novalore

[novalore]

sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

-

The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment. 

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far. 

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism. 

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently. 

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say. 

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way. 

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism. 

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare. 

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you. 

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings. 

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin. 

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected. 

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this. 

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around. 

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you. 

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side. 

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise. 

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice. 

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back. 

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying. 

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake. 

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose. 

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved. 

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air. 

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does. 

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life. 

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job. 

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened. 

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically. 

“You’ve probably got more than I have.” 

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect. 

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense. 

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate. 

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly. 

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.” 

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you. 

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves. 

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it. 

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on. 

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help. 

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you. 

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”  

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison. 

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now. 

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain. 

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home. 

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh. 

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits. 

He can be good every now and then. 

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch. 

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much. 

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again. 

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen. 

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. 

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure. 

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me. 

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs. 

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again. 

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees. 

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more. 

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches. 

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her. 

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed. 

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright. 

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick. 

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity. 

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished. 

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through. 

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open. 

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button. 

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts. 

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole. 

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw. 

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed. 

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile. 

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.  

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work. 

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life. 

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him. 

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it. 

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same. 

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to. 

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt. 

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that. 

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you. 

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though. 

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.” 

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms. 

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean. 

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life. 

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week. 

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night. 

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is. 

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do. 

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony. 

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone. 

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine. 

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate. 

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty? 

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing. 

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive. 

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls. 

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there. 

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away. 

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say. 

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you. 

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together. 

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too. 

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you. 

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas. 

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him. 

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it. 

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain. 

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would. 

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more. 

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water. 

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long. 

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut. 

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please. 

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly. 

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass. 

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills. 

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes. 

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer? 

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.  

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable. 

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more. 

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps. 

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him. 

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in. 

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp. 

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun. 

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings. 

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull. 

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage. 

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound. 

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil. 

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock. 

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns. 

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out. 

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain. 

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down. 

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour. 

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for. 

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard. 

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed. 

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge. 

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come. 

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here. 

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it. 

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her. 

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep. 

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black. 

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl. 

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening. 

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps. 

You smile.

[novalore]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 !

- gojo satoru x reader // zen'in naoya x reader

you are an empress perfect in every way... until your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress. but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you, and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, kinda slowburn, angst to eventual fluff, divorce, marriage of convenience, heavy pining (from gojo's part), childhood friends trope, mentions of infidelity, misogyny, infertility, explicit smut

note: loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress (but i promise you, it's different). my god, for the past month this is all i can think about *sobs* wc. 10.5k ! this is the longest thing i've ever posted here, and if you'd give it a chance, then i'll be really, really thankful!

credit header goes to @/gojokko in twitter!

next. the crown of diamonds | long live the empire (soon!)

general masterlist | series masterlist

“I accept the divorce.”

Your perfect life was done for. Everything you had worked hard towards— it was now in shambles and tatters.

You, an ethereal, revered empress... someone untarnished in the face of public and private, had just agreed to the emperor’s blatant request of separation.

“My god... how can this be!?”

“Your Majesty! Please reconsider!”

Emperor Zen’in Naoya of the Eastern Empire, your husband—and companion for more than ten years—smirked as he looked down at you, paying zero attention to the uproar in this courthouse.

But then you heard that kind, velvety voice from the back of your head:

“If you become my empress… that will make me the happiest man alive.”

This place has turned into a whopping circus ever since you and Naoya stepped inside anyway. And so, having nothing worthy left to lose, you declared, “And I demand an immediate approval for my remarriage.”

Your boldness once again stirred a wave of clamor among the crowd, and even Naoya was glaring at you in disbelief now. “A remarriage…? How dare you—!”

“Well... is it the time for my grand entrance?”

Deep from behind the curtains, suddenly he emerged, dressed in the most lavish robes befitting his own throne, outshining everyone in the room as if he was the one owning the place.

“Heh.” His low chuckle stunned even the mass as he took big strides towards where you were.

This would seal your fate. From now onwards, you would no longer be the perfect empress. Your messy divorce and remarriage will relegate that image to history.

“My goodness, that’s…” the woman in the front gasped. “Western Empire’s…”

“Gojo… Satoru?” Naoya's eyes lit with genuine fury as the other man took his place by your side. “You couldn't possibly mean…!”

You interrupted him regally. “Yes, he is the man I wish to remarry.”

This event was going to blow up tomorrow, with scandalous titles no less than The Deposed Empress Remarries! And there was no going back, ever.

How did your pristine life turn into such a shameful debacle? None of these turn of events would be imaginable for you several years prior...

SATORU, THE CROWN PRINCE OF WESTERN EMPIRE

To Satoru, you were more than just the east’s breathtaking empress—you had captured his attention long before you ascended to that role.

Seven years ago, you were the renowned noble lady, the paragon of perfection sought after by many lords and monarchs alike.

You were both cunning and fair, pretty in the face, came from an illustrious family known for birthing famous empresses in either western and eastern empires. You were the quintessential template that mothers advised their sons to seek in a wife.

