s cock against your stimulated sex, the lewd squelch that comes from gojo’s cockhead poised and ready to jut forward past your fluttering entrance. “i want you so fucking badly, i gotta… need to be inside you…” he moves to hike your thigh up against his slender hips — preparing to bottom out inside of you, but you stop him just before then with your nails digging into his sweat laden dress shirt.
“can i ride you?” you ask him hazily.
“what?” gojo bleats, confused and enamoured all at once.
swallowing thickly, you repeat your words — leisurely rolling your hips back and forth in a premature pussy job. being sure to rub yourself back and forth against the length of satoru. “can i ride you?”
“fuck me,” he sniggers breathlessly and says your name. “aren’t you just full of surprises tonight? you can do whatever you want to me, baby. i can take it.”
with his permission, you undo the last of gojo’s buttons and smooth over the expanse of his place flesh, thumb at his budding pink nipples and then, form a necklace around his unmarred throat with your hands. he coughs and splutters in surprise but allows you to walk him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the toilet and he topples onto its seat in a sitting position.
your hand moves swiftly to cup gojo’s jaw as you look above him and stand between his thighs that instantly manspread to make room for his pretty little baby between them. one of your perfectly manicured nails drags down his bottom lip, then becomes a finger that delves deep into the heat of his mouth. “you’re… you’re beautiful,” he gargles around the digit, staring deep into your soulful brown eyes. “and i adore you.” it’s true. you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen even if your braids are askew and your dress is ruffled and your makeup is almost entirely gone.
even when you have satoru gojo in a choke hold like this you’re still stunning to him. not one thing could tarnish such rare beauty that you posses. if the end of his life came in this moment, he wouldn’t even mind. he wonders if you’re aware of that fact or still believe the little voice in your mind telling you that he’s just using you.
gojo was bad with words, he knows that. he often got timings wrong and said things at the wrong time (like now when he tries to tell you that he loves you but in his own words, hence ‘adore’) but he always means them. he can tell that you’re getting in your head right now, standing above him — trying to decipher if he’s telling the truth. if he wanted you, you wished he’d say he wanted you. explicitly.
he wished that he could tell you explicitly, but he’s so fucked up in the head that he struggles.
so instead, satoru takes your hand in his (the one in his mouth) and moves it far back enough so that he can kiss your knuckles sweetly. a gesture to prove his truth to you. one to prove how much he loves you.
the hard expression on your face softens and you drop to satoru’s lap — straddling him so that his girth presses directly against your juicy cunt like before and your thighs are either side of his. “then make love to me,” you goad him, circling your hips and chasing the delicious burn of his dick pressing into you — a feeling that you miss all the time but can never get used to. “love me like you mean it.”
it’s not long before satoru is at your neck again, leaving a trail of gentle kisses along its plaines. “i can do that. i can give that to you. do you think you’ll be able to take it?” he questions lightly, a large hand splaying across your back — prepared to guide your movements.
“y-yeah… ‘m ready.” you exhale carefully, your mind pleasantly fuzzy as gojo grabs onto your ass and encourages you to raise your hips for him. the other hand now holds onto his dripping dick to position it at your entrance — he runs it through your soaked folds a couple times and dips in and out of your hole. you make such a cute little noise when satoru starts to push into you, sucking him in so well and clenching around the circumference of his bulbous tip as if to trap him inside before you’ve managed to sink down on him. it continues like that for a little while, satoru holding you up by your ass or your thighs while he patiently waits for you to take him the rest of the way.
he fucks you gently with the tip at first, getting you used to the delicious stretch to your pussy — despite the resistance he meets from how tight you are.
“there you go baby…you can take over now. sink down on me when you’re able to, kay?” satoru peppers your face in amusement while he watches you try to stabilise your breathing. there’s a long way to go and you’re still so sensitive from your last orgasm. “hm, you’re so fuckin’ cute.” he muses, nipping at your cheek without any real bite.
“s-shut up,” you state through a pout, controlling your tears which only make your love snort affectionately. crescent moons from your nails take their shape in satoru’s milky shoulders, leaving pink indents in place as you slide further down his cock, taking inch by inch until you’re comfortably nestled at his balls. “satoru…why’s there so much of you?” in reality, you’re not actually complaining — content with your ribbed walls kissing the prominent veins on his shaft. you clench around him experimentally, sending a ripple of desire through the man at your mercy and finally let him bottom out inside of you as your juices run down him.
he does nothing but smile lazily up at you, taking your wrists and coordinating them to rest on his chest for you to use as more comfortable leverage. as much as you like the way he’s pressed up against your insides — you find the strength to peel your hips away from satoru’s clothed thighs and thrust back down with a resounding, wet slap that echoes throughout the restaurant bathroom.
it should be criminal, maybe even illegal, how warm, tight and wet you are — as if you’re a virgin who’s never been fucked before. he splutters and stammers as his overstimulated cockhead nudges against your silken walls and they quiver around him feverishly. he could charge you with a life sentence, keeping him jailed in your pretty pussy for life. “i know i said i’d let you ride me but god,” he whispers, trailing his fingers up the front of your dress. just as ice cold and ringed fingers circle your areolas from over the fabric, satoru thrusts up into you — driven insane by lust and desire, his eyes disappear onto the dark night of his skull. “cant help it… i wanna make you feel good. wanna fuck you.”
there’s no time for you to respond, no chance to wrack your brain for a witty comeback because you’re too busy focusing on trying to keep yourself seated in gojo’s lap. your eyes become misty and satoru’s voice becomes murky, breaths of exertion coasting over your lips and your skin as he sets a constant, almost bullying, pace to his slender hips as they barrage into your sex. it’s hard enough to pull squelching sounds from your messy pussy, and enough for the sound of his breeder’s balls to reverberate between your working bodies.
in this position, satoru is able to hit deep — churn your gummy insides up and hit every pleasure spot your tiny fingers can’t reach. you’re a slumped and helpless mess in his lap, pathetic, since you were the one who wanted to be on top in the first place. but neither of you mind it, satoru likes being able to take care of you like this, watch every contortion of your angelic face and twitch of your lips and flutter of your lashes as he pounds into you from below.
“that’s it… that’s it pretty girl,” he coos to you so softly, glancing up at you with massive silvery-blue eyes holding pure fixation for you. “you want it so bad, letting me have you like this. i love it, i love yo—” he cuts himself off with a deep growl and reaches around the meat at your waist, your soft tummy as well as your plentiful skirts to graze your clit as arousal pearls over it — each brush at the swelling nub is calculated and catered exactly how you like, especially after falling into sheets with him so many times over the last two years. his touch treads softly on your body while he takes it slow, passionately ruining your insides.
you hiccup and a light sparks behind the sapphire frame of your lover’s eyes. he repeats the action, only this time pinching your clit before he carefully pulls you close and angles his hips into your g-spot a little more — worshipping your body like a queen on her throne. “listen to that baby, your pussy sounds so pretty taking all of me.” gojo punctuates his words with deep, purposeful movements that have his achingly hot cock repeatedly jamming against that one particular spot. “you need it like this, need me to always take the lead, hm? you act like you’re such a big girl, but really you’re just my needy little one.”
satoru feeds you a mix of praise and light condescending remarks, keeping you under his spell just like always has. as if he were a pied piper using his darling moans to draw you in. he keeps you pacified like a baby with languid thrusts and sloppy kisses all over — barely giving you a moment to think independently. the hand wrapped around your waist keeps you anchored to gojo, teaching you dance in a sensual sticky grind that only lovers know how to do.
dropping your forehead to rest against his, you let out a blissful whimper. “s’not fair, you always… ah f-fuck! you always take control from me,” you’re supposed to be the one using satoru. using him to take your mind off of suguru while you remind the man of all the reasons he should love you openly and publicly. but, like always, you fall victim to the touch which causes you to blossom above satoru and the candied voice he uses that make sweet nectar pour from your abused little hole.
“it’s cause you adore me,” gojo tells you in a rough voice. states it like it’s fact written in a history book for lovers. you can’t and don’t have time to deny him — managing a weak whine of annoyance when his lips attach to the cliffs of your collar bones. his tongue rolls saliva over the area where he can’t leave a physical mark, knowing that the white hot sensation will stick with you all night — making it just as good as any other forbidden hickey or stolen love bite. “you love me, don’t you?”
“g-god yes!” neither of you have any idea what exactly it is you’re saying yes to — whether it be the way he pounds at your puffy, swollen mound or saying that you love him, it doesn’t really matter. you’re both too far gone. you finally start to grind down on him again, using all of your strength to push past your overstimulation and match satoru’s toe-curling stream of thrusts, syncing up your cantering hips. every stroke of his cock within the depths of your silken, pulsating cunt earns you a muffled whine from him.
a fresh red tint begins to glow under the surface of your lover’s pale skin, the blood coursing through his veins and coagulating at his cheeks is dotted with love and lust hormones just like your own. the fact that he’s barely able to pull out of your selfish pussy means that there’s a shine to his polyester clad thighs from your juices — the glisten barely catching under the artificial light in the bathroom.
everything overwhelms you, you feel like you’re drowning. fat beads of precum between your sore thighs begin to form because you’re clenching down on gojo so hard, his cock even fights it’s way to pull out of your addictive heat. you can’t let him go, your body won’t let him go, dragging him into the routine of crazy intense and creamy sex — bulbous and purpling cockhead consistently digging into your g-spot. everything is so wrong but it feels so right — it doesn’t make any sense but you feel so nice.
“yanno…” satoru slurs over the heavy weight of saliva spreading through his mouth while he runs it. “‘m so fucking lucky… to be the only man who gets to see you like this. whining so sweetly, legs all shaky, pussy so fucking wet.” appreciatively, his cruel cerulean gaze drops to where his milky cock disappears into your fat pussy and his digits move from your clit to spread your netherlips apart, putting the glaze of your essence that coats his rock hard girth on display.
gojo truly is so very lucky, to be the only man with the pleasure of jackhammering into you to his hearts content. he’s so lucky that there isn’t anyone else you want aside from him, that all you want his for him to be better for you. he really should work on that. especially if he wants to be the only one who lives and breathes you for the rest of forever. on the contrary, you hate that he only sees your worth to him while fucking you — it makes bitterness simmer underneath the absolute depraved ecstasy you feel.
but you’re not giving satoru gojo up. not in this lifetime.
taking advantage of your hands planted firmly against gojo’s broad chest — you peel your sweaty thighs away from gojo’s trembling ones, his cock being tugged away from the snugness of your oozing, sopping mound. an incredulous gasp lays wet on the seam of the silver haired man’s lips. he misses you. he wants you so bad and there’s no greater relief than when you slam back down onto his cock, hips cantering down so fast that he easily hits your womb. the force makes you both drool and you throw yourself forward to capture gojo in a messianic kiss between two lovers.
euphoria chillingly slips into your veins while you rock yourself against gojo feverishly, both of your chests heaving erratically from your love making. “you…you talk too much,” you mumble into his mouth, tongue rolling over his as if to swipe the words from his tongue. if he says anymore you won’t last any longer. you lick the salt from his lips, an obsessive glint in your eye — because satoru gojo is all that you want. “talk way too much…just love me, just fuck me.”
satoru wants to love you, it’s like he’s genetically coded to. he can’t imagine being this in love with anyone else aside from you — but there’s a selfish mental block on his mind that stops him from giving you the commitment you need. right now, in this moment, he’ll give you the pieces of himself that he can. he’ll make love to you, he’ll make you see stars and galaxies, he’ll do whatever he can to make you happy right here, right now.
sweat from the exertion of rutting into you pins his silvering locks to his forehead — it drips down the side of gojo’s face which you lovingly lick. your lover wraps both of his arms around your waist and pulls you in so that you nestle on his chest — giving you the leverage you need to pound yourself on curve of his cock, seeping viscous honey down his shaft. the scene is obscene, but there’s love and adoration buzzing between your tangled limbs.
hearts sprinkle themselves amongst the flecks in your eyes as you look up at gojo and your pupils dilate at the chorus of skin slapping on skin, the pap pap pap of your swollen mound while your lover buries himself deep in your warmth — pulling unholy sounds from your angelic body. the toilet he sits on creaks beneath the force of your ministrations, threatening to break just like you might on top of your lover.
“i’d do anything for you, a-anything you wanted,” gojo counters, quivering beneath you with his hair sticking to your sweltering skin. it’s true, he’d rip stars from the sky and skyscrapers to the ground. his heart chases after your every desire. between frenzied bucks and mismatched smooches, the man swipes his fingertips over your pulsating clit — rubbing fat droplets of creamy precum into your folds and the sensitive nub. the whole time, he keeps you stuffed full of his cock, hardly pulling out each time you lift and drop yourself on his dick.
mewling like a pornstar, your hands shoot upwards and wring themselves in moonlight hair — a tell tale sign that you’re getting closer and closer to reaching cloud nine. “y-yeah? then make me cum, l-let me make a mess on your cock. please.” you plead, the back and forth of your cunt over gojo’s lap tampering with your system by sending orgasmic shockwaves through you.
“i gotcha, anything for you, beautiful. s-shit!” using his free hand, gojo grabs at the fat of your ass and pulls you up and down on his girth — giving him the room to pummel your pussy hard and fast. “you squeeze me real tight when i act all desperate for you.”
“a-aren’t you? o-oh ‘toru, right there!” you exclaim and ask all at once in one high pitched moan, failing to press for an answer while gojo bullies his way through your walls and right up to your womb. your clit smears over his hipbone, painting him with tube dulcet juices.
gojo builds up momentum inside of you, dragging his seedy tip along your ravaged walls from how deep he’s able to get inside of you. “i am… only god knows that i am. fuck, i wanna be yours, want this to last forever,” white starts to froth at the base of his dick, streaking all over your soiled folds as your cunt squirts copious amounts of essence each time his balls clap against you. “think i’m gonna fuckin’ cum, might be inside.”
“satoru please…” your hips stutter above his, choking out gojo’s cock for fear life in an attempt to get him to fill you up to the brim with his seed. you tear up and he barely lets you off his twitching erection.
“i know baby, i fucking know — i’m right there with you. hold onto me. my fucking baby.” with the last of his energy, satoru assaults your pussy with a barrage of desperate thrusts, jerking you about in his lap. that’s all either of you need before you’re thrown over the edge, rendering you limp, cum soaked messes in one another’s arms. the ropes in your lower tummy, that have been burning this entire time, finally begins to unravel.
the world around you blurs, your brain fucking lags and you actually fucking squirt. a scream rips through you and burns at the edges of your voice, following through your uncontrollable shakes. clear streams of arousal shoot from your sloppy, dirty cunt and pool in satoru’s dress pants — soaking him to the bone.
“that’s it baby, give it to me. all of it, make a mess — want it all over me.” satoru goads hoarsely, losing control of his thrusts until they become uncoordinated and lackadaisical. “a-ah! oh! holy shit, mmm ‘m cumming baby. f-for you…” the aftershocks of your high and little twitches from your heavenly hole trigger the white haired man’s orgasm. right before his release, his hand reaches up from toying with your sex to grab at your sapphire pendant — using the chain to yank you up into a sensual lip lock that seals his fate, practically pulling it off of you while you make out through his high.
hot, sticky and thick ropes of white seed spill into you — there’s even so much of it that it overflows from your tiny entrance and oozes against your raw mound. you’re still cumming, forcing satoru out of you while he continues to flood your womb — what doesn’t make it is left to smear over your thighs and poofy dress, glazing you in viscous cum.
still releasing in spurts, satoru carefully pulls out of you and leans back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall so that you slump against his chest — relaxed. warm content simmers in the air between your maze of limbs and you leak against one another sweetly.
“so much for fixing your necklace,” satoru jests over the static itching at your brain while you come down from your earth-shattering high.
you offer him up a dopey smile, all of the tension from earlier on in the night melting away when you look at him. “we’ll have to hide it from suguru, so he doesn’t notice. we’ve been gone for a while too.” no matter what gojo puts you through, it’s always worth it for the way he makes you feel after sex.
warm, cherished and cared for.
just like suguru would want you to be.
“well, whose fault is that, little one?” a chaste kiss is pressed against your hairline as satoru helps you to sit up in his lap — drawing back slightly to give you a once over and mirroring the way you grin at him with a toothy smirk. “little miss ‘we don’t have time.’ — i’ll have to fix your make up, can’t have you walking back out there like i’ve just rocked your shit.”
despite his crude words, satoru’s gesture makes your chest bristle with happiness. “you’re an idiot, satoru gojo.”
“an idiot that you adore. an idiot who you like way too much,” he fires back childishly. “c’mere, let me get rid of the mess i made of you.”
you do, like him too much, a little too much for your own good.
it’s twisted, the mere fact that satoru has such a hold on your heart that you can’t seem to escape no matter how hard you try— and it only worsens when he’s good to you like this. so good with the way he helps you clean up, tends to your ruffled dress, redoes your smudged makeup and jokes with you while he dries his sex stained pants under the hand drier before you go back out to meet your family.
you’re a love sick fool when it comes to him.
and you have no idea how much that’s going to change.
suguru geto was not an idiot.
his numerous academic accolades are enough evidence of that. in highschol he graduated with a GPA of 4.0% which only escalated by the time he got to college — which was like a breeze to him. by the time he’d finished his four year degree, there was an industry opportunity waiting for geto on the other side of all of his hard work and efforts.
it pleased him to know that people thought highly of his skills, appreciated the knit and grit and blood, sweat and tears he put into his work. he had a passion for seeking the truth, discovering the reasons and meanings for people’s actions — it was suguru’s calling. that’s why he became a criminal defence lawyer.
why do people do what they do? why do people lie? why do people run and hide?
with all of suguru geto’s smarts and analytical skills — his ability it to think critically, you would think he’d have it all figured out by now.
suguru geto was not stupid.
so why is it that he can’t figure out what’s wrong with you? why you’ve been so skittish and why this entire night? he knows you, his baby sister, like you were his own flesh and blood. like you were the back of his slightly calloused and hard working hand. you may have been adopted, you may not share the same DNA but suguru has lived with you and been raised with you long enough to know how your genetic code reacts to certain pressures and scenarios and situations.
you’re his little sister for christ’s sake.
as you make your way back to your family’s designated table, weaving between pedigree bred children and their families, waiters and waitresses working tired on their feet — he notices how the tension you’d been experiencing the whole night has suddenly dissipated from your body as if it were never there. your shoulders have dropped, your movements flow as loosely as your baby blue cupcake dress does, your eyes are bright and full of an energy suguru has only seen once in someone else.
another soul he’s grown up with.
the very idea makes him feel ill, the food on his plate suddenly becoming unappealing and bitter against the insides of his mouth. you’re not… you would never…
“hi,” you greet the table tentatively, the corners of your cocoa painted lips quirking up into a small smile. “did i miss anything?”
suguru forgoes answering you to ask his own question. “where have you been?”
the chatter at your table dies down only just as your parents register your presence with the group once more — joining in on your conversation with your brother like a car merging lanes.
“oh! i was just in the bathroom… you know, girl stuff. powdering my nose.” you offer up as an excuse, twirling the end of your curled braids between your gentle fingers. a habit your brother knows you’ve picked up when you’re shy, yet, content. “you know how it goes.”
his dark eyes sweep over your face. suguru doesn’t know much about make-up, just that you like doing it. he had been the one to get you your first eyeshadow palette in your teen years but that’s as far as he goes. everything seems to be in place, perfect, you’re beautiful as you always have been.
but there’s a slight smudge to your lip combo that bleeds just past the curve of your cupid’s bow — out of place enough for geto to notice. the colour is different too. black instead of brown, as if you’ve mixed up the lipsticks in a rush.
suguru tries not to dwell. he really does. dropping the topic and retreating to his dinner plate while you idly chat to your parents about your new job but something in his gut stirs — he remembers something.
gojo is nowhere to be seen and your pendent is missing.
you can’t. you’d never…
as if on cue, the moonlight man returns to the party, loudly pulling out his seat and taking his place next to you once again. gojo’s hair is a mess, much messier than it was before… as if someone had roughed it up with desperate fingers. your chocolaty lip colour is smeared along his neck in deconstructed lip prints as if he’d tried to wash them away, dotted along the collar of his crisp white shirt too. the contrast of the colours make it blatantly obvious what’s been going on too. the silver chain of your necklace hangs freely from his pocket.
“did i miss anything?” he asks casually, despite how not-put-together he looks — much less in comparison to you, who’d returned to dinner first.
it makes geto’s skin itch and crawl, the similarity between your words and gojo’s. he can’t even think to reply, yet the words come tumbling out before he can stop them.
“wouldn’t you like to know,” suguru snaps callously. “where have you been?”
“wanted to see if the little miss made it back to the table alright.” gojo lies smoothly, resting a large hand on your shoulder. geto notes the way he strokes your neck with his thumb. “you know how she is, clueless without suguru, right?”
your parents and gojo burst out into charmed laughter, adding to the bustle and ambience of the restaurant. suguru’s face only sours as your father chime’s in next. “this one probably raised her better than i did. he was so excited to have a little sister, wouldn’t go anywhere without her.” it’s the alcohol that causes your father to blurt out the embarrassing memory — it’s sweet and cherished, but does nothing to help ease your brother’s boiling fury as he’s patted on the back by his dad.
pet like a dog getting a treat.
a reward for taking care of you all these years.
“yeah, raised her to be smart and proper. that’s why she’s a graduate and not mooching off of us anymore.” geto seethes from your left.
from your right, satoru reaches for his crystal glass for a drink — only to realise that it’s empty. he next reaches for the bottle of moscato ordered for the table, and pours some for himself until it levels out at the rim of his glass. “ouch suguru, way to hit a man where it hurts,” your ‘boyfriend’ whines petulantly, sipping the surface of his drink. “you know i work for dad now, you’d be so proud. still making money, not mooching off of his.”
you fiddle with your cutlery, the silverware awkwardly clattering against your plate while you finish off the steak you’d ordered. then, your mother breaks the tension.
“does anybody want to order dessert?”
satoru is quick to jump on her distraction train — enthusiastically nodding his head with silver locks flying about the place. “oh you know me, ma. i love a sweet lil’ thing, got a huge sweet tooth.” satoru chirps excitedly — as chipper as can be.
“that you do dear boy, pick out anything you’d like.” your dad says in turn.
the silver haired stray at your table pretends to ponder before clapping his hands together — causing both you and geto to jerk at the sound.
“daifuku!”
“oh, that’s been a recent favourite of our little girl’s, hasn't it darling?” mum gushes proudly. “reminds me so much of her.”
the anxiety in the back of your mind spikes to an all time high as your dragged into the conversation once more — suguru hot on your trail, close to uncovering it all. you shrink under the burning gazes of everyone at the table — your lover, your parents and your brother. satoru, of course, takes amusement in knowing you crave his favourite sweet even when you’re apart. geto is less than impressed.
you nod and gojo lets out a laugh that sets your soul alight and sends a shiver down your spine. “that’s right, our girl is just the sweetest little thing.” he praises you, resting his cheek on a closed fist, gojo’s elbow sitting comfortably on the table while he stares over at you dreamily.
suguru geto was not a fool.
he could see right through the happenings before his very eyes. the way you looked up at satoru, your expression docile and pure, dark eyes glimmering and brimming with so much idolisation and worship for satoru, it was a look suguru had seen many times before. it was a look previously saved only for him — from little sister to older brother.
you stare up at gojo like he holds all of the world’s secrets, like he could keep you safe from any and all types of harm, like you love him.
“i’ll have what he’s having,” geto hears you murmuring airily, but there’s static ringing in his ears and red flashing before his eyes — he’s that pissed off at his sudden realisation.
it’s only when his gaze flits to his best friend, his one and only, satoru gojo that the dam breaks and all of suguru’s emotions and epiphanies from the night come bursting out in shades of white hot fury. because satoru matches your expression, his blue ocean eyes drown you in love and he looks as though he’s won the fucking lottery. hazily and smugly grinning at you while the table discusses desserts.
the final puzzle piece that suguru has been looking for clicks into place.
it all hits him like a truck.
“oh you slick motherfucker…” suguru growls slowly, his words fighting through their prison of his gritted pearly white teeth. the syllables and their sound contrast heavily with the abrupt way in which your darker haired sibling stands from his chair — almost sending it flying to the floor as he slams a fist down onto the table. his other hand points accusingly towards your lover, and everyone’s attention falls on him.
“suguru what are you—?”
“you fucked her. didn’t you?”
expressions of incredulousness morph on the faces of your dinner guests ( yourself included ), shocked by geto’s bellowing voice and stone cold glare. not to mention the callousness of his words. he knows. and it’s like you’ve been doused in a bucket of ice water. he knows what you and satoru have been up to, the smoke has cleared and you can no longer hide from him.
“suguru geto, mind your manners!” one of your parents snaps, but you can’t quite place the voice — every sound in the restaurant blurs into one and your head swims with a dangerous mix of panic and alcohol. he knows. your mind screams, the pink and squishy organ dully thumping against it’s calcium cage — your skull.
“fuck manners,” he barks, suguru’s mouth beginning to froth like a dog rabid with rabies. his face hardens as if it’s been set in stone, while a storm clouds geto’s previously welcoming eyes. “answer my question, satoru.”
innocently, yet with an air of confidence and patronisation, gojo tilts his head to the side like that of a puppy — his bright white teeth put on display as he smiles slow and softly as if to diffuse the situation with his charm. “i don’t know what you’re talking about—“
“bullshit!” suguru fires back, his wrath beginning to boil over the edge like the restaurant’s signature slow cooked stew. he begins to roll up the white sleeves of his dress shirt — as if he’s preparing for a fight. one with his best friend. once the material is snug around the bulge in his bicep, your brother slams his hands down on the table once again, causing heads to turn and cutlery to clatter about the place. “that’s fucking bullshit satoru and you know it. i can see it on you. i can smell it on you.”
in all your years of living with the geto family, becoming a part of it and finding your sense of belonging with them — you’ve never seen your brother this angry, let alone see such red hot rage directed at someone he cares about. someone you care about too.
“sugu,” you whimper and stand, trying to direct his attention away from your lover boy. “suguru it’s okay. it’s not what it looks like—!”
another slam of his hands on the table slices through your meek words — causing you to jump out of your skin.
swirling black eyes hideous with anger and upset switch their attention to you — tearing you apart underneath their judgemental gaze. suguru has never looked at you like that. he’s always been so good to you, never been mad at you without cause or at least let you seen so. that was until today.
“i wasn’t fucking talking to you. sit down and keep quiet. let your big brother handle this.” geto spits, the pain of his worded venom shooting painfully to your heart — causing tears to sting at your waterline.
“don’t fucking talk to her like that.” satoru keeps his voice low, in a tone you’ve only ever heard him use with the guys hitting on you at college. it’s dark and threatening, but most of all, protective. protective over you. you never thought it would be thrown at suguru. he stands up too while you sink back down, catching a glimpse of your parents’ worried stares from across the table.
onlookers in the restaurant are no different.
“so, you think you can speak for her now? since when did you two get so close, hm? did you two fuck? did i hit a sore spot, gojo? ” a rich, sarcastic laugh reverberates from geto’s vocal chords. the whole scenario is…entertaining to him. his best friend, his brother of all people, fucking with his little sister — knowing how it would make him feel.
there’s a beat of silence across the dinner table, consisting of nothing but death glares and heaving chests.
but then all of a sudden, satoru leans forward with his palms pressed flat against the table’s surface — a sick smile twisting on his ever-soft and glossy pink lips as he jeers back at the younger male, taunting suguru.
“oh i’ve been hitting her spots alright.”
you feel like you’ve been doused in cold once again, the blood that had been flushing to your face, now freezing in your veins. the fact that satoru would reveal intimate details of your love or sex life to the light of day (let alone your older brother) should make you fall ill. yet, in some sick and twisted way it makes butterflies flap their dainty wings in your lower tummy.
because he’s admitting it, that he wants to be with you, to suguru’s face.
“we’ve been closer than you could have ever imagined, suguru. nice and close, she outta have been swallowing me down.” satoru doubles down, because once he starts running his mouth, he can never stop.
stopping them both now would be futile. but your parents are watching, other guests and staff are watching. it’s humiliating. having the two men you care about most go at each other like this. “satoru!” you squeal, desperate.
“oh you nasty motherfucker. so you did sleep with my sister.” geto growls before turning to you, furious. “how long? and don’t you dare lie to me.”
“s-sugu, please. not here.” you start with a trembling voice, tears slipping down your cheeks freely while you look between the two men.
“i said how long!”
the way your brother raises his voice at you causes you to flinch back into your shell and for satoru to push his way between you both protectively. he would never let you get hurt, he had promised you that. even if he had done so himself. he wasn’t about to let suguru wound you too.
“y’got cotton between your ears or something, suguru?” satoru makes himself tall and intimidating, towering over suguru. it was something that worked with everyone, scared them off from the person that was his and the one that he loved — you. but suguru wasn’t buying that act. “i said. stop. fucking. talking to her like that.” each of his menacing words are punctuated by a shove to your brother’s chest, each one taking a swing at your heart. you hate to see them hurting each other, you hate being in the middle of it all. suguru takes it all, as if he’s numb from the news, staggering back into another family’s table — causing their glasses and dishes to collide and clatter about until it stops and gojo grabs at the collar of geto’s shirt. “if you’re gonna be mad and yell at someone, be mad at me.”
satoru adjusts his grip on your brother, but his blue eyes beg for him to let it go. for you to all go home and figure this out somewhere else.
suguru just can’t. his mind can’t wrap around the idea that you’ve been leaning on someone else this whole time — using someone else. sleeping with his best friend all this time. it’s not in his nature to be violent, geto has been perfect all his life and never veered from the correct path. he would never hit anyone. he’s never felt the urge to put his hands on someone, unlike satoru. but in that moment, looking at his best friend and feeling the blood pour from the open wound in his chest.
exasperated by the stab wound to the back, from both you and satoru.
“you’re right,” the words taste like acid on suguru’s tongue as he grasps at gojo’s own collar with his green hand. never in a million years did he picture himself hating someone he loved with his whole heart. it physically pains him to even think about resenting you. it makes his vision shake and bleed with a dark red, he feels so irrevocably angry that he might hurt someone. “it’s you i should be pissed with.”
geto moves without thinking, every fibre of his being reverting back to man’s natural instinct as his fist connects harshly with the underside of gojo’s chin. the taller of the two stumbles back in shock — thick and temperate scarlet coating his pearly white teeth from where he’s bitten down on his tongue along with the force. satoru barely has time to react not before suguru is on him again; landing another punch square in his face — accompanied by a sickening crack.
your brother grabs at your lover, shaking him by the lapels of his now bloodied suit and you scream loud enough to lower the temperature of the dining hall and fill it with chills because suguru has always told you to look away from violence. and this time you couldn’t.
you couldn’t bare to look away from those beautiful blue eyes as they took a hit for you.
satoru sways backwards and forwards, clearly stunned at the force behind his best friend’s fists. he damn near collapses into the table behind him, causing the onlookers to yelp and cry out at his injured state. he’s got a busted lip, bruised cheeks and nose and he’s still the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.
“fuck, suguru!” gojo’s voice wobbles, he sounds wounded. both inside and out. “what the fuck?” eventually, he grounds himself, tongue darting out to lick the patch of crimson at the corner of his lip. he swipes his bloody nose on the back of his hand too — steeling his already hard, azure eyes.
“you deserved it. pulling this shit with my sister? are you fucking insane? you could have had anyone else—“ suguru cracks his knuckles, shaking them out.
you feel as though you’re in the middle of a battle — one for your honour. words that leave battle scars are thrown from both gojo and geto on each side, swords of male ego clash at the centre and you’re nothing but a defenceless damsel in distress. what could you possibly do against the both of them? you think to throw yourself in between the two men as gojo stalks his way over to your brother in three scarily short strides…but your mother quickly wraps her arms around your shoulders and hugs you to her chest — keeping you away from the fight.
your father takes a stance in front of you both — he would interfere, but he’s not as young and as agile as he used to be. he’d get his teeth knocked in if he did.
“stop it! p-please! satoru don’t—!” you screech and wail to him over the commotion of the gathering crowds. he ignores your calls, acting on his free will as satoru’s throws his own punch — another scream tears through the chamber of your chest just from witnessing suguru’s head snap to the side from its power. “suguru!”
“fuck. you, gojo.” your brother slurs, wiping his own bleeding nose on the sleeve of his white shirt.
“fuck you right back, geto.”
you did this. you caused this. if you had just heeded your brother’s advice, he wouldn’t be losing a friend. you wouldn’t be losing someone you loved. you should have stayed away, you should have—
“i should have never trusted you!” comes your brother’s vicious snarl, somehow managing to squirm free of satoru’s grip and using the last of his strength to push the silver haired male to the smooth marble.
satoru doesn’t move, just barely managing to protect his head from the fall. he’s still bleeding, light headed but powered by his desire to protect you. kill for you. “i know! but we couldn’t help it! it just happened!”
suguru turns to you. “did he take advantage of you? ever? how long has this been a thing?”
“n-no! never! s-satoru would never!” you gulp back a choked sob, hoping to put an end to the madness. stop the shattered glass and the people staring and the punches being thrown. you’re a terrible liar, geto knows that. he can see right through your thinly veiled lies — satoru isn’t the type to just want someone. it comes with a price, the pieces of your heart worth more than gold to your brother. of course… at first it had been that way, satoru took what he wanted. but nowadays it feels different. feels like more.
“t-two years. it was…it was all me. i-im the one who said i liked him first. i always have.” you continue slowly, hoping for the smallest twinkle of mercy in geto’s eyes. “please sugu…please. this… this is enough. just leave him alone. i’ll never talk to him again just…stop.”
throughout your whole speech, tears and all, suguru remains towering over your boyfriend with both of their chests heaving, both of their shirts ripped and bloody. you think, for a moment, he might leave it at that — suguru will take your hand, lead you out of the restaurant and that’ll be it. satoru will be spared and you’ll have sacrificed your feelings for him to save their friendship.
however, the tears that drip down the apples if your cheeks and streak through your makeup aren’t enough. they’re not enough to provide a barrier to gojo’s selfishness — even at his lowest, quite literally (lying weakly underneath suguru), he still thinks he can have it all. both you and his friend.
“t-that shit’s not true. she was a game to me at first—“ he begins to say, causing hurt to flash across your chest and for you to fall to your knees despite being in your mother’s unsteady grip.
he doesn’t get to finish for geto takes the opportunity to straddle gojo — unleashing hit after hit on him like a meteor shower of pain. you don’t think he’ll stop until his knuckles are split.