The fairest in the land—that was how people called you. And Gojo Satoru is always and only interested in the best.

“Suguru... look at her.” His eyes would soften at the sight of you as he nudged at his closest ally and confidant, the duke. “She is so... pretty, isn’t she?”

Unfortunately, you had been promised to the Eastern Empire’s crown prince from a long time ago too. There was little that the outsiders, including himself—even if he was the heir apparent to his own throne—could do to sway your heart.

“There's more to women than their faces, Satoru,” Suguru sighed, thinking that what he had was a mere lust. “Moreover, she’s engaged to the Zen’in... and they have a very good relationship. Nothing you can do about that.”

“Hmph.”

To be honest, he couldn’t fathom what you could possibly like about that murderous Zen’in spawn. He was a pompous human being, no less.

How on earth could you stand someone like that? Satoru had always wondered… especially when it was well-known to the land that you and him were on good terms despite your arranged marriage.

—and once, he thought he knew who you are…

. . .

Satoru swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat as he attended the royal wedding of you and Zen’in Naoya. Despite hating the circumstances, he had to admit it was a fairytale wedding—albeit with the wrong groom.

You were the epitome of picture book princess. In his eyes, and in the eyes of the attendees of your wedding.

Oh, and he made headlines too, that day—

“My princess, may I have this dance?”

Two hours hadn’t even passed by after you swore your vows as Naoya’s bride, and there he was, asking for your first dance, in your own wedding ball, right in front of your newly wedded husband.

Everyone bet on you turning him down and making a fool of himself, but instead, to spare his feelings, you put your delicate hand in his, and with a wide, shy smile, you said, “Yes.”

Satoru thought it was his greatest achievement then. To have made Naoya red-faced, to have made him watch as he put his hands on your waist, twirl you around— and come one breath away from your face.

“Princess, you’re…” his breath caught as he pulled you close, staring straight at your face—and suddenly he felt like life was so unfair to him as the slow melody of waltz was all he could hear.

How could you be this close... and yet so far by being somebody else’s wife?

And yet he forced the words out, with sincerity he had never showed anyone else before, even as his heart bled and shattered. “You’re so incredibly beautiful.”

Your eyes widened, sparkling with wonder, before you thanked him with the loveliest of smiles. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

Satoru was certain... you had ruined him, because no one else would ever be able to turn his world with just a smile like you did, even as you broke his heart too into a million pieces.

. . .

Ever since that day, everyone had branded him as a prince in search of scandal—coveting the princess married to Zen’in clan.

What everyone didn’t know was that it went beyond that. His obsession of you went beyond your beauty and charms and wits. Rather, it goes a long way back.

YOU, THE CROWN PRINCESS OF EASTERN EMPIRE

As inconceivable as it was, once upon a time, you and Naoya were a truly, happy couple.

Handpicked by the late emperor to become his son’s wife, you couldn’t be more proud. With you being the next empress of the Eastern Empire, your clan once again proved itself that it was always worthy of a seat in the monarchy.

But beyond that, you were elated that it was Naoya that you ended up marrying. Your own childhood friend, who often led you around his palace by hand and filled your days with many joy and laughs.

“One day soon, when we are the emperor and the empress—” younger Naoya was always someone who had big dreams about ruling his nation. “We will create a nation in which no one can do anything as they please! We’ll establish order, and anyone who goes against it will be punished! That way, it’ll encourage fairness!”

Not knowing it yourself, you had given your heart wholly to him. You had agreed to all his dreams and visions. You devoted yourself to them all, even more so after your marriage and coronation, as he promised you an ever after.

“From now on, it’s going to be me and you, Empress.”

YOU, THE EMPRESS OF EASTERN EMPIRE

“Your role is to give an heir to the throne, Empress.”

Your title had never sounded so heavy to you before now, especially when Naoya was the one saying it.

You sighed, gathering your wits and scattered feelings before levelling your calm gaze on your husband. “I understand that, Your Majesty. But it is not something that I can do on my own.”

This year would mark the fifth year of your marriage to Naoya. You understood that the fact you still weren’t able to be with his child would raise questions from the court, but still, must you be reminded of this fact over and over?

Your husband—no, the emperor—barked a satire laugh.

“Oh, really? As I understand it, being infertile is not something I can help you with.”

That hurt. It was a searing pain, like being branded with a red-hot iron. And it felt as if he had torn through your chest with his fist alone.

“I’m not infertile.” Your eyes gleamed with pure defiance as you lifted your chin, facing him in his audience chamber.

It dawned on you that lately, one of the few ways you could speak to him was by requesting an audience as opposed to your usual midnight talks in your private chambers.

When did it start to change? Or was Naoya this kind of person right from the very beginning and you were just blinded by love back then?

"Oh? And what would you call being childless for five years then?" Naoya sneered at you from his dais, placing one hand on his jaw. "Bad luck? You must be terribly cursed with misfortune then."

You fisted your dress, summoning all your strength to hold back tears. Don't you dare cry. Not in front of him.

It wasn't as if you didn't want to carry his heir. For many women, holding their baby in their arms is a cherished dream, and when they hold a position of power like yours, it becomes not just a desire but a duty.

You tried everything—calling in the best doctors, consuming horrible potions, even consulting with the oracle. And they all said you were perfectly healthy and fine. You were at your wits end too.

The irony. You were celebrated in public for your competence, while privately, you suffered your husband's cold detachment and cruel remarks.

. . .

"Empress, where should we put the welcome gifts?"

You studied the floor plan of the banquet hall for your annual New Year's ball with a thoughtful hum before pointing at the entrance.

"Place it here. We want our guests to know that we are generous, and it's easily accessible since the parlor is the first area they reach after arriving."

You loved planning festivities. It was therapeutic in a way, and it gave you little time to think of anything else.

"Oh, and I want to have a welcome arch and flowers placed at the entrance too. This is the grandest event of the year, second only to the Emperor's birthday... we must display the grandeur that befits such an occasion."

Your head maidservant, Hanabi, placed a hand on her abdomen and nodded with a warm smile. "That's a very clever suggestion, Your Majesty! I'll ensure they arrange everything just as you wish!"

As she scurried away, you watched her with an assessing gaze. Hanabi had been with you throughout the five years of your marriage, always at your side, assisting with day-to-day matters and serving as your confidant. She was a great aide.

And you were observant by nature... so of course you noticed things.

...and if you were correct, then she was most definitely with a child.

The thing is... she is unmarried. You hesitated to jump to conclusions without evidence, yet the timing struck you as more than coincidental—it nagged at you for weeks now, suggesting a connection you hoped did not exist.

Because if they really did... then...

You didn't dare to think, because it would be more than a nightmare. But you weren't able to let this go either, so you did what was necessary.

You planted a note in Hanabi's chamber, and then you waited in the gardens, the chilly midnight air wrapping around you like a shroud.

You had done everything you could. Five years ago, you let go of everything and had decided to spend your life with your first love—Naoya.

Because you truly and devotedly love him. You give your all for him—for your life together.

"Ooh, Your Majesty~! It's so cold out here, why not in our usual—"

Hanabi's voice faltered as soon as she saw your crimson gown, feeling like the world had collapsed on her. And you rigidly turned towards her, feeling more or less the same.

And yet, what you had received from him is the greatest betrayal.

SATORU, THE EMPEROR OF THE WESTERN EMPIRE

He first realized something was clearly wrong with you during the New Year’s ball that you hosted.

Satoru had just been crowned emperor during this time, and though rulers typically sent envoys to such grand celebrations due to concurrent festivities in their own lands, it had been several months since he last saw you. He wants to see you.

A meritless action, but he wanted to, regardless.

But that day, you were a fantastic actress in this stage called banquet hall and nobody was the wiser… but he would know, because you mattered a lot to him.

"Your Majesty, you don't seem well." He approached you with a glass of champagne, affixing a friendly smile. "Is there anything amiss?"

Taken aback, you didn't expect such close proximity that you took a step back. His smile almost faltered, but he kept it up.

"Emperor Satoru—"

"Ah, none of that, no. Address me just as you usually do, hmm?"

A smile finally tugged at your lips. "How is that fair, when you address me so formally?"

Satoru chuckled. "You, my queen, deserve all the finery and grandeur there is. And I will see to it that you do."

That was his nickname for you ever since you ascended the throne. Both of your countries refer you as “empress”, but he loves addressing you as “queen” instead.

There was a shift in your expression, and he thought you looked melancholic. It bothered him, stirring a desire to erase that somber look from you. Because above anything and everything, you had to be happy and smiling.

"You're still a flirt, I see, Satoru," you remarked, throwing him a soft smile. "It won't do you good if you're seen with me most of the time, you know."

No, I’m doing this just for you. He wanted to tell you that, but he sighed instead. "You've got it wrong. When I'm in the company of the most beautiful woman in the lands, what's there to be ashamed of?"

Perhaps hearing that finally melted you a bit as you freely giggled this time, and Satoru was glad that he made you laugh even a little.

"You would think that, huh..." you fondly mumbled. And then your expression crumbled, and he could've sworn something painful flashed in your eyes—

What happened to you? He so desperately wanted to ask, but then he saw that preying gaze on both of you. Zen’in Naoya. Satoru clicked his tongue as he watched him weave through the crowd, his gaze locked ominously on both of you.

“Seems like we don’t have much time, after all,” he began, urgency sharpening his words. “But rest assured, whenever you want to talk to me, just send a little birdie my way and I shall answer.”

“Huh?” you blinked at him questioningly, totally not getting what he meant.

He winked, then took your hand and placed a kiss on it, eliciting murmurs of surprise from the crowd at his bold gesture. “And chin up, my queen. You have nothing to fear, and if it makes you feel better...”

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “To me, a diamond is most beautiful. And you… are one that sparkles above all.”

“Naoya, unhand me this instant!”

You were tired of this shit, of Naoya always manhandling you—of him always having a total control over you.

After seeing how close you got to Satoru, Naoya practically saw red. Still, in the prying eyes of public, he remained unperturbed, but his vice-like grip on your arm was sure to leave bruise as he unkindly led you out of the ballroom.