“suguru! s-stop it!” you cry.
people scream just like you but don’t interfere. you don’t even care that they’re staring, you don’t care what they think, all you care about are their well-being.
to your relief, satoru finds an interval — latching onto his ‘ex’ best friend’s wrists with the last of his energy, effectively stopping him from landing anymore punches. “c-christ suguru, let me fucking finish,” satoru gargles on the blood pooling in his perfect, chatty mouth — using his grasp on suguru to push him into sitting on the floor too. “maybe if you did, you wouldn’t have missed this part,” the older of the two, gojo, spits the nasty mix of spit and blood at the younger’s feet — using a second to regain his breath. he spares a second to look at you, shaking on your knees desperate to touch him and see if he’s okay. you don’t know. you still don’t know just how much satoru gojo is willing to sacrifice for you. you have no idea how much he loves you. so he says it. profoundly and loudly.
“… missed the part where i fell in love with her. hard and fast. couldn’t even tell i was falling.”
geto slumps back on his knees, dropping his bruised and cut up knuckles between them with defeat. your entire body sags in relief, until you’re a mess of crumpled clothes, bones and tears.
he’s never told you that before. that he loves you.
“god, satoru…fuck!” suguru exclaims, clearly exasperated. his rage has simmered to a stop, with only angst and anguish filling the air in his lungs. he’s realised now what this means. he’ll never look at you or the satoru the same. the two people he loves most on this god forsaken earth. “she’s my little sister!”
he sounds like he’s about to cry.
“i know.”
“you watched her grow up! we grew up together!”
“i know.”
“you’re five years older than her!”
“i know, goddamn it!” satoru finally breaks the loop, his voice heavy with pain and exhaustion. “but i love her and i can’t help that. neither of us can.”
in the moment of silence that passes, where the audience calms down and suguru steps away from a bloody and beaten satoru — you rush to his side, sliding across the marble floor in your pretty dress to help your lover sit up properly. suguru looks down at you in desolation, his brows creased in the centre of his forehead unhappily. the expression makes you hug gojo’s head to your shoulder tightly in your own protective stance — crimson bleeding across blue fabric like ink in water, forming a hollow shade of purple.
“she’s my little sister…” geto repeats solemnly, as if he’s watching your child-like innocence fade away in real time. he’s been looking out for you for so long that he’s failed to see what an adult you’ve become. it doesn’t make the betrayal hurt any less, though. “she’s…she’s still a kid.” he adds, swallowing the lump in his throat. “and now you’re fucking her?”
satoru shakes his head, easing himself from your grip as though to show you that he’s strong. strong enough for the both of you. “it’s not like that, and she’s not a kid anymore. she’s twenty two, suguru! she doesn’t need you watching over her like some fucking hawk anymore. she can fuck me or whoever the fuck she wants.”
and even though satoru is right — you hate that they both talk about you as if you’re not even there or autonomous enough to defend yourself.
“but you know better.” geto goes on, his own defence becoming weaker and weaker — disintegrating like paper in water.
“we both do!” finally finding your voice, you stand up from your position on the floor cradling satoru and move to stand in front of your brother — grabbing his hands with pleading doe eyes and tears on your cheeks. “w-we’re both adults who made the mistake of getting involved with each other behind your back. but we don’t have to fight this out like children…please just give us a chance, sugu. talk to him. talk to me. y-your little sister…”
geto sags again, he looks tired, but accepts your affection without a trace of doubt or hatred. he thumbs the backs of your hands, dark obsidian eyes gazing into your soul like a galaxy of black holes. your deep chocolatey eyes are met with a stare full of trust and admiration — something familiar, something that fills you with temporary relief.
you like to think that you know suguru geto.
he’s the smartest and most rational man you’ve ever met. your brother has always been kind and tender, takes the time to really listen to people and think things through step by step. he never acts on instinct or brashness. those are all things you know about him.
you like to think that your older sibling knows you too.
that he would look at you and see your truth, how much you care for gojo and how you didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.
clearly, neither of you know each other as well as you once thought.
he sees gojo from over your shoulder, and the same sense of white hot betrayal washes over the dark haired man like an acid bath. he rips his hands away from yours as if he’s touched molten lava and you’ve scalded the palms of his hands in which he used to love you, care for you and raise you.
a pained sound gargles in your throat as geto pulls away from you — his own mature, handsome face, equally as distraught. “i can’t,” he mumbles quietly. “not right now. i’m sorry.” his warmth is gone before you know it and he’s grabbing his belongings from your dinner table, bowing in apology to guests and staff and your parents.
“suguru!” you gasp, tears stinging at your eyes once again. “suguru wait!”
geto presses his thick, black leather wallet to your mother’s chest as he passes your parents, his suit coat half slung over his shoulder. “use the black card to cover the bill for dinner and pay for the meals of the families who’s tables we destroyed. i’ll take care of any damages too — the owner was a client of mine.” he tells her softly, kissing her forehead.
“suguru— your sister!”
he doesn’t turn back as he pushes his way through the crowd in order to reach the exit. “she’s old enough to look after herself, right?”
“suguru please.”
you will yourself to chase after him, every cell in your body screaming at you to move while your heart and mind long for you to stay by satoru’s side.
you’re conflicted, you don’t know who to choose.
and maybe it’s satoru’s selfishness, maybe he’s the one to blame for the rift in yours and suguru’s relationship — because when he succumbs to the bleeding and the injuries, and someone aside from you screams for an ambulance, you can’t bring yourself to leave him.
like a bird in a cage, you’re trapped by satoru’s love.
or perhaps he was just taking advantage of your weak little heart like always.
being at home is supposed to bring you comfort, there’s nothing like it.
your home is like a safe, full of precious memories locked away with a key that only you possess. if you push through the door you’re met with a gust of nostalgia — the sounds of childlike laughter as undertones to scolding parental voices. as you drift down the halls there’s works of art made with crayola ink on the walls, and sometimes there’s tears in that one little spot at the top of your stairs.
spices from your favourite home cooked meal burning on the stove top usually waft throughout the place, calming you down and filling you with warmth. you can’t remember a time where the smells and aromatics of your home have failed to bring you back down to earth. they trigger waves of fondness and flashbulb memories of your father teaching you and suguru as siblings how to cook whenever your mother fell ill.
your home not only hosts heartfelt conversations between four people who love each other, but it speaks too. it would creak and groan and squeak with every step you took deeper inside, with each time you ran through it while being chased by your brother.
every single one of these moments, these sounds and scents they’re all part of a precious network that make up the foundation of your home. plaster made of love and bricks born from happiness, all glued together by layers of forgiveness in the form of concrete. it’s a house full of happiness, your home is. made by your parents, suguru and you.
but right now you feel as if the roof of your home has caved in.
you’ve been sitting outside of suguru’s bedroom for hours now. your pretty dress soaked in blood and your face in your own tears. you can hear him on the other side of the door — he’s talking to someone, no doubt looking for last minute flights or begging for one of his client’s private jets. and you’re terrified because if he leaves like this you might never speak to one another again.
you don’t want that, you can’t have that.
you wonder where he might go — if it’ll be some place you always planned to visit together when you were old enough. a trip abroad was something geto had promised you if you graduated. now here you were. graduated but without your big brother by your side. Paris, London, New York — all places you were meant to explore with your eldest sibling by your side.
though at this very moment, he was all the way on the other side of a door he had no intention of opening.
it’s like the entire world has collapsed and caved in on you — there’s a hole starting to form in your heart that only suguru can fill and until today, as he begins to pull away from you, you hadn’t realised how much space in your life he had occupied. you leaned heavily on your brother, he shielded you from experiences like this time and time again, and all you could do in return is fuck his best friend.
some grateful little sister you are.
your face burns with a fresh set of tears, hot at the centre and underneath the fat of your eye bags. you’re so dependent on him, you wonder how you’ll cope when you move cities and start a real life outside of the shelter your brother had worked so hard to build for you. the very idea makes your insides twist and stomach turn. you’re not even sure if geto will want to keep in touch with you once either of you are gone.
leaning against his door, you paw at your wet face — hoping and praying that he’ll hear you out. that he won’t leave you, because without suguru you have no one.
wait… that’s not true.
there’s still satoru. if he even wants you after all of this. if you even want him.
why is it that he chose this way to confess his love for you? why is it that he dragged you away from a family dinner to fuck you instead of just being honest? why was satoru so selfish?
he hurt you over and over again — left mental scars on you and treated them like open wounds, adding salt and citrus and whatever would sting just to make sure you kept on needing him and only him. he hurt you to make sure you loved him back and you’re sure he had no idea. there’s an underlying guilt coursing through the blood in your system — guilt in letting satoru take all of the blame for falling out with suguru. especially when he defended you against your brother’s switch up and acidic, toxic words. especially when he’s posted up in a hospital bed for his battle wounds — split lip, possible concussion, bruised eye sockets.
your white haired lover had tried to be brave for you when you’d left him at the hospital to come home and change. there was terror evident in each dark blue fleck in his baby blue eyes, anxiety wrapping around his heart at the idea of you just leaving him there. he thought you would be leaving him forever.
fuck. gojo was good to you, in so many bad ways. you wished that you’d never met him, that you’d never fallen for him either.
before your mind is fully able to slip away to your lover boy, the door to suguru’s bedroom clicks open softly — forcing you to scoot away from him so that he has room to step out. neither of you move — frozen in time like marble statues carved millennia ago. you look a mess and suguru looks like a clean slate. where your dress is blood and snot stained, your makeup smeared and eyes puffy — your older brother has been washed free of tonight’s grime, his cuts are plastered over and his knuckles bandaged. not a single dark, obsidian tendril of his hair is out of place either — perfectly tied back into his signature bun.
most importantly, there’s not a trace of bitterness on his face — almost as if the events of tonight never even happened.
as if you never ruined his friendship with gojo or ruined his perception of you — his little sister.
yet, there’s a glum sort of gleam to his dark eyes, he’s tired — he’s been thinking too hard, going through every step over and over again trying to piece together what he missed. why would you hide this from him? you hate how lost suguru looks. that you did this to him too.
he doesn’t want to fight, not with you. not after satoru.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, shifting to sit on your knees in front of him — as if you’re about to bow for geto’s forgiveness. “i should have never… i didn’t mean to—“ you pick at stray pieces of skin by the bed of your nails, flailing for words as you slip under the surface of your painstaking emotions. “i’m…i’m…”
geto crouches down to your height, using one hand to wipe the tears from your big bambi eyes and another to tilt your chin up towards him gently. “sorry.” he finishes for you, flashing you his classic, loving smile. “it’s okay…just give me time.”
you nod shortly, your features twitching as you fight back the urge to cry again.
the older male clicks his tongue and shakes his head, the pad of his thumb swiping under your eyes gently. “oh no, none of that, don’t cry for me.” as always, suguru comforts you and tends to you like a flower in need of nurture. “i’m sorry too, little one.”
“a-are you leaving?”
“for a little while.”
your face crumples once again. “suguru—“ comes your childish huff as he stands — but before the elder geto can get very far, you latch onto his wrist in one last clingy attempt.
suguru shakes his head one more time, more vigorously as if he’s trying to get rid of his own tears — knowing that if he lets you continue and beg him to stay, he won’t have the chance he needs to heal. “i can’t. i need time,” your brother says firmly, almost as if he’s scolding you. “you can’t expect me to get over it just like that. it’s not fair.”
you’re fully aware of that, selfishly choosing to ignore the fact — just like satoru would. life isn’t fair, so you suppose this is life’s own way of punishing you for hurting your brother and causing him grief.
“sugu, please don’t go.”
“give me a few weeks, a few months even, and i’ll come back. i promise.” he sighs in response, practically begging you at this point. it kills him to leave his younger sibling just as much as it kills you to see him go. however, every time suguru lays his eyes upon you, all he feels is betrayal and loss. all he can see is his best friend’s hands ruining you. corrupting you. it almost makes suguru resent you, for taking a bite of an apple from the snake he’d warned you about. hating you is the last thing suguru wants. “i can do that for you because you’re my little sister. because i love you and deep down, you’re everything to me. but i just need to get over this first.”
it’s because you’re his little sister that he’s even able to look at you. if you were anyone else, if you were satoru, dinner would have been it.
“‘m sorry,” you whimper for the millionth time, in defeat, weakly allowing suguru to help you onto your feet. every fibre of your being tingles with the need to hug him, soothe him in the ways he would do for you — though you know better. that’s not what he needs right now. geto needs you to let him go.
“i know,” geto hums sadly. he tucks your braids behind your ear, thumbing your cheek affectionately “you should go to bed, it’s getting late.”
he presses a lingering kiss into the baby hairs on the crown of your head as he softly grips your arms — using them to rotate you both until his back is to the door and yours is to the looming hallway.
“goodnight,” you sniff meaningfully. a nostalgic feeling rushes over you, a sense of déjà vu — reminding you of the time when suguru first left for college.
suguru smiles again, disappearing into his room with a whispered. “goodnight, little one.”
and with that, he’s gone.
you only hope that he’ll make good on his promise, forgive you and come back.
because as the saying goes — if you love someone let them go.
and if they come back to you, then they’re yours.
after a hot shower, you find yourself taking heed of suguru’s advice and retreat back to the confines of your bedroom.
childlike walls covered in ugly green no longer make you laugh or provide you with an uplifting and evocative solace. instead, you feel more cold and alone, desperate to leave this life behind and move on to bigger and better things.
things that suguru had helped you to achieve.
while the scalding hot water had washed away any bloody stains from the night, any tears left on your cheeks — it did nothing to get rid of the slimy, gross feeling that you couldn’t seem to reach. it spread underneath the surface of your skin like wildfire through a forest, over each crack and crevice in your mind, slipped through the gaps in your rib cage to target your lungs like a respiratory attack. it was the shame, the guilt and the grief for someone you’d lost who was still alive. all three emotions plagued you.
once safely behind your own bedroom door, shutting out your feelings about the night (after only half of them had swirled down the drain), you rest against its wooden frame — watching the droplets that were clinging to your supple skin drop to the ground as if they were the tears you didn’t feel like crying anymore.
the towel around your exhausted frame drops to your ankles as you lethargically search your dresser for your favourite cocoa butter moisturiser. you work in silence, soothing the night’s wounds as you prepare for bed like your bother had said. you slip on a set of pyjamas, tie your braids back with silk scrunchies and just as you hit the lights — there’s a knock at your window.
you don’t move, waiting to see if it’s your imagination or your mind playing tricks on you again.
but then, there’s another dull thud and you whip around from your dresser to meet a pair of clear-sky blue eyes that catch light under the shining moon does enough to illuminate every curve and slope to his dainty features. gojo looks a little compared to when you left him in the hospital — whatever fluids they’ve given him have helped with the hollow, purple-ish dark circles under his eyes. a few cuts still litter the angelic curve to satoru’s face,
clutching the centre of your chest from under your sweatshirt (in an attempt to calm your beating heart) — you rush towards the source of the noise, tugging the latches of your window open. “satoru,” you breathe, your entire body going lax once you realise who it is.
“hey you,” he grins, holding onto the upper body panel of the window while he waits for your permission to come in. even though your room is dark, painted with tendrils of pitch black, the silvering moon does enough to highlight each cut or slash across his pretty face. “missed you.”
slowly, you reach out to touch him. a single fingertip slides across gojo’s sharp jaw, so sharp that it could cut diamonds, before you angle his head from side to side — inspecting the injuries that hardly do anything to dampen his beauty.
“can i come inside?” gojo asks cautiously. “it’s kinda cold out here.”
blinking, you snap out of your reverie and shift backwards on your bed to make space for satoru to come through. he crawls into your room quietly like he’s done many times before, sneaking over to see you during your breaks from university, and shuts the window behind him.
the both of you stand still in the dark, hardly able to see each other, hardly able to tell what the other is thinking. satoru wonders if you hate him, if this is it for you and he. should he touch you? would you let him?
and as for you, you’re stuck between a rock and hard place. your body, as always, calls for gojo — yearns to be near him as if you haven’t seen one another in a millennia. you know that he’s right there, you can hear his shallow and ragged breathing (probably from climbing up to your window) just centimetres away. he’s done so much to hurt you, ruin you… and yet you can’t seem to resist him or stay away from him when you know that you should.
“i figured you’d want this back, that’s why i came.” gojo mumbles, dangling the chain of your necklace in front of you. you reach out to take it and your boyfriend lets go, but the jewellery hits the ground and you ignore it’s metallic clatter.
“satoru gojo…” you whimper, instead, taking a step forward into the void — your hands touch on his tiny waist before travelling upwards over his creased button up shirt to settle at the silver haired man’s broad shoulders. he groans low at the feeling of your nails raking across them from over the fabric, reaching higher to scratch at his scalp through the baby hairs on his neck. even though satoru remains stiff and hesitant at first, it’s an intimate moment, you’re hardly able to see each other while being pressed so close together — desperate and longing. gojo finally relaxes and grabs the fat at your waist, pulling your hips flush against his own.
you stand on your tiptoes and use your grip on his hair to tug gojo down to your height — your lips a breath’s width away from each other. he’s so close that you can feel his breath coast along the seams of your lips.
“what have you done to me?” you finish, whispering.
god, satoru wishes that he knew. he has no idea himself, the kind of power and hold that he has over you. “i don’t fucking know,” he finds himself saying, meeting you the rest of the way as he leans down to capture your mouth in a messy, searing hot kiss. “i don’t wanna know. just let me kiss you.”
“mhm,” you all but whine in reply, wrapping your arms around satoru’s neck as he feverishly licks into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. he feeds you his moans, one by one, pouring his apologies and unspoken words past your lips and into your soul. gojo can’t speak with your tongue in his mouth, he’s spent all night plagued by thoughts of you — wondering if he’d done the right thing by telling suguru, if he should have kept his mouth shut and his hands off you. if he should have done it properly.
he fucks everything up — especially the things that he loves. gojo wouldn’t be surprised if you were done with his bullshit now. he’d make the most of what you’re willing to give him for the moment.
your lips grow sticky with the layers of spit swapped between you and you can taste him on you. in your mouth, on your tongue. he tastes like cold peppermint and wisps of pink wine. he feels like heaven under your fingers, his hair soft like the feathers of god’s favourite angel. you inhale the hint of his aftershave from his clothes, let it drift over your mind as well. he’s toxic, bad for your lungs like a vape or the chemicals from something else addictive. perhaps you’re smelling gasoline, the kind that satoru uses to start a fire in your lower belly.
you shouldn’t be doing this, not again, not here, not with suguru across the hall about to leave you. but you can’t help it, satoru’s become your everything and you feel that you might not be able to live without him too. “satoru,” your arm shoots to wrap around his neck, hardly allowing the man to pull away from you and breathe. your movements are so fast that gojo stumbles and holds you tighter to catch his balance. though it might be because he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “satoru, satoru, satoru please…”
you’ve no idea what you’re even begging for, just chanting his name between bruising kisses, his tongue sloppily gliding over yours while he fights to pull away from your intoxicating lip locks. “don’t beg, baby,” he grunts hot and heavy, dragging a thumb over your swollen lips. “god, please don’t fuckin’ beg. you have no idea what it does to me.”
“but i need you,” closing your lips around the tip of his thumb, you suck gently and it causes satoru to grow weak in the knees — dizzy from the sensation. “and i love you…”
“fuck, i—“ gojo swallows thickly, watching you like a hawk as you suck on him salaciously. “i’m right here…love you too. now jump for me, baby.” comes his loving command, pulling the digit from the prison of your hot mouth. if he could, he’d take a life sentence to stay between your lips.
following gojo’s lead, you leap upwards into his hold — allowing satoru to grope at your fleshy ass as he hoists you up. a pathetic bleat escapes his saliva laden lips when your thighs wrap securely around his waist, pussy slotting against satoru’s crotch while he carries you to sit on your dresser.
after setting you down, satoru places a palm on the mirror above your head, steadying himself as lust and love for you and only you overwhelms him until he’s nothing but a shaky mess. a man that could be brought to his knees with just one look from you. his head drops to your neck, breath balmy against the surface of your skin, long white lashes tickling you there too.
he grows enchanted by your steady pulse, pulled in my each of your little whimpers. a mop of silver hair descends upon your flesh, the taste buds on satoru’s pink, eager tongue mapping out your taste to commit to memory. he wants to remember your flavour forever — treating this as if it’s the last time he’ll ever touch you.
“you…you asked me what it is that i’ve done to you. ‘n i told you that i… fuck, that i didn’t know,” gojo pants, a rosy blush spreading across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. one “but i can tell you exactly what it is that you do to me...” your lover looks down at you like a man drunk or high, facing an addiction he won’t be able to quit. it does something to you, drags crazed sex hormones from your brain right down to your pulsating clit.
the temperature in the room rises, boiling and bubbling — the particles in the air teaming with so much desire, buzzing around with an equal amount of kinetic energy. “you’ve ruined me,” he mumbles wistfully, a man charmed. gojo leaves a wet trail over your pulse point, slowly sinking his teeth into the area. there’s a gentleness to the way that he leaves his mark on you — panting like a wet dog as he does so. “you make me want to take care of you. you’ve got me so fucked up that i can’t tell what’s up or down….” he moans into the sweltering ambience of the room.
satoru forces himself against you and you gasp, head hitting the mirror because you can feel how hard he is against the crotch of your night shorts. “i want to be your everything,” his selfish tendencies seep through into his actions, love bites gojo works against your neck become more prominent and harsher — as if to get his point across or through your head. he wants you to know how much he wants you. “just like i know that i’m yours.”
it’s true. he is.
the very phrase make your hips buck up into his, a wave of slick pooling between your folds as they catch on the print of gojo’s dick. “f-fuck…” the tail end of your words end in a lost whine, too turned on by gojo’s desperation for you. only you.
“i love you,” he whispers, voice silky smooth while continuing to ravish your neck and collar bones with shades of deep purple and blue. gojo’s large hands sneak down to your waistband to pull your shorts off and on instinct, you do the same — a nagging craving for more of him taking over you once again. “like no one before. dunno why i didn’t say it earlier, don’t know why i didn’t wanna show you off.”
satoru tugs your panties to one side, wedging them behind your swollen pussy lips and exposing your quivering mound to the night air. even though the room is dark, he can still see the glisten of your arousal and whines wildly from deep within his chest at the sight — urging you to yank down his boxers too.
circling your hips up to meet his, the both of you hiss in unison as your leaky, sopping sexes come into contact for the second time that night. it feels right. just having the length of gojo’s heavy shaft nestled between your sticky folds — it’s natural, as if you’re made for one another despite fate not wanting you to be together. his tip spurts early traces of precum against your slit in another form of marking, hot and creamy against you while the scent of sex begins to waft through the air.
it’ll never matter how much you try to resist satoru, for as long as he’s around, you’ll fall into this twisted little routine — a repeat offence of betraying your brother. your nails come up to dig crescent moons into his milky toned and strong arms, gritting your teeth at the pleasure beginning to wash over and drown you. “s-shit baby—“ gojo mewls through a pout, finally giving up on biting and sucking at your neck to rest his sweaty forehead against your own. “just wanna be good to you…wanna be enough for you. p-promise i’ll give my everything just t’be the one takin’ care of you.”
satoru slurs his words but the very promise sounds like a dream for you. it’ll be everything you’ve ever wanted out of the man, all you’ve ever asked for in all these two years of fucking around. to be equals, to be his partner for the world to see. although, a tiny seed of doubt begins to sprout in the back of your mind — you’re not even sure if it’s true, if satoru’s just making empty promises to get you like this, to manipulate you into staying after messing everything up with your brother.
could he take care of you like suguru did? could you trust him to do that?
your jaw goes slack as gojo drags his hips back and forth, back and forth, the pretty blue veins wrapped around his cock running over your clit — stimulating you into a weakened stupor. milky droplets of pre glaze the length of your dripping cunt, satoru rubbing it in the more he grinds into you.
the dance of your bodies is toxic and never ending, the way you rock into each other in perfect harmony causing your dresser to delicately thud against your bedroom walls. “d-do you promise, ‘toru?” you gasp, biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, as though to stop yourself from crying out loud from the electric current of pleasure he gives you. “y-you have to promise me.”
silvery white brows knit together in the centre of satoru’s forehead, making him look pathetic. his hand forces it’s way between both of your tight and tangled limbs to grab hold of his bright red an, bulbous cockhead and circle it against your pulsating clit — dragging it up and down until it grazes your hole.
he damn near chokes on a glob of spit when you unconsciously clench around him — a loud simper bubbling up on the edge of his pretty pink lips. you’re quick to lean forward, practically slamming a hand over satoru’s eager mouth to keep him quiet.
“p-promise me.” you repeat wetly, panting out the syllables as his dick slots perfectly against your wetness — both of you move with vigour and hushed whimpers and moans, satoru chasing after your soused sex like a hungry animal. you feel like you’re going fucking insane beneath him, watching as his tie to sanity starts to dissolve into thin air just from the way your pissy drips all over him with treacle-like juices.
no one on this earth could make satoru gojo give this up. give you up. not your parents, not his, not your brother. he’d rather die than let another person have you in the way that he does right now, where you rut your hips into his in one fluid motion. even if his heart breaks and his muscles ache — he can’t…he won’t stop giving you his all, won’t stop making you see fucking stars.
a pressure begins to build just above your pelvis — brought forth by gojo bullying your pleasure nub with his sopping dick. it’s obvious how close you’re getting, your puckered hole gushing all over him and clenching on nothing. but it’s not like the man above you is in a better state — you’ve wrecked gojo, sent the man to high heavens and brought him back down to earth all at once. you’ve shown satoru that he’s worthy of being loved, that he’s capable of doing the same. the realisation only adds to the intensity of your sinful movements underneath the watchful eye of the moon.
tears spring to his brilliant blue eyes, another clamorous sob breaking free from your hands over his mouth — making you clasp him tighter. everything is so intense and emotional, pleasure mounting like bricks for both of you. you’re shaky in one another’s hold, sticky against each other while your arousals lube everything up and make the whole ordeal wetter. it really does feel like a crescendo, the highest point of an orchestra’s song — where your bodies are the instruments played by one another.
“satoru,” you repeat his name, warning him, begging him to focus through the thick fog of love, lust and desire clouding his brain.
“i-i—“ gojo chokes down his feelings, slamming his other hand on the dresser behind you to trap you in underneath him — his hips never let up, however, roughly snapping into yours. “i promise. i promise, baby — always will, fuckin’ swear it.” he mumbles under his breath against the palm of your hand.
and that’s all either of you need to hear for the dam to break.
gojo’s rhythm falters, his hips stuttering as he succumbs to you and he hits his high. he lets out a cry of your name so genuine it pulls at your heart strings and you slip under the surface of ecstasy’s ocean — letting it fill your lungs as you cum too. you screw your eyes shut with the white light that blinds you through your orgasm — afraid of what may lie on the other side of this world-ending sensation. you don’t want the reality that awaits you. you don’t want to have to wake up from this little dream you’ve created with satoru.
speaking of, the white haired man collapses over you in a fit of shakes and shivers — ropes of his white seed coating your aching mound. there’s so much for it, all caused by and for you. he doesn’t stop rutting into you, even though it’s sensitive, but wraps his arms around your head just to comfort you through it. hugging you to him while you both come down.
he’s good to you, so good in this moment, but you have no idea if this will translate past tonight.
“can i fuck you?” he asks through ragged breathing. “just a little bit, won’t be long. just wanna make you feel good again, you’re so pretty when you’re moaning and feeling so fucking good on my cock.”
you wince with overstimulation as satoru starts to rub his shaft against you all over again, working it up to another ripe and pulsating erection just for you. earlier, you had wished the night would last a little longer, so you could love him a little harder and here satoru gojo was — making all but one of your dreams come true. “h-hurry,” you whinge into his shoulder, your teeth sinking into the milky flesh as though to keep yourself quiet. “don’t make me wait.”
“never baby, you’re too pretty for me to be patient,” in one fail swoop, satoru nudges his tip inside of you — instantly filling you to the brim with sticky, sloppy cock and drawing a needy gasp from you. “yanno, you’re so cute when you take my dick, such a beautiful baby. no one compares to you.”
you know that he might just be running his mouth to fuck you sweet again, telling you all of the things you want to hear — but you can’t help but want gojo closer and wrap your legs around his waist, using the heels of your feet to push him closer to the point where his cum-covered cockhead is brushing against your womb.
with fluttering eyelashes, your mouth falls into an ‘o’ shape and a silent mewl escapes you — it doesn’t take long for your partner to fall into the perfect pace, fuelled by his desire to make you both cum again and his need to chase the stinging, delicious pain he gets from chasing overstimulation. “d-did you get tighter baby? you’re fuckin’ choking me out here,” satoru grunts against your sweaty hairline, ramming his hips into your clenching cunt that practically squirts a crude mix of your remaining orgasms. “you gonna milk me? make me fill you up again?”
“y-yes! please satoru…don’t stop!” you whine in harmony with his moans as they rise in pitch — higher and higher until they’re whistle tone, scratching tigers marks down his muscled back. the touch drives gojo insane, activating something primal in him to the point where you once again have to cover his mouth with wet kisses. if he didn’t love you, then the simple gesture wouldn’t cause him lose his tether to the real world fucking you like this.
if it was only a touch, why did it ruin him?
juices and thick waves of cum that had once coated your throbbing cunt now slosh over your dresser that dully thuds against your bedroom wall — over and over again the faster gojo’s hips pound into yours. the sound of skin on skin overwhelms all of your senses, you’re stimulated beyond belief and you’re crying from multiple places…it’s almost too much for your poor ravaged body to handle.
“i’ll n-never stop…fuuuck baby, as long as i’ve got you. ‘m never stoppin’…never stoppin’… n-never—“ your man chants, crying into your mouth and the hot lustful buzzing hair between you when grab his ass so that he can fuck you deeper. the slit at his cockhead is overloaded with viscous precum, smearing it along your inner and gushing ribbed walls — claiming your insides for the second time that night.
your hips run from the pleasure that you crave and that satoru gives to you — cross eyed and panting from above you like a wet dog. there’s no need for him to run from you though, you won’t let him, not when he needs to be loved by you. someone who cares for satoru gojo despite all of his mistakes.
a creamy ring begins to form at the base of satoru’s swelling cock, all white and frothy from where he’s been churning your guts up lovingly — pounding his earlier orgasm inside of you as if to make it stick. your clit grinds against his smooth pelvis, dragging you by the ankle to another world-altering orgasm and his balls slap wetly against the curve of your fleshy ass.
satoru adjusts your body against the dresser so that the curve of your spine rests on the table and he’s able to hike your legs over his shoulders so he can bully that one special spot only he can reach. your knees meet your chest, breasts bouncing beneath them from the force of the white haired man’s chest. “g-god, you’re…you’re fucking me too good,” you gargle, hands in his sweaty mass of silver hair as you tug gojo implausibly closer. “i wanna cum…are you there? c-can i cum, ‘toru?”
pressing his forehead to yours, satoru nods feverishly. “right behind you, baby. where do you want it?” there’s a fluid roll to your man’s hips, his cock dipping in and out of your fluttering entrance so fast and so good that you’re sure you’re about to lose consciousness. “how about inside? how ‘bout you lemme leave somethin’ with you?” clear, thick strings tie your clenching pussy to satoru’s cum glazed shaft — glistening under the night’s natural light. you can’t wait for there to be more of him inside you. “touch your clit for me baby, make yourself cum on my dick.”
you do as your told, fumbling between your salt-licked entangled limbs for the little nub between your swollen folds. immediately pressing down on it, you find yourself tightening around gojo while he grinds harshly against your g-spot and moans breathily against your Cupid’s bow since your foreheads are still pressed together.
“s-sa…satoru! ‘m…i’m cumming!” one look at him, completely destroyed by you, is all it takes to send you flying to cloud nine — your stomach lurches and your eyes roll back into the dark depths of your skull as you cum one more time for your lover. clear streams of your essence squirt steadily from your cunt, bathing satoru in your orgasm while you succumb to overstimulation.
his tummy and thighs are doused in your precious liquid as you quietly scream his name — all of these senses serve to trigger his own orgasm. “c’mon, that’s it little one. give it to me, i gotcha. want it all over me,” gojo smirks against your lips, peppering them with soft kisses while he wrecks and bullies your insides in an attempt to cum himself. “oooh, fuck. i love you, i love you, i love you.”
just like he promised, satoru gives you another hot load — failing to stop fucking you through either of your highs. he loses control of his hips, allowing them to languidly and uncoordinatedly rut into you — pushing his seed further up your silken walls until your cunt is covered in a layer of white. there’s so much of it that white drips his balls and inner thighs, as well as down to your puckered asshole. maybe it’s a little crude if him, but satoru’s lengthy fingers gather what you leak and smears it against your lips — kissing you there, sucking your mixed flavours from your eager mouth.
it’s only while you calm down from your orgasms that things start to change…drastically.
even as satoru kisses your hairline and whispers praises against it, rocking you back and forth as you twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm — the fear comes rushing back.
the post-orgasmic clarity hits.
the tears start flowing once more and you realise that you’re so, so tired of it all.
yellow and artificial light from down the hall seeps through the gap underneath your door, accompanied by footsteps. you’ve no doubt that someone in your home is awake, maybe your mum going for her late night glass of water, your dad for the loo or maybe even suguru. for his flight. the light is glaring and illuminates your room — highlighting the night’s mistake. satoru.
when the footsteps recede and the light dims down, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding — your silent tears blooming into quiet hiccups that you have no control over. “h-hey,” he cups your face, wiping at your eyes just like your brother had done before shutting you out. “hey pretty girl, what’s the matter? did i hurt you? was that too much—?”
slicing through gojo’s words, you find the strength to speak even if it hurts to reveal the truth. it’s like ripping off a bandaid, “how do i know that you really mean all this? that you’re going to keep your promise, ‘toru?”
“w-what?”
“i can’t do this!” you snap as loudly as your voice will allow you to. you don’t want to wake anyone else up nor get caught by your brother with your pants down for the man who betrayed his trust. not to mention, nearly getting him to hate you. “you promised to take care of me. just like suguru would, while we were basically having sex — how am i supposed to trust that?” it sounds crazy coming from your mouth, doubting satoru even after the intimate moments that you’ve just shared. however, you’ve been around this block with him too many times, you know the signs off by heart, you’ve memorised the cracks in his resolve as if they’re those in the pavement. the ones people tell you not to step on to avoid bad luck.
you feel unlucky, you feel played and naive. you saw all the warnings and wilfully ignored them because you liked the way satoru loved before he knew the weight of the word. “how am i supposed to trust you?” you add, voice wavering.
satoru can’t seem to find an excuse — maybe because his brain is too fucked out or maybe because he’s shocked that you’re not just blindly trusting him anymore. he always thought things would be easy with you, that this nightmare would be over quick… and you’d take him back just like that. perhaps the dinner was your wake up call. “i don’t… i don’t know, i just…” he selfishly expects you to believe him. “you know me. you love me and i love you, can’t that be enough?”
“you’ve never given me enough, satoru! it’s only now that you’re realising you want me as more than just your… your plaything! when i’m all you have left and suguru is gone with the wind!” you want to push him away but satoru is rooted in front of you, his presence sturdy unlike before. “you say that you love me, and i think i believe it…but it’s so hard to trust you. to not think that this is just an impulse.”