"Naoya!" you raised your voice this time, even louder than before, uncaring even when the wandering eyes of the servants curiously followed the two of you.

You were not made an empress just to follow him. And with that conviction, you forcibly pulled your arm away from his grip right after he shut the door to the drawing room close, not even wincing at the stinging feeling.

His eyes shone with anger. “You insolent—!”

“No—” You stood your ground, and suddenly you got very irate and burst out, “How dare you, Zen’in Naoya!”

He looked at you with equal surprise and mortification, clearly unprepared for your righteous tirade.

"You have made a mockery of our marriage! You have insulted me and your own throne by carrying on with— with the help! My maid!" you screamed at his face, pure anger coursing through your veins. "How could you!?"

Naoya took in your outburst with eerie silence, a sneer slowly forming on his lips. "You get riled up over that? Have you forgotten emperors are free to take mistresses, especially when the empress isn't capable to bear any heirs?"

A burning arrow shot straight to your heart at his response but you willed yourself not to show it. "Regardless, you could've done better and not put our throne to shame by fucking a servant."

"I've told you time and time again. A woman's duty is to bear children, and since you've proven yourself beyond barren, I did you a favor."

"A favor...?"

"As soon as Hanabi births that child, you can raise him as your own," Naoya frankly stated unabashedly, as if proud with his idea. "Saves you the trouble and I get my heir, a win-win solution, no?"

Raise him as my own...? Saves the trouble? You could've sworn that throughout your entire life, you had never been so insulted before now, right in this moment.

"What I do, I always have my throne in mind. And yet you..." his eyes narrowed into unsatisfied slits. "What are you trying to achieve by whoring yourself to that rake, Gojo Satoru? Are you telling people of the ton that you're having an affair?"

His voice made you want to throw up. The realization that everything you thought you had together might have meant nothing to him at all made you feel sick.

And so, hiding your trembling hands and swallowing you unshed tears, you responded to him with a clipped tone—

"You're most despicable, Naoya. And you are a complete fool if you think even for a second that I'd want to raise your bastard!"

He seemed taken aback by your rejection, but you didn't falter. "And oh, since you want to make use of that lowly maid so much, feel free to take her back and track her down yourself, because I've sent that wench away."

With that, you turned your back on him, striding out with your head held high, even as your life crumbled into dust.

Days after your full-blown argument with Naoya, your situation only worsened. By now, even the palace servants knew you had incurred his wrath, while Hanabi had won his favor by carrying his child—possibly the heir to the throne.

The child she was carrying was no threat to your position. After all, you were the empress. A child of your blood would trample over any bastard.

However, you'd be damned if you shared a bed with him again, and Naoya made it clear that his mistress would be elevated to the rank of royal consort. Given the current trajectory—and history's tendency to repeat itself—emperors often divorced or banished their empresses in favor of their mistresses.

Bah. You could only scoff at your laughable predicament. You came from a prestigious clan and were revered, yet now you were no more than a scorned woman.

Dark thoughts consumed your mind for a time—you couldn't deny that you had considered leaving the palace for self-imposed exile or even ending your life. However, reason always prevailed.

You wouldn't give Naoya what he wanted most: your compliance. And around the time when you resolved to do that, a finely decorated envelope arrived at your study, with no signature whatsoever.

Intrigued, you opened it to find an intricate dried rose bookmark and a folded letter nestled inside.

Greetings to you, my queen. Yeah, it's me. Hope you won't be too surprised. But if you do, know that I always mean well.

Satoru. You weren't expecting this. A small smile tugged at your lips. How long had it been since you last smiled so freely?

I've heard you love reading, hence the bookmark. Fun fact: I made it myself, with Shoko's help. She is sooo bad at explaining though so if the flower is wrinkled... please blame her.

This time, you giggled. He was an emperor, for god's sake. Should someone of his station write so informally like this?

Now... I'm no oracle, but even I know that you must be having bad days. And so, let me entertain you with several tales from my kingdom. So, the other day, my good friend Suguru, the duke—you must've heard of him surely (they said he is the most handsome bachelor in the West but they must be missing an eye for saying so because clearly I'm more!)—just fired a pair of his servants because he caught them in a thirst! He is so uptight! Why can't he let two people in love be!?

Before you knew it, you found yourself chuckling at the lines upon lines of anecdotes Satoru had penned in the letter. The way he wrote, it was as if he was right here, saying all of this to you in real-time. For a while, you were completely absorbed in the world of the Western Empire he described, and all your worries and anxieties seemed to fade away.

Okay, that's it for now. This is just a teaser actually, so if you want to subscribe to more tales of my humble little country, you can always be my empress reply to this letter! :D Look out for a white cat near your windowsill during the hour of snake—he is my trained pet, and put your message in his little backpack. Don't worry, he's cute and doesn't bite!

You were so giddy by the end. His message warmed your heart so much that your eyes grew misty. In the aftermath of Naoya's betrayal, you were certain your life would be filled with much sadness to come.

Yet, your friendship with Satoru might just be the thing that would save you.

No matter how much his friends Duke Geto and Countess Shoko urged him to see reason—that you were no longer available and occupied with your duties as the empress of your own empire—Satoru couldn't help but still cast an eye your way.

You were clearly unhappy, and to him, someone as radiant as you should be happy.

And so, that was why he took his quill and started writing that letter to be sent to your place, along with a rose strapped inside.

He knew that, being the kind person you were, you would most likely respond, but still, the moment his cat arrived back with your reply, he was elated beyond measure.

Of course I knew it right away! I omitted your name because who knows who might catch your cat on the way. Anyway, I hope Mr. Cat will arrive back to you safe and sound. Firstly, thank you for your letter. I must say I'm so happy to receive it :) I haven't had best days so reading it made me smile. And secondly, of course I'll subscribe to your stories of Western Empire. I've been wanting to visit it myself but just haven't gotten the chance to... so if you will continue it, I shall be happy to read :D

If anything he wrote brought you joy, then Satoru was content. He had achieved his goal then.

And it was his own little secret that... by corresponding with you, it allowed him to savor the feeling of having you as his own, if only through words.

Mr. Cat's name is Sugu-chan after Suguru but you can call him whatever you wish. And don't worry, he is strong and can fight if necessary! And don't be too formal with me, my queen. We have known each other forever. Anyway do tell me, what is your favorite color now? Let me guess, is it still that specific shade of crimson?

You name your cat after your best friend...? And you're making it hard for me to be less formal when you always address me as queen! Hmm, I suppose so. I love burgundy. I've even had my study designed with that exact color scheme. It just gives me the confidence I need, you know.

So you still love burgundy... I'll keep that in mind ;) Frankly, any shade of crimson suits you—you're always a vision in them. Back then and especially during your coronation. I love blue, so I think we're a match? :D

Back then...? Hmm, surprisingly yes, red and blue would make a good match... Anyway, I believe you promised me unusual tales from your 'humble little country', so please indulge me!

You've forgotten it already? Around the time we first met, back when I was still known as "the cursed prince"? It holds such importance for me but sadly it seems like it was just a passing moment to you :( Oh, yeah, I haven't forgotten about it! So, this time let me tell you about the time when Earl Nanami got wasted . . .

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Amidst the turmoil of your marriage, exchanging letters with Satoru became your sole respite. His stories regarding his own empire amused you, and sometimes it got you to wonder what it was like to live there.

However, running away from your problems would never solve them. Writing to Satoru may have helped you to cope, but still, your real issue with Naoya wouldn't vanish simply just by ignoring him.

. . .

"Your Majesty..."

For a good one minute, you stood still. Your lady-in-waiting had delivered an earth-shattering news—but admittedly, a possibility you thought was in the cards the moment you went against Naoya.

"His majesty has summoned the high priest to his study," the elderly woman added, close to tears. "But it is very likely that he has submitted the petition for—" her voice faltered when she caught sight of the emptiness in your eyes, unable to continue.

A divorce. Naoya had been considering a divorce. And by now, he was set on it.

"I'm so, so sorry..." she choked out, her voice breaking with sorrow to mourn you, but you remained expressionless, lost in your thoughts.

The last time an empress of Eastern Empire was divorced was more or less a century ago, because she had committed a grave treachery against a royal consort by poisoning her. She was sentenced to death by hanging afterwards.

The irony. You were in similar situation, only that you weren't vengeful enough to resort to poisoning Hanabi. Speaking of her, her baby was due in another four months, and now she was living happily in Naoya's quarters.

"Don't be. I'm perfectly fine."

To consolidate his illegitimate child's position, Naoya used the most effective way. Since you wouldn't listen to him, and Hanabi must be a far delightful companion rather than you, he was more than willing to cast you aside in favor of making her his empress instead.

You thought it would hurt more, and yet what you felt the most right in this moment was white-hot anger. This is unacceptable. It was the greatest insult to you both as a woman and as the empress.

Now, all you could think of was how to uphold your dignity and plot your exit from this palace with your head still held high.

If I can't be the empress here...

And after a sleepless night, you came to a daring solution. And your plan—

...I'll be one somewhere else.

It was an invitation, Satoru thought, almost in disbelief. Or it sounded a lot like one, didn't it?

Heart beating a little faster and blushing, he reread the latest letter you had sent him.

It's only the beginning of summer, and the heat is sweltering... I'm considering treating myself to a trip to the winery village on the border between the east and west. I think it'll be nice if I have a companion...

Winery village was right in the middle of the western and eastern empires, and it was a safe zone. Vineyards were vast and thick, but it wasn't exactly a popular vacation spot. So, it intrigued him why you would want to go there.

Just as he was about to reply to you that it was a very good coincidence that he too wanted to pay a visit to the said village, suddenly—

"Gojo! Gojoooo!" Shoko suddenly burst into his study, startling him.

"Shoko! What the heck?!"

Lady Shoko might be a countess, but she, Satoru, and Suguru all attended the same royal academy. Despite their prestigious titles now, Satoru insisted that in private, both Suguru and Shoko address him just as they did before he ascended the throne.

Still, she was ruder than Suguru in many ways. Satoru gave her a stink eye, but his confusion grew as she seemed to be delivering momentous news.