“i’d wanna be with you even if suguru stayed, i always do. it kills me to be away from you!” satoru fires back, scrambling for something…anything that’ll make you see just how badly he means it when he says he loves you and wants you. that it’s not because he’s afraid of being alone. “i fucked this up, with you and with suguru. but i’ve known for a long time that i’ve wanted you, needed you to be mine and more than just a fling!”
you look away, face twisting with pain. “i…i don’t believe that.”
“then let me prove it,” the words rush right out of gojo’s mouth, faster than his brain can catch up — his anxiety spiking at the thought of you abandoning what you have together. abandoning him. “move in with me, come with me. i’ll get us a place in the city where your new job is, i’ll get my dad to transfer me to a closer branch of Gojo Corp… just let me show you how much i want to make this work — even if it means losing suguru.”
satoru grabs your chin and tilts your gaze back over to him — but you can’t even look him in the eye.
instead, your face burns, hot as your vision swims with another wave of tears. “i need your honesty, satoru. no more empty promises, no more false hopes.” he can see it in you now, how exhausted you are with the game of cat and mouse you’ve been playing all this time. you just want to be loved without constraint and satoru comes with so much baggage he’ll only weigh you down when you try to fly from the nest. it wouldn’t be fair. “i need you to choose. would you really give it all up for me? your reputation, your lifestyle, your best friend?”
satoru’s wants to be selfish, desperately so. it’s all he’s ever known. taking and taking until his partner at the time is nothing but a husk of the person they once were. the difference this time is that he actually loves you, cares for you and would kill for you. he’s already taken so much from your youthful bright eyes.
he would hate to take your spark too.
so satoru gojo decides to weigh up his options.
either lose it all and keep you as his or lose you while the wounds he’s inflicted on everyone else heal.
if you love someone, then let them go. if they come back to you, they’re yours.
“then… then i’m sorry. for not being more honest. you’re right in every sense of the word…i can’t give this up,” gojo says simply, watching the light and hope in your eyes die out. “i think it’s best if we end it here and i let you go.”
so reddit, AITA?
UPDATE - AITA (27M) FOR FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND'S (26M) LITTLE SISTER (22F)? hey reddit. long time no see, i got a lot of attention on this post and undoubtedly you all decided that i was the asshole. i’ve done some work on myself and now i see that i was 100% in the wrong. i’ll spare you the boring details, because i know that’s not what you’re here for. i didn't want to leave anyone hanging, so here’s a quick update on where the three of us are at, one year later. i’ll start by saying — we broke up. i made the call so now she’s seeing someone else, and it’s serious.
in another lifetime, satoru would have chosen to be with you.
he’s certain that in another wonderfully weird and wacky universe — nothing would have stopped you from being that happy couple you wanted to be so badly. suguru might have even accepted your relationship, or maybe he would have died and his final wish would have been for the white haired man to make you happy.
that is something satoru will never know. the idea comforts him whenever he’s left alone with his thoughts for a little too long.
however, this isn’t another lifetime. this isn’t a different universe. this is the reality where satoru gojo had broken up with you right after your graduation.
he did it so that he wouldn’t come off as selfish — so that you had a chance to fix things with his ex best friend (and your brother) before it was too late. it was the least he could do after taking advantage of you, corrupting you against all of suguru’s wishes — but that didn’t make gojo any better of a man nor a knight in shining armour. he was still a shifty guy.
still selfish, though, the decision was made with satoru still in mind.
the night he’d broken up with you obviously ended in tears. to you, it was the end of your life — losing your first love, and you couldn’t even be blamed. you were only twenty two, your reaction was justified. suguru had been right in that sense, you were innocent and your heart needed to be protected, satoru had definitely taken advantage of that.
you were kind enough to let your then ex stay the night — as long as he was back in the hospital and gone by the morning. satoru never knew what transpired the next day, as you were quick to block him on everything, and you had every right.
he made his choice and his bed, now he had to lie in it too.
geto did leave, gojo knows that much, having seen his best friend take up work at a law firm in the US. geto had since been low contact with him. as did the rest of your family. again, it was for the best — even if it did hurt and cause gojo to bury himself within his father’s company, working himself to the bone every day just as a distraction.
through the grapevine of CEOs and higher ups, satoru learns that you’ve followed in your brother’s footsteps and made your way over to the land of the free. the magazine you worked for, Heavenly Pact, was getting ready to start an american edition and word had travelled that you were going to be the head of their new office on that side of the pond. gojo was proud, excited for you — you were excelling in your career all on your own, he was glad that he hadn’t ruined that for you too.
being in the states from time to time, satoru often wondered if there would ever be a time where he ran into you. would you be happy to see him? would you even want to talk? what would he even say?
‘i’m sorry for fucking you for fun and fumbling the bag — almost destroying your relationship with your brother when i caught feelings’ wouldn’t exactly fly well with you, he was sure.
it didn’t end up mattering anyways, because when gojo does eventually bump into you during business hours — he almost doesn’t recognise you. he’s in New York for some big, fancy corporate meeting about mergers and acquisitions, whatever his father had put into the file gojo was skim reading on his phone at the last minute, right before making his way up to the conference room.
the elevator taking him there stood about six floors shy of satoru’s destination and a young woman enters like a hurricane — bringing with her a whirlwind of paperwork and notebooks. “i-i’m sorry.” the young woman stutters from behind her pile of belongings, out of breath from seemingly running for the elevator. “could you press the button for my floor? i would do it myself, but…”
there’s a strain in her voice that makes gojo chuckle to himself, reaching past her so that his fingertips brush over the cool and luminous buttons for each floor. “are you going up?”
“down actually… you?”
“up ‘m afraid, but headed to the top floor. so this elevator’s probably going to head straight down to wherever you need to be afterwards.” he offers up apologetically. he swears the tonation to her voice sounds familiar, it’s soft and sugarcoated notes stirring up a warm feeling in gojo’s tummy.
“that’s fine by me, i’m running ahead of schedule anyway. floor eleven for me, please.”
gojo does as he’s told, pressing the button for the eleventh floor — he has to reach past the woman in order to do so. his vigilant blue eyes catch a glimpse of the fashion photography stacked in her arms amongst sketches and other designs while the scent of her perfume strikes a dizzying recognition within the white haired man. undertones of vanilla with subtle floral scents make gojo’s stomach turn and light bulb memories of those precious two years flash behind tired cerulean eyes.
he knows you, he thinks, all too well.
he says your name under his breath as though he’s keeping a secret and you freeze — no longer sorting through the papers flying about the place. when you look up and your eyes meet, you feel like the world has stopped spinning and that it’s just the two of you, frozen in time.
“satoru,” you breathe and quite plainly, as if you’re holding back any emotion you feel towards your ex…but then you smile, and it’s so vibrant satoru feels like he might go blind. not a trace of resentment in those big, beautiful brown eyes. “it’s been a while.”
you’ve changed a lot in only a year. while your face still holds its youthful innocence, except your eyes reflect growth and maturity — perhaps a little bit of exhaustion from how hard you’ve been working on your new job. you’re still as beautiful as the day gojo left you, but perhaps even more so. your light glows instead of dulls, most likely because you’re free. he’s no longer holding you back with a jail sentence of his selfishness. you’ve been able to live your life properly, just as someone your age should.
it would be wrong for him to interfere with your newfound happiness.
turning on his heel, satoru faces forward and avoids your gaze — continually repeating the mantra ‘she’d be better off without you.’ to stop himself from reaching out and touching you like he so desperately wants to. he misses you, that much is a fact, but that doesn’t mean he no longer craves to be with you, breathe you in, be by our side.
satoru had let you go three-hundred and sixty-five days ago with the hopes of you coming back to him.
maybe this was it.
you don’t take kindly to being ignored, leaning forward with your papers and files tucked securely against your chest in order to garner his attention. satoru adjusts his dress shirt, plays with his cuffs, inspects his surroundings — anything to avoid you and make a fool out of himself. or worse, mess everything up for you. his therapist had called his previous and past behaviours a self-destructive tornado — destroying everything in its path without regard.
he couldn’t go back to that.
“gojo, don’t pretend like i don’t exist,” you pout in annoyance — reminding your ex all too much of the times you spent together at your dorms. “i see you and you see me. we’re adults, surely you can handle a conversation.” it’s your teasing tone that finally makes gojo cave, sparing you a starry, blue eyed glance.
he can’t help the cocky chuckle that escapes him, almost slipping back into his old and familiar ways with you. “you wanna talk to me that bad, huh? did you miss me or somethin’?” it’s a condescending and patronising thing to say — almost as if he’s treating you like a child.
that makes you stand up right, heat rising to your cheeks at the familiar feeling — you’re not mad though. “i see you’re still as full of yourself as ever.”
it’s satoru’s turn to pout this time, shifting his focus to a corner of the rising elevator . “h-hey! i’m working on it!” you’ve never seen him so nervous, not in your entire life of knowing him…but you suppose a lot can change in a year. you’re sure he’s different, just like you are. “yanno…therapy ‘n stuff. it helps. helped.”
“oh yeah?” you hum curiously, knowing that he’s making reference to your break up, losing suguru. you don’t dare to press further, though. “me too.” the pair of you fall silent for a moment, sitting with the unaddressed awkwardness, the tension and unresolved feelings. “how…how are you? how’s things?”
he’s surprised that you’ve even asked, let alone want to talk to him after everything he’d put you through. it’s weird but also clear that you’d been working on healing too — what’s a conversation between two adults then? “good,” satoru starts, though he’s being far from honest. he misses you. “i’ve been working to finally take over dad’s company. old man’s retiring, so i thought i’d play my part and be responsible for once.”
you grin warmly at the news. “it sounds like you’re doing well, toru.” he nearly jumps at the familiar nickname, choosing not to respond. “not that you asked, but i’m kind of in the same boat? they’re putting me at a deputy manager’s position for my magazine’s new branch. i’m excited.”
“i’ve heard,” the words rush from satoru’s mouth before he can stop them, feeling sheepish as you raise a brow at him. “not that i’ve been stalking you or anything! you hear things when you’re at the top!”
“yeah, sure.” you tease, enjoying watching gojo squirm.
a question he’s not sure he’s allowed to ask sits on the tip of his tongue and satoru pushes it around in his mouth hesitantly. “how…how’s suguru?”
you perk up, tentatively choosing what to say next. “o-oh…he’s good? we’re…our relationship is better now. it took a lot of work, but he’s healthy and happy. i… i think he misses you sometimes but, he’s still not ready yet.”
gojo nods once and chooses not to press about his ex best friend further. “and how are you?”
“m-me? i thought we’d just went over that—“
your ex turns to face you fully, a pleading look on his face that shocks you out of your casual stance. you can still see how much he adores you and cares for you, as if it never left his nature to want the best for you.
“are you happy?”
he asks the loaded question like it’s easy to answer and you do have to think about it. are you happy? you’ve been putting in the work to feel like that again, after breaking it off with satoru you were low. almost rock bottom. it was your first ever break up and it hit hard — not to mention you didn’t have your older brother to fall back on at the time. you knew it was time to stop depending on others, it was time to grow your own spine. you took to therapy, you learned your triggers and icks and red flags. it took time and patience with yourself, but here you were, a year later and a little happier than when you saw satoru last.
“yeah,” you confirm with a shy nod, taking interest in your feet while you hide your smile. “i’m happy. with myself, my work and my partner—“
partner?
“—you’re dating someone?” gojo quips as the elevator dings for the floor just before his.
“ahh yes! it’s still new but… he makes me happy. yuuta okkotsu, you might have seen him around? i hear his family’s company and yours have done some work together.” you seem bashful as you talk about yuuta, someone you met through work, someone your age. a sense of pride in being together taking over you. you show him off and boast about him in a way that you wished gojo would have done for you.
the revelation nearly kills satoru — it’s like a bullet to the chest or a knife to his heart. envy bleeds from the open wound, pours down his front and taints his blood stream. it fucking hurts to know that you’ve moved on to someone who treats you better than he ever could…but you deserve it. you were so good to him and to the world that it would seem like a crime for you to end up with someone who didn’t love and appreciate you in the ways that they should.
that doesn’t make him feel any better though, it makes him feel as though he might die.
when the elevator reaches the gojo’s floor — he falters in stepping out without saying goodbye or replying to you. he would be doing it to hurt you, and to be spiteful or petty. just like back then.
there’s still so much that he wants to say to you — so many things he wants to fix but he can’t shake the feeling that this was it. this was closure for the both of you.
as he exits, he whirls around with enough time to spare before the doors close on you, and this chapter of both of your lives — just catching your bewildered expression. “thank you, for everything,” gojo calls to you fondly, watching your previous expressions morph into something soft and appreciative. “i…i really did love you, and if i could go back and do those two years over again. i’d be better, for you. i’d love you, properly.”
the doors to the elevator slowly begin to close and satoru steps forward at the same time as you — it feels like you’re sharing one last goodbye.
“i know,” you say without a trace of malice, a wistfulness in your voice. “i’m thankful to have been with you, because you taught me so much in such little time. i’d do it again, if we were better.”
a sad smile tugs at the corner’s of gojo’s pink lips. “in another life?”
“in another life.” you confirm, mirroring his smile as the elevator finally seals itself shut — leaving him with his reflection on it’s cool, metal doors.
it’s a shame that you only have one life, and that there aren’t any do overs. that way, everyone could live a life without regret — because gojo has his regrets, where he wishes that he loved you better, harder, more…so that you’d come back to him and you would be his.
always.
so redditors and other losers lurking on this thread. that’s my update. i already know a lot of you are going to say that i deserve this — and i do. but i’m happy for her, for both of them and i wish them both all the best. whaddya say, am i still the asshole?
END.
꒰ thank you for reading. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#jjk smut#satoru gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo angst#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo#gojo x y/n#jjk thirst#gojo thirst#angelshubnetwork#ghostqueues#✧ ₊˚੭ — writing#tteokdoroki
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Pet (18+) pt. 3 of 4
photo credit: @astarionposting
Ascended Astarion x f!reader
Chapter Three: Full
I suggest reading the first two of the series before this, there is a bit of a plot in the porn. Just a little.
Summary: You are finally granted the privilege of being filled with your master.
WARNINGS: Smut, Extremely dubious consent, Mind control/manipulation, Orgasm control, Abusive relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Physical Abuse
I do not say this lightly- Astarion is evil in this. This is an extremely toxic relationship. You have been warned!
(AO3 Link)
Your gaze remains fixated on Astarion, your pupils so dilated with lust that he can hardly see the red in them.
“Ok my pet,” he coos at you, “what do you desire?”
“I desire to make you happy, master”
“Tsk, you know that's not what I mean.” he begins, putting his feet on the ground and meeting you at your level. He reaches between your legs and grazes his hand over your folds, back to front. He leans into your ear and purrs, “What do you desire?”
A shudder rolls up your spine. You don’t know how he wants you to respond. Your initial response was honest. You sit with a distressed thinking face on as you calculate your next response.
“Don’t hurt yourself now, darling. I would like to have you filled with me before our night ends.”
You look up at him with eyes that tell him all you need to know.
He takes your stare at him as a clue to the answer he seeks.
“Is that what you desire?” he’s leaning into you, slender fingers caressing your cheek. He continues with a whisper, “To be filled with me?”
You stare longingly into his eyes. Fuck he’s beautiful, your lost for words. All you can do is lean your head into his hand and nod.
His gentle smile is stripped from his face as he swiftly removes his hand from your face and connects to it again with a slap, causing you to shriek and place your hands on your cheek where he made his impact.
“What did I say about using our words, hm?” he snaps, tone no longer loving but that of a parent providing discipline.
You get small and grovel before him. “I am so sorry, master. I did not mean to offend, I-'' you look up at him, connecting with his gaze falling upon you, sopping in pity. “It’s been so long I just don’t know what I- what you want. I don’t remember what to ask for, my mind is not the same as it once was, I fear.”
He sighs, putting his hands onto his knees as he stands up. He rubs the bridge of his nose in thought for a moment. “I suppose I’m partially to blame for that. I wish it wasn’t the case but keeping you in here is the only way I know you will be safe from harm.” He starts to fiddle with the sheets of the bed. “Lack of stimuli for as long as you’ve been in here will begin to dull your mind." his gaze is avoiding yours. Does he know why your mind is slipping? Is he hiding something from you?
No, you think to yourself. You are his Dark Consort. Lovers for eternity. He would never keep a secret from you.
“Maybe I can start making decisions with you again? Like I used to?” You stand up and approach him with a seductive saunter. “Maybe that would make me sharp and cunning again? Like when you fell in love with me?”
He caresses your cheek and coos, “You are truly adorable, my pet.” he turns from you, beginning to take off his boots. “Help me undress, I’m feeling quite…” he scans your naked body up and down, “...overdressed at the moment.”
You nod your head- then remember your lesson on using your words. “Yes, master. Of course.”
Once his shirt was removed and he could feel your skin on his, it’s like something awoke inside of him. He shoves you onto the bed, kissing you hungerly and greedily, like he has the hunger of a spawn again- and your kiss is your lifeblood.
Gods, he’s so magnificent. You don’t know how much longer you can wait for him to be inside you. Once you have the opportunity, you blurt out, “Fuck me master.” The desperation in your voice is palpable. So much so that even you might feel bad for yourself if you were an onlooker. “I need to be filled with you, I can’t wait any more.”
He grins ear to ear and sighs proudly, “That’s a very good girl. Great job using your words.”
His praise sends a warm, vibrating sensation to your core and throughout your entire body. You are so happy to have pleased him you can just explode.
No exploding, however. Not yet.
He begins to undo his now modern trousers with several buttons cascading his mound, much different than the ones you once saw him wear so very long ago. The style of clothing changes so quickly when you live forever.
His flawless erection springs free, asking to be attended to. A pearl of precum formed at the head.
“Do you see what you do to me darling? My beautiful pet being so very good is enough to make me hard as a rock.” You feel yourself starting to salivate.
“And you…” he trails his hands down your body, assessing the details of your form. “Are absolutely perfect.”
Of course you are. He made you this way. The absolutely ideal love for the Vampire Ascendant. He deserves no less than perfect. He can’t have anything less than perfect. You would never allow for it.
Your thoughts are halted as he possessively grabs you by the hips. Focusing his attention on positioning his beautiful member to your entrance. He grazes his tip on your folds, moving up to rub it on your clit, drawing a moan from your lips.
He looks at you with a smolder, glad to see you so ready for him. If your moans weren't enough of an indication, then the amount of spend you have coming from your cunt did the job.
I exist for this.
This is why I was put on this earth.
I exist to serve my master.
The thoughts cycle in your head over and over, unrelentingly loud in your mind until you say it out loud:
“I exist to serve you master, that is why I was put on this Earth”
He leans into your ear, “That’s fucking right you do.”
He pushes into you with the force of a God, quickly pumping in and out of you. Gods, he is huge. You are so full of love and obsession and his- his cock You feel like you can die again. So overwhelmed, so overjoyed, so- full.
You lie on the bed as he brutally fucks your cunt, pumping with unrelenting vigor, leaving your mouth hanging open. His actions draw lewd sounds from your throat. You feel so utterly fucked.
He stops for a brief moment to flip you so that you are on top of him. You squeak and giggle at the motion, drawing a smile from Astarion’s gaze.
“I want you to ride me, pet.” He hikes his hips in a way that allows his cock to hit the spot that he knows drives you crazy. “I am going to make you come enough times for a lifetime.”
“Oh master I-” you feel yourself losing yourself to pleasure. “I’m so close, master. I’m so close” He reaches his hand to your clit while pumping his cock into your g-spot.
“That’s a good girl” he growls intently examining your reaction to his pleasing you. “Now, be a doll and come for me”
The command slipping from his lips filled your body with white light and heat beyond comprehension. You scream his name and moan as you come positively undone. Your body goes limp, crashing down onto him.
He wraps his arms around you soothingly, rubbing your back. You feel as though you may fall asleep. You are fucked beyond thought, basking in the embrace of both your beloved master and the afterglow of your climax. Astarion’s cock still hard and throbbing inside of you. He is not finished with you yet. Not until his spend is leaking from your cunt and he is empty.
Last chapter: Boots
Next chapter: Pink
#astarion#astarion posting#astarion smut#ascended astarion smut#ascended astarion#ascendant#astarion x reader#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate 3 astarion#baldur's gate 3 smut#mind control#mind corruption#mind break#dubious consent#tav x astarion#ascended astarion x tav#ascended astarion x reader#ascended astarion fic#evil astarion
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Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Careful [12]
Honestly, Dark Autumn Complex is doing it right. They aren't in a giant hotel/casino mashup where all of the big guys perform, they're in a little bar down the strip. Still enough room for tons of people, but it isn't crawling with bodies like bugs under my fucking skin.
And it's a really nice bar, by the way. Mostly an indoor venue, but they have a little patio right in front of New York, New York-- and also some really tasty looking chicken wings.
My only complaint is the copious and nauseating amount of liquid covering the floor. Yea, people are living it up in here, but I think they're living a little too hard. This is definitely a toxic mixture of vomit, alcohol, and urine-- but I'm not the one who's going to actually confirm that.
Todd, on the other hand...
"For fuck's sake," the man hisses, taking knee-to-chest steps through the nasty flood on the floor. "I shouldn't have come. It'll take me weeks to get this stench off of my shoes."
"Oh, come on Toddler. It's not that bad," Larry harumphs, elbowing an unamused Todd in the ribs.
I snort, shaking my foot out after passing through a particularly goopy substance. Is this even real? It has to be a fever dream. "Actually, it is that bad, Lar. Even The Hangover wasn't this over the top."
Larry rolls his eyes next to me. "You're just a bunch of weaklings. Right, Sal?"
My head drops down at the sound of his name. I'll only add to the mess on the floor if I so much as look at him. He really hurt my feelings, and it's embarrassing to admit that.
The man doesn't say a word, but then again, none of us should have expected him to. He's a little... no. I shouldn't be angry, I should be upset. He hurt my damn feelings. More importantly, I should be focused on why his words hurt so damn bad. It's not like I expect something better from him.
Why do I have expectations at all in regards to him?
Not to mention, there's the daunting fact that he's finally texted Lexi. I don't know what to do-- I don't even think I want to reply. But unfortunately, there's a part of me that would feel horrible for making Lexi ghost him when he clearly cares about her to some degree.
Too many questions, not enough answers, and way too many worries. I'll file this all away in my cabinet titled Later.
Our group continues to push through the crowd. We're about an hour early, as per request on behalf of Ash who's hoping to find hot girls. Can't hate on the game, I just hope I have a bed to sleep in tonight.
I watch my every move, all three boys trailing behind me as I walk along the sopping ground. The LED's flash across feet and skin, and more importantly, the slick floor makes the light reflections seem even brighter. That means I'm blinded the entire way with only a few moments of relief and clarity.
There's one step I take in which my foot catches against something, so I desperately grab onto Ash's forearm to keep myself steady. She doesn't even look back, just lets me hold onto her-- I guess she's used to having me around already. That's cute. So, I balance myself then let go, traipsing through this toxic quarry of sorts.
Something I've never learned, no matter how many times it's made itself known to me, is to never trust myself. Or my feet, for that matter. If there's an open opportunity for me to be clumsy, my body will absolutely break in two to ruin my day and everyone else's.
Our prime example tonight is when I slip on a meticulous placed slice of banana bread that has had a wonderful time soaking up all the liquids on the floor.
The entire ordeal mimics the classic banana peel take-down. I mean-- really. My hands fly up, my legs about damn near follow me as I start flying toward the ground, unable to catch myself with Ash's arm this time.
I'm bracing for impact and a nasty swim in the thick contents below when hands slide under my arms, catching me right before I can hit the ground.
There's an awkward beat of silence where I'm hanging from hands with my ass hovering over the ground. I take a breath and glance up. Another beat of silence when I see that it's Sally who caught me.
He's leaned over me, watching me with agitated, narrowed eyes and his fluffy hair falling around his face. His fingers are digging into the flesh of my arms, his rings cold against my skin. The way heat envelops me in a millisecond both pisses me off and has me fighting for a way to get out of this situation.
I huff out a frustrated breath, blowing my hair away from my mouth and slapping a glare onto my face that I know he'll be able to see in my gaze. And then those infuriatingly pretty eyes of his roll before he puts some weight onto my arms, helping me back into a standing position.
I bite the inside of my cheek when he pulls his hands away from me quickly. I hate how much I enjoy his touch, but I blame the accent. I blame the style. I blame the allure. I blame it all. Even the asshole personality.
And I sure as hell am not about to thank him after what he said to me earlier. So I dust off my skirt, making sure it didn't manage to touch the... secretions... on the floor. But as I'm double-checking myself, he grumbles out, "Careful."
My head snaps to the side to look at him so aggressively that I'm worried I've snapped my neck for a moment. Did he really just say that? Have the gates of hell opened up on earth? Is this the end of times? Because there's no fucking way he just told me to be careful.
"Damn, Vi," Larry breaks my stare-off with Sal for a moment as he walks around us. He claps a hand on my shoulder, a gorgeous grin plastered on his lips that distracts me for just a second, only a second. "Falling for me already?"
"If that was me falling for you, then this has to be a Stockholm Syndrome thing because there's no way I wasn't going to slip on this floor," I reply, cocking an eyebrow when his smile falls into a pout.
"Awe, c'mon. You wouldn't be complaining so much if you actually fell," he notes, tilting his head inquisitively. "In fact, you'd be doing a backstroke right about now had you hit the floor."
No wonder he and Sal are best friends.
Todd walks past Larry, cackling the entire way as he passes us up. And Larry knows he's won, so he raises his eyebrows, a sly smirk pulling his lips as he turns away to catch up with Ash.
And then it's just me and Sal again.
I watch him closely, waiting for him to say something since he's looking at me like he has words just on the tip of his tongue. And then I hear a syllable leave his undoubtedly pretty mouth and immediately cut him off with, "If you're going to be a cunt, you might as well shut the fuck up right now because I'm absolutely in the mood to punch you in the middle of all these people."
He looks confused, shocked for a moment. I can even see his eyebrows because they're scrunched together, but then he seems to understand my words and proceeds to roll his eyes so hard that it literally looks painful.
"Larry gave you enough hell," he says shortly, adjusting his stance as he regards me with those forever irritated blue eyes. "I was going to say, do you remember what I said to you? That shitty stuff?"
Is this some kind of trick question? Because who could possibly forget the shit he said to me? But then again-- he just acknowledged that it was shitty... what kind of Sal Fisher am I witnessing right now?
I watch him with wary eyes, too afraid to look into the angry facade of his because just beneath that facade is an actual drop of vulnerability. And I don't think I like seeing him this open and fucking... fucking understanding.
"I guess that's a stupid question," he mumbles to himself, never breaking our eye contact. But then he sighs and speaks yet again. "I saved you. That's all the apology you're going to get."
A weight so heavy lifts from my soul and I feel like I'll start floating any second now. The barbed wire around my heart loosens, the boulders bouncing around my brain shrink. And I'm left with feelings I don't want to have, but feelings that are welcomed either way. I feel like, for the first time, Sal and I are on even ground. We both know something was wrong, and he even apologized, even if that apology was saving me from social suicide and reminding me to be careful. He wanted to make up for the way he broke me earlier. And he did.
And I also want to say that finding common ground with Sal is fucking weird.
"This is weird," I voice, suddenly tensing up over the awkwardness floating around us.
Sally's eyes close with relief and he seems to relax just a bit. "It is fucking weird. So can we forget about today and just continue the way we have been?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake. That's even weirder," I sputter out, taking a quick step away from him as my heart flutters over his words. I can't believe his willingness to let bygones be bygones is so fucking hot to me. Maybe it's because this is something I didn't think I'd ever get from him. I'm not sure. "Yes, fuck, anything to stop you from being sentimental. Please."
"Cool. Glad we agree," he grumbles, looking up and past me. Then he actually starts walking, intent on passing me.
But my eyes bug out of my head. "No, not cool! I don't fucking want us to agree-- just shut up. Stop fucking talking," I grit out as he passes me, turning to walk behind him.
Sal's head turns, eyes acknowledging me with disbelief. His voice is higher-pitched and filled with aggravation as he says, "How are you going to tell me to shut up when you fucking never do it yourself? Hypocrisy isn't cute."
"Oh, yea?" I retort, folding my arms against my chest as heat wells in my chest. He really is always fighting me, and he should be thanking me right now. I was just trying to end whatever weird shit was just happening. "Don't talk about hypocrisy Mr. I-Want-To-Fuck-You-But-I-Don't. Go try that one on for size."
"Didn't I just tell you to forget that?" he says exasperatedly. "Do you deliberately ignore every bit of sound advice you get?"
"If it's coming from you-- hell yea, I ignore it," I snort, stopping my walking when we finally catch up with Ash, Larry, and Todd who are standing in front of the stage.
Sal turns to me with fury burning in his eyes and I relish in it. This is normal. This is back to what we were doing just earlier today. No apologies, no forgiveness-- just going back to what we know.
"Wow, yea." He says, showing off dramatic jazz hands. "That sounds about right. Dumb bitch can't do anything but tear herself apart."
"Boo hoo," I answer, placing my hands on my hips. This is a good one. No one can hear us so we can just wail away on each other-- keeps me busy. It's pretty fun too. Exercises my funny bone. "Sounds like something the selfish prick would say. Assume that everyone's falling apart while he's so put-together, right?"
"You--" Sal starts, voice piercing straight through me with its sheer ferocity, but he cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, eyeing me with a sickening glare the entire time. "What fucking ever. Just shut up."
"Happy to know I won," I chirp, smiling sweetly at him.
I'm sure he's about to burst and reign hell on me, but a security guard approaches us. A flash of fear slams into me and I shrink in on myself when I realize this guy has probably been watching Sally and I yell back and forth at each other for a few minutes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sally dip his head down too, a sign of nerves and shame. Hm. Serves him right.
The security guard, a huge and burly man that somehow stands a bit taller than Larry stops in front of Sally and I. He has an impenetrable glare in his eyes and a face so emotionless that it sickens me just thinking about how strong he must be.
And worse, he isn't looking at me. His grey eyes are dead set on Sally beside me.
I gulp, a chill running down my spine as the guard crosses his arms over his chest. Sal looks like he's about to literally start shaking and, hell, I don't blame him. I'm not far off from doing the same.
Sally's the type to put up a fight, clearly, but sometimes you have to know when fighting is no use. When fighting means you'll get thrown into a hospital. This is that time and I've never viewed this asshole as intellectual before, but I think he's making a good call by holding off right now.
Eyes still set on the bluenette, the security guard finally speaks in a deep, booming, authoritative voice. "I need you to come with me," he says to Sally and I feel like I'm going to shit myself.
Holy crap, I do not want to end my night on this type of scenario. With the fact that I got the notorious Sally Face arrested. I do not want that sitting on my conscience because the second this motherfucker gets out of jail, he's coming for me. Aw, fuck.
I watch the security guard with a gaping mouth, noting the way Sally's eyes widen. They're so big right now that I'm a tad worried they'll roll right out of his face, but I focus on getting out of dodge first.
"Um," I mumble shakily, shrinking back a bit more. I'm so going to throw up once this is done. "Is everything okay, sir? Are we in trouble?"
My main goal is to not die right now. And if the man who hates me most gets arrested or something tonight, I won't have a head in a few days. There's no doubt.
Okay, sure, I'm probably really overreacting but anyone would be in this situation. I mean this guy is huge and so, so intimidating.
The security guard looks down at me with aggravation and confusion flashing across his face. He raises a blonde eyebrow that could cut air and suddenly I think that vomit sesh I was saving for later is going to happen now.
"Who the hell are you?" He asks, looking down at me and squinting his eyes. "I'm here to grab the blue-haired kid in the mask and the really tall, super emo, questionably buff guy."
I blanch for a moment, staring up at the behemoth security guard that I just embarrassed myself in front of. What did Sal and Larry do? Are they both about to get arrested?
I glance over at Sally and he matches my gaze, shrugging subtly. His blue eyes are filled with wariness and concern as he turns his eyes back to the man.
And then the security guard looks like he's about to drop kick both of us, if his horrifyingly intimidating glare is a hint at anything, that is.
"Come on," he growls out, making me flinch in fear. "North wants you," he points to Sal, "and the really massive emo guy with the Dave Grohl hair. Can you hurry the fuck up?"
My eyes widen. Oh, for fuck's sake. Dark Autumn Complex's lead singer asked for Larry and Sal, which, hold on, how do they know that the boys are here? Is that even possible?
My eyes narrow as quickly as they previously widened. Something's weird about this.
I watch Sally from the corner of my eye, noting the relief that swamps his pretty azure irises. He puts a hand to his chest and breathes deep, throwing his head over his shoulder to call for Larry who turns to us with a raised eyebrow.
Larry sees the giant security guard and stiffens up like a Tom and Jerry character come to life. It's comical up until the guy gets into position to bolt out of dodge.
He crouches down and sets his right foot forward, ready to race through the crowd to escape the security guard. But right now, when North is asking for him, and with this freaky guy retrieving him-- that doesn't need to happen.
Sally groans and motions Larry over, shaking his head at the taller guy. "It's just North," Sal reassures. "He wants us for something. I don't know what."
Larry doesn't look convinced, but he walks over to our small group. "So he fucking sent the 'roid mall cop after us? Does he not know me and my history with the justice system?" He scoffs and glances over at the security guard who looks like he's barely holding back some unyielding rage. "I'm with Vi on this one man, I'm totally an anarchist."
"Larry," I hiss, heat enveloping my cheeks as a very real and very concerning tsunami of genuine fear for my life slams into me. Why would he say that in front of the justice system he supposedly has a bad relationship with? And why the hell did he have to rope me into it? "Shut the fuck up. Just go with the 'roid--" I cough, eyes close to flying out of my head because of my mistake. It's not my fault that the nickname stuck, but it's definitely damning. Fucking hell, Larry. "Just go with this nice security guard." I smile, wide and fake as fuck as I look over at said security guard who's hands are fisted at his sides. I grimace and glance back at Sal and Larry who look like deer caught in headlights. "Now," I grit out.
Both boys are clambering after the security guard in seconds. Larry may be a heathen and Sal may be clueless, but at least they were smart enough to read that play.
I heave a sigh of relief as both boys disappear into the crowd. I've never had trouble with police before in my life and I'd really like to keep it that way.
But as I walk forward to meet Ash and Todd, I think of a couple things.
My friends are standing right behind the barrier that separates us from the stage. We're as close as we can possibly get, and even that is way too close for me. Meeting my idols is something I sincerely don't want to do because I'll probably pass out. The thought of embarrassing myself in front of someone so amazing feels like a death sentence, so I'd like to avoid making eye contact with North, South, and/or East.
Maybe I haven't mentioned it before, but all three members of Dark Autumn Complex choose to go by one of the four main cardinal directions on a compass. The only member, or direction, they're missing is West. Whether they're looking for someone to fill the spot or just didn't want a member to be compared to Jade West, I'll never know. But why wouldn't someone want to be compared to Jade West?