"Gojo, have you heard that Naoya will divorce Y/N?!"

"Wha?" it felt like a ton of bricks suddenly fell down on his head. And then his friend proceeded to tell him everything she knew.

"It wasn't made official yet, but even the townsfolk have been talking about it. They also said that Naoya have taken a mistress, and that she was formerly the empress' maid."

Satoru listened to her in silence, but the moment he heard that the Zen'in spawn planned to divorce you, anger flared within him. And to add insult to injury, he two-timed you with a servant?

The fucking bastard. He never deserved you at all. How crushed must you have been, enduring all this shit?

"Now, I wouldn't normally encourage you this," Shoko took out the cigarette she stashed in the folds of her dress and sighed. "But since you never let go of that weird fixation on her, should the royal divorce happen..." she shrugged as she took a seat in front of him.

"No matter how laughable it is, you might have a chance."

She is so right. These long years of longing for your affections and dreaming of having even a minute more of your time... there was now chance to turn it to reality.

When you arrived at the winery village for your vacation to breathe in some fresh air, honestly, everything was still in shambles.

You couldn't forget the horrified looks from the court when Naoya announced the divorce. Most were shocked and pleaded with him to reconsider. Some from your circle of ladies even sobbed, openly stating that you didn't deserve this fate.

“Empress... His Majesty shouldn't be that harsh...” Hanabi had said to you afterwards, seemingly concerned for you. “Your legacy here… I’ll make sure to carry them on.”

Sometimes you didn’t know whether Hanabi was pretending to be dumb or indeed she was. One thing you knew though...

“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi.” You looked down at her with eyes as cold as ice. “Beware, the Emperor is fickle, be sure to not run out of entertainments.”

You knew you deserved a better fate than being the empress of the Eastern Empire, but seeing those who still cared for you made you solemn. Your loyal maids, those who supported you... and what about organizations you've spent time and energy to?

“My queen, ah, there you are.”

Satoru's voice from behind startled you, interrupting your daydreams. He quickly came beside you and extended his hand, asking for yours.

You offered him your right hand, and he promptly pressed a kiss on it, his bright blue eyes gazing up at you.

It wasn't as if you just noticed how pretty his eyes were, but now that there was no ballroom and scrutinizing eyes around you, you couldn't deny that the way his eyes sparkled as he gazed at you—solely and purely on you—made you breathless.

What... would it be like to have this man... to be your husband instead?

"I missed you. I know we talk daily through letters, but seeing your beauty firsthand is always a sight for sore eyes," he cheekily commented as he let go of your hand. "Now, I get to see you without your pesky husband around, and yeah, you never fail to make my silly heart race."

You chuckled. "You always flatter me..."

He only gave you a toothy smile, and you two strolled the vineyard. For a while, you talked about nothing of importance, like where your ladies-in-waiting were, how things were from his side.

"How do you find being the emperor?"

"It's tiring! It's boring too to look through accounts and oversee those trivial state affairs! And not to mention how many people have been nagging me to take a wife soon!"

"Oh? You haven't been on the lookout already?"

"Nah. No one is good enough, I need someone already familiar with state affairs and such," he said, wrinkling his nose sourly at the thought. But then he cast his eyes on you.

"And frankly, you are my standard," he fixed you a meaningful smile. "No one comes close. If you weren't betrothed to the Zen'in back then, I'd have proposed you in a heartbeat."

Thump. Thump. Thump. Your dead heart suddenly came to life. Gojo Satoru had just confessed his affections for you so candidly, and it got you thinking how much easier your life would be with him. He would love you, take care of you...

And beguile you.

His eyes fondly crinkled at you. "You are everything I desire in a woman to be my wife."

He adores you so easily, so fluidly... and yet, Naoya, who has you fully, is throwing you away.

Satoru observed how your face fell once again, just as it had during the New Year's ball. And now he knew, it was because you were facing your impending divorce.

But he wasn't going to tell you that, instead, he would willingly be your confidant and offer you his very being. He was about to crack a joke to lift your spirits, when you blurted—

"What if I said... I want to be your empress?" you kept your pace, not looking at him at all. "What if I said... I'll leave everything and come to you?"

Huh? What…?

That was loaded. Have you entertained the thought too? Satoru had craved the very idea for so long he didn’t even miss a beat—

“Then I’d marry you.” His voice was straight and true, shooting straight to the most tender part of you that Naoya had torn to shreds. “If you become my empress… that will make me the happiest man alive.”

No hesitation. It almost reduced you to tears. You stopped where you stood, willing yourself not to tremble. There is still one person who sees this much value in you.

“Then I’ll be yours,” you breathed out. “I’ll be your empress, Satoru.”

Satoru could've sworn time had stopped. If one moment ago, you looked like you were about to shatter, now you were a vision of the dignified and perfect queen he had always known you were.

“I’ll be your queen— your everything.” You declared, locking eyes with him, the intensity of your gaze not escaping him.

How many years had he dreamed of this moment? How many long nights had he endured, yearning for you, knowing you were beyond his reach?