To each their own, I suppose.
The point is that I don't know the reasoning behind their names, but the way it goes is: North is the singer and guitarist, East is the bassist, and South is the drummer. That's how it's always been.
I step up next to Ash, wrapping my fingers around the cool, metal barricade. Multiple neon colors flash around us as the crowd grows thicker. And as a result, the little swimming pool at our feet grows thicker too. You know, maybe I wouldn't let Ash buy me new clothes... but I think I'll let her buy me some new shoes after this fiasco. This is quite unique.
Our concert grows closer with each passing second. Ash and Todd meet some fans in the crowd while I hide away, trying to pretend I'm some random woman in a mask. Sally and Larry never return. I'm assuming they'll stay backstage... but then again, I still have some questions I'd like to have answered. And there are quite a few...
Do North, Larry, and Sally know each other? I mean, for the guys to be called backstage, they must be acquainted somehow. But since they are, why hadn't they mentioned that they knew Dark Autumn Complex personally?
Larry said that he could get me backstage, but I thought that was a farce. I still fucking think it's a farce. My spidey senses are tingling and there's something that just doesn't add up.
For example, again, no one mentioned that anyone was friends with Dark Autumn Complex. Another eyebrow raising detail is that Ash and Todd didn't get asked backstage. Why? Do Ash and Todd know about the connection too? Maybe they don't if they haven't brought up the friendship either...
I tap on Ash's shoulder once I notice a group of girls walk away from her. My gorgeous, jade-eyed and strawberry-lipped friend turns to me with a stunning smile gracing her angelic face. She looks down at me, tilting her head in question as she waits patiently for me to say something.
But I narrow my eyes. Everyone's a suspect in my non-murder mystery right now.
"Are Sal, Larry, and DAC friends or something?" I ask, pressing my lips into a thin line.
Ash's brows furrow and that's my first red flag. Why the hell is she doing that?
But then she says, "Didn't they tell you about that? We're all friends with Dark Autumn Complex." Her voice is just as sweet and tender as always. In fact, she seems a little shocked at the fact that I'm new to this information.
"Yea, no. I just thought you were all fans," I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating the friendship confirmation. "Well, why didn't North invite you and Todd backstage?"
Ash shrugs, not too worried about that apparently. "North and Sal are buddies because they both play guitar. North's been waiting for, like, ages to see what talent Sal has. And Larry has some history in music. That's why Sal brings him along for practice-- Lar has really good ears and can tune a guitar to fucking perfection. With all of those similar interests, North, Sal, and Larry naturally got closer than Todd or I were able to." A smile pulls at her lips again. "I'm good friends with East, but I have time to meet him later."
I raise my eyebrows at that last bit of information. After all, Ash answered all my questions so I feel much better. All the gaps are filled in and there are no more red flags.
"Oh?" I say suggestively. "And how close are you, exactly, to East?" My lips stretch into a little smirk when Ash rolls her eyes at my teasing. She's just so easy to offend.
"Not like that, you little slut," she jokes, winking at me.
"Oooouuu," I hum, leaning closer to her with a little grin. "Call me that again."
Poor Ash groans, rolling her eyes yet again as she throws an arm around my shoulders. "Shut up. I can't believe you're so into degradation." Her voice falls into a mumble as I look up at her with a smile, but her next words nearly make me choke. "Sal would love you." She shakes her head and looks down at me. I struggle to slap a stoic expression onto my face after hearing that. I have way too much information. I was hoping my new knowledge would stop after finding out that DAC and The Faces are buddies.
But, then again, my entire body warms at her words. While it's shocking information, it's also very interesting information.
"Anyway," Ash cuts off my thoughts. "It really isn't like that. I am so not into guys. Sometimes I find that one in a million, but, fuck, it's hard. I much prefer women."
I shrug, still reeling over whatever it was she let slip about Sally. I might as well just throw "Sally Face (Sal Fisher) has a degrading kink" into a file cabinet to save for later when I'll actually have the time and desire to mull over that.
"I don't blame you," I decide to tell Ash. "Men really suck sometimes."
Ash scoffs like she's just had an epiphany. "They really fucking do!" she exclaims, throwing her free arm up into the air.
I'm about to yap about the topic a bit more to distract myself when the neon lights over the crowd suddenly shut off. They're all pointing to the stage in front of us now.
When the hell did Dark Autumn Complex walk out here?
All three characters are set up on their respective sides of the stage and I suddenly feel like I'm going to throw up again. They all look so immaculate, so pretty, so mysterious.
My stomach turns with a mix of nervousness and excitement. A group I genuinely look up to is standing less than six feet away from me, doing some last minute checks on their equipment. My head feels fuzzy and I almost keel over with the way my heart repeatedly slams into my ribcage. I've never had this opportunity before in my life. I can't help but imagine if this is how I would have felt meeting The Faces for the first time if we were never friends.
I'm about to take in and observe their dark clothing when a screen lights up behind the band with HELLO written in big bold letters. This is interesting.
All I'm able to see before turning my attention to the screen is the striking, electric blue of North's guitar as the light catches it. Holy hell, that's a nice instrument.
North turns their body to the side, holding out a hand that gestures up to the screen. They glance at the crowd over their shoulder, then look back to the screen.
A booming voice is heard over a speaker and I almost shit myself for a second, the sound so loud that I have to cover my ears. But then, Ash, Todd, and I are all cackling. No fucking way.
"Hello Dark Autumn Complex bitches and cunts! My name is Larry Johnson. You may know me from the online streaming group called The Faces," Larry's stupid ass voice is full of confidence and pride as he snarkily opens up for the band. Wow. I don't even blame DAC for having him do this. If anyone could engage a crowd, it's definitely Larry. "If you'll all kindly turn your attention to the screen, I'm going to walk you through some rules that Dark Autumn Complex has set up for this little concert of theirs." Suddenly, Larry groans. "Ugh. Rules. Fucking boring, right?"
North drops their hand and shakes their head as the crowd starts to giggle. Like I said, Larry is perfect for this kind of job.
The screen changes from HELLO to some other stuff that Larry very sweetly explains with his adorably snarky gamer voice.
"So, first up, if you couldn't tell, no one from the band is going to talk. They want to keep their identity completely concealed, so as a precaution, you will only be hearing their instruments and singing." Larry's a bit more serious. I find myself admiring the way he knows when to be more tactful regarding sensitive or important information. It comes off as very genuine and so sweet. He cares. "They also want to say that they're extremely appreciative of your attendance tonight."
The crowd cheers and I do too. All of the screaming and clapping is infectious, even more so when North bows to the crowd, followed by East who waves at everyone, and finally South who puts a drum stick in the air.
"Next and finally," Larry begins again. "As you can see, there is a microphone in front of North who also, obviously has a mask on." The high self-esteem is reflected in Larry's voice again, an amused lilt in his tone. "The microphone is a fucking prop, you haters. Let that man pretend he's singing into it and not the little tiny microphone taped to his face under the mask, okay? He's a sensitive little guy and absolutely needed to have the prop or else it was going to, in his words, feel weird."
Okay, so North is a guy. Good to know.
North visibly cringes, throwing his arms up in exasperation as he turns back to the screen. I just know he's cursing Larry in his mind. No doubt about it.
Larry cackles a bit scarily before ending his opening segment. "But without further ado, I present to you, Dark Autumn Complex in all their might and glory."
The packed crowd around us cheers. Ash throws an arm around my shoulder and screams at the top of her lungs, so I join her. My eyes never stray from the stage filled with exceptionally hot looking musicians who are looking between each other as the audience quiets down.
They're all in black-- no other colors. Straight black clothing, which makes them all the more appealing. From what I can tell, based on where I am, East, the bassist, is exceptionally tall. But North and South are about average height. Other than that, there's nothing else of note other than their insanely elaborate masks.
It's clear that they have some other kind mask on to hide their hair-- probably black ski masks-- and then another mask on top of that. I can't see them all that well, but even from here the colors are gorgeous and it just feels like they must have been expensive.
North's mask is red, gold, and black. I can see some kind of drawing on part of it, but can't tell what it is exactly. The same goes for the other members-- East who's wearing a primarily black mask with white and gold, and finally South who's sporting dark blue with white and gold. Other than their colors, all three masks match.
We love hot people.
I feel like I'm going to happy vomit everywhere when East starts up a song with this sick riff on his bass. Even better, it's my favorite song by them. The same song, in fact, that made me so upset the other day. Wherein Christine Daaé Became Her Own Phantom.
I sing the lyrics as the rest of the band kicks up the song. It's crazy to see them live and realize they sound just as good in real life as they do in a recording. That's such a flex, considering so many people sound much different when they get out on stage. For their very first concert, they don't seem nervous about it at all and that helps the crowd become more immersed, makes the music so much better.
DAC goes through a few of their songs, some older and some newer, like the song they released about a month ago. I'm all jitters and a fluttering heart during the entire set, finding that my eyes never stray from the amazing band rocking about on the small stage.
They've gone through most of their songs after about forty-five minutes and at this point, I'm assuming that our concert is over. I'm already expecting the worst case of post-concert depression to hit me in a few seconds here, especially when the screen pops on behind all three band members again. And, naturally, this is followed by Larry's voice.
"Alrighty, sluts and whores," he starts happily. I roll my eyes but let a smile envelop my face anyway. "You're in luck tonight. While DAC may be ending this amazing fucking concert soon, they've decided to play a brand new song for you. From what I've heard, they've been working very hard on it. So be grateful, for fuck's sake!"
A new song? Really? Here, out in the middle of Vegas?
"The name of this new song, which also happens to be my favorite so far, is 'Actually Carrie Underwood Doesn't Like Me," Larry giggles a bit over the name. "Another insane title. I'm fucking pumped."
I look over at Ash who looks like she's about to have a brain orgasm. Then I look at Todd who probably couldn't care less, but he has a little light in his dark gaze that says he might be really excited about this.
I glance back up to the stage as my feet go numb. It might be excitement, or it might be from having to slosh around in liquid for nearly two hours. Maybe it could be both. But the point is that a shiver runs through my entire body, electrifying me in a way that's so addicting that I wish there were a way for me to make this concert last forever. It's going to hurt so bad to walk out of here and go back to the hotel later.
My attention and gaze are solely focused on North as he starts the song with a serene little melody on that gorgeous, electric blue guitar.
And almost immediately, before I can even take a moment to appreciate the short guitar solo, everything turns metal as fuck. And I'd go as far as to say that this is the hardest song the band has ever made. Yea, they're a rock band and they put out some really good and heavy hitting stuff, but this is different. This is angry.
"Look at what I've become--
My mother's careful knitting is undone.
Sixty stitches and a price never paid,
Might as well have sliced me with a blade.
All gaping wounds and pity,
Disgust has never looked so pretty.
My own disgust or theirs;
Or is it just hospital rooms and wheelchairs?"
I officially think I'm with Ash on the mind-jizz bit. This is good. It's deep, it's angry, it's got that hidden meaning that no one will ever understand. It's something that only the writer will only be able to fully comprehend. Even if they would tell someone else what it was about, it'll never compare to everything that goes on inside their head when they think of this song.
"Self-inflicted cuts and scars,
Just like the first which left me marred.
So sick of the metallic taste
Of the way I'm two-faced.
Bursting with hopes and regrets
Falling through like fingers in fishnets.
Regard myself as something to dispose of--
You think me a disgrace, don't you, my love?"
Leave it to DAC to fuck with my head again. As always.
I nearly crumble to the floor again-- this time with no one to catch me. The second North screams out the word 'fishnets' and grabs onto that prop microphone of his to get into the moment, I feel my heart skip a beat. My head is suddenly filled with memories of Sally weaving his fingers through my own fishnets just yesterday night. It feels silly to immediately remember that scene because of a song, but how couldn't I? The lyrics are literally the same as what happened to me.
And in the long run, that's the entire reason music exists. So it can resonate within those who find their own meaning in the lyrics. So others can create something from a pre-determined scenario. Make it their own.
But hell, I really don't want to think about that asshole while I'm trying to enjoy this new, really amazing song that one of my favorite bands just dropped. Live and in person.
"There's a monster in your bed,
In your head,
It's me--
Too bad I'm not dead.
Shove my face in a pillow case
And curse the human race.
Why'd I have to suffer?
Why the character development to make me tougher?"
Ash is gripping onto my wrist so tightly that my arm is starting to tingle. She's excited and so am I. What's there not to like about dark lyrics and angry riffs?
We all listen closely, literally everyone on the floor. East is standing in front of South and they watch each other, playing wonderfully and completely invested in the music they're making. Meanwhile, North walks languidly across the stage, ditching the prop microphone and singing into the one that actually works instead. It's a win-win-- he can still sing, but he can focus on playing his guitar rather than fucking around with something that doesn't even work.
I can't help but watch him, my gaze never falling away from North's every movement. His hands expertly playing his flashy guitar, his head tilted down to watch his finger movement, and his black dress shoes taking calculated steps. I've never seen a musician wear dress shoes in the middle of a concert before in my life, but I'm certainly not complaining.
Regardless, it's very interesting.
"Years of therapy couldn't fix me--
No llores por mi.
Such a futile attempt at a kill,
Was it really worth the thrill?"
No way did this suddenly hot individual just spit out Spanish in the middle of a song. Is he single? If so, I think I'd like to change that. Anyway--
"All I am is rage and revenge--
Every little bit of me is unhinged.
I'd say there's nothing to fear,
But I'm no Shakespeare.
There's a monster in your bed,
In your head,
Blood red,
Filled with dread.
It's me,
And you'll wish I was dead."
No. Nope. Absolutely not. I don't have some stupid celebrity crush on a person I've never met because they're openly not shallow and just as torn apart as I am. Not at all. Not a chance.
But the way North shuts his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling as he sing into the microphone again does something to me. Makes a little corner of my brain light up. Sends shivers through my body. And I really don't like any of it, but what can I do? The heart wants what it wants. It's all shallow feelings anyway. For all I know, North could be the complete opposite of what I want in a person. Not to mention, he's already way out of my league.
"Some things cease, others never end,
But my broken brain and diced up heart won't mend.
You needn't expect much--
I'll never get too close to touch.
It's over now;
Fatal words for your vow.
So sick, I don't know how...
Never anything more than thou."
I stare up at the stage with stars in my eyes, nearly jumping out of my skin when North makes eye contact with me for just a split second-- then he moves on and most likely makes eye contact with a ton of other fans too. It's nothing special. He's doing what all musicians do and looking out at his fans. Sudden eye contact is nothing rare. Just subtle.
The music calms down, just an eerily slow and melancholic mixture of notes that North and East meld together on their instruments. And then, the next lyrics are whispered. So soft, so terrifying, so angry-- but calm.
"There's a monster in my bed,
In my head,
Held together by a thread,
A fucked path I tread,
Memory of where I once bled.
It's me.
You better fucking hope I'm dead,
Before I slaughter the monster I once fled."
I nearly yelp when the LEDs suddenly shut off, leaving everyone in a pitch black room where only the bartenders have lights. And with the sea of people around me, those distant lights are just a speck of dust in this abyss.
But then, music starts playing on the speakers again-- The Misfits, I think-- and the LEDs snap back on. But the entire band is off-stage. They're gone. Disappeared without a fucking trace.
I blink at the empty stage, noting the perturbed sounds of confusion flitting about me from other fans. It sucks that they left so quickly, but at the same time, this adds to the mysterious air that the band carries. I want so badly to find them hiding in the crowd. I want to sneak backstage and get into their room. I want to run off to the bathroom and hope that, by some ridiculous chance, I bump into one of the members.
And more than anything, I'd love to see North again.
I turn to talk to Ash, finding her pretty glossed lips set in a frown. Bet she'd be shocked if I kissed that frown off her right now.
"What's with the disappearing act?" I ask her, watching as she turns to me, that frown of hers morphing into a quizzical look.
"I actually don't know," she murmurs, looking over her shoulder to see Todd talking to someone, probably another fan. "But something about that giant hunk of man heading this way tells me that we might be able to find out," she continues, voice dropping to a seductive little whisper. I look over her shoulder with her, noting that the same intimidating security guard that scooped up Sal and Larry earlier is headed this way.
I grimace. Okay, so yea, I wanted to disappear and find Dark Autumn Complex two seconds ago but if this guy brings us backstage to actually meet them, I'm going to spontaneously combust. I can't meet a famous person. I can't meet someone I look up to like this. I'm going to make a damn fool of myself.
The security guard reaches Ash, Todd, and I. And he sighs. Fucking sighs upon making eye contact with me.
"Do I have to explain why I'm here again?" he asks, nodding over at me with a blonde eyebrow cocked. It's definitely a warning. If I want to test him right now, he's just going to fuck off and maybe throw me out of the function too.
"Nope," I tell him, my voice quiet and reserved. Very close to shaking. Fuck, someone's going to have to drag me back there because I won't be able to willingly walk backstage on my own.
My heart is pumping a thousand miles a second. At least, that's what it feels like when Ash grabs my hand with a beaming smile on her face.
Todd points behind him, saying something I can't hear to the security guard. He sends Ash and I a little wave then literally melts into the crowd.
No. No, did Todd actually just ditch us? Oh my gosh I'd much rather take a swim in this disgusting ocean at my feet.
I don't really have time to contemplate on the situation anymore as Ash gives my arm a yank, dragging me into the sea of people around us.
She and I are led through a bustling crowd, bodies crowding our every shift and turn. Lights flash all around us, Ash's hand grips tightly on mine, and it hurts too much to watch the floor crawl beneath me. It feels like I'm walking on quicksand and the solid, shadowy strangers slamming into every inch of me-- even into parts of me I didn't know I fucking had-- is making me panic.
I tilt my head up, staring at the wooden, planked ceiling above the crowd and the balcony that's left empty for people who pay for VIP seats. Must be nice.
The lights suddenly change color-- going from a normal white to red and, thus, adding an eerie touch to the already terrifying atmosphere.
Finally, Ash yanks me through a doorway, said door slamming closed me with a loud thud-- courtesy of the guard who led us back here.
"Damn," Ash breathes, so I turn to her, noting her flushed cheeks and euphoric expression. "Doesn't that just give you a rush?" she asks, looking down to me with a grin as she momentarily squints her jade irises.
I stare at her blankly. "No," I reply bluntly. "Actually, that freaks me the fuck out," I continue, squeezing my eyes shut. I want to scream. "I want to scream."
"Then do it. Not like anyone out there's gonna hear you," Ash's nonchalant response resonates in my brain and I open my eyes again, looking at her with a flabbergasted expression.
"Are you serious?" I murmur, "I can't do that here, That's social suicide."
"Just do it, Vi!" Ash happily exclaims, trying to convince me with her stare alone. "It's just us right now. Us and these guards and I fucking promise you they've seen worse than two women screaming at absolutely nothing."
I just look at her, waiting for her to say she was only kidding. But she only looks back at me, that ever-present smile on her lips and ecstatic emotions flashing through her viridian eyes.
Fuck it. It's a good way to get rid of nerves and it's just us.
"Okay," I whisper, tilting my head down a bit. "Anxiety scream on three?"
Bold of me to assume that Ash could reach peak excitement.
Ash's smile widens into a grin and I watch her eyes fill with so much excitement that I'm afraid she'll go crazy for a moment. "Anxiety scream on three."
I nod, confirming yet again as I say, "One."
"Two."
I gulp. "Three."
Ash and I both let out the most banshee-like, horror movie-worthy, tortured person screams we can possibly muster up. Not a single person flinches around us, no doubt having expected this based on our conversation. But that makes it ten times better because then it's like there's no one else there in the first place. Just me and Ash.
At some point, I need to breathe and I'm shocked Ash is still going by the time I keel over and cough up half a lung.
It's a mix of laughs and gagging over our sore and dry throats once Ash finally stops her scream. My hands are on my knees, tears in my eyes as I fight for my life to actually take a good, deep breath.
Ash has her face angled toward the ceiling as she coughs out bellowing laughs-- they're cackles, really.
I stand after a moment, pushing a hand under my mask to wipe at my wet cheeks. But then I look past Ash and notice the three people in all black standing off in a corner of the room-- all of them with three matching masks.
I sober up immediately, clearing my throat and straightening my posture. Fuck, when did they walk in?
Shit, I don't know how to react. I feel so embarrassed to have been caught recovering from a vulnerable moment. And hell, maybe they walked in while we were screaming. Fuck, that's even worse. But at the same time, I'm elated to almost nearly be face-to-face with one of my favorite bands. They don't beat Breaking Benjamin, but damn, they're so close.
It feels like falling in love. Especially when North and I's gazes connect.
Butterflies erupt from the depths of my stomach like a volcano overdue for an explosion. My cheeks heat up as I wonder if I look good enough. My hands grow clammy and my fingers begin to shake, and a very specific type of fuzziness in my head accompanies my racing heart.
I don't know what to say. I suddenly would rather walk out of the room and brave thousands of bodies than actually accept this chance to meet one of my favorite bands. I mean, they aren't going to talk to me anyway. They'll probably just watch me as I babble. Yea, it's better to just leave. I'm five feet away from them-- that's close enough to meeting to me. Time to go.
As I take a single step back, all three band members eyes on me, Ash grabs my hand and keeps me rooted in place. I look up to her, fear holding me still before I can ask her to let me go. But she doesn't let me get a chance to speak either.
"Hi, boys!" Ash chirps, waving a hand at the group. "Nice to finally meet you!"
All three are men?
My gaze travels back over to the group. The singer and guitarist, North, dressed in black slacks, black dress shoes, a black turtleneck, and black leather gloves. His mask is red with gold and black accents, the top portion a sheet of music. Very fascinating.
Then there's East, wearing a black mask with white, silver, and gold accents. He's in black jeans, a black Deftones shirt, black converse, and a leather jacket to top off the look. He also has the black leather gloves to match his outfit.
Finally, South has a blue mask with gold and white accents. He's wearing a black sweater, a white collar peaking out of the top. Black jeans, very fancy black boots, and, of course, black leather gloves.
Damn, they are so fucking cool. I really need to know what the gloves are about though. Everyone saw their hands earlier, what's the point?
"Vi," Ash says, forcing me back to the real world and away from ogling. "Say hi."
"Hi," tumbles from my lips like involuntary and unplanned vomit after a night of multiple screwdrivers that were mainly vodka (yep, that explanation is coming from an experience that will never leave my soul).
It's awkward, and even South rears his head back like he smelled three day old sardines. North simply tilts his head a bit. East is stock still. Worse, they're all still looking at me.
I cough, clearing my throat a bit. Okay, so I can't avoid this. Great. We love it here.
My feet move forward as I bite down my anxiety and bashfulness. I walk until I'm just a foot away from the three men and raise a hand in a pathetically awkward wave. "Hi," I murmur. "My name's VioletViolence. If you can't tell, I may or may not be, like, a big fan." I try to add some humor to the situation, but it's weak and it shows. I can hear Ash hiss awkwardly behind me. "Sorry," I decide to tack on, wincing lightly. "I don't know how to do this."
They all continue to stare at me. I'm considering just saying thanks for the eye contact before walking out.
But then North decides to take pity on me and sticks a hand out, his black glove on full display for me. He's so close that I can see the small bit of pale skin that shows-- the bit of skin where his shirt sleeve and glove don't quite meet. I try not to pay too much mind since the entire band prefers to be anonymous and faceless.
I hesitantly grab onto his hand, my heart pounding at a speed that should probably pronounce me as dead by this point.
His hand is warm and envelops mine fully, his fingers gently wrapping around the back of my hand. I can hardly even feel the cool, smooth leather of the glove because his hand is just that warm underneath. It's calming, intoxicating even.
I pull away before he can, offering a hand to both East and South who shake my hand immediately.
Once I shake hands with the three, I stand directly before North again-- the head of the small pack. He watches my every move, but I can't even make out the color of his eyes due to how incredibly concealed he is. It's almost frustrating. I want to know what he looks like.
I don't ponder. It's not my place to wonder who they are. After all, why should I be a hypocrite? I'd shit if anyone figured me out.
"You guys did so awesome," I say, grinning as Ash walks up beside me and envelops East in a big hug, droning on about how she's so excited to finally meet her favorite bassist after talking to him online for so long. Her voice is so insanely obnoxious that I start wondering what her motive is.
I look back to North who nods at me in thanks. But then it goes quiet. What the hell is supposed to happen here? Maybe Ash is good at rambling, but I'm not and I don't want to ramble. Especially when I won't even get a response back.
North glances over my shoulder, then looks over his own shoulder before turning back to me. Is he looking for something?
He pats his pocket, but his hand pauses mid air before he can pull anything out, and he motions over to one of the guards instead, pointing at something on a table full of snacks. The guard walks over and picks up a clipboard for North to see, and the masked man nods in response, using his hand to mimic writing.
Next thing I know, North has a clipboard and a pen in his hands. He looks at the contents of the clipboard-- a back stage guest list with all The Faces names written on it, as well as mine. But he rips the paper off the board and flips it over to the blank back and starts writing.
I listen to the quiet scribbles, trying not to sweat in anticipation and anxiousness.
Finally, after what feels like minutes but was probably only a few seconds, North hands me the clipboard and the pen.
I flip it around to look, my insides twisting about as I nervously glance at the scrawled handwriting. All caps, but small.
'ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ?'
A little smile quirks my lips. How funny. Me and the lead singer of an amazing band having to communicate through a pen and paper. It just feels silly.
"Sal and Larry?" I ask, glancing up at North who nods, then holds a hand up with his pointer finger as a symbol of the number one. I think about that-- one? What does that mean? Hm... "Oh," I voice, thinking I know what he's trying to say. "Another one? Todd?"
North nods again.
I shrug, holding the clipboard between my arm and side as I flip the pen around my fingers. "Honestly, I'm not sure about Sal and Larry. I figured you guys would know. They've been back here since before the show." I frown a bit. Where could they be? "As for Todd," I continue, "he dipped into the crowd. I don't know if he'll be showing up."
North lifts his head in kind of an 'ah' way, like he understands now that I've explained. Then he motions for the clipboard again, so I hand it back along with the pen.
He scribbles again before handing everything back to me. I look down, scrunching my eyebrows at the message.
'ɪ'ᴠᴇ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʟʟʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪꜱᴛʀʏ'
Holy fuck, what part of this do I address first? I ask myself this, but the first reaction I have is a raging blush on my cheeks. "You watch my videos?" I squeak out embarrassingly. I haven't even made another video yet and it's been nearly three days now...
North hesitates for a moment before nodding, so I continue. Albeit, I continue with a racing heart and the clammiest hands on this planet. "And you think Sal and I have chemistry?" I can't help but giggle at that. North just shrugs in response.
I smile at him, feeling a bit calmer with this topic as a distraction. "I'd beg to differ, but if that's what it looks like online, I won't complain. I'd rather everyone think we were just... that we just have a weird friendship. I don't want them to know that things are actually just as tough as we make it seem."
Why am I blabbing so much? Imagine if Sal walked in and heard this. He'd peel my scalp from my fucking skull.
North motions for the clipboard yet again so I struggle to get it back to him as quickly as I can. More awkward scribbling, then he holds the clipboard up to me instead of handing it back. I guess he anticipates having to write more.
I lean a bit closer, squinting my eyes to read what's written-- curse my shitty vision and contact prices.
'ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴇɴ, ɪ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇ.'
I suck in a breath. "Well, he's definitely hard to be around. But he hasn't done all that much to make me say I dislike him." I think about it. I mean he's rude to me, but it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. And either way, I don't have to mention that I borderline hate the guy... "He's aggravating and rude, but I'm starting to get used to that. Maybe that's just how he is." I trail off toward the end because I've seen Sally in other social settings. He really isn't like this with anyone else. It's just me. It's always me.
But then something more important resonates in my mind. I'm literally telling Sal Fisher's friend about how awful of a person he is.
My eyes widen and I look up, noting North's stoic eyes that hide any and all emotion he could be feeling. I start to panic, waving my hands at my sides as my mouth works silently, trying to find words to say. My stomach churns and I struggle to hold down all the fear that wants to break through my skin.
"Ah, fuck. I'm sorry," I say shakily, bringing my hands in front of me to crack my knuckles. "I don't mean to bad mouth your friend. He really isn't all that bad, I just..." I trail off and shake my head. "I'm just making this so much worse."
I hear what sounds like a muffled snort come from North. The sound makes my insides go still while I wait for his response that's currently being written.
He holds the clipboard up to me, settling into a very nonchalant stance.
"ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴏᴋᴀʏ. ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴅɪᴄᴋ."
My mouth gapes, but then I look into his slightly squinted eyes and can't help but grin. Well, at least we agree somewhere and he isn't angry with me. That helps a lot.
Suddenly, the little connection between us is interrupted. A woman walks into the room and she motions over to Dark Autumn Complex with the most outlandish expression I've seen all day.
"What the hell are you three doing?" she asks, voice falling off into a scoff. "I told you we have shit to cover. You can come hang out with everyone later. Can't any of you listen?"
My eyes widen as I watch the band members all glance to each other. That's one scary manager-- if she is their manager.
North looks back to me, gives me a quick wave, then walks off with the other two members. And they disappear as quickly as they came. I almost feel like the interaction never even happened.
Ash and I shrug at each other, then have a fuck it moment and pick through the snack table.
For a full two uninterrupted minutes, I sit there, snack on chocolate-covered strawberries, and ponder whatever the hell just happened. I think about my own feelings as well.
North was ridiculously nice, especially compared to some of the people I've met before (*cough* Sal Fisher *cough*). He was easy to talk to, even with our speech barrier. We still found a way to communicate, and I'm glad we did. I enjoyed getting to converse with him, however short the moment may have been. Do I have more of a viable reason to crush on him? Yea, absolutely. maybe he isn't as out of my league as I thought. He knows who I am. He watches my videos. And he's nice? That's, like, twenty extra points in my book.
I won't get too ahead of myself though, not when there's this stupid thing going on with Sally. I really need to figure that out first.
And like I specifically said-- I had just two minutes of silence. And after those two minutes are up, the giant metal door that Ash and I walked through a few minutes ago swings open and bounces off of the cement wall beside it.
Lo and behold, in walks Larry and Sal. They're both out of breath, carrying at least four bags in both their hands. Larry's face is red, though he still has that signature grin. Sal's neck is covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
And suddenly, a thread of an idea begins to weave itself through my mind. The thread quickly turns into a full, fleshed out, and calculatingly mapped theory that I'm almost 75% sure about.
And it scares me. Deeply.
Fishnets. Masks. Height. No talking. The sudden disappearance. Sal and Larry's perfectly timed arrival.
I watch the boys with terror in my eyes. I track every step they take toward the snack table. My gaze follows each little treat that they lay out. My ears zone in on their mumbled story about missing the new DAC song to pick up some of their favorite snacks.
But I don't believe any of it. Not a word.
Because I wholeheartedly think that Sally Face and Larry Johnson are two of three members of Dark Autumn Complex.
There are too many coincidences. Honestly the timing of Sal and Larry walking in and the lyrics about fishnets are what set me off the most. There's no way someone can nail an event so closely without having experienced it. And there's just no way Sal and Larry can walk in here like it's nothing after having enough time to quickly change their clothes and grab some random bags of snacks on their run back over here.
It's genius, but it fills me up with dread all the same. No fucking way. I keep getting shocked, but each time, the discovery is so much worse.
Larry randomly boasts about in front of me, wiggling his eyebrows as he skips up to me with that sexy smirk. It has no affect on me right now though. I'm contemplating, I'm theorizing, and I'm genuinely horrified.
He grabs my hands and brings me a little closer to him. I swallow thickly, watching him and waiting. Ideas are running through my head, driving me up the fucking wall. I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm right on the cusp of confirming this unfortunate discovery.
I refuse to have a crush on Sal Fisher.
"Quiero comerte viva," Larry suddenly drawls, pulling my attention away from my desperation for a second. I don't know what he said, but it was random enough to confuse me. But, I at least know the language.
"You speak Spanish?" I decide to ask him, clearing my oddly hoarse voice.
He chuckles, winking at me. "No, but I am an intellectual in the art of romance. I know how to woo the ladies."
I pinch my lips together and give him a pitiful look. "It's not a very good wooing if no one even knows what you're saying."
Larry frowns at me, seemingly thinking about that. But before he or I can say anything more, Sally walks past us and toward Ash. And he says, "It means, 'I want to eat you alive.'"
I choke on air, struggling to take a breath in. Sal just said that to my face and it was hot as fuck. Not to mention, Larry said that to me in another language. That's really hot too.
My head snaps to Larry who looks impressed. "Oh," he says thoughtfully, tilting his head. "So that's what it means."
And now I have to think about how ridiculous Larry is. About why and how Sally just happened to know what that Spanish phrase translated to. And on top of that-- their hidden identities as member of DAC.
But the doors that I believe they disappeared into just a couple minutes ago reopens, and a fresh wave of utter confusion and shock rocks my body all over again.
North, East, and South walk back out, facing us. But they also come face-to-face with Larry and Sal, which means... I was wrong. And I don't know if I'm disappointed or extremely fucking relieved.
Sal, Larry, and Ash talk animatedly to Dark Autumn Complex who simply listens to them without answering. All the while, I stand behind, watching.
Maybe I assumed that Sal and Larry were part of the band because I was desperate to find someone like me. Searching for someone, anyone who was hiding behind another identity. Hoping I wasn't the only selfish person with more than one name. Because I feel guilty about it.
I know I feel guilty-- deep down, I genuinely feel bad for lying to Larry and Todd. Even Sal. He may be a dick, but he and Lexi seemed to really connect. And I didn't have the guts to even tell him who I really am. I still don't.
And so I thought I discovered something in this fucked up situation that I created. Discovered something that never existed in the first place.
_____
A/N::::: hi babies :3 sorry it's been so long, but if it helps any, i have a lot planned! as always though, of course.
I present to you another ryver original *screams* but i've been super excited about this chapter. i'm even more excited about the next though!!! eeeekkkk!
i have chapter thirteen completely written up and fleshed out, i just have to go in and fix a few things and give it a proof read. 'cause i mean, 10,000 words worth of smut is a bit of an overkill right? ;)
For now, here's Dark Autumn Complex's masks.
North's mask ^^^ (fyi, his outfit is inspired by Noah Sebastian. Look him up and see him in a turtle neck. it'll change your life😫)
East's mask ^^^^
South's mask ^^^^
i'll be posting the next chapter in a couple days so i can give myself some time to catch up with you guys. until then, happy days and sweet nights. i love you all endlessly <333
#sal fisher#sally face#larry johnson#ash campbell#todd morrison#travis phelps#enemies to lovers#sally face fandom#sally face fanfiction#fanfic
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•𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒•
𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.
Title: As a soul dreams.
Pairing: Dream of the Endless x fem!reader
Word count: 4000
Warnings: Patriarchal society (sexism, men have more power than women) forced/arranged marriages, aggressiveness, toxic behaviour and parents (dads) mentions/ acts of violence
Summary: Dream had wanted to show her something but Death never could’ve imagined it was his soulmate. Or, in others words, all events told from the perspective of our dear Death.
Author’s notes: A lot of people wanted to know what happened to Alexander while reader was asleep so here you are!!! Just a little sm to get me back into the swing of writing this series again. Also if you want to make suggestions for blurbs your more than welcome to :)))
Part one here
Part two here
Part three here
•𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒•
𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.
Death was curious.
Just before she and Dream were meant to meet the owner of the house the party was being held at he had disappeared. He was good at slipping in between the winds like a shadow, there one second and gone the next.
She had wandered around the party for a while, waiting for her brother to return to her.
And then he did.
She noticed an immediate difference in him - a difference she had never seen before. He seemed lighter somehow, eyes glimmering brightly, soul humming with a life it had not had in so very long.
A smile made its way onto her face as he gently grasped her arm, expression softer than she had ever seen.
"Brother?" Death questioned curiously.
"Sister," He responded simply, voice as light as air, "Come with me."
She laughed gently as he tugged on her arm, pulling her swiftly along. he had not acted so....innocent...for so long. She found herself suddenly hit with a force of fondness. She had missed him much more than she had realised.
"Where are we going?" Death hummed softly, blissfully ignoring the wide eyes of the people they moved past.
"To find someone--" Dream froze as a scream tore through the air.
"Morpheus!"
For the second time that night, Death saw her brother act differently. His eyes widened in terror, somehow going paler as Jessamy cried above him, circling around them frantically.
Then, he moved quicker than he ever had before.
He ran, feet hammering against the floor as he burst through the doors of the banquet hall.
And what a scene they arrived at.
There was a man, gripping your arm so hard Death feared it would snap under the pressure. You tugged and pulled, expression so very frantic hysteria threatening to consume you as you cried, tears sparkling in your eyes.
Dream's fear turned into unbridled rage.
Death took a step back.
Never had he been so furious before.
A laugh escaped the man's mouth, cruel and twisted, "Morpheus...? You stupid girl--"
"Unhand her," Her brother's voice was darker than darkness, relentless rage barely contained to the confines of his body. Death saw his shadow wither slightly, curling in on itself like an animal.
In an instant, everyone looked at him.
You almost seemed to cry at the sight of him, legs ready to give out as relief flooded across you, tears glimmered in your eyes.
Death furrowed her brows.
Her gaze flickered between the two of you and she found herself amazed. Dream's attention was fixated on you, eyes glittering with longing and a protectiveness so fierce it almost knocked her off her feet.
She knew a look so similar to that. It was the look their parents always carried when their eyes met. At least, when they were children.
Two souls kindred.
Death froze.
No.
It wasn't possible.
And yet it was.
"Lord Morpheus!" A joyous voice rang through the crowd, a man with fine clothes and an even finer ability to mask the monster hidden within him, stepped forward. His grin was bright and friendly, he wanted something from them, no doubt.
He smiled, "Forgive my daughter, she does not yet understand her place."
Death saw you just barely flinch, her eyes darkened and her heart called out to yours. She knew you were all too familiar with that treatment, almost entirely numb to it.
"Yes, I assure you, my future wife will learn her position as a woman," The man gripping you chuckled darkly.
Death saw Dream's gaze snap toward yours and she saw the shame that wailed within your eyes as you dropped your head, hiding from his gaze.
Her brother almost stumbled as a realisation came over him.
You thought he was angry with you.
But Death knew he would never be angry with you. Never.
He'd cherish you, she knew. He'd give you the stars, the sun and the moon if you merely asked for them.
"Release her," Dream snarled, barely restraining himself from tearing the mortal man apart.
"Why?" Snorted the foolish man, bony hand forcibly gripping your chin, "She's mine."
Dream caught the way you winced under the man's bruising grip. His body seared with unbridled fury, his eyes burned with an animalistic rage, soul flaming ferally.
Everyone took a step back.
Morpheus took a step forward, the sound echoing loudly, "Take your hands off of her. She belongs to no one except herself," He snarled like an animal, "She is not a possession to claim."
Laughter shot from the man's lips, hands gripping you tighter as his lips curled into a cruel smirk, "Why? Do you want her?"
Death narrowed her eyes at the implication, silencing the few whispers that dared to be spread across the room.
Dream was intense, passionate and possessive but he'd never try to claim someone against their will. He'd never keep someone like a pet, his and his alone to control.
Least of all his...
The word could not yet be formed even in Death's mind.
Dream's soul had been alone for so long, crying out for its other half that its throat had gone dry, so hoarse that barely a sound could escape it.
Death had watched as the centuries whittled away at his hope, slowly tearing him down, stripping him of everything that had made him so wonderous in the very beginning.
She remembered it well.
The wonder in his eyes, the excitement in his veins, the tenderness in his heart.
She hoped you would reignite that.
Her brother tilted his head, "I want her as any would their soulmate, but I will never force her."
Gasps filled the air.
Dream of the Endless had found his soulmate in a human girl.
Death could see it in his gaze, how, to him, you were brighter than the universe. How before he had walked in existence with no light and how you had come hurtling at him like a tidal wave. Sweeping him off his feet and igniting his fire. You had become the sun and he was drawn to you like a butterfly to a flame, uncaring of the burns that licked his skin.
You were the dawn of Dream.
Dream was the dusk of you.
Opposite yet the very same.
Souls forever bound by one another, homes settled deep within one another, true life found in one another.
"No," Death could see the insanity curling over the man's eyes, mouth contorting into a rabid snarl, "I won't let you have her. I'll kill you."
Death almost felt it then. The man was walking the line between living and dying, the next moments would be pivotal. Those next seconds would shape the course of everything.
Dream could kill him.
He was perfectly in his rights, the mortal had become an active threat.
Then, she saw the fire ignite in your eyes.
Death realised it was new, just beginning to flicker to life, growing out of the searing cruelty of the life you had lived till this moment. She realised that you would suit Dram very well.
Challenge streamed through your veins and strength glittered in your eyes, not only would you complement her brother's strong-willed soul but you would fight against his wrong choices.
And you would win.
Death grinned as you threw your head back, the sheer force of your attack making the man stumble. Elation shimmered, a woman not torn down by those who sought to keep her confined.
The Prodigal would like you.
Her heart shattered at the thought.
"Will you?" Morpheus' voice rumbled, outlined by echoing mountains and all-consuming oceans. The shadows twisted, snarling silently as they curled, desperate to tear the foolish man apart.
And they were about to.
If it weren't for the panicked scream of a woman, "My Lady!"
The shrill of her voice rang as sharp as a star as she struck forward like a bolt of lightning, old soul stretching as far as it could, pushing her weathered body quicker. She flew to the floor, just managing to catch the limp body that belonged to you.
Death felt Morpheus' heart still.
It was almost akin to Orpheus. Dream had loved his son dearly but the man had wounded his soul, shattering the looking glass of protectiveness. He had said goodbye to his son but Death knew well that her brother had come to regret it.
She remembered it well.
The way the Dreaming raged and stormed longer than it ever had before, crying just like its creator. Wailing for his soul. But Dream would not go to him, shame and guilt weighing on his soul.
God, how he wished to be better than their parents.
God, how he felt he had failed.
God, how he refused to ever let that happen again.
The noise only returned to Death when Dream's shadows retracted instantly, his gaze fixated on you and only you.
Both of them ignored the shock that coursed through her.
He rushed toward you, veins pulsing as he swept to his knees beside you, eyes frantic. Gaze transfixed on the rise and fall of your chest, the methodic beating of your heart.
It was only then she noticed they were in time.
Your heart and Dream's, every beat perfectly in time, hearts as kindred as souls.
Death watched in fascination as her brother - her brother who was reserved, quiet and dominating treated you with a softness she had never seen. His eyes were so impossibly gentle it almost made her stumble.
It was unconditional.
Her brother.
Dream of the Endless.
Morpheus had finally found his happiness.
Not his function, no, there was a very fine line between the two.
Dream had found his purpose, his reason for breathing, his reason for breathing, his reason for existing.
Now Death understood why Destiny had been so set on persuading her into going to this silly party and getting her to convince Dream to accompany her.
Destiny was a sly bastard and she loved him for it.
Death watched as Dream swept you into his arms, expression so gentle it was akin to the first snowflake ever created. She grinned playfully as she glided forward, eyes alight with amusement and happiness, "I bet you're happy I convinced you to go to this party, hm?"
Dream's lips just barely quirked up but it was more than enough. Her brother's face had not been carved out of stone, unmoving and emotionless for the first time in a very long time.
It almost made her want to cry.
He was coming back, truly. She couldn't wait for the day he turned to face her and she saw the wonder that always seemed to glitter in his when they were younger. When everything was new - including them - and the laws of creation had not yet been set.
"Of course I am," He took on a tone she had not heard in many years, "My sister."
She patted his arm tendering, eyes gleaming with happiness, "You go to her room. I'll sort this lot out and...him."
Dream looked at her, and she was ready to admit that her words took her by surprise. Death was merciful, kind, and gentle, and the laws of dying were hers. She decided whether a person could die or not.
Hob Gadling was a perfect example.
She remembered him well.
She remembered how he screamed for his family as they were all consumed by the Black Death. She remembered how he wailed in the aftermath of a battlefield as his eyes recognised some mangled bodies that were once his friends. She remembered the anger in his eyes as he yelled to the sky that life was a gift and that Death should not be allowed to steal it.
But most of all, she remembered how that anger turned into a wonder so much like her brother's. After pain, the things that always follow are joy, revelation and revolution. Hob Gadling saw the world with new eyes, through eyes that were free, untethered and alive.
Nothing was ever meant to be permanent. He knew that now and he revelled in the ever-changing world around him. he would be a good friend for Dream, a very good one, Death couldn't help but think.
It was simply Destiny that she and her brother stepped into that tavern and heard Hob rave about how he wouldn't die. Death had to thank her brother for that one as well.
The laws of dying were hers.
And unlike Hob Gadling whose immortality was his greatest gift, other humans would find it a curse.
Including the man who had dared touch her little's brother soulmate that way. No, who dared to touch anyone in that way. The Endless were forbidden from taking action against any mortal unless they were an active threat, lest they invoke the Kindley Ones' wrath.
But that didn't mean there weren't loopholes.
Death grinned as her brother moved up the stairs, taking you, his lady love away from the boorish scene.
Everyone stood, breath bated, unsteady and nervous. She smiled, they knew the Endless would outlast everything.
And that Death would outlast the Endless.
At the end of it all, she'd be the last one standing.
After all, Death comes for us all.
Even herself.
She tilted her head, neckless tapping against her chest fondly as she spoke, "Everyone who isn't that man," She motioned to the man who had so wrongfully tried to claim you and then to your father, "And that man over there. Leave. Now. I have no anger toward you, keep it that way."
None of them needed to be told twice, scuttling away frantically. Faries escaped quickly and Death wondered when they would disappear forever. She wondered how Dream would take it, he was rather fond of the King and Queen.
Soon enough, everyone was gone leaving only the three of them.
"Where are you going?" Huffed your father at the old woman who had just managed to catch you as she moved out of the hall.
The woman looked at the man, silently biting her anger, "The last said for everyone who wasn't you or Alexander, I am not one to disrespect orders, my Lord."
Death enjoyed the carefully hidden insult as the woman spoke the last words, her voice almost mocking as she met his eyes.
She smiled, "Who are you to her?" The woman hesitated, "You are welcome to speak openly and freely."
The woman did so, "I've been by her side since she was babe, miss. I was there when she spoke her first word. When she first scraped her knee, when she couldn't sleep. I have been there through tears and joy and laughter. It has been my honour to watch her grow into the woman she is now."
"Then I suppose you are the one to ask about her," Dream's voice rang, shadows rippling behind him, barely contained.
Titled her head, the woman spoke with sudden defiance only a loving parent could have toward a suitor, "No. She's the one to ask. You're her soulmate do not attempt to learn about her through others. Learn about her through her, then and only then will you find her truest self."
Death smiled, "You got told."
Dream scoffed.
The woman huffed softly, "I will give you this hint, she sees everything with wonder. And the wonder in her eyes when she discovers something new is greater than anything you will ever know."
Dream nodded, you and Lucienne would get along well indeed, "I thank you."
"You are most welcome, Sandman," Grinned the woman.
Death barked out a laugh, eyes glittering with amusement. Such a wonderful woman Mary was, she would enjoy the trip they took together when Death finally came to collect her. Though that wouldn't be for a long time, the woman still had lots of life left to live.
"Now, I'll be off," The woman smiled, walking away with a bounce in her step, "Don't have too much fun, children."
Neither sibling would admit that something warmed in them at those words. It had been a very long time since someone had spoken to them like children, endearing and soft. They missed it, all of them did.
As soon as the woman swept out of the room, it darkened.
No longer were the shadows kept at bay. They swirled and snarled, gnashing teeth and sharp claws. The flinching flames from the candles were snuffed out, the fire being forced into submission as it wilted into ashes.
Now the only light came from Dream's eyes.
They weren't human anymore, her brother had long forgone that courtesy. His eyes shimmered with the weight of stars, glittered with the brilliance and fantasy and fear and crackled with the intensity of creation.
Even when furious he remained completely and undeniably beautiful.
Death made the first move, carefully moving her chess piece in an attempt not to shatter the board too early. She smiled, lips curving like daggers and teeth glinting like promising swords, "Gentlemen. Choose your words carefully, they'll decide your fate."
Alexander remained silent at the sharp look your father sent him, eyes dark and stormy. He was going to try and salvage some kind of relationship.
Death almost laughed at the notion.
It was far too late for that now.
"It is natural in our society for women to--" He began.
Dream was quick to cut him off, teeth pointed like a predator, "Your society is wrong. My soulmate will not be subjected to such cruelty."
"She's just a child--" Attempted your father again.
"You dare try to fight me," Dream's voice turned to a hiss, venom dripping from his mouth as he glowered, the heaviness of the universe storming in his veins, "Insolent mortal."
Alexander shot up, tilting slightly on tipsy feet, "You talk as if she's not mortal," His eyes were pointed like misshapen arrows, not able to land true but able to cause pain, "You talk as if one day she will not die. You talk as if she is made for you and your realm. She isn't. Not truly. The girl can't even perform simple magic!"
Death furrowed her brows at the look of rage on Drema's face when the last comment flew into the air.
"Why would she need to perform magic when she's magic herself?" Death hummed with a tilted head.
All heads snapped to her in an instant.
Death sighed, "All men, no matter what status or species are all dreadfully idiotic."
Dream stepped forward, eyes narrowed, "What do you mean?"
"Well, brother of mine, men are--" Death was cut off.
"I do not mean that, you said y/n needn't perform magic when she herself is magic. What do your words mean?" Death could see the way her brother's eyes gleamed with intensity. The fierce desire to know everything about you and protect you shinning through.
She sighed gently, "Dream. You're Endless. You will exist across many universes, many aeons and many changes. Soulmates are kindred spirits, fundamentally the same at their very cores. You and y/n are soulmates which only means one thing..."
Dream took a step back, eyes widening.
Not possible.
Entirely possible.
"But...how?" He just managed to muster.
Death shrugged, "Destiny nor the Fates know the truth behind soulbonds. What we know about them is limited, and eternally changing. Anything is possible."
He swallowed harshly, "Are you sure?"
Death paused, "No, not entirely. But I felt it as soon as we entered the grounds, the whole place hums with magic, it's seeped into the dirt, it's fixed in the walls. Then I saw y/n and felt it, her entire existence is magic, it flows through her endlessly..."
"My y/n..." Murmured dream, enamoured.
"What in the Devil's name are you two yattering on about?" Hissed Alexander.
Death looked him up and down and spoke to her brother, "Would you consider another bet?"
Dream gazed at her with bemused but curious eyes, "And what will this bet entail?"
"The very same bet as Hob Gadling, once every century," Death extended her hand, eyes glinting with amusement.
Both of them knew Alexander would be tortured as an immortal, he'd hate every second of his existence the second he found he could not die. And Dream would be there to see him every century.
The perfect punishment.
Dream clasped her hand, vengeful eyes sated.
Death smiled, "And the same for her father?"
Dream shook his head, "I believe knowing that the daughter he shunned for so long is more powerful than he ever could have imagined is more punishment than we could ever give him."
Death nodded, "Very well, brother."
Just as her brother was about to say something, he paused. Tilted his head slowly, as if listening to something. Dream's anger seemed to fade like mist, and ever so slightly his jaw relaxed.
You were beginning to awake, then.
Death couldn't wait to meet you.
She didn't have to wait long.
You easily swept into the banquet hall, bright-eyed and curious. Magic indeed. It strummed through your veins, igniting from your fingertips and you had no clue. It amused her to no end, especially now her brother was so acutely aware of it.
He hovered around you, fitting by your side so perfectly it was almost impossible to imagine that he had walked alongside someone else, to imagine that you weren't by his side all along.
Then, a thought struck her.
When they were young, terribly, terribly young, when magic had not yet seeped into crystals or the earth it always seemed so...fond of Dream. When they walked in plains unformed, magic swirled around him constantly, wisping past his cheeks with find smiles and secret grins.
Perhaps you had been by his side all along.
She smiled, gliding toward you, "You must be y/n."
You grinned back at her, perfectly at ease, "And you must be Death. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Death flooded with happiness.
You were not frightened of her. Or her gift. And that made her so unbelievably relieved.
It had been so long since she had met a human like you, unyieldingly unafraid of her presence. You gazed at her as if she was an old friend and spoke to her like she was a new friend you were excited to know.
She could almost cry.
The universe had chosen you well.
"And it's a pleasure to meet you as well," Death found herself talking easily, "I can tell we're going to be good friends. Especially when I tell you stories of my little brother."
"Sister..." Muttered Dream.
Death grinned in amusement.
You giggled, "I can't wait."
"Excellent," Hummed Death, feeling the sudden yet familiar pull of someone's dying breaths drawing close, "I have to go now, my duty calls and I believe someone needs to have a word with you."
The air prickled at her words.
Dream's eyes flickered to Death's.
How had no one realised? The air was stagnant with magic, sharp, awaiting a command that didn't know how to come. Someone should have figured it out, when you were a child that kind of power should have been all over the place, not yet controlled.
Dream needed to look into that.
"Of course. It was wonderful meeting you," You hummed easily, smile bright.
"You as well," Death grinned and she couldn't help it, she wrapped her arms around your shoulders. She expected you to go stiff but to her utter surprise, you leaned into her embrace.
From over your shoulder, she gave Dream a look, one he reciprocated.
Death let out a sigh and within a blink, she was no longer in the warmth of your arms. Instead, she stood on a cold patch of grass, waiting.
She took a breath, composure suddenly breaking. Death stumbled on her feet slightly, unusual as Endless always seemed to carry an air of weightlessness around them. Her hand slowly rose to her mouth as she looked to the sky that burned with the glow of the sun.
Dream of the Endless, her little brother, had finally found his soulmate.
Hope flooded her like rays of sunshine and light.
She lifted the sleeve of her dress where words gleamed a perfectly brilliant white.
"If I knew that the reaper was this gorgeous I would've died a lot sooner."
A smile spread across her lips, bright and wonderous. Her soul hummed in contentment, and the fire of longing and hope reignited.
Oh, how Death couldn't wait to meet her soulmate.
They had kept her waiting for so very long, after all.
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Letting go of my fantasy self
“We're in the world, not against it. It doesn't work to try to stand outside things and run them, that way. It just doesn't work, it goes against life. There is a way but you have to follow it. The world is, no matter how we think it ought to be. You have to be with it. You have to let it be.”― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven
“Without giving up hope—that there’s somewhere better to be, that there is someone better to be—we will never relax with where we are or who we are.” ― Pema Chödrön
I've been doing a great deal of reflection lately, as I realised I have become highly invested in my fantasy self, and the fantasy life that goes along with her. Now, I don't think that fantasies, dreams and hopes for our lives and our future are all bad. We all need something to hope for, and goals can be highly motivating.
However, they do become problematic when taken to an extreme. Our ideals and fantasies can make it very difficult to come to terms with our current reality, and can sometimes lead to poor choices. It can also create disappointment and chronic dissatisfaction.
A good example of this would be fixating on an ideal partner in our mind, and overlooking the actual people in our lives who are interested in us and could actually be a good match for us. Or it could be that we get into a relationship with someone who is incompatible, but we project our dreams and fantasies onto that individual... so we can’t see them for who they really are, or accept that the relationship is not good for us. In more extreme situations, it can lead people to be in denial about relationships that are toxic or abusive.
Another example is in our shopping and spending habits - often we buy things for our fantasy self, and subconsciously hope that our next purchase will bring us the happiness and freedom we long for. Most advertising and marketing is actually trying to sell us on an image, a lifestyle, an emotion... because that's what works. This can easily lead to overspending and financial difficulties, as well as having too much clutter we don't need. I discuss this in more depth in my blog post, Decluttering My Fantasy Self.
The Law of Attraction and related practices can be especially problematic in this regard, as they can cultivate a habit of visualising an idealised life. This could have a positive side for some - especially if the goals we visualise are somewhat realistic and attainable, and we take action to move towards them. Many people do find this to be helpful and encouraging.
However, if the goals are seemingly unattainable or far out of reach, it could actually make us feel more hopeless and dejected. It could make it very difficult to appreciate the present, and make the most of it. We can also end up constantly comparing our daily, lived reality with the fantasy in our minds, and our actual reality will never measure up.
Besides, even if we did achieve all our goals and dreams, chances are they wouldn't measure up to our fantasy version of them. No relationship or job or home is going to be perfect and without problems or flaws, after all. We might always feel like we're setting for second or third best in life. Because often when we picture certain goals or dreams, what we really want is not the thing itself, but the feeling we associate with it. Feelings of love, belonging, adventure, excitement, joy, freedom, wholeness, security or peace, for instance.
It makes me think of this quote from Victoria Erickson: "Paradise has never been about places. It exists in moments. In connection. In flashes across time." We sometimes try to grasp and hold tightly onto this paradise, when it’s something that cannot be grasped. I have often associated this sense of utopia with living in a certain place or finding “the one”, but for some it may be associated with another sphere of life such as being in the right job or having the ideal friend circle.
While anyone can be susceptible to this particular malady, it seems that Intuitive Feeler personality types (the NF "idealists") are far more prone to fantasy-based thinking. After all, we live in a world that is, for the most part, not built for NFs, empaths, or highly sensitive people (HSPs). Statistically we are in the minority. Sometimes it's easier to retreat into our own minds or utopian dreams, because the world can be such a harsh, unforgiving place.
Of course, at times we need to titrate our experience of reality when life really is too much. Being fully present isn’t always the answer. We all need breaks to replenish, which is part of why art, music and books are so important. All kinds of entertainment, including video games, TV and movies have their place in moderation. When I was struggling with living in a place with severe toxic mould that affected my health, playing Pokemon Go provided a welcome distraction for a while. I don’t think there is anything wrong with this!
I've also come to realise that my fantasy self can actually play a very important role in my emotional life. She carried me through some very dark, traumatic times in my life. She gave me hope when I was hopeless. She gave me a dream that things could get better. So I don't regret her entirely.
And yet, what happens when the fantasy self starts to hold us back from our real life? What happens if it starts to lead us to make choices that aren't in our long-term best interests?
I've realised I need to start letting go of my fantasy self, and practice radical acceptance. However, this can also come with a great deal of grief. It's essential to hold space for that, and give ourselves time to process that grief.
Because often that grief is the grief of our unlived life and unrealised dreams, which is particularly acute for those with severe chronic illness or disabilities. We can miss out on so much... relationships, careers, travel, having children, active hobbies, volunteering and so on.
People with histories of trauma or abuse may struggle greatly with this as well. It’s hard to let go of the fantasy of having loving parents and a kind family who is always there for you. It can feel almost impossible to give up the fantasy when it seems like the fantasy is all you have.
For this reason I would say don’t force it too much, if you don’t feel ready. Stripping away our coping tools before we are ready can be harmful - especially if you don’t have any other resources and tools to fill the void. There is a time and a season for everything.
Just being self-aware is a wonderful start, and can help us unblend from the parts of ourselves that find comfort in fantasy. (The concept of unblending comes from Internal Family Systems Therapy by Richard Schwartz.) Part of the problem with our attachment to a fantasy self is that it often remains largely unconscious, so we can’t even really see it for what it truly is. It wields a subterranean power over us, and influences our lives and our choices outside of our awareness.
So, how do you deal with this? How did I start letting go of my fantasy self? Here are five steps I would recommend:
Write down what your fantasy life would be like. If you are visual, perhaps you could make a Pinterest board. If you like music, you could pick a few songs. If you like, you could share it with a friend, therapist or mentor as well.
Engage in a ritual for letting go of your fantasy life. This could include lighting a candle, writing a letter to your fantasy self to thank her and say goodbye, or maybe writing it on a piece of paper and burning it.
Read aloud a letting go affirmation, such as this one I adapted from Teal Swan: “I hereby lay to rest my fantasy of the life I wanted. It wasn’t in the cards for me. It did not happen and it wasn’t my fault. I am ready to release you now and live my life from this day forward; doing what I can with what I have from where I am.”
Allow yourself to grieve, and have self compassion. Give it time. It's not easy to let go of the fantasy life, because it's something that soothes us in difficult times. Practice plenty of self care. Do something you enjoy and engage in play, rest and creativity.
Cultivate mindfulness, gratitude and radical acceptance. Find ways to embrace the present moment and enjoy the little things each day. A regular mindfulness meditation practice could be beneficial. There’s also apps like Presently for recording what you’re grateful for each day.
I love the song 'Myth' by Beach House. I see my fantasy self as a kind of mythic story I created about myself and my life. I like how the song emphasises the power of naming it and identifying it - because when we do, it can help us to see clearly and to eventually let it go.
[Verse 1]
Drifting in and out, you see the road you're on
It came rollin' down your cheek, you say just what you mean
And in-between, it's never as it seems
[Chorus]
Help me to name it
Help me to name it
[Verse 2]
If you built yourself a myth, you'd know just what to give
What comes after this momentary bliss?
The consequence of what you do to me
[Chorus]
Help me to name it
Help me to name it
[Bridge]
Found yourself in a new direction
Arrows fallin' from the sun
Canyon callin', would they come to greet you?
Let you know you're not the only one
[Verse 3]
Can't keep hangin' on to what is dead and gone
If you built yourself a myth, you'd know just what to give
Materialize or let the ashes fly
[Chorus]
Help me to name it
Help me to name it
Further Resources
Radical Acceptance Guided Meditation
Letting Go of Fantasies and Wishing Things Were Different
Bury The Fantasy to Let Go of the “If Onlys”
#radicalacceptance#selfacceptance#selflove#selfcompassion#lettingo#fantasyself#fantasylife#gratitude#mindfulness#selfcare
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Foul - Boxer!Din AU
Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.
A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.
Word Count: 7k
Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)
Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.
Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist
He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.
He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.
Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.
Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?
“Enough!”
Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.
Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.
The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?
But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.
“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”
Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.
“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”
“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.
Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.
The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.
Din stood.
Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.
The breathing exercises didn’t work.
Because the idiot kept talking.
“Did you see the ass on that?”
Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.
“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.
Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.
“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”
The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.
Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.
Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.
The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.
“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”
Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.
The fucker had a death wish.
And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.
His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.
And he attacked.
He was lucky he had only been disqualified.
He was damn lucky no one called the cops.
But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.
Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.
Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.
“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”
“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.
“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.
“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,
“Where is she?”
Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,
“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”
“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.
“Din?”
Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.
Mine.
Not yours—
Mine.
He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.
He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.
Never.
They wouldn’t dare.
Not with him around.
But how could they know?
How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?
Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.
“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”
You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.
He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.
You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.
“Din will you just—”
You didn’t get another word out.
His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.
“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.
It didn’t matter.
He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.
“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.
So fucking hot under his hands.
So beautiful.
So his.
“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.
Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.
“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.
Traipsing around in a dress like that…
His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,
“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.
His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.
So trusting…
Fuck.
It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.
He tried again.
“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”
His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,
“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”
He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.
Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.
He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.
He couldn’t.
But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.
Like he did?
Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.
He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.
“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.
Look at the ass on that.
That.
Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—
He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.
“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”
The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.
Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.
Perfect.
He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.
And he desired you. Constantly.
“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.
“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”
Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,
“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.
Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.
Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…
Bastard.
He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.
You were dripping.
He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.
A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.
A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.
You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.
“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.
He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.
“More—” you whimpered.
“Greedy—” he growled back.
The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.
It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.
Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—
You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.
Din wanted you.
He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.
Fuck.
The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.
Din wanted you.
But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.
You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.
“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”
You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.
“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.
His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.
A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.
“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.
“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”
The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.
“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.
Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.
Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.
You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.
“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.
“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.
“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.
Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.
He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.
He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.
“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.
“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.
You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.
“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.
Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.
His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.
“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.
“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”
His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.
“Fuck—!”
He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.
Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.
His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.
“Feel… feel better?”
“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.
“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.
“Gino’s?”
“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.
You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,
“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.
It didn’t.
He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,
“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.
You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.
You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.
A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.
You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.
For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.
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A Triwizard Baby Part 1 - F.W
Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist,Taglist
Part 1 Fred Weasley x Fem Reader mini series
Requested/About: Best friends, Y/N and Fred Weasley share a night of passion together during the Triwizard Tournament, after that, everything changes and Fred can’t figure out why until the night of the final task. Y/N has the world on her shoulders, and Fred slowly finds himself losing everyone around him.
Want to be tagged? Let me know!
A/N: the ages/school year has been adjusted so everything is legal.
Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, intoxication, drunk and unprotected sex, losing virginity.
It all started when the more outspoken, confident twin crashed into you on the Hogwarts Express in your first year at Hogwarts. Sure, you were upset, embarrassed, and annoyed, but when you looked up and realised who had swept you off your feet, you knew it wasn’t your brain messing with you - from that moment you had fallen for him; Fred Weasley.
After your first train ride, classes, and many more along the way, over the years, you and Fred became best friends, going through thick and thin together, sharing the worlds loudest laughs, best pranks, and even the biggest tears. Your tiny crush on him blossomed into something much more, a love that couldn’t stop growing and spread out of control, but you were sure that Fred didn’t feel the same, and as you became older, reaching the end of your years in the education system, Fred discovered other girls and sex, whilst you drowned yourself in the life of parties and bottles of fire whiskey.
Fred loves the parties, he loves fire whiskey too, but he loves the other girls and the sex in a different way because they feed his ego, and it helped take his mind off you and the fact he didn’t have the guts to pursue you.
You were labelled as the party-girl which every girl wanted to be and wouldn’t challenge to a drinking game if their gold was on the table, and Fred gained the title as the play-boy, who made every lad jealous and watch in envy as he never got rejected and could flirt with any girl he wanted.
You had to hear the stories of your best friend fucking your classmates, and how much they loved it, praising him and gossiping about how skilled he was with his fingers, tongue, and cock. You were jealous, and you didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn't invent your sex life to reach Fred’s rank - you had never had sex - you were a virgin through and through.
Sitting next to Fred on the edge of his bed in the hospital wing you shook your head, laughing at the state of him and his twin, George.
“I’ve got to say, you’ve got a magnificent beard.” You laughed, the sight of George being an old man funnier than you expected.
Fred smirked despite still being pissed off with George “I never knew you were into older men” he winked.
“Well, you never asked.”
George groaned out “get a bloody room, the pair of you!”
You rolled your eyes at him and pulled Fred’s pillow from under his head, causing him to slump down, you bashed George with his pillow, sticking your tongue out at him and pulling a face.
“Y/N, don’t encourage them!” Madame Pomfrey hurried over, retrieving Fred’s pillow “Out! Out!” she shooed you.
Standing up and put your hands up in defence “Alright! I’m going!”
Fred’s smirk turned into a grin, “Watch the first task with us?” he asked.
You nodded “with pleasure, I heard Bill is going to be there.”
And you weren’t wrong, the first task came within the blink of an eye, you were honoured to meet Bill in passing - more like a “Hello!” with an awkward wave, followed by “Goodbye!” and another awkward wave, but the dragons fascinated you, and Fred spent the majority of the task watching you instead of the Hungarian Horntail, Swedish Short-Snout, Chinese Fireball, and the Common Welsh Green. George had to keep reminding Fred that their money and future business was on the line.
During the celebration party as it got later in the evening, you and everyone else surrounded Harry, clapping and cheering as he lifted the golden egg infant of him, parading it around, all of you watching and waiting eagerly, encouraging him to open it in hopes that it could liven up the party - giving everyone an excuse to stay up late and continue drinking.
Fred and George lifted Harry up, propping his legs on either of their shoulders, their arms strapping him in so he was above the large and busy crowd.
“Knew you wouldn’t die, Harry.”
“Lose a leg.”
“Or an arm.”
“Pack it in altogether.”
“Never!”
Fred and George stopped heaving Harry into the air, Seamus begging for a clue, you stared at Fred, your eyes getting lost in the strands of his long golden hair, but you weren’t the only one - the girls behind you were fixating on him, whispering about his good looks and height.
You zoned out completely, the same jealousy and bitterness spreading through your veins, you had to talk to him, tell him you loved him, but how?
Harry opened the egg, bright light of gold broke out followed by loud screeching, breaking you out of your toxic train of thoughts, Fred and George dropping Harry and flinching like you and everyone else, covering your ears and begging Harry to shut it up.
“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron interrupted.
Fred huffed and shook his head “As if this party couldn’t get any worse.” he turned around and tried to flee to his dorm room, calling it a night and encouraging everyone to get to bed.
The two girls behind you who were salivating over Fred pushed past you and called him over, blushing and batting their eyelashes at him.
“We’re throwing a party of our own” she eyed him up as if he was something to eat “tonight doesn’t have to end on a downer.”
Her plan worked, instantly gaining Fred’s attention, he grinned and nodded “Wicked, can I bring someone along?”
“George is already invited” her friend replied, smirking at George.
“Can I bring someone else too, though?” Fred asked.
The girls exchanged looks with one another cautiously, but they didn’t want to let him down or uninterested him, “Of course! Who?”
Probably his friend Lee or some girl he’s fucking.
“Y/N!” Fred called out, smiling at you “You want to join this party with me?”
The girls glared at one another, muttering and swearing under their breaths to one another.
This is your moment, Y/N, don’t mess this up, shoot your shot.
“Yeah!” You smiled back, feeling honoured and slightly shocked “Yeah, sure!”
Once everyone had cleared off, you and your new group sneaked out of the common room and into Moaning Myrtle's territory, all the professors were either partying or fast asleep, even Mr Filch and Mrs Norris grudgingly had the night off.
The dark and grubby bathroom spun around whilst you got onto your knees, the cold tile floor making you shudder when coming into contact with your warm legs. The two girls smirked and sat down too, the shorter one pulling Fred to sit down next to her, her hand continuously placing itself on his knee, ticking you off.