Finally, finally... Satoru grinned, swearing to all the divine beings out there that he had never known how liberating it was to finally have what he wanted. “That would be my greatest honor.”

He drew you close—you let him—and after one second of taking in your enchanting eyes, he crashed his lips against yours.

His lips started soft and gentle, then became fiery as his tongue met yours. He pulled you closer, one arm around your waist and the other holding the back of your head. You responded eagerly, pressing against him, fingers tracing his neck and feeling the lines of his undercut.

One is finally having the woman he had wanted for so long, and the other was plotting her escape from her misery.

You were using him. He knew it. Yet, he didn't care. Hidden behind bushes and vines, you shared your very first heated kiss, aware that this moment would leave its mark as both the greatest stain and triumph in your lives.

And when he finally pulled away, lips swollen and wet, with a wolfish grin, he promised you once again—

“Give me everything that is yours... and I swear on my life, I will do everything to turn your life into a living dream.”

“Empress, your husband His Majesty the Emperor, has requested a divorce.”

It was how your once pristine life transformed into the scandal of the century inside the courthouse.

"If you accept this petition, then you will no longer be the Empress of Eastern Empire. You will lose all the rights you have as a senior member of the imperial family..."

You donned your finest attire—the intricate crimson and black dress you had designed and commissioned the dressmaker to create. Today, faced with Naoya's divorce decree, it would be the last time you adorned the colors of his empire.

"The ties that bound you together as husband and wife would be severed—"

Good riddance, you thought.

"If this is not what you want, you have the right to—"

"I accept the divorce."

Your voice cut through the heavy solemness of the witnesses and turned them into a mass of disbelief. You disregarded Naoya's smirk and held the priest's gaze. "And I demand an immediate approval for my remarriage."

The crowd was in for a second wave of uproar when you boldly stood your ground, and they erupted into clamors once again when Satoru made his grand entrance and took his place beside you.

"You—!" Naoya was so furious that he roared. "This is my empire!"

"And?" Satoru challenged with a dauntless smile. "I'm here to propose, and since she accepts your divorce request, I believe she has no relations with you any longer and is free to marry someone else."

You remained motionless, until your cold fingers met warmth when Satoru linked his hand with yours reassuringly.

"This is treachery! I won't fucking permit it!" Naoya hollered as he faced the high priest, who had a grim face while observing this three-way headlock between the three of you.

"Emperor Naoya, that matter falls into the jurisdiction of the church." The high priest let out a sigh and then turned to you, assessing your calm gaze.

Regardless, Naoya paid him no mind. "I refuse to grant you any permission to remarry! You will be banished to the cold palace until the rest of your pitiful days! Not only do you fail miserably by being barren beyond help, you also dare to whore yourself—" he was now rambling curses at you before everyone in the court, and it pierced you deeply—

Until Satoru tugged you behind him, so that you wouldn't have to see his face any longer.

"High priest!" Satoru's voice blared as he clenched his jaw, irate at the string of profanities directed at you. "Do you still truly believe that the deposed empress can't remarry? When she has suffered through this man's downright betrayal?"

Your head was spinning. You wanted this whole ordeal to be over already.

And thankfully, even the high priest saw reason, that you were undeserving of this debacle. In the end, his words held more weight than anyone else's, even Naoya's.

"I accept Empress Y/N petition to marry Emperor Satoru!"

In the chaos of the courthouse after the high priest granted your wish, Naoya shook his head in disbelief, looking at both of you with intense disdain.

"You've always wanted that wench, haven't you, Gojo?" Naoya cackled with a malice you would never have expected from someone who had been your husband for ten years.

You had tuned out all the noise. This dumpster fire was too much even for you. But then, you felt a strong arm enveloping you, sealing your fate as the match made in this courtroom—

"I have, yeah," Satoru replied with a smug grin. "And now that she is mine... it's just the beginning of your downfall, Zen'in."

Your wedding banquet in Western Empire lasted a week long.

True to his promise, Satoru spared no effort to make you happy. The moment he brought you to his palace, he ordered immediate plans for wedding celebrations. Make it grand, make it unforgettable... he took charge himself.

And on the final, seventh day, as you were about to be formally crowned as the empress of the western lands, you were stunned.

"This is your coronation dress, Empress," your new lady-in-waiting, Shoko, said with pride. "Gojo— I mean, His Majesty, specifically has his late mother's dress altered to suit you."

You promised yourself that you would no longer wear any shades of crimson. As much as you loved the color, it reminded you too much of your homeland and Naoya. No matter how much you despised him now, once upon a time, he was everything you loved and more.

And you thought you couldn't possibly love another color until you saw the extravagant navy dress in your chamber. Made of luxurious satin and adorned with literal diamonds, it shimmered under the light and flowed gracefully with layers of brocade cascading to the floor.

To give you something so valuable... You had expected to enter into a marriage out of necessity, but your new husband had no intention of ceasing his ways to win your heart.

If it's with him, maybe... just maybe...

Today is the day.

Satoru sat on his throne before his court in the grand hall of his audience chamber. His hair was pulled back, and he was dressed in his official attire, robe of silk and a crown made of pure gold.