“Well, since Y/N decided to drink her feelings, we’ve got an empty bottle and we could do with a game to lighten up the mood.” The shorter girl spoke out, causing Fred to give her a dirty look for calling you out.
“What is it then?” George asked “Pretty shit place for a party.”
“Careful” you hiccoughed “Don’t want to make Mrytle cry.”
“We’ve decided truth or dare, but with spinning the bottle. Whoever it lands on has to answer a truth, or accept a dare from the spinner.”
You rolled your eyes “Seems very... tween like of you.”
Fred laughed.
“You weren’t invited, so feel free to leave if this party isn’t good enough for you.”
You ignored her and played along anyway.
“George” she squealed “Truth or dare?”
George hesitated for a moment “Truth”
“Does Fred keep you up at night with all the girls he brings back?”
After what felt like an eternity, the bottle finally landed back and George, and he spun the bottle, causing it to land on you.
“Y/N, truth or dare?”
I swear if you ask me anything stupid -
“D-dare.” you hiccoughed again, trying to act bigger than your boots.
George stared at the two desperate girls and looked back at you “I dare you to snog my brother.”
Okay, I really wish I went for truth, what was I thinking? Bloody hell!
“Okay then” you replied nervously, crawling in the middle of the circle, Fred crawling over to you, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
Fred’s warm, large, gentle hands cupped your face, leaning in, his lips pressed against yours shocking both of you as if a spark had ignited, whilst you kissed back, your hands tangled in his long golden hair and the two of you were suddenly hit with the realisation of how in love with one another you actually were.
More students had caught wind of the lame party and livened it up, playing music and brightening the bathroom up with colourful moving lights, bringing more fire whiskey and encouraging everyone to dance.
Everyone around you watched as you and Fred continued to snog, his tongue dancing with yours, his cock starting to support a semi, everyone cheered aside from the two girls who felt as if they had shot themselves in the foot.
“Okay!” the girl called out again, trying to pull Fred away “Times up!”
but he didn’t want to stop, and neither did you, the memories you shared playing out in front of you.
“I’m sorry for crashing into you” he frowned, sitting next to you on the train “is your head alright? I can try and make the bruising go away.”
You couldn’t stay mad at him, you chuckled and shook your head “It’s okay but thank you for offering” you smiled.
His twin brother entered the carriage, “Fred-” he stared at you “what’s happened to you?”
“I wish you were coming with us” Fred sighed, grumbling to himself.
“Oh don’t be silly, you’re going on holiday!” you beamed “just make sure you take plenty of pictures, I’ve heard Egypt is lovely!”
“I’ll write to you and I’ll send the photos through the owl post if I’ve got enough time.”
“We’re supposed to be studying for our O.W.Ls!” you hissed at Fred, hiding your answers from him as he continued to make your stationary levitate and drop onto your head.
“Please take part in this prank, Y/N” he begged “I promise I won’t ask for anything ever again.”
“But you always do, Freddie!”
He stared at you, pouting and making puppy eyes.
“Fine” you sighed, giving in “Let’s go and do it then.”
Fred punched the air and grabbed you by the hand, pulling you away from your desk, the two of you smirking and giggling with excitement.
“I didn’t realise it would be this cold” you shivered, standing outside of Honey Dukes, snow falling from the sky and sticking to the pavement.
Fred pulled off his knitted jumper “Put this on love, don’t want you freezing now do we?”
The memories snapped away as Fred fell back, his arm in the girl's hand, you were desperate for more and opened your eyes, frowning that he had been dragged away for a dance with her, you watched as she wrapped her arms around his neck and his hands rested on her waist.
Getting off your now red cold knees and standing up, you downed some more fire whiskey from the first bottle you laid eyes on and decided to copy Fred - dancing with anyone who wanted you - grinding against them, having them hold you close and breathing down your neck, you had to admit, for someone who had never done this before, you were doing a pretty good job, almost as if you had done it before.
Fred couldn’t get you, the kiss, the feeling of your lips, tongue, and the replay of memories out of his head. Breaking away from the girl, he approached you as you pulled away from the tall Hufflepuff lad, finally reuniting with the love of your life. Almost instantly, Fred’s lips collided with yours, your hands back to being tangled in his hair and his hand squeezing your behind teasingly, alcohol on your breath and his.
“I want you.” you breathed, pulling away from the kiss “I want you to fuck me like you do everyone else.”
“I want you too” Fred replied, taking your hand and fleeing from the party.
After what seemed like a marathon, you finally burst into Fred’s empty dorm room, he shut the door behind him and locked it before kissing you passionately, lowering you onto the bed and taking your clothes off.
This was it, the moment you were craving for years on end, this was it, this was how you would be losing your virginity, this would be giving yourself to your best friend entirely.
But Fred had no idea that it was your first time, in his head, you were having just as much sex as him.
Fred couldn’t get over the sight of your naked body, your breasts, your tummy, your bum, your inner thighs, your exquisite crotch - you were the definition of perfect, he had forgotten about every girl he had ever seen naked at the sight of you, you were making him feel as if this was his first time all over again.
Fred sucked on your nipples whilst he stimulated your clit with his fingers, warming you up, the sensation of his warm tongue and mouth sent shivers of pleasure down your spine, and as nervous as you were, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning as he played with your touch starved clit.
“Are you ready, Y/N?” Fred asked, pulling away from your breasts.
“Yes,” you breathed out, slurring slightly “I’m ready Freddie.”
Fred’s head, like yours, was also spinning. He stumbled and reached for the lube, applying it onto his length and then across your tight hole. Fred felt as if he had forgotten something, but the more he wracked his own brain, the more he couldn’t remember what he needed. He laid you on your back and climbed on top, lining himself against your entrance.
Looking at you one last time to make sure, you nodded, and he slowly pushed himself inside of you, stretching you out as your walls tightened around you. You winced as you experienced an entirely new feeling, Fred slowed down and stayed still inside of you so you could adjust to his size when you were ready to continue, Fred started to trust himself inside and out of you gently, holding your hand and kissing your head as you started to feel incredible pleasure, your soft moans spilling from your lips.
Fred couldn’t believe he had gotten so lucky, he was fucking - no - he wasn’t - he was making love to the most perfect girl in the world, someone he actually cared deeply for and had feelings for, you weren't a stranger, you were special, you weren’t temporary, you were soothing his aching heart - your absence was the cause, and your love - the medicine.
You watched as Fred’s hard cock slid inside and out of you, you admired his perfect body, the way he moaned and expressed the pleasure he was feeling through his facial expressions, you gripped onto his hand tighter as he picked up his speed and throbbed inside of you, you didn’t want this to end, you wanted to live inside this moment forever.
“My- My tummy feels tight” you panted, not knowing what was happening.
“Cum for me, Y/N.” Fred panted too “Don’t hold back.”
Oh, so that’s what that feeling means?
The pressure built up until it burst, you felt yourself explode as the pleasure became more intense, you relaxed and released, creaming down Fred’s length, your walls strangling him.
“Fuck!” Fred panted, the beads of sweat spreading across his forehead and back “I’m cumming baby!”
Baby.
“Y/N!”
Fred released his sperm deep inside of you without realising he didn’t have a condom on, you didn’t know whether he had put one on or not either, you didn’t know to ask or mention it, you were on birth control up until last week, you had to come off it due to the side effects and stress you under as your N.E.W.Ts approached.
Fred slowly pulled out and collapsed in your arms, the two of you holding one another, your eyes too heavy to stay open.
As you drifted off to sleep, your life was about to change forever.
Taglist: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @alwaysnforeverfangirl @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx
#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley fanfiction#fred weasley x you#fred weasley imagine#george weasley#george wealsey x reader#george wealsey imagine#george weasley fanfiction#George Weasley one shot#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#Harry Potter fanfic#ron weasley#bill weasley#bill weasley x reader
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a letter to my lover | na jaemin
♡ dear y/n, i’m writing you this letter in the hopes that it gets to you well. our relationship has been tumultuous, that’s for sure, and i thought it was high time i wrote you a letter detailing all the times you said "i love you" that are important to me.
genre: jaemin x reader, smut (only at the start), angst, R18 ONLY, supernatural!jaemin, incubus!jaemin
warnings: unprotected sex, toxic relationships, profanity, alcohol consumption, and mentions of drugs. jaemin is not a good person, and this is not a happy story.
disclaimer: this fic is in no way glorifying or romanticizing toxic behaviour/relationships. how jaemin is portrayed is not an accurate reflection of him as a person. readers must strictly be over 18 years old. please make your own judgement over whether or not this fic is right for you.
tagging: the lovely @roses-of-the-moon ♡ @mora134340 @ncteology + @nct-writers
word count: 2.3K
Y/N,
The first time you said “I love you”, you were moaning underneath me.
You were just a Tinder hookup, or so I told myself. If I wasn’t gambling, getting into fights, or partying until the sun rose, I was swiping away on that goddamn app, matching with as many individuals as possible. The night I met you was no different. Your Tinder profile was pretty standard - ‘hi I’m Y/N and I’m not looking for anything serious, apart from a good chat and laughs.’ We matched with each other, I sent off a quick ‘hi beautiful, I’m Jaemin’, and within a few messages you were already putty in my waiting hands.
We met at a bar, and I really wasn’t expecting you to look the way you did. I checked your pictures, of course, but at this point I was basically fucking anything that walked, so I hadn’t paid too much attention to what you looked like. I wonder if you knew the outfit you had so nicely prepared would be off your body and lying on my floor in a mere hour.
I wined and dined you like the fine gentleman I am, and we made the decision to travel to my place for some fun adult time. This routine was so familiar to me - go on a Tinder date, spend a little bit of money on the date, bring my Tinder match back home, have some hot sex, feed of off their energy, and then kick them out.
That night, I had myself positioned in between your legs, my hips rolling like the tides and causing you to let out an attractive whine of ecstasy. You wrapped your arms around the back of my neck and pulled me closer, threading your fingers through my hair, and whispered in my ear, “oh god, I love you.” I smirked and didn’t think much of it - if I wasn’t sleeping with someone and they didn’t confess their love for me then I was clearly doing something wrong.
The words continued to spill from your mouth as we both reached our highs; your fingers dug into my neck and the pain transformed into pleasure as I came inside you. As your own orgasm rushed over you, I leant down to kiss your lips - instead I sucked as much energy from your body as possible without causing you to fall unconscious.
You see, I was an incubus, and in order to live I fed off the sexual energy of my partners. I spent hours each week scrolling through Tinder finding matches so I could continue to exist, but I was also young and keen, and having sex multiple times a week was fun for me. Partying, drinking, and having sex was just part of my lifestyle as an incubus. It was a common rule for incubi to avoid forming attachments to those we slept with, because monogamy doesn’t really fit in well with our lifestyle, and that was a rule I was trying to abide by when I kicked you out of my apartment just minutes after I had fed from you.
If only I realised how hard that rule would be to follow when you were involved.
The second time you said “I love you”, I said it back.
After we slept together, I broke my only rule: don’t get attached. You still had my number, and I had yours, and it became normal for us to meet up at night for a quick hookup. Whenever you had an argument with your partner-who-wasn’t-actually-your-partner, you’d call me. Whenever I felt the nagging effects of a lack of energy, I’d call you.
It just made sense for us to be each other’s crutch, to use each other for our own selfish needs, to build a relationship around our mutual sexual frustrations. I didn’t become attached to you because I was fond of you. I became attached to you because I had this inherently primal desire to ruin you - to come through like a wrecking ball and destroy the life you had known before me.
Every Saturday I invited you to a local party a vague acquaintance of mine was hosting, so we could get drunk enough to have a quickie in a spare room and never speak of it again. Each Wednesday, we would go down to a local nightclub to do the exact same thing. I found myself ditching all my usual friends-with-benefits, and we fell into a daily routine we didn’t realise would be the end of us until it was too late: drink until we couldn’t walk, gamble until there was nothing left in our wallets, fuck until we physically couldn’t keep going, and repeat.
It was at one of these sex-filled parties that you told me you loved me for the second time. The penthouse belonged to a distant friend of mine, and we’d witnessed multiple hookups, drug deals, and fights before you pulled me out onto the balcony for some fresh air. We stood in silence together as we both watched the bright lights of the city spread into the distance and took in the sounds of a restless society.
Our shoulders were only mere inches apart - a poignant symbol of our relationship, of how we were so close yet so far away from actually knowing anything about each other. You turned towards me, I remember seeing the lights of the city below us reflected in your eyes, and for a fleeting moment I regretted how our relationship had ended with us harbouring a coexisting love and hate for each other - an emotional ambivalence, never crossing the line either way, but teetering too precariously for us to ever have a healthy relationship.
When you smiled, told me you loved me, and delicately kissed my cheek, I didn’t hesitate to tell you I loved you back. It was a lie, of course. I knew it was a lie, and I think you knew it was a lie, too.
The third time you said “I love you”, you were crying so hard that I’m sure you couldn’t even see my face.
When I first met you, you said you were a university student, studying biology (or something like that; honestly, remembering your education was not my main priority at the time). You had a part time job, and you lived in a dorm rented by the university.
Were we born purely to destroy each other? It certainly felt like it.
By the time we were through with each other, you were functionally a university drop out. Attending all those drug-fueled parties with me became your life, and studying was placed on the backburner for me. You were skipping classes to chill out and have sex with me, and more than a few times I spied a letter from the university warning you of your inevitable expelliation. You’d been fired from your part time job almost as soon as I had fixed my claws into your life - clearly it wasn’t possible to hold a job if you never actually showed up. Because you had no job, and you were spending all your money on alcohol and gambling with me, you could no longer afford to live in the university dorm anymore.
My life was falling apart, too. Ever since we had met that day, I’d been hyper fixated on you. My mind was constantly filled with you, Y/N. Thoughts of when I’d see you next. Thoughts of which places I could take you to get absolutely shit-faced. Thoughts of how I could make you scream out in pleasure. Thoughts of how you were always on my mind, like a constant itch I could never quite scratch. Thoughts of how I could destroy you.
It was only when you told me you were on the verge of homelessness and begged me to let you stay with me that I finally realised our relationship was a huge problem for both of us. I loved you so much, Y/N, but our relationship was taking over my life. You made me break my one rule - not to get attached - and that angered me. It stimulated a desire in me to totally wreck you and your life.
I didn’t know how to deal with the simultaneous feelings of love and hate for you that were that strong. I loved you so much, and the only way I could get you to stay with me is if I ruined every other aspect of your life - your education, your career, your financial security. You were sweet, Y/N, but you were naive, and vulnerable. It made it easy for me to envelope you into my toxic life, and then spit you out when I was finished with you.
Only, the way I was acting wasn’t a reflection of who I truly was. I’d never reacted this way to someone I’d been seeing before. When I realised just how toxic our relationship was, I knew I had to end it. Being around you made me want to destroy every part of you - to take your heart in my hand and squeeze until it shattered into a million pieces - and that wasn’t normal, nor was it okay.
The day I sat you down and told you it was over, you started crying immediately. Of course you did, who could blame you? I was the only thing you had left in this harsh world, and now I was slipping from your grasp, too. It was only when you told me you loved me, through the bitter tears rolling down your cheeks, that my stoic mask broke. I knew you loved me, and I love you too, so much, but we just couldn’t go on like this. We couldn’t keep hurting each other this way.
So, when it was all said and done, we promised not to see each other ever again.
The last time you said “I love you”, we were twenty-two.
Turns out, you’re really good at keeping promises. I never saw you again, after the day we broke up. I held up my end of the bargain, too, but it was so hard. The temptation to message you, to crawl back into your life like a nasty leech was always there in the back of my mind. The idealization that your life had gone to pure shit since I’d left was also prominent, and the hopes that you’d message me saying how you couldn’t live without me were strong, but not reality.
We’re fifty now.
In the past 28 years since we’d last seen each other, not a day went by where I didn’t think about you. As the years wore on, my hate towards you and the effects of our relationship slowly dissipated, and I was left with the empty feeling of regret. Yesterday, you were on the news. The biochemical company you worked with had just discovered a key component for the development of an important vaccine, and you’d been the one to speak with the press about it. When I saw your face, decorated with the fine lines of age, your hair showing sneaky signs of greying, I expected all the memories of us to come washing over me again. Instead, all I felt was remorse.
While your life was constantly on the upwards, mine had been spiralling down. After we’d broken up, I found it hard to find another lover to replace you. No one I slept with made me feel the same passion as you did - no one fueled that primal desire in me the way you did. I still had sex because I needed to in order to live, feeding off of the energy of others was what kept me alive, but it became more of a chore than anything. I was alive, but I wasn’t living. I was just existing. I am still just existing, twenty-eight years on.
When I think about you, Y/N, I think about what we could have been. What would have happened if we loved each other? Not loved the feeling of destroying each other, but of truly caring for one another? Would we have been happy together? I searched your name on the internet, and your wikipedia says you are contentedly married. Says you have been for well over eighteen years. I hope your partner loves you. I hope they treat you better than I did. I hope you’re happy with them.
I don’t think that our love story could have ended any other way. We were both too young, too vulnerable, and too obsessed with each other to ever have a happy ending together. I wish I could tell you how much I miss you, but I made a promise to you to not see you again, which I guess is why I’m writing this letter instead. To tell the paper all the things I will never get to say to you. To finally put it out there that if I had the chance to go back and forget you, to never meet you, I would. I wish nothing more than to go back to living a life where I had never loved you.
When I broke up with you, I wanted you to be happy. I knew I wouldn’t like it, but I knew in order to see you content again, I’d have to go. I left, you became happy and found the love of your life, and I will have to live with the regrets of my past actions for the rest of my miserable life.
I really hope you’re as happy as you seem.
Jaemin
© 0606-hyuck 2021. All Rights Reserved.
#neowritingsnet#cznnet#nct-writers#dreamwritersnet#nct#nct dream#nct jaemin#jaemin nct#jaemin#na jaemin#jaemin x reader#jaemin imagine#jaemin scenario#jaemin nct dream#supernatural nct
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The Phenomenon of the Immortal Sun: Jasper Hale x Fleur Swan, Chapter 3
None of the characters in Twilight belong to be, all rights go to Stephenie Meyer.
"'Cause I'm lovesick
And I ain't even ashamed
And I'm hard up, for some time in your sheets
Would you be down to spend all your time with me?
'Cause I'm lovesick."
Lovesick by, BANKS.
The reception looked absolutely beautiful It seemed every inch of it was covered in decorations.
"I have to admit, Alice and Rosalie know what they're doing," Jasper said.
"They even made the cake look appetizing to me... not enough for me to stomach to eat it but still," I replied, ever since I had become a vampire, human food made me sick.
"They've done their job then," Jasper said a smile was still etched on his face.
We began to sway to the music, I melted into him.
"Please call me your baby, baby
Look how long that you have kept me waiting
I'm all in, look at all that I have given
Oh, I know your love before I kissed you
And now you have only made me miss you
Come get me
Come love me, baby come love me."
"'Cause I'm lovesick
And I ain't even ashamed
And I'm hard up, for some time in your sheets
Would you be down to spend all your time with me?
'Cause I'm lovesick."
"I just wish Bree could be out here with the rest of us..."
"I wish she could too, but even if she wasn't presumed dead...being around all the humans wouldn't be good for her," Jasper explained comfortingly.
"I know." I pecked Jasper's cheek.
"Please call me your baby baby baby
Look how long that you have kept me waiting
I'm all in, look at all that I have given
Oh, I know your love before I kissed you
And now you have only made me miss you
Come get me
Come love me, baby come love me."
"'Cause I'm lovesick
And I ain't even ashamed
And I'm hard up, for some time in your sheets
Would you be down to spend all your time with me?
'Cause I'm lovesick.'
"Are you going to tell me where we're going or is it going to be a surprise still." I inquired.
"Patience my love, good things come to those who wait." He teased, biting my lip.
I whined
"I don't wanna wait..."
'Cause I'm lovesick
And I ain't even ashamed
And I'm hard up for some time in your sheets
Would you be down to spend all your time with me?
'Cause I'm lovesick
'Cause I'm love sick
'Cause I'm love sick
'Cause I'm love sick
'Cause I'm love sick
'Cause I'm love sick
'Cause I'm love sick
We broke apart from our loving embrace when the song ended. I scanned the crowd searching to see if I could find Leah and Seth again, when I did I dragged Jasper with me eager to see them.
"Hi, I'm so glad you guys made it!" I greeted them and pulling them both in for a hug.
"Good to see you Fleur, you look beautiful." Leah said, Seth nodded in agreement. I saw Billy Black and Sue standing behind them. I walked up to them and hugged them too.
"I hope you'll be happy Fleur...I wish you both the best." Billy said with a somber tone.
"Thank you."
"Well, I don't know about the rest of you but I plan on getting drunk. Sue, could I interest you in a glass of Champaign?" Dad asked.
Before Sue could speak Billy interrupted them.
"Sparkling fire water. Sounds great." Billy said, almost running over dad's ankles." They all walked away.
"How long do you think it'll take for them to get together?" I asked Jasper.
"I give them a month or 2." Jasper estimated. Two unfamiliar voices greeted us both.
"Fleur, Jasper! Congratulations!" A woman greeted.
"Thank you." Jasper replied.
Two gorgeous vampires greeted us, one male and one female.
"Hi, Umm... Eleazar and Carmen, right?" I guessed.
"Mhm, Hola!" Carmen said.
I then saw three blonde women standing behind them, observing us. Jasper saw me looking at them and answered the thought bubbling in my head.
"Those these are our cousins from Alaska. Tanya, Kate, and Irina."
"We've heard so much about you. I'm Tanya." She greeted sticking out her hand for me to shake it.
"Welcome to the family. Bienvenida." Eleazar added.
"Thank you. You're very welcoming." I said.
"Irina, Come meet Fleur." Carmen called out to her.
I could tell something was troubling Irina and I followed to where her gaze was fixated at. She was looking at Seth, anger was in her eyes.
"I can't do this..." She grumbled.
"You promised," Tanya hissed at her.
"She invited one of them."
Jasper looked to where she was gesturing to and sighed.
"Irina, he's one of our friends."
"They killed Laurent!" She rebutted back
"He tried to kill my sister and I." I explained.
"I don't believe that." She said, getting in my face.
"I suggest you back away now... we don't need to cause a scene." I grumbled getting even closer to her face.
She backed away and left, stomping away.
"I'm sorry you guys, thank for coming." I said, a guilty look made it's way onto my face.
"No no don't worry about it..." Carmen comforted.
"Well. Let's not monopolize the bride. Congratulations." Eleazar said. Walking away with Carmen
"Thank you."
"We're sorry." Tanya said, her and Kate walked away as well.
"Well.. what's a wedding without a little family drama huh?" I asked playfully.
"C'mon you let's go, speeches are starting." Jasper said, pulling me in the direction of the chairs.
"Excuse me. Is this on? Hello?" I heard Rosalie whistle at Emmett.
"Umm, I'd like to propose a toast. To my new sister. Fleur, I hope you've gotten enough sleep these last 19 years. 'Cause you won't be getting any more for a while." Emmett laughed and winked at me.
My mouth was slightly agape and I breathed out a laugh. I turned and saw my dad who downed his glass of champagne. My mother just rolled her eyes and repeated what my father had done. I saw Leah stand up and go over to the stage.
"Fleur... I've known you for as long as I could remember. Some of my favorite memories were with you on that beach. And the reaction you would give every time I would shove you into the freezing cold water."
Everyone in the crowd laughed.
"I know I haven't always been the nicest to you, after my father died I completely blew you off.... I know I treated you coldly. But you still were kind and gracious to me and my brother Seth. So thank you... for always being there for me even when I wasn't there for you. Jasper, you better take care of her, you have a whole lot of people who are willing to hunt you down." Leah finished. Jasper gave her a nod and a smile, a silent promise in a way.
My dad stepped up next, I saw tears in his eyes and gave him a comforting smile.
"Jasper will be a good husband. I know this because I'm a cop. I know things. Like how to hunt somebody to the ends of the Earth... I also know how to shoot a gun. But I also know this because he's loyal and empathetic, and a wonderful influence on my daughter. He sniffled before continuing, I love you Fleur... and I'm so happy for you... for both of you."
"Now that you're my sister, you'll have to get over your version to fashion... Yes, you have some style but... the t-shirt and jeans have got to go... and those god-awful ankle boots have got to go too." Alice said.
"Never!" I jokingly yelled.
"Fleur, I remember when Jasper had come home saying he had finally met "the one." I was skeptical, scared even... my first instinct on you was to hate your guts and keep you away from my family. But then I got to know you and I saw how compassionate and understanding you were. I knew you wouldn't hurt my brother, who had been treated horribly for so long and deserved someone with the same amount of compassion as him. Thank you Fleur, welcome to the family. To Jasper and Fleur!" Rosalie finished raising a champagne glass.
"To Jasper and Fleur!" Everyone repeated.
Dinner had gone by smoothly, everyone was too distracted to notice none of the Cullen's and I had eaten or drunk anything. Soon enough after most of the cake was devoured it was time for us to go. I had to run to the bathroom since my contacts were beginning to dissolve in my eyes due to the venom. When I got back out I saw Alice and Rosalie putting Jasper and I's bags into my car. Before I could make it to my car dad approched me.
"Well... It's gonna be strange, you not living under my roof." He started.
"Yeah. It's gonna be strange for me, too." I replied.
"You know it will always be your home, right?"
I know dad, I love you. Forever. I pulled him in for a hug.
"I love you, too, Petal. I always have and I always will. All right. Go on. You don't wanna miss your plane. Wherever it's going."
"I won't dad... I should probably say bye to mom and Bella too..."
"Good luck Petal," Dad said, humor was in his voice. I sighed and walked my way over to them, they were embracing and saying goodbye to one another, since Bella was going on her honeymoon too.
"Oh, Bella... I will miss you so much, I love you." Renee said tearfully.
"I love you too mom, I will miss you too," Bella replied. They both stopped talking to one another when I approached them. Their faces dropped, it seemed I dampened the mood.
"Well, I'll see you later mom, Bella, have a good one." I said.
"Yes, I'll see you in nine months... I mean... later." Renee said condescendingly.
"Mother, even if I was pregnant I wouldn't let you near my child. They don't need your spews of toxicity around them." I spat out before walking away.
I hugged all of the Cullens before walking up to the car, I was about to get into the driver's seat when I threw the keys at Jasper. His face was in shock.
"Only because we got married, cowboy, it's a present from me to you."
"Thanks, Darlin." He smiled at me.
We began to drive off, I waved at the people in the crowd and smiled at them.
"Ready to go?" Jasper asked.
"Yeah...I'm ready."
#jasper whitlock x oc#jasper whitlock#jasper hale x reader#jasper cullen#jasper hale#jasper hale x oc#carlisle cullen#emmett cullen#esme cullen#alice cullen#edward cullen#twilight saga#bella swan#twilight
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Ranma ½ is GENIUS. Here’s Why by Bonsai Pop
The thing I really appreciated about Ranma ½ when I was younger, was that it was a discussion about gender without getting sidetracked by sex, the way most “sex comedies” did, especially at the time. At the time, publishers tried to market Ranma ½ as a “sex comedy” in the vein of raunchy college-setting Hollywood movies or fanservicy Male Gaze series (compare “Futaba-kun Change” or the proceeding “harem genre” that Ranma ½ started). But Ranma ½ felt more like a discussion about gender more than sex, or even more than sexuality. And being an AroAce kid, who didn’t know what AroAce was at the time, but was very confused about my gender, I really appreciated Ranma ½’s focus on gender over sex, fanservice, and heterosexuals navigating (sexual) relationships—which, I *cannot* express enough, was the saturated majority of all anime/manga, that even came close to discussing gender, at the time. I just wanted a discussion about gender, gender roles, complaining about presumed traditional ideas about gender, and how to define one’s own gender despite society’s pressures about gender. I wanted a discussion about Strength, that the martial arts genre did so often, without an advocation for sexist ideals, toxic masculinity, stereotypes about “feminine” being weaker (even as warriors), fixated only on romance, or any number of female stereotypes, etc. I feel like I can’t remind people enough of how it was back then, when not only were these toxic mysoginist ideas portrayed frequently, but they were also portrayed as good, true, “right”, or unquestioned. At least when Ranma Saotome was being a sexist jerk, he was punished for that terrible thinking or eventually had to reconcile with his dissonance. And Akane Tendo was revolutionary at that time too. It used to be that on the Shonen genre side, we had only hyper fem, passive, romance-fixated, love interests, OR nagging, cold female characters that really felt like the author was conveying all their horrible views on women in general, OR sexy eye-candy that had close-ups on their boobs or butt so frequently, that it completely made their lack of focus on romance or anything else in their personalities, secondary. Then on the Shoujo genre side, we had girls who were fixated on nothing but romance, constantly jealous and possessive—and often over guys who hadn’t even proven themselves worthwhile to pursue romantically. Let’s face it: A lot of Shoujo leading men were often jerks, treated their female love interests badly, and for some reason, she was just supposed to play the devoted “Lady Murasaki” and be totally “in love” with him. Whyyyyyyyyyy????????????? Even worse on the Shonen genre side too, because he treats her badly, it doesn’t get portrayed as bad treatment, he doesn’t understand why she’s angry, so she just looks like a volatile nag all the time, often existing only to be objectified or serve as a flimsy motive for his character arcs and actions. It was a pretty bad time. Not that now has eliminated those problems, but when Ranma ½ and Akane Tendo seem like the shining lights of something different, maybe then you can understand how much I sorely needed Ranma ½ and Akane Tendo at that time.
Really surprised that this video essay didn’t mention Jackie Chan. The thing that differentiated Ranma ½ from so many martial arts battle anime/manga at the time, was that Ranma ½’s style of martial arts was inspired by Jackie Chan. Meanwhile, all the other Shonen martial arts manga/anime were so serious and based more on “cool”, “action” genre toned martial arts movies.
I’m intrigued by this video essay’s idea that Ranma ½ the series isn’t sexist, but rather, characters within the series are sexist, and are so in order to make a point about how them being like that is messed up. I need to grapple with this because one of my problems in looking back at Ranma ½ is that it can be a little transphobic and/or homophobic at times. Like, I’ll never forget when Tsubasa Kurenai was introduced and, Akane, this character that we’re supposed to completely sympathize with during this series, just keeps screaming in Tsubasa’s face that they are a “pervert”, simply because it’s revealed that Tsubasa identifies as a boy but dresses as a girl. I think the episode just ended like that, and that was supposed to be a joke, but I don’t know whether the reveal’s shock intended on the audience was supposed to be conveyed through Akane and we were expected to have the same reactions as her, or if we were supposed to be shocked at Akane’s reactions and her reactions being ridiculous were the joke. I dunno; it was a long time ago, I don’t remember much context, and I really should look it back up. But frankly, there’s a lot of Ranma ½ to sift through and that’s more time than I have, writing this post. Akane does seem to repeatedly have instances of being perfectly nice to characters, but when she discovers they’re actually guys, she spends a lot of time yelling “pervert” in their faces. Sometimes I don’t know if we’re meant to see how ridiculous Akane is being or if we’re meant to agree with her. Again, I watched/read the series a long time ago, and maybe if I re-watched/re-read it now, it would be clear to older me. Because, when it happens between Akane and Ranma, Ranma has a specific line, grummbling about how Akane was perfectly nice to him, up until she found out he was actually a boy. And Ranma was a bit nice in his characterization up until that early line of dialogue, so maybe we were supposed to be on his side in that thought. So maybe Akane spending the rest of the series yelling “pervert” at Ranma (repeated so often it’s essentially their running gag), is supposed to be a joke laughing at how irrational Akane is being. o.o? I’d hate to think we’re supposed to be on Akane’s side, repeatedly calling Ranma a “pervert” over a curse that he had no control over getting, and early on was portrayed as a misfortune that the audience was supposed to sympathize and pity him over. Maybe the whole thing is supposed to point out Akane’s flaws, since everyone in the series is pretty messed up. (Even Kasumi unsettled me a bit when I was younger, in that she dropped her entire life, to replace her mother’s role when she died. For me, being a young girl who didn’t buy into those traditional female roles, that were still at the time, strongly pushed onto girls in society, that was a little unsettling. Still love Kasumi as a person though.) Akane did have reason to “hate boys”, as the series specifically states early on, but I’d like to think that she was given this flaw as a point to grow away from. Just as this video essay calls to attention Ranma being sexist and, over the series, eventually growing out of it. But back when I was young and initially into Ranma ½, I feared that some of these sexist or even homophobic ideas in Ranma ½ were actually reflective of thoughts that Rumiko Takahashi advocated. After all, there’s a point in Maison Ikkoku where Kyoko berates herself by saying all women are fools. Maybe I was too young to see the nuance in a character berating her own mistakes in her love live, vs the implication that all women are “properly” stereotyped into being obsessed with love and end up acting foolish for it. Nowadays, I can see how we can berate ourselves whenever our specific actions can slot us into generalized stereotypes, and we curse ourselves for falling into proving stereotypes true on occaision. But back then, when I was younger and watching Ranma ½ for the first time and reading Maison Ikkoku for the first time, I was afraid that such lines were reflective of Takahashi believing such stereotypes as truth. Which is why I was so happy when sometime after Ranma ½, Inuyasha had a canonically gay character, and instead of Inuyasha calling him a pervert the entire time, he just got exasperated with his non-stop flirting, the way that all the female characters from Ranma ½ are tired of guys who won’t take “no” for an answer. At the time, I thought, “Yay! Takahashi has evolved to a less homophobic stance!” But maybe, all this time, she was always against such things, and merely portraying them, even through characters we were supposed to sympathize with, merely to show how messed up such ideas are. I really like that thought which this video essay presented.
But I will disagree with this video essay on 1 thing: The manga is better. I’m not trying to be elitist. I realize that comedy has a very subjective sensibilities, and the anime leans into awkward silence type comedy, whereas I am sick of that type of comedy. But so many visual gags and jokes in the manga, and Rumiko Takahashi’s style in general, involve panels that are almost completely re-drawn, with only 1 element changed—the gag element—suggesting that the eye is supposed to read from panel to panel quickly (since the human eyes/brain filters out a lack of change, and is hard-wired to focus on changes from previous conditions). To me, this suggests quick punchlines, whose sudden oddity is supposed to shock, implying an intended fast pacing to the jokes. And yeah, Takahashi will draw seemingly normal scenes, detailed with all the normalcies of a commonly recognizable environment, then suddenly the next panel is exactly the same except a character is contorted into a silly pose or an absolutely ridiculous creature with an intentionally nonsensical facial expression has suddenly appeared, amid that completely “normal” scene, with all its “normal” details _redrawn_. It’s why the “evil oni” episode in Ranma ½ had a ridiculous face, despite its supposedly ominous background. In fact, anywhere Takahashi can fit a gag face, especially if it contradicts the surrounding scene’s/story’s serious tone, she will do it. She has even said in interviews that if scenes are too serious, she will try to put in a gag in the corner. I remember reading Maison Ikkoku during a depressive episode (for both me and Godai) and suddenly Yotsuya had poked his head through a hole in the wall, into the scene, shining a flashlight onto his own face, like a kid telling a ghost story, all while he made funny faces and Takahashi’s typical gag with the sign language “I love you” gesture. The woman cannot let things stay serious (except for Mermaid Saga, parts of Inuyasha, and some short stories), and I love her for it! ^o^ But the way she suddenly injects ridiculousness into scenes and character designs, suggest, at least to me, an intended fast paced delivery with the jokes. That sudden shock when you notice Yotsuya making faces in the corner of a depressing scene. That sudden shock, when Ranma is hiding from his mother, and is clinging to the ceiling or futons like Spiderman, and Akane is just supposed to act natural so Ranma’s mom won’t notice where he’s hiding. To me, this suggests the punchline is supposed to come at you like a sudden punch, unlike awkwardness that hangs in the air. So when the anime tries to make the joke linger, I just don’t enjoy it as much as when my brain can dictate the faster pacing I want (and believe better fits) while reading the Ranma ½ manga.
Also, the manga is better because those manga filler episodes were not as well written as the manga. Rumiko Takahashi is a master of short stories. And that shows when you run into the less-effective filler anime episodes–even when you don’t know they’re filler episodes! I remember watching the Ranma ½ anime before reading the manga, before there was even internet lists of which were the filler episodes, and coincidentally, all the filler episodes did not make me laugh out loud, whereas every episode up until that point, had made me uncontrollably laugh. I feel like the anime thought that because Ranma ½ was an episodic, very silly series, they could just insert anything and it would fit. But clearly, only the manga-based episodes—and even individual scenes!—had the nuance of Takahashi’s writing and pacing, to make even an episodic, ridiculous series work.
Also, I love how this video essay just lavishes the love on Rumiko Takahashi. ^o^
Another thing this video essay pointed out that I appreciate about Ranma ½ is how indifferent Ranma is to all the advances of his suitors or even accidental fanservice. All the consequential “harem genre” series that tried to emulate Ranma ½ always seemed to include male protagonists who were surrogates for the audiences’ intended horny reactions. But Ranma was neither turned on, enticed, nor tantalized by even accidental fanservice falling into his lap. (As Mother’s Basement has noted, harem genre protagonist have a penchant for accidentally falling and grabbing a girls’ boobs, or their face falling into her boobs, or accidentally put into a position to forcibly see up her skirt, etc.) If anything, he’s more embarassed that he accidentally walked in on girls in undress, rather than enjoying the view OR reacting so long, that the scene drags on, fixating on the accidental nudity/groping/fanserivce. And I was about to postulate that maybe because most harem genre and fanservice series are usually made by straight men for an audience with a Male Gaze. But Takahashi wrote Maison Ikkoku’s Godai, right before she created Ranma ½, and he very much enjoyed the view, took peeks, and fixated on any accidental fanservice. So it’s actually Ranma himself who had reactions and a perspective that were very agreeable to this asexual.
I hadn’t noticed before this video essay said it, but Happosai really is condemned much more for being the “pervy old man” archetype, whereas other series are very permissive towards that same archetype, even when they’re being sexual predators. I’d like to attribute this to Takahashi bringing a woman’s perspective, but Sailormoon was also written by a woman and (if I remember correctly) Rei’s grandpa’s pervy ways were reprimanded in only 1 episode then permitted as a running gag in the rest of the series (thankfully, not often). Then again, lots of the Shoujo genre also advocated for many toxic traditional ideas about gender (like girls picking romantic partners who don’t respect them, and girls being fully devoted/invested in such guys, because they “once” meet the bare minimum for human decency by being nice to them once). So maybe it was uniquely Takahashi’s prerogative to not let the “pervy old man” archetype slide as supposedly “endearing” silliness.
#ranma 1/2#ranma1half#rumiko takahashi#video essay#analysis#gender#manga#anime#nostalgia#old otaku#martial arts genre#shonen genre#reactions#reminicing
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Some random thoughts I have on romance and the romantic tropes I was raised on that I believe truly set me up to be in the middle of some emotionally abusive and toxic relationships.
Brought to you by an annoyance at seeing these same "romantic" tropes of my youth appearing time and time again in my media and my fandoms:
Things that are not nearly as romantic as they seem:
"Saving yourself"
Not that you have to have more than one sexual partner in your life (or any- what up ace friends), you don't. But you are not tainted if you have slept with somebody else prior to your current partner and they shouldn't ever make you feel like you are no matter how many sexual partners you have had. Anyone that requires you are a virgin in order to be with them is not somebody you need in your life.
"It's for your own good" breakups.
They may sound like the end all being all of love, somebody martyring themselves for you because they just love you so much they can't stand by and watch you stay with them as they (insert tragic situation here). But trust me, you won't find it so romantic when your agency is stripped away and you're standing there with a shattered heart over someone that "loves" you. Hearing it's "for the best" doesn't make you feel any better. You are entitled to make your own decisions about your own life.
"I'm not good for you"
If somebody is telling you this repeatedly, there are only a handful of things they are looking to accomplish. Either they:
Lack self confidence, which, in limited quantities is okay, but over time will become draining on your emotional wellbeing if it's not a give and take. Your partner can have insecurities, we all have them, but it's more than fair for you to want a partner who is at least confident in your love.
Are fishing for your regular reassurance that yes, indeed, you DO love them (which over time becomes a form of emotional manipulation to get you to feel guilty and center their needs over your own whether they are aware of it or not).
Are trying to get you to leave them for your own good, which goes back to lack of agency which I discussed above.
To summarize, you shouldn't have to be regularly pouring from your pitcher to hold up your partner emotionally. Your partner's emotional health should not be entirely on your shoulders and if it is, that's not healthy for either of you.
Jealousy
There is a difference between missing something you used to have and having regrets about said loss, and jealousy. There is a difference between wanting monogamy with your partner (if that's a negotiated expectation between you both) and not being able to handle your partner talking to another person. Somebody being jealous and "resource guarding" you like you're the favorite toy and they are some untrained territorial dog isn't a sign of how much they must love you. It's a sign of how much they want to control you.
And if the jealous is coming from somebody that is not your current partner (ex partner or potential future partner), this is a big red flag. You do not belong to them and are able to be with other people. Likewise, the same is true for the object of your current fixation. Nobody owns anyone.
Needing things to be "even" or "fair"
Needing things to be 100% even, fair, or equal (whatever you want to call it) means you expect that for every kiss you give, they must give you a kiss back. For every gift you give, they should give a gift back. For every I love you, there's an I love you returned. This doesn't sound too awful... though it presents a transactional view of love that I believe sets you up to have less flexibility in a relationship to meet both partners needs. It prevents you from being able to give just for the sake of giving. And potentially opens you both up to questioning motives (did they only do X so that I would do X back?)
But imagine the much darker side of this mentality. I dance with somebody else at our friends' wedding and now you're going to go dance with somebody else to "get even." We were broken up for a period of 6 months while we both worked on our mental health. During that time you slept with somebody else, so I'd better go do that too before we get back together so things are "fair." You had a panic attack last night and I held you while you cried and cooked your favorite meal, when I get home tonight I expect dinner to be ready and waiting. I gave you oral sex, now you're expected to do the same even though it makes you uncomfortable. After all: Fair is fair. Right???
There is a difference in wanting relationships to be two-sided in which both partners give to each other in a balanced way and requiring 100% equality.
Not being able to live without someone - aka - the all consuming love
Being told that somebody can't live without you sounds romantic in fics. I know, I'm sure I wrote them in the past. I certainly read them. In reality, it is a huge emotional burden to carry, even if you love that person back with your whole heart. You should not ever be somebody's whole reason for living. It's not a weight you should have to carry on your shoulders. Your partner should have friends outside of you to hang out with. They should have hobbies. They should have interests that don't involve you. They should not need you to be their entertainment and happiness 24/7.
On the flip side, don't ever allow your partner to be your entire happiness 24/7. Have hobbies. Have other friends. Have other interests. Do things away from your partner. I promise, if your love is really that strong, you'll survive a few hours away from each other and your mental health will be stronger for it.
Ignoring boundaries
I don't care what the romantic gesture is or what their intent is - if you've previously said something is a "no go" then that's that. Nobody should be ignoring boundaries that you've set up or pressuring you to change those boundaries. It is especially worse when said partner ignores your boundaries "for your own good" because they assume they know better than you. And look, there we are back to the whole agency issue. Are we noticing a theme here?
Things that are completely, 100% human and normal about love:
Falling in love more than once in your life
People come into your life and out of your life. Some stay forever. Some only last a short time. All of them, good and bad, teach us something to bring into the next relationship.
There's no limit on how many people you are allowed to love in your lifetime. Nobody should make you feel badly for having multiple relationships and doing what you need to do to figure out who you are in a relationship and how you want to give and receive love. There's nothing wrong with learning and growing.
And if, in the end, you come back to an old flame after leaving them, that's okay too, so long as you are coming back for love and not fear or habit.
Competing needs
You might love your partner with your entire heart. Your partner might even be your forever love. But there will likely come a time in which you and your partner run into competing needs. What does this look like? It looks like my partner coming home from work after a stressful day and needing to be alone because they're worked up and every little thing is raking at their temper. Meanwhile I just got home from work after a tough day and need hugs and reassurances that I'm doing a good job and am not an awful person. It looks like the both of us experiencing a trauma together and I react to it with a need to compartmentalize, ignore, and focus on manageable tasks, while my partner reacts to it with a need to talk about what happened and decompress. It looks like my partner needing something that I can't provide at the moment because I need the opposite.
Sometimes competing needs can be worked through with healthy communication and a lot of work. Sometimes they can't and the best thing for both of you is to end the relationship and find somebody who can meet your needs, and that's okay too.
Leaving a relationship that isn't working
If you are in a relationship that isn't working, you can leave. That's right. You can just leave. You don't owe anyone anything no matter how long you have been together or what they are going through. Your mental health is more important than staying with somebody who is making you miserable.
Trust that there is new love out there. Trust that people fall in love more than once. Trust that something better is on the horizon. And hey, even if you don't find somebody new... Nothing is worth staying in a relationship that makes you unhappy. Plenty of people find happiness in being single too.
*****
Now, this is in no way an extensive list, just a list of things I could think of that, had I been told more consistently in my youth and in the media I consumed rather than had these toxic ideas romanticized, I think would have saved me a whole lot of emotional trauma.
Feel free to add onto this list.
#random thoughts#romantic tropes#romance#emotional abuse#not about any one thing or any one fandom in particular#just years of pent up frustration#About the same ideas being peddled around this site year after year
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◎ | 𝕿𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖆 : 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔸𝕨𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 | ◎
Envy is a desire to have a quality, possession, or other desirable attribute belonging to someone else.
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ζ pairing: jungkook x fem!reader
ζ word count: 4.5k
ζ summary: he can’t stand how those men’s eyes are on you, how they send you money with the few clicks of a button as you show your body off to them, as you touch yourself for them. You have given your body to others too many times, and it is displeasing him. It isn’t fair that they have gotten to see you before he has; you should belong to him and him only.
ζ tags: 18+, jungkook x fem!reader, unsafe sex, camgirl situation, possessive sex
ζ part: 6 of 7 of our Seven Deadly Sins Milestone Challenge.
⋫ Link to Master List here
ζ a/n: oh hey guys! i hope you enjoy the 6th part of our deadly sins era!! it’s my boy, jungkook, as we all know i am the Biggest Slut Ever for him. i hope this answers some questions~
~admin tart｡･:*:･ﾟ’★
It was what you did after school, after work. How you helped pay the electricity bills, the car insurance. All it took was some sexy outfits and toys, plus some good technology, and you had a sizable amount of men tied around your perfectly manicured finger. Some might give you a hard time for it, since it wasn’t considered ‘respectable’ work, but all you had to do was touch yourself and the dings came through like a melody, men giving you their money. The sound got almost intoxicating after some time. It wasn’t something you wanted to do for the rest of your life, but... for the moment, it wasn’t terrible.
After a particularly good session, you were cleaning up, still wearing your novelty ‘bad girl’ lingerie, complete with red teddy lace bodysuit, simple ruby necklace, and shiny red devil horns. You had come twice during the session and raked in a solid $600; you were putting your toys onto a towel so that you could properly disinfect them when the door burst open, and your eyes flew open as you realized that your friend, Jungkook, had just entered your room.
You had known Jungkook for a few months, and you felt completely at ease with him. He didn’t know about what you did to earn extra money, but that was mostly because you had always felt as if the two of you had some sort of tension. The tension itself shifted and changed--when he saw you with other men, he always seemed...jealous, or envious. He would act passive aggressive and try to scare them off, which was...kind of hot, if you were being honest.
Jungkook himself was an incredibly attractive man, with broad, muscular shoulders, a nicely tapered waist, and corded thighs that made you drool. His dark hair was long, waving around his face and falling into his eyes more often than not, but was brushed aside with long agile tattooed fingers. And those eyes, fuck, those gorgeous dark eyes, usually so big and sparkly, but were right now fixated on you, dragging over your body.
His gaze took in your outfit, the toys, your phone on a tripod, and your laptop open to a live streaming website. It didn’t take him long to connect the dots, and while you were expecting some sort of shaming, you didn't ever anticipate the anger and...some other emotion that flickered over his face.
“So this is what you do after work,” he said softly, taking a step towards you. His dark eyes looked bottomless, like if you stared for too long you might trip and drown in the depths, so you glanced away, trying to ignore how his intense gaze had a small shiver going down your spine.
“As if it wasn’t enough that they all…” he started and then shook his head, jaw clenching. You had never been afraid of Jungkook before, and you weren’t about to start, but the way it seemed like he was barely holding himself back...like the tiniest thing could make him snap...it was new to you.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome to you.
“They all...what, Jungkook?” you asked, commending yourself for keeping your voice steady. But he ignored you, simply dragging his eyes over your outfit, his gaze ending where your simple necklace rested; it was a pretty ruby necklace, something you had owned forever, but you had no idea where you had gotten it. Every time people asked, you said different things--oh, it was a gift, it was from a garage sale, you had just found it.
As soon as his eyes fell upon the necklace, his expression grew even darker, if that was possible. The tension in the room thickened as he began to walk towards you, hands twitching by his sides. Even though you knew he would never hurt you, your body still tensed, readying yourself for what was going to happen next.
Even in his irritation, he took slow, calculated steps towards you, his eyes flicking over to your dresser where you had your hand mirror and a bottle of wine. The handmirror was gold with rubies all around the glass area; even if you didn’t remember where it was from, it was gorgeous and you often looked in it to calm yourself down when you got angry. With a scowl, Jungkook picked up the mirror, examining it before calmly smashing it against your dresser. The sound of the glass shattering was loud in the tense quiet of the room, and you couldn’t help but jump a bit.
“Jungkook--!” you exclaimed, shocked at his sudden burst of anger, but he didn’t let you continue, turning the spider-webbed surface towards you. All you could see was your own reflection, disjointed and cracked, separating your face and causing an odd effect where you could see several different parts of your face at once.
“You don’t remember this? A broken mirror?”
But then, for a split second, where your eyes were supposed to be, you caught a flash of red, eyes creased in obvious amusement, eyes that were not your own.
Then they were gone, and you were left wondering what the hell was going on, and why your head hurt so suddenly. With a dark chuckle, Jungkook tossed the broken mirror onto the ground before using the heel of his boot to step on it, crunching the bright pieces under his foot.
“Or what about this, some fancy wine that was shittily made--stupid LeVeyan--” and before you could say anything, he had thrown the wine into the corner of the room. Surprisingly, the bottle itself didn’t shatter, just clanked against the wall with a deep thunking noise. The scowl on Jungkook’s face deepened, as if he had wanted the bottle to completely explode. Which, guessing by the way he was acting, was exactly why he was angry. Because it didn’t.
“You really don’t remember all these shitty knickknacks you have? Why the fuck would you have an hourglass, Y/N? You into vintage shit?” and with that, Jungkook’s fingers seized the old hourglass you kept next to your jewelry box, his hand wrapping around it, fingers pale against the black, shiny sand inside. It felt like time slowed as his arm lifted up, still holding the hourglass, and arced downwards like molasses, sending the hourglass smashing into the ground. A shard flew across the room, nicking your ankle slightly. You felt the sand on your toes, smelled lavender, and before you knew it, you were taking a stumbling step backwards, suddenly dizzy. Before you could fall, though, Jungkook was in front of you, so fast you didn’t even see him move. But he caught you by the lower back and yanked you towards him, so big and hot and powerful.
“And now we have all the time in the world,” he breathed, leaning in, his moist breath fanning out across your lips. His fingers touched your cheek, tracing downwards, before they continued down your neck. With a quick snap, Jungkook ripped your necklace off your neck, causing a slight prick of pain at the back of your neck. Dangling it up in between the two of you, Jungkook gave you a big, smug smile before saying, “He’ll probably want this back.”
All of Jungkook’s cryptic comments had your uneasiness melting away and irritation settling in, prickling against your skin with all the stings of a thousand bees. The way he was acting was annoying, as if he knew something you didn’t, as if you belonged to him.
“Is all this because I showed my tits on camera?” you asked, your voice scalding now. “Because people, other men, liked my body enough that they sent me hundreds of dollars, that they beg me for extra content, that they sing my praises?”
It felt weird to be bragging at first, but the more you did it, the more it felt...it felt invigorating, it felt freeing. Not to mention Jungkook’s face as you continued had heat pooling between your legs; he looked a mixture between angry and desperate, like he wanted you so badly he didn’t know if he should take you or beg you.
Tilting your head back, you let out a little laugh, feeling your hair fall down your back like a silky waterfall. When you looked back up at Jungkook, you kept the shit-eating grin on your face, feeling the adrenaline lick through your veins like liquid fire.
“It’s not my fault that I have a sexy body, that I look good as fuck in this body suit. Don’t I, though, Jungkook?” You cupped one of your breasts with a hand, abandoning the smile to bite your lip, making sure to flutter your eyelashes at him, darkening your gaze. His face had frozen in a facsimile of a smile, more of a grimace, his eyes burning, dark green fire smoldering dangerously.
“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Unafraid, you stepped away from him a bit, spreading your arms out wide, feeling a rush of satisfaction when you noticed his gaze raking over your barely clad body. It made you feel drunk on power, on how you affected him, on how your words spilled from your lips like toxic ambrosia.
“What, are you jealous that they get to see my pussy and you don’t?”
And that was it, that was what made Jungkook snap.
He ended up rushing forward, wrapping his arms around your hips before scooping you up and throwing you back onto the bed. Startled by the sudden movement, you barely managed to catch yourself before his mouth was on yours, sloppy and wet from the start. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, coaxing yours into a passionate kiss that had your body melting against him. It was almost like he had gone feral; he tugged at your lace bodysuit before eventually ripping the fabric so that only one shoulder stayed on; as soon as he had your breast bared, he dragged his lips down your skin until he reached your nipple, and there, he swirled his tongue around the hardened bud. It had you moaning out into the humid air, your noises turning into whimpers when he used his teeth, tugging your nipple.
Then he pulled off of you and stood, staring down at you with such a hungry look goosebumps pebbled along your skin. As you watched, his hand slid down his body before moving to palm his cock through his Puma sweatpants. The only thing you could think to do was get on the ground in front of him, and judging by his approving smirk, that was exactly what he wanted you to do. As soon as you settled, his hand settled into your hair, fingers soft as he stroked your head. But when you pulled his pants down, realizing he wasn’t wearing any boxers underneath, his grip tightened. His cock sprung free, hard and leaking; it looked like he had been hard for awhile, and you wondered exactly when he had gotten an erection. When he saw you? When you bragged in his face? Though it didn’t matter much when his cock was in front of you, begging you to suck it.
Jungkook used the grip he had on your hair to pull your mouth closer to his cock, and you obliged, opening your mouth wide to slip the head of his cock into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl around the head.
Like this, with his fingers tight in your hair, almost forcing you down onto his cock, you could feel random shards of the broken mirror digging into your knees, pinpricks of pain that heightened every single sensation that you were feeling. It reminded you...no, that wasn’t it. But an image flashed through your mind, a painting of a woman bleeding from several cuts, writhing in pleasure.
“Did they all have you like this?” Jungkook growled, pulling your hair tighter from the roots, making you moan around his cock, drool slicking the corner of your mouth. You assumed that he meant the other men that you had sucked off, but you couldn’t help but think he was referencing something else.
As you lost yourself in the feeling of his heavy cock in your mouth, the salty taste of his pre-cum radiating across your tongue, your entire perspective...shifted.
It was hard to explain; one second, you were on your knees, feeling the sharp shards of glass dig into your skin, and the next, you were watching yourself on a laptop screen. The screen was displaying the image of what was happening currently in your bedroom; you were on your knees, your lace teddy halfway ripped off, Jungkook standing above you. As you watched, feeling as though you were floating above the scene but also in a room with a laptop, your head bobbed up and down, taking Jungkook’s cock better than you were certain you ever could.
Then you heard a ding and realized that donations were coming in, spilling in, all the same amount of money: $666.
A growl spilled out of the computer speakers and when you turned your attention back to the screen, a chill went down your spine; the hands in your hair were tipped with black claws, and the face you knew so well was transformed into a scaly monster, green eyes glinting in pleasure.
Suddenly, the gaze flicked to yours, and as you watched, Jungkook winked at you with those jewel-like eyes, right before he began to fuck your mouth with furious movements.
Just like that, you jerked back to reality, just in time for Jungkook to come in your mouth, hot salty come spilling down your throat; you weren’t expecting it, but you still managed to barely swallow, some of the come spilling out of your mouth and sliding down the corner of your lips. Jungkook’s thumb gently wiped the come for you before easing against your lips, forcing the digit against your tongue. Still dazed from your weird vision, you let him do so, feeling the taste of his come and the texture of his skin against your sensitive tongue.
“So good for me,” he murmured, and that comment made you regain your coherency; you looked up at him from beneath your lashes before nipping at his thumb as hard as you could. Even though it must have hurt, all he did was smirk, the image sending heat all throughout your body. Fuck, he looked so good right now, standing above you, his neck glistening with sweat, hair falling in his face. Yet his hand was so gentle on your skin, so much so that you didn’t expect him to exert pressure on your chin, pushing you upwards on shaky legs. The two of you maintained eye contact as he walked you back towards the bed again. His gaze was so dark, so luminous; it enveloped you, set you on fire.
The backs of your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall, trusting that Jungkook wouldn’t let you get hurt. Your back bounced on the bed but you didn’t have time to adjust before Jungkook was on you, his body covering yours and weighing you down to the bed. As you laid underneath him, he gripped your hips and pulled you higher up on the bed, so your legs were no longer dangling off.
“Fuck, I’m gona make you feel so good,” Jungkook breathed out against your skin before he kissed your neck, latching his mouth onto your skin, sucking and nibbling so that there was bound to be a mark. It made you feel like you were his, like nothing else that happened before this mattered. You trembled underneath him, biting your lip and letting out soft gasps.
It was easy for him to rip the rest of your body suit off; at this point, it was mostly tatters anyways, but the way he used his strength to destroy the rest of the clothing made you wetter than you had been before, if that was possible.
“All mine,” he growled against your skin, and before you knew it, he was kissing his way down your body before he ended up at your dripping pussy; when you looked down at him, eyes hazy with pleasure, he licked his lips in anticipation and--was his--
For a moment, you could’ve sworn his tongue looked forked.
But then he was licking up your folds, and you didn’t even care anymore as he sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, moaning softly against your cunt. The way his tongue felt against you had your back arching on the bed, sweat dripping down your body. He ate you up like he was a sinner and this was his penance. For a moment, he pulled away, kissing up your thighs.
“Fuckers got to taste you first,” he muttered mutinously before nipping at your skin. “But I bet none of them made you feel this way, did they?”
You felt too amazing to respond, too caught up in how he rendered you a useless mess. He didn’t seem to care, though, because then his tongue was sliding inside of you and you cursed under your breath, pussy clenching around his tongue.
Which felt...abnormally long, like it was reaching far inside of you, reaching areas you didn’t even know could be felt, could be touched, but you didn’t care because it felt so fucking amazing, you were right on that edge and you were practically gushing around his tongue, soaking the sheets. His thumb began to rub at your clit, your wetness making it easy for him to heighten your pleasure. It didn’t take long for you to tumble over the edge, soaking the bottom of Jungkook’s face with your slick. You came so hard your eyes rolled into the back of your head, goosebumps appearing on your skin again, nipples hardening. The only thing that escaped your mouth were breathless gasps.
Your orgasm was so powerful that you barely registered Jungkook pulling away from your pussy, his hands brushing against your hips. He sat up and you felt his hard heat against your thigh again; somehow the fucker was hard again.
“Ride me,” Jungkook said suddenly, his grip on your skin tightening, bound to leave bruises.
“I can barely move, I…” you barely managed to get out, noting how your body felt like noodles. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest, shaking you with every beat.
“That’s fine,” he said and then you were tilting again as he lifted your entire body up; you flopped against his chest and that was when you felt his cock easing inside of you, the entrance aided by your previous orgasm that rendered your pussy a sloppy, wet mess. Even though you still felt like jello, your head tilted back and your mouth opened on a moan at the feeling of his cock easing inside of you, making you so full you couldn’t help but clench around him.
That made him growl before slamming his hips up into you the rest of the way, hitting a spot inside of you that had your toes curling.
“F-Fuck,” you gasped out, trembling in his grasp, your nails digging into his skin.
“Promise me you’ll never show anyone else your body,” Jungkook said, and you were so lost in the pleasure that you couldn’t help but nod, clinging to him.
“It’s for me, just for me. Those fuckers got you first, but I’ll get you last.”
His cock was so hard and hot inside of you, igniting your entire body, sending sweat dripping down your body. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before; you almost felt intoxicated with it, drunk on the feeling of his cock hitting deep inside of you, sending pricks of pleasure throughout your entire body. You closed your eyes against the sensations, letting out a moan, feeling his fingers all over your back--wait--
How many fingers was that? You found yourself counting 11, 12--
His nails, they were lightly scraping your back, but they--they were longer, now, they were sharp, they were leaving trails of thin scratches on your skin, which surprisingly felt good, like they were instantly covered with fire--
As you gasped in your constant pleasure and confusion, not knowing exactly what was going on, but also not really caring anymore, you felt something brushing your back--
Feathers.
Your eyes flew open, and that was when you realized that Jungkook had changed. While you had been straddling him, eyes shut in the throes of your pleasure, his eyes had changed color, flashing between green and orange so fast that you were dizzy; he gave you an innocent smile and you caught sight of his fangs; when your eyes travelled upwards, you realized that he had large, twisting black horns growing out of his hair, his wet and wavy hair falling over the curves--
And what was brushing against your skin was a pair of admittedly beautiful black wings, so black they looked almost like an oil slick, blue and green reflecting off each feather. Although you should have been freaked out, you weren’t. The wings pulled you closer, curved around your figure, and you found yourself completely encapsulated in them while Jungkook continued to fuck up into you, his claws sliding down to your hips.
“They all got to fuck you before I did, bastards,” he breathed heavily against your forehead, and you felt his fangs dig into your skin.
As his fingers kept you close to his figure, feeling nothing but the heat of his body and his sharp teeth, hearing nothing but the soft growls he let out and his heavy, hot breathing, you...saw things.
A dark sky, red and orange and purple splashed in the background like the clouds had been set on fire, and a dark figure hurtling towards the ground at a high speed, huge wings curled around their body protectively, white feathers crumbling away, lit by embers that flew up into the inky darkness of the sky. The feathers that stayed on the wings were turning a slick black, blending into the sky so well you couldn’t even tell if they were there. And somehow you knew, you just knew--it was Jungkook.
Your mind reeled as you had visions of other incidents, things that had happened--thick, red wine, a taste on your tongue of sulfur and blood--an image of a naked woman wrapped in emerald snakes, expression twisted in pleasure--a necklace, handed to you with a wide, sharp smile--a warm bath, arms around your waist, a sad smile as you said goodbye--a red maze of mirrors, white teeth flashing with anger--
Then him, waiting for you in the depths, his gaze partly amused and discerning.
Jungkook was wrong--he wasn’t going to have you last.
You were going to him next.
And with that, with your body still taking in all of those facts and memories, your orgasm hit you hard, tingling throughout your entire body so aggressively your eyes rolled back into your head and you were fairly certain that you blacked out. All the while, you heard whisperings, you heard their names and their stories and you heard his voice, so deep and enticing, all the way from the depths.
When you came to, you were resting against your headboard, exhausted from the intense orgasm you just had. You genuinely felt like you had been through hell and back with how limp your limbs felt, like wet noodles.
But then you remembered everything, and your head jerked up; your eyes lit upon Jungkook, and to both your horror and sick fascination, you realized that you hadn’t imagined any of it.
The light from your lamp on the nightstand wasn’t super bright, but it was still enough to see every bit of him. Somehow, Jungkook in his demon form was much bigger than his human version, which you remembered as your friend. But that might have been the giant wings that protruded from his back, although they were folded back now. The black, curving horns did nothing to help the situation, giving him a solid five inches of height, and your eyes ran down the rest of his naked body, noting that his skin, at least, didn’t look much different than usual. But his hands were tipped by long black claws, sharp enough to slice through your throat in a second. When you finally brought your gaze back up to his face, he gave you a smile, and you caught sight of his sharp teeth again, a little bit too white and shiny. The sight made you wince and the smile melted off of his face.
“...You…” you started, your voice cracking; you cleared it and then awkwardly thanked him when he handed you a water bottle from your nightstand, careful not to nick you with his claws.
As you watched him, as he sat there on your bed, you realized that you loved him. And, judging by the way he looked at you, his big obsidian eyes laced with jade fire, he loved you back. But...you had loved all of them, hadn’t you? In your own way?
“You fell,” you murmured, your voice low. His gaze burned bright in the low light of the room, fixated on you so intensely that you felt like you couldn’t breathe, like your chest was tight.
“Didn’t you fall too?” he asked you, so softly you could barely hear it, and then the light from your lamp popped, burning out with a loud noise, startling you with the sound and the sudden darkness. When you finally managed to get up and stumble to the lightswitch on the wall, throwing your room into sudden brightness, you realized he was gone. All that was left of him, any indication that he was ever there, was a single black feather in the middle of your rumpled bedspread.
Now that you knew everything, now that you could remember it all…
You hoped he was ready for you.
Because you were coming for Him.
#bts smut#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#bts demon au#seven deadly sins series#bts imagines#admin tart
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just friends x damon albarn
omg this is my first anon request! i really really REALLY loved this one, so thank you to the person who requested it! x
Paring: parklife damon x reader
Warnings: nothing at all :)
Word count: 2.221
Requested by anon <3
༉‧₊˚✧
There’s this whole illusion that working as a manager for a band is the greatest thing ever. Yes, it does have its perks like living on the road for a few months, travelling the world - although that gets extremely exhausting, and not only for me, but for everyone - but it's filled up to the brim with shelves of endless paperwork and countless meetings everyday. Not just that, but having to go to band recordings at least 2 times a week. I did enjoy them, but when your only power source is 3 cups of coffee and a chocolate bar, things start to get tiring. Evidently, being so worked up and stressed out, I had always pondered why out of all career choices, I had picked this specific one. The fantasy of working for a band and having power to be the decision-maker for most things had gotten to me; doesn’t everyone crave at least some sort of power in their lives?
I was working for a band called Blur. I first started working for them early last year, a couple months before their release of their effortlessly amazing album Modern Life Is Rubbish. They decided to drop their old label, along with their previous manager, saying they were too ‘controlling’ and that they wanted to create a sound which pitched more into them as people. The band consisted of Damon Albarn, the gorgeous front-man, Graham Coxon, the man with immaculate skill on guitar, Alex James, the very tall and lovely bass player, and Dave Rowntree, the multi-talented drummer. This band had more to it than writing meaningful songs and catchy melodies. They meant something to me.
Over the year and a half we’ve been co-workers, I have managed to establish a very close connection with the four boys. They understood my situation, having to always be present, even at times when I’m aching for a break, a holiday, a layoff. One of the reasons I held onto my job so dearly was because of them. There were times where I had been interrupted pouring my heart and soul with tears on my office floor, interrupted by them. They were all supportive; I had been through hell with bad, toxic relationships, my heart continuously feeling lonely and contaminated with the workloads I was given every dying hour. I was able to talk to them about it all, I was able to trust them at times when I felt that no one was there. Especially Damon.
Out of all of the guys, I was closest to Damon. I wondered whether it was because we related a lot, us both having our mental struggles, but were able to try and find the good in things - attempting to enjoy our late nights as a group, or solo. Sometimes after performances, he would scan the room, a towel lousily gripped in his right hand, the other playing with the broad belt circling his jeans. His eyes would land immediately on mine, catching my lips, rounded in a small smile, my hands tied together in a grasp, preparing myself to softly clap at him for his usual exquisite performance. His eyes would squint at me, his nose scrunched up to the bridge of his perfected nose, his reciprocated beam casually showing some of his front teeth as he bit his lip in consumption, and anticipation for the night ahead of him - with me.
A while back, I had to attend a photoshoot the boys were doing for a magazine cover. Rolling Stone maybe? I can’t recall. However, I remember my eyes never managing to leave Damon. His foolproof self never failed to bewilder me. His excellent jawline, the way his eyes shone a deadly stare at the camera, making anyone, even the photographer, blush at his inborn beauty. Graham noticed me, but I never shifted my stare, only when Damon made eye contact with me after due to Graham’s nudge, in which I glared at the ground in enmity - my ears perking out, hearing all the small giggles and small remarks at how I’m checking him out.
“Aw, look at her, she’s gone red,” Alex teased, I felt the eyes of them all carving words on my body.
“Stop guys, just drop it,” Damon answered sternly, defending me. The boys rolled their eyes as they continued doing some more shoots, occasionally switching positions.
His bandmates always speculated there was something going on between us, whether it be that we’re friends-with-benefits or we’re secretly dating from fear of paparazzi. Regardless, we always denied their child-like theories. We were just friends. Even if I thought time and time again that this isn’t how friends act, we were just friends.
It reminded me of a vivid memory: the second pit stop on the journey to France on the Parklife tour. It was around 5 in the morning, we were all awake - due to our excessive drinking and non-stop chattering all night - and the guys were desperate to get out for some fresh air. Unless you were Alex, who had to throw up around two to three times because of the exceptional amounts of whiskey he downed during a game of truth or dare. Me and Damon were the only ones who hadn’t exited the bus, my drowsy eyes and limp body were giving me more pointers to relax and sleep on the sofa rather than let my stomach give out and be sick like Alex was.
Damon was in the bathroom as I was trying to adjust my leg positioning on the small sofa fixated in the middle of the bus. I stared up to the ceiling, a dozen hazy thoughts flooding my mind every second. Hearing the sound of the door unlock, the bathroom door to be exact, rang through my ears as the small thuds of Damon’s feet pattered by - getting louder and louder due to him approaching tonight’s sleeping spot. The rough, worn down sofa.
“You alright?” his raspy voice asked, causing a tired smile to curve onto my lip. I loved hearing his voice hoarse and gravelly, whether it being from the early mornings we had to get up to do sound checks at an arena, or after he had drunk too many shots like the rest of us, it always intoxicated my ear drums. It’s like when you try a sweet that your friend gave to you for the first time because she had a brimmed bag of them, and the taste so sweet but sour it coated your tongue so scornfully, you begged and craved for more.
“Yeah, just tired perhaps,” I stretched, shifting my gaze from the ceiling to Damon, standing there as if a war was going on inside his head. “Are you alright, Damon?”
Snapping out of his thoughts, he blinked a few times, scratching his head roughly. “Yeah… Do you want to bunk with me tonight? You having to always sleep on the couch is kind of… Shitty,” he stammered, not knowing where to put his hands.
I sat up on the couch, my hands tied to either side of my body. The same, drained beam was splattered on my face, nodding slowly. “I would love that,” I stated, watching him reciprocate my smile onto his adorning features. “You’re going to have to help me up there though, I feel like I’m about to drop,”
He laughed lightly, grabbing my arm and lifting me up from the settee. Guiding me to his bunk, I leaned on his body, my own being too exhausted to cooperate with me at this time. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said, carrying my body to the bunk. As I laid in the bed, I inhaled the smell. The bed smelt of him. It had an aroma of worn down cologne, hooked with a scent of red wine - he carried a flavor that any woman would cling onto his arms and never let go. Watching him climb into the bed with me, was all a dream come true.
~~~
We were currently in a recording session; Graham had mentioned that there was this new melody he had created, and wanted to show the rest of the band, hoping they’d find ways to add it into a new song of some sort. I was sitting at the back, by the exit door on the scruffy red couch, staring at the producer talking to Alex as he began to play a bassline he had formed on the spot. It had potential, the whole song did. The way that after a mere show of Graham’s guitar abilities, they were able to brainstorm ideas for a brand-new track on an album that hadn’t been created yet. Damon had some old lyrics written down from when he was on the road on their previous tour, so he had decided to use them on this event. Everything pieced together gracefully, my admiration for the entire band as a whole seemed to grow every single time I was able to peacefully watch them create another one of their artworks.
“All right, Damon are you ready to record some vocals?” The producer asked, turning around in his swivel chair to make eye contact with Damon. He nodded, firmly grabbing onto his lyric sheet, licking his lips in anticipation as he stepped into the second room.
As Alex left the other room, he came and took a seat next to me. Graham was talking to Dave, thinking of things they could include into the melody. I stretched my arms out dearly, avoiding hitting Alex, who was staring at me. I smiled at him, trying to initiate a conversation. “Good bassline you got there,”
He chuckled nonchalantly, “That’s what I do,”
Rolling my eyes at his sly remark, we began talking about the apprehension for a new album this year. “After this, we’ll all be inspired to write more stuff, so we’re bound to create a new album, even if we literally just got off tour,” he chirped as I nodded my head slowly, the sounds of Damon’s voice deafening me in the most alluring ways.
“He’s looking at you,” Alex added, nudging my arm, detaching me from my stance.
Confused, I swiftly turned my head to look at Damon, catching his eyes in mine. Even though he was far, three or four metres away perhaps, I was still able to study his wondrous, captivating blue orbs that I had grown so deeply mesmerised of. I began blushing lightly, feeling the throb of the blood rushing to my cheeks, as I bit my lip and looked down - once again.
“Perfect, Damon, thanks for that,” the producer said, signalling for Damon to exit the room. He smiled and nodded, briskly walking out of the room. He grabbed his water bottle placed on an unused amp, taking a couple gulps from it before welcoming the repetitive comments.
“Come on mate, if you’re gonna at least try and hide the fact you like Y/n, you should at least stare at times where we’re all looking at you,” Alex teased, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “And don’t try to deny you like her, when it’s so fucking obvious, mate,”
“I mean he did sa-” Graham began, but instantly cut himself off as the realisation washed over him about what he was about to say. My eyes widened at his comment, almost immediately turning to look over to him, Graham, who was avoiding his eyes at me.
“Seriously Graham?” I heard Dave mumble, my stare too consumed by the tiny rips on the couch arm.
“I’m gonna go... To the toilet,” I lied, my mind overwhelmed over the situation. What was Graham going to say?
Countless things and speculations raced my mind as I stood outside the studio door, my head beginning to hurt as the situation replayed in my head. I leant against the cold wall, shutting my eyes in an attempt to recollect myself. It didn’t mean anything right?
As if on cue however, the door opened, a gush of air brushing past me. Opening my eyes, I was welcomed to the sight of Damon, anxiously standing in front of me. “There’s something I need to tell you, but you can’t get angry and leave after I say it, okay?” he rushed, walking away from the door and to the wall beside me. Nodding, I chewed on my top lip, fear painting my face all over. “I… I love you, Y/n, and I have for, god knows how long.”
Once those words escaped his mouth, I felt my heart drop. After the continuous ‘we’re just friends’ speeches, I realise it was all false. I knew the way we acted towards each other was more than friends. More than best friends. We both liked each other, for a really long fucking time.
“Thank fuck,” I answered, grabbing his neck and kissing him. His lips tasted sweet, the softness of his mouth due to the lip balm he had put on at the start of the session made me want to fasten my lips around his mouth and put the world on hold. I wanted to stay like this, forever.
Pulling away, our previous frowns had formed into smiles. I smiled so wide my face began to hurt, my heart feeling like it exploded after hitting the ground, like a firework on new years eve. “I love you too,”
#damon albarn x reader#graham coxon#alex james#dave rowntree#damon albarn#90s#britpop#imagine#smut#fluff#blur#music
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Uchiha Therapist: Part I
Synopsis: Yandere! Madara x Reader x Yandere! Sasuke
[Name] is a struggling post graduate psychology student who has more on her plate than she can handle. Between her practicums to gain work experience and writing reports, to trying to maintain a decent lifestyle and look after her own mental health, there is little to no time left to work an actual paying job. Yet, money is essential for survival. So, she does the next best thing that has been trending recently to assure a good paycheck; she becomes a sugar baby. The only thing is, [Name] is unaware that she’s become sugar baby of the Madara Uchiha, the notorious CEO of Uchiha Corporation. She is also unaware of the fact that she’s the therapist of his nephew Sasuke Uchiha, who has begun treading over the professional boundary of a patient, and has started developing an abnormal fixation for his therapist since she seems to be the only one who actually understands him.
Warning: Although this story will come to contain yandere themes that can be triggering or uncomfortable to read, there are no yandere themes present in this chapter. It does have mentions of negative and tiring thoughts that may be triggering. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional and any yandere or other toxic behaviours that may be present in the future, know that I do not condone such behaviour.
Word Count: 4K
--
Story start; A day in the life of [Name]
On the night that started it all, when [Name] was feeling particularly disheartened and dissatisfied with her life, she had vented her frustrations and sorrow to her good friend Ino Yamanaka. Although many things in her life were going right, and she was privileged enough to have the chance to pursue her wanted career, it came at a cost. Her entire life schedule was fixed around her post graduation studies, other little spared time was for cooking and doing chores, and the rest was for sleeping. [Name] lacked the time for earning money, and doing things that were higher on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs — dating to find someone to create a meaningful connection with, or working on her previous hobbies.
The two friends had been consuming enough booze to be a little more than tipsy but not enough to be drunk. Some words were slurred, the fine motor control had decreased a bit, and with their faces slightly flushed, Ino was convinced that she had the best idea to [Name]’s problems.
Giggling at her own idea, Ino had snatched [Name]’s laptop from in front of them, and tapped various keyboard keys for joogle to search up. Once she saw the results, she clicked on one of the many websites shown as a result, and after a few more minutes of more clicks and keyboard taps, she had turned the laptop towards [Name] to see, with a triumph grin on her face.
“A sugar daddy,” Ino claimed proudly.
[Name] raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“A sugar daddy — it’s the perfect solution for your troubles. Not only will you get to earn more than enough, it covers the dating aspect too! Someone to spend your time with, to sleep over with — just without getting too attached. You’ll have a social life once again that doesn’t consist of you drinking booze with me or our other friends and you can finally afford to look decent again,” Ino explained straightforwardly.
[Name]’s eye twitched. “What do you mean finally afford to look decent again?” she inquired in a low voice, and glared at Ino, who smiled sheepishly at her.
“Well you’ve been a fashion disaster for sometime now—“
“Sorry I don’t have rich parents like the rest of you to buy me extravagant brands,” [Name] retorted, and a tick mark of anger bulged on Ino’s head.
“Well Sakura is a commoner like you too and even when she was a starving student, she still had a fashion sense. You don’t need to buy something expensive like jucci to look decent!” Ino snapped, and [Name] scowled at her.
“Whatever. This discussion is pointless anyway since I’m not going to become a sugar baby,” [Name] responded, and went to grab a bottle to consume more alcohol. However, the uneasy and anxious expression that Ino wore made her halt amidst her movements. All of a sudden, a cold shiver ran down [Name]’s back, and she felt a sense of dread building up in her gut.
“Please tell me you didn’t,” [Name] pleaded and Ino winced inwardly, before she turned the laptop around to show [Name].
“I did… I already signed you up. You have a date with him this Friday night.”
“INO!”
That was the gist of how [Name] had become entangled in her predicament with Madara Uchiha, and what was meant to be nights for [Name] giving her daddy some casual sugar, turned into an diabetic sugar addiction.
It was baffling really, how as children, people can be better in following orders than they can be as adults. And for someone like [Name], who had been studying psychology for years now, and began to work with the theories, one would think that practicing what she preached would be easier; she was great at helping her clients, but not much at helping herself.
“Make sure you don’t go with strangers” — a lesson that had been engraved in children at school and from their parents for their own safety. It was one of the most basic rules of common sense to evade danger; however, it was the rule [Name] failed to follow. Instead of not going through with her fixed date with a sugar daddy, who was a complete stranger and who knows pose what danger, she had gone through with it. And she had not even taken any caution to have their first meeting in a public place, no. She had gone to his home, which was the only place he accepted for their meeting, because she was too anxious to say no or not go through with it.
She really wondered how she was able to help her clients so well when she could not even manage her own anxiety.
So, now, here she sat. Since by Ino’s definition, [Name] was a walking fashion disaster, the blonde had refused to let her go without her help. Their tastes differed, but even [Name] had to admit that Ino had done an incredible job in helping her choose an outfit that was suited to her tastes. Granted, it was skimpier than what she usually wore and more figure defining, but it did make her look really nice. She did not look like a savage mess with evident dark eyebags who appeared to have just gotten out of bed and went to work straightaway like she did on a daily basis. But she felt exposed and uncomfortable in the setting she was not accustomed to.
The penthouse she had been invited to was extravagantly luxurious; the small dining for the two of them (her and soon to be her sugar daddy) was right next to the giant window in the living room that showed a beautiful night view of the Konoha city. Lighting in the room was ambient and romantic, and there was a small pizza, that looked ridiculously expensive for what it's worth, and red wine settled before her. While she did not want to indulge in such luxury, feeling on the edge of the seat because of how her sugar daddy to be was scrutinizing her with calculating onyx eyes, and never being the one to refuse free food, she mindlessly ate it, refusing to meet his eyes.
“You know, usually you’re supposed to make conversation and sell yourself to try and convince me of why I should stick with you rather than someone else,” Madara spoke, and this was so abrupt and unanticipated on [Name]’s part that she froze half way through biting her food. Her cheeks felt hot in embarrassment, and she awkwardly coughed loudly before looking up at Madara. Although he found her antics to be somewhat adorable, he kept a straight face. After all, to gain the attention of a man of his status, there were many who did the strangest things to appease him. Madara was not a man to be tricked so foolishly.
“Why should I sell myself when you haven’t convinced me to why I should be your….uh, sugar b-baby rather than s-someone else’s?” [Name] responded. She had started off strongly, but near the end when it came to referring to herself as a sugar baby and realisation of the situation sunk in, she felt herself become more flustered.
Now, it was not odd for people to be intimidated by Madara. However, acting in confidence at the same time, and to question his authority, that was new. The corner of his lips twitched upwards in amusement. He leaned back in his chair and raised a fine black eyebrow at [Name].
“And why should I have to sell myself to you? I’m the one who, essentially, is paying for everything,” he challenged, and [Name] scoffed at him.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s really costing you,” she mumbled under her breath, before clearing her throat. “Someone else can pay me too.”
“You had no reviews on your profile, you’re lucky that I even chose to click on it. Usually, it’s hard to get started since no one bothers with anyone with no reviews.”
[Name] shrugged. “That was your own choice, don’t shift the situation onto me. And besides, how do you know it's only reviews that count online? I might know a lot of other sugar daddies I had in my past that desperately want me but it's lucky that I chose to give you, a stranger, the chance.”
Madara was amused by the fact that [Name] had used his own logic against him, and could not help but smirk. Even though it was more than obvious through her behaviour that she was an absolute newbie to this, he decided to humour her.
"Well, I am an Uchiha," Madara said simply, as if that sole reason explained everything.
[Name] blinked in confusion. "Uhhh, okay…? Well, I'm [Surname]. That explains why you should choose me.”
This time, her response really did leave Madara confused. His eyebrows were furrowed and there was clear confusion written on his face.
“You don’t know the Uchiha?” he asked incredulously. The urge to sigh in an exaggerated manner and snap at him was strong, but [Name] decided against it. With the way he spoke in that condescending tone, and expected [Name] to treat him as if he was of utmost importance, made it more than obvious to her that he was used to being treated as the highest authority. Perhaps he was of importance and not watching herself around him could lead her into a huge mess. But [Name] did not particularly care about his status or whatever he had going on that made him expect her to seemingly kiss the floor he walked on. If she cared about authorities and sucking up to people, then she would not be training to be a therapist in the first place. There were going to be times when she would have to fight authorities and regulations with her sweat and blood for the sake of her clients. And really, if [Name] did care, she would not have been here in the first place -- having dinner with a complete stranger.
“Uh I do?” she said, but it sounded more like a question. Madara opened his mouth to respond to her, but he shifted the focus of the conversation to another topic. He felt even more perplexed by [Name] now because how could she not know the Uchiha?
“Nevermind, it’s not of importance. Tell me, why are you in this line of business? You don’t seem,” fit for it, he wanted to say, but chose his words carefully. “The type to want to do this.”
In response, [Name] felt flustered. She wondered if it was really that obvious that she was not used to it and Madara was simply humouring her. She could very well tell him the truth that it was because Ino had tricked her into it. However, that would make her seem gullible. Now that she may be committing to this, she knew she needed to build a good reputation for herself. She decided to tell the half-truth.
“I need the money,” she answered in a murmur, before she brought the glass of wine to her lips, and took a huge drink from it.
Madara watched her with analytical eyes as she downed her alcohol, taking no moment to savour the taste. He had also noticed how she was on her third plate of their dinner and wondered if she had any decency and how she was capable of eating so much.
“Your job doesn’t pay you enough?” he asked in a genuinely concerned tone, before he followed [Name]’s example and downed his remaining wine in one go too. He had never done that before, and after finishing it, he had to admit there was an odd sense of satisfaction of not savouring its every taste and drinking it all together at once.
Madara was staring at her with anticipation and worry embedded deep in his ebony coloured irides. Frankly speaking, [Name] had not have someone look at her with such concern in a long time. Generally, on the rare occasions she did speak freely about her worries, whoever she shared her problems with would give her their own input rather than simply listening to her and asking her the right questions that would help her discuss or figure out her own problem. The sight of it made her heart beat faster, and she unknowingly found herself talking before she even what she was doing.
“It’s not that… Well, actually I don’t even work. I barely have time to breath, working is my last priority right now,” she murmured, nervously fiddling with her fingers, as she observed Madara from the corner of her eye.
“While I cannot relate to your financial struggles, I understand the situation you’re in. Becoming so busy because of a goal you once had, that you question whether it’s even worth pursuing it anymore. You lose sight of who used to be and the things that brought you pleasure. There’s always something to do that you can’t even remember the last time you truly felt alive,” Madara said thoughtfully, and his words caused [Name]’s eyes to widen.
“And no matter how much you want to try and change things, it just feels like you’ve been stuck in the same cycle and it keeps repeating over and over and over again,” [Name] murmured, sighing dejectedly. “I really hate the world.”
Madara chuckled at her declaration as he lifted another bottle of wine that was on their table.
“Me too. Why don’t we discuss more things we hate about the world and learn about what we in common over more wine?” he suggested. The edge of suspicion and tenseness he held before was no longer present. Instead, he was now feeling much more relaxed than he had in awhile, and felt intrigued about [Name]. The twinkle in his eyes in hopes to talk to her more caused her lips to stretch into a cute flustered smile.
“Sure.”
____________________
It was the week which was like the last and there was no change but stress levels felt higher. Even after a decent ten hours sleep, [Name] felt exhaustion crawling like bugs underneath the epidermis layer of her skin. Dark bags were swelled prominently underneath her eyes. Her hair was tied carelessly in a messy bun that fell to one side; it wasn’t pretty like the one’s beauty gurus showed. It was loose but the knot was tight enough to make the weight of the hair feel too evident with each passing moment. Taking a quick sip from her steaming mocha, she greeted the administrators on the front desk that were the first point of contact between clients and the therapists who worked further back in the office. This office was where [Name] was presently working to gain practice experience in her second practicum. Generally, students in training were simply meant to observe and learn. If permission given by their supervisor, they could step in. But in [Name]’s case, for the sake of the story’s plot, the office she had chosen this time were understaffed. And since she already had finished one practicum and had quite a lot of other experiences from volunteering under her belt, she was trusted to work independently with whatever clients may be assigned to her.
“Good morning Moegi and Konohamaru,” [Name] greeted, and the two looked up from their screens. When they noticed it was [Name], they beamed at her and returned her greeting in response.
“How was your weekend [Name]?” Konohamaru asked, as he handed her the appointment schedule of everyone she would seeing today.
[Name] was ready to give her autopilot response of it being "okay" and then quickly shooting a "how about you" like she usually did. However, before those words left her mouth she paused to ponder: truly, how had her weekend been?
It was okay. Actually, it had been more than okay.
It had surprisingly been a lot of fun. When she had went through with her sugar daddy date, she had somewhat expected that she may end up having sex with a rich man she would not have been attracted to and receive compensation for sleeping with him. But that had not been the case. Madara was quite attractive, and although the dinner date had begun with a few subtle jeers thrown at each other, she had ended up having a good time with him. The fact that she felt safe enough to be vulnerable with him in the way she didn't even feel that level of comfort with her friends, and shared things she hadn't even known she was bottling up - - it was such a profound experience. To go from discussing their hatred for many things, to confessing secrets and feelings they weren't judged for, but rather, listened to, to getting so drunk that they sang cheesy songs and ended the date with their own unplanned karaoke night, it left an odd feeling of satisfaction and joy in [Name]'s chest that she had not felt in a while. The knowledge of knowing that she would be seeing Madara again soon left her feeling embarrassed.
"It was," she began, and she covered her face with one hand to hide her embarrassment. "Really nice and fun. I had a good time," she murmured somewhat quietly. Then, right away, she scurried off towards her office before they could question her further or talk about their own weekends.
[Name] had left Moegi and Konohamaru surprised with her response, and the two turned to each other wondering if they had heard right.
It was after lunch when [Name] was indulging in some [favourite fruit] iced tea, hoping some sugar would help her stay awake when she had an appointment with a client she would be seeing for the first time. She had settled her drink on the table beside her, walked through the hallway, and into the main office with reception and waiting area for clients.
It was there she saw a young man not much older than herself. He had warm ivory skin and black hair bangs that framed his face. The back of his head looked like a duck’s butt. He must have heard her footsteps because before she even called out his name, he had looked up. When her eyes met his, she took a sharp intake of breath because he looked oddly similar to Madara. The way his obsidian eyes scrutinised her made her feel uneasy. Nonetheless, she gave him, what she hoped appeared to be a welcoming and reassuring smile.
“You are Sasuke?” she assumed, and he stood up.
“Hn,” Sasuke responded simply, and at the lack of any greeting or even a facial expression caused [Name] to sweatdrop. But nonetheless, she carried on like she did with all of her patients.
“Before we start your session, did you want anything? A hot chocolate, coffee, water?”
Sasuke raised an eyebrow at this before he replied nonchalantly. “A black coffee.”
[Name] nodded and just before she could speak once more, a head of messy black curls invaded her vision and she was greeted with a smile that was almost too falsely cheerie for her taste.
“Hello! I’m Shisui, Sasuke’s cousin. And stoic face over there is Itachi, Sasuke’s brother. You forgot about us Miss. Therapist,” Shisui greeted brightly. At his exuberant persona, Sasuke glared at him. The one who he had introduced as Itachi, sighed, and [Name] looked at them apologetically.
“Oh sorry, I didn’t notice you. Can I get anything for you as well? If you’ve been with Sasuke until this point, I can assume you’ll be staying with him.”
Itachi nodded and stepped up front and held out his hand for [Name] to shake, which she obliged to almost instantly.
“Yes. We are here to oversee my little brother’s recovery at my Father’s orders and make sure there is progress,” he explained simply. His words were harsh. It was evident in the way Shisui had become tight lipped, and how Sasuke had now averted his glare onto Itachi. [Name]’s eyes shifted to observe their reaction and then returned to Itachi who was looking at her stoically. It wasn’t too obvious. However, she noticed with the way Itachi’s jaw was clenched more tightly than it had been before. This change in his body language clearly indicated that he had not wanted to say what he did and he did not want to be here. And from the intense glare Sasuke regarded him with, [Name] safely assumed that whatever was going on with Sasuke, Itachi seemed to be a part of it. Underneath Itachi’s pretty eyes, she noticed a sense of tiredness that was all — physical, mental, emotional and more. She saw that same sense of exhaustion on her own face each day.
The session had not even started and this was already turning out to become so complicated. [Name] hoped she would still have her sanity by the time she graduated and came to do this full-time. There were some of her colleagues who never bothered with rules or following basic procedures to assure their clients comfort and wellbeing. Lucky for her clients, she did. And when she needed to, she would bend over backwards and willingly go beyond her capabilities for them.
She knew from the way they all held themselves, and particularly with how Itachi had spoken that they were of important status. Their ‘father asked [them] to be here’ was a subtle way of implying that she could get in huge trouble if she did not comply with them. But [Name] just didn’t care.
She turned to Sasuke with a stern look on her face and motioned towards Shisui and Itachi.
“Do you want them there to support you or would you feel more comfortable with just you? Either way is fine. It’s your decision,” [Name] said smiling at him.
The three raven-haired males that had been introducing themselves moments ago stilled and their eyes widened in shock. Shisui was the first one to snap out of it.
“Uh, Miss. Therapist, I don’t think you know—“
“I know what I’m doing. Please refrain from implying such things and let my client decide for himself,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes. Shisui went to warn once more, but he was stopped by Itachi, who shook his head.
Itachi’s gaze went to Sasuke, and then back to [Name] as he spoke.
“I’m sure she knows what she is doing. We all wish for Sasuke’s wellbeing. We won’t intrude if he doesn’t want us to,” he proclaimed. That was his way of hinting for Shisui to drop the subject, and reassuring both Sasuke and [Name] that he was on their side, particularly with Sasuke, letting him know that he would not let their father find this out.
“Aniki,” Sasuke murmured in disbelief, staring at his brother for a few moments. Then, he looked back at [Name] to see she was still giving him the same sweet and gentle smile she had greeted him with.
Maybe, perhaps, this time, signing up for therapy would be worth it. Maybe he could allow himself to talk to her and not fear judgement and consequences like he had with his previous therapists.
“I’d like it to be by myself,” he murmured, looking away from her with slight pink cheeks. As his eyes had drifted away from hers and met Shisui’s, who gave him a warning look, his shoulders tensed and his eyes snapped back to [Name] right away. “P-Please and t-thank you.”
He did not need to glance at Shisui again to know the oldest male was now grinning at him.
Seemingly, his politeness seemed to be unexpected and Sasuke wanted to scoff at how [Name]’s eyes had lit up in pride. It almost annoyed him because did they really think he was that dimwitted?
“You’re welcome. Now, follow me please. Shisui and Itachi, our session will be around an hour so you can come to pick him up in that time,” [Name] said. The two of them nodded and waved the two goodbye as Sasuke followed after [Name] to her office.
-------
A/N: (tbh, uhhh, I plan for this to be a yandere story [whispers: eventually] but this chapter is fluffy. I honestly don’t know where I’m going with this or if I’ll add more Uchihas as love interests and turn into a reverse harem for [Name], I’m gonna make shit up as I go along and hope it turns into something decent lol gang gang. I just need to write a story I can write without worries and just enjoy the process of it rather than caring about where it leads. So yeet. I hope you join me on this journey <3)
#yandere x reader#yandere sasuke#yandere naruto#yandere madara#naruto#madara x reader#sasuke x reader#naruto x reader#uchiha x reader#akatsuki x reader#naruto imagines#naruto headcanons#possessive#sasuke uchiha#madara uchiha#ambivalent writes#uchiha therapist part 1
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Broken Lovers IV
Summary: Y/n is a hopeless romantic in love with someone who will never love her back and Jaehyun is helplessly in love with someone who only continues to hurt him over and over again, sounds like a match made in heaven right?
Pairings: CollegeStudent!Jaehyun X CollegeStudent!Y/N X CollegeStudent!Jaemin
Warnings: toxic relationships, toxic behavior, gas lighting, making you question your perception and memory, cursing but not excessively
Genre: angst/fluff/smut
Word count: 2k
Masterlist
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You brought a fist up hesitantly, unsure whether you should knock or not, you aren’t even sure you have the right room. But you brought your fist against the door knocking to let them know you were here. A few seconds after the initial knock the door swings open almost hitting you in the face.
“I’m sorry!” you’re met with Jaemin’s Panicked face clearly not knowing you were that close to the door.
“It’s okay Jaemin,” You smile up at him before he grabs onto your wrist yanking you inside the classroom lightly. You take a glance around the class, there are different groups of people talking and smiling, one girl has a very heavy and expensive-looking camera and you can also see her arms are completely covered in tattoos and her hair has a variety of blue streaks in it making her stand out.
“This is the photography classroom, we use it for our club, of course, the teacher Mrs.Choi is here to make sure we don’t destroy her class,” Jaemin explains pointing to the woman who had caught your eye for her appearance.
You look around the room and the pictures on the wall taken by all kinds of people as you spot one in particular that you were interested in, in the picture, there was a blue butterfly that had landed on some type of log and you just thought it was a beautiful picture. Jaemin follows your line of sight to the photo hanging as he makes note of your interest in the picture.
“You must be Jaemin’s new recruit he’s been telling me about,” someone breaks your attention as you turn to the voice smiling nervously.
“The coffee girl,” Mrs.Choi smiles as you feel your ears redden with embarrassment as you twist a piece of your hair between your fingers, the woman’s voice was oddly soothing and quiet which contrasts her very loud appearance.
“Hey, Mrs.Choi, yeah this is ____,” Jaemin introduces you nudging you lightly to shake her hand which she had extended which you do.
“So what brings you to our club, why are you interested in photography?” She asks as Jaemin pats you on the back before leaving you to talk as he goes to greet and talk with the other club members.
“I want to get better, and I just find it so beautiful,” You keep it simple glancing back over to that butterfly picture and then talking some more.
“Jaemin will be a great help then, he’s very talented and has a good eye, he took that photo,” Mrs.Choi stands walking over to the wall before taking a picture off the wall leaving an odd empty spot before showing off the photo, it shows a very beautiful clearing in a wooded area and light hitting the freshly rained on area. You look at it in awe, Jaemin is extremely talented and clearly this meant a lot to him.
“HEY, sorry I’m late,” Someone announces as the door opens to reveal a very tall male with brown hair, he was dressed in a pair of jeans and a very simple gray hoodie, the voice felt familiar but you couldn’t figure it out, maybe it was just in passing you had heard it.
Johnny had struggled to get the door to the photography class open, his camera bag in one hand and iced coffee in the other as he managed to carefully twist the doorknob before pushing it open and announcing his late arrival to the dismay of some of the people.
A girl almost instantly looks up and meets his eyes blushing as she turns away before she fiddles with her camera taking a couple of test pictures. Johnny’s eyes locked with yours after a few minutes of looking around the room. It didn’t feel like a coincidence that you were here. Johnny made his way over to where you’re sat with Mrs.Choi talking before chiming in himself.
“Hey! You’re new here right?” Johnny raises an eyebrow before taking a sip of his coffee, you give the boy a smile nodding.
“Yeah, it’s my first day,” You explain and Johnny immediately realizes you don’t recognize him, you had your eyes fixated on the ground when he met you and you were in a rush so you weren’t taking note of him but he definitely was of you and he had a million thoughts.
“Yeah? Well, I hope you stick around, everyone is pretty welcoming,” Johnny smiles down at you, he’s a tower and you couldn’t believe his height.
“I know, Jaemin offered to help me out and teach me some things,” Your gaze drifts from Johnny to the blue-haired Boy who is laughing with someone before you look back up to the male. His mind is turning and thinking as he slowly develops a plan in his mind almost like a picture developing it slowly appears.
“Hey, Johnny,” A girl approaches the table her head down as she pulls Johnny away to talk about something you’re unable to hear before Mrs.Choi starts talking again.
“I think you’ll like it here, it’s all about angles, See when I look at a photo I might see a whale but in your eyes, you could see a butterfly, it’s all about perception,” Mrs.Choi explains smiling before she gets up patting you on the back and rejoining a different group leaving you to think about her words a bit confused but understanding it simply as to take a photo you have to find the best angle.
“Hey Coffee girl!” Jaemin smiles rushing over to where you are before engulfing you in a hug, his scent hitting you like a truck as he squeezes you tightly. Confused you raise an eyebrow at the sudden affection but that doesn’t stop the pounding in your chest and warmth that engulfs your face.
“What was that for?” You ask meekly barely speaking above a whisper as he shrugs slinging an arm over your shoulder.
“I don’t know, I kind of just like hugs,” He ruffles your hair lightly making you groan.
“You’re cute,” Jaemin pinches your cheek while you pout but don’t disagree.
Rep after rep after rep. Jaehyun is giving his all exerting as much energy as he can as he takes his confusion and confliction out on his body pushing himself.
Jaehyun lets out a breath as sweat drops down his entire body, he is drenched, hair sticking to his forehead as he checks his Apple Watch before taking a seat. Taking a break before his next set as he unscrews the cap of his water before downing it. With every movement, he feels his mind clearing up and better in general. That doesn’t take away from the many memories that came flooding his mind.
Heejin watched in annoyance as Jaehyun packed up his gym bag, placing a towel, water bottle, and other necessities inside it. Her phone vibrated with a text but she ignored it as her eyes watched her boyfriend’s figure. She cleared her throat to announce her presence in his room as she drove herself all the way over to the frat house to Yuta’s dismay as soon as he saw her smirking in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” She asks smiling sweetly before entering his room completely and him turning around to meet her eyes.
“Hey baby, I’m just getting ready to go to the gym. I didn’t know you were coming over,” He smiles going over and placing a sweet kiss on her forehead.
“Well, I texted you so you should have known.” She rolls her eyes when he turns his back to continue only to put on the smile when he turns back to her.
“Oh, well I didn’t get a text you’re free to stay and wait till I get back,” Jaehyun zips up the bag taking a glance around to make sure he’s not forgetting anything
“I know you did. Anyways why don’t you just stay with me?” Heejin tugs at Jaehyun’s arm pleading with the boy. Her voice came out as more of a demand which Jaehyun shook off laughing.
“How do you expect me to keep up my body that you love if I don’t go to the gym?” Jaehyun cocks an eyebrow smiling at his girlfriend who clung to him like a child.
“Then bring me with you,” Heejin let’s go, her arms crossed and a pout on her face.
“You hated it last time you tagged along saying that it smelled like sweat,” Jaehyun points out as he picks up his gym bag swinging it over his shoulder.
“Ugh fine then. I guess I’m not as important as the gym then.” She faces away from him coldly.
“You know that’s not true.” Jaehyun places a hand on her shoulder only for her to shrug it off with ease and walk further away.
“No, it’s fine! Maybe you’ll find a new girl who likes the gym and you can just leave me!” She swings her arms around exaggerated, she’s getting worked up.
“Hey, why are you acting like this? You know I love you,” Jaehyun frowns, walking over to her slowly trying to calm her down by not raising his voice at her.
“If you did, why would you want to leave me?” She accuses almost hissing it out at him.
“I’m just going to the gym Heejin,” Jaehyun groans in annoyance.
“Just go tomorrow, stay today,” She sighs, making Jaehyun out to be a bad boyfriend for not wanting to spend time with his beautiful girlfriend.
“Fine I guess we can compromise, but don’t complain tomorrow please?” Jaehyun asks as she runs over, giving him a kiss on the cheek wrapping her arms behind his head.
“No promises Jae,” Heejin whispers before kissing his lips to prevent him from asking her the same questions.
“Maybe we can do some exercise of our own unless you’d rather go to the gym?” Heejin asks trailing her lips up his neck and kissing right behind his ear eliciting a deep groan and she can’t help but smirk over the power she has, the control.
“I like that idea,” Jaehyun smiles, his dimples showing as he drops his bag back onto the ground picking her up with ease as she wraps her legs around his waist before he moves over to the bed.
Beep beep, Jaehyun’s watch goes off letting him know to continue onto the next set. He shakes the memory away but glances at his phone for a second as if she would call at any minute her annoyed voice asking every ten minutes if he was done yet.
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A/N: The next chapter should be posted on 7/15, If you want to be added to the taglist leave a note on this post or message me anything really works. This next part is a bit personal you can stop reading here if you want to. I’ve been in a really bad mindset lately and it’s been taking a big toll on my mental health and just overall well-being and I kinda wish my friends or family would ask me how i’m doing BUT I do want everyone to know how much I smile and enjoy getting notifications on Tumblr so thank you guys for constantly and consistently brightening my days.
Tag list
❤️ @yourchasingsunsets ❤️ @justineasian ❤️ @captainsjoongs ❤️ @theworld-accordingtocasey ❤️ @yee-hawwwwwwww ❤️ @renjunstarlight ❤️
I also really quickly wanna say happy birthday to @ahgase55g7 I’m glad you’re really liking the story so far ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
#nct#kpop#nct imagines#nct fluff#nct dream#nct angst#jaehyun#nct jaehyun#jaehyun fluff#jaehyun angst#nct 127#jaehyun imagines#nct fanfic#nct au#kpop au#nct x reader#nct fic#kpop fic#jaemin#nct jaemin#jaemin nct dream#jaemin imagines#broken lovers fic
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