Next to him, another resplendent crown adorned with jewels and diamonds shimmered in the light—the empress' crown. Your crown.

Today was the day this empire would truly acknowledge his queen. He stole a glance at you on his other side, and his breath was taken away.

With your hair tucked into an elegant updo, you were the very vision of a fairytale queen. You were incredibly stunning, almost otherworldly— shade of blue suited you as much as crimson did, just as he thought.

This day would go down in history. But before that, he would ensure that the news would reach Zen'in Naoya. He would spite him so hard.

"Today marks a momentous occasion. We gather here to celebrate not only my marriage and my new wife's coronation," Satoru glanced at his audience with a smirk, his expression widening as he spotted his best friends Suguru and Shoko. "But also the start of her reign... and as we know it already, her fame and beauty are second to none."

The crowd burst into giggles, clearly aware of his scandal at the Eastern Empire's courthouse. And even you smiled.

Satoru shrugged, playfully rolling his eyes. "Spare me, I'm a newlywed, after all. Anyway..." His gaze shifted to the intricate crown, a relic of his late mother's, and then back to you. "Come."

You knelt before your new husband, bowing your head. The whirlwind journey from the East, your remarriage to Satoru... It had all felt surreal until this moment. Now, the weight of reality settled upon you, almost shaking your very core—

But just as the thought crossed your mind, Satoru placed the crown upon your head. As the jewels settled into place and you rose to face the crowd, his voice cut through the air:

"And here I present to you, your new empress!"

The room erupted in applause, the cheers echoing around you. Everyone congratulated you without fail, and your breath was taken away.

It was a sight beyond belief, as they chanted your name, over and over again—

“ALL HAIL THE EMPRESS!”

"I have something for you!"

You wouldn't expect that you would ditch your last night of wedding celebrations along with your husband, and yet here you were, led by the hand by a very giddy Satoru.

"Where are we going?" you questioned him, your pretty dress sweeping the halls in a rush.

He turned to you to send you a wink. "Trust me, sweetheart. You'll love it."

Somehow the way he called you made your heart thump a little faster inside your ribcage. This man is really, truly, your husband now.

He was such a refreshing person, it almost made you let go of everything that molded you into the perfect empress in the east, and be just... you.

"Here." Both of you stopped in front of a grand door, and he ushered you inside. "Come, come~"

A study, you realized as you stepped inside, but then a gasp left your lips—

"How do you find it, hmm?" Satoru put an arm around your waist, proud of how the burgundy walls and mats enveloped the entire space, creating a tranquil sight that perfectly matched your taste.

It was so much like your private study in the Eastern Empire's palace. You might now hate that place, but your private study was filled with the memories of smiles while writing back to Satoru's letters and waiting for his cat to come. And to have this now in your new home...

"You remembered..." you looked up to him, almost tearing up.

"Of course I do," he pressed a kiss on your temple. "I said that so long as you're with me, I'll turn your dream into reality, didn't I?"

This man really treasures you, or at least that was what his actions had proven so far.

"You're everything I've ever wanted and more," Satoru said, wrapping his arms around you from behind in a warm embrace. "You might not realize it, but I've been in love with you since you first visited western lands."

"What?" you turned to him with genuine confusion. "How?"

"That blind boy who you led by the hand... he had no friends," Satoru sighed against you. "The first and only person who asked him if he was lost... is you."

Suddenly, you were thrown back in time to your first encounter with Satoru many years ago. He was known as "cursed" for being born with peculiar eyes, had been blind for a period of his childhood, before he awakened the true extent of those brilliant blue eyes and brought his clan to power by wielding them.

Back then, you thought it was wrong for him to be left alone, so you took him by the hand and escorted him back to the palace, unaware that he was the infamously cursed crown prince.

"You made me feel less lonely. And I thought then... someday, somehow... through some sort of miracle in which I regained my eyesight and could see you... I'd immediately ask for your hand."

But you were named the crown princess of the Eastern Empire. The thought of how crushed Satoru must have felt upon hearing the news pricked at your heart.

You felt soft, you felt loved, and most of all, you felt an overwhelming certainty that with this man by your side, you would finally experience the genuine love that had been missing from your life for so long.

"You have me now," you whispered in response.

Unlike your first kiss in the winery village, this time, you were the one who faced him and pulled him into a searing kiss.

Be it impulse, overwhelming feelings or something else... you didn't care. You just want him.

And wouldn't you know, your new husband... is also a wonderful, dashing lover.

"You're so... fucking beautiful..." Satoru's lips were on yours, claiming them with a fierce passion that left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, tracing each curves and lines.

You moaned into his mouth, clutching his robes. He captured your wrists with one hand, using the other to tilt your head back so he could leave bruises on your neck in the process, making you moan.

"Keep making that sound, yeah?" Satoru rasped, his hot breath giving you goosebumps. "Keep me going with your voice."

As he gripped your waist, it dawned to him once again that you were here, with him.

Seeing his colors on you ignited desire straight to his cock. His empress was stunning, more so now than ever, more than any woman Satoru had ever seen.

He led you to the bed, his movements urgent yet tender. The air was thick with desire as you lay back, pulling him down with you. You arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him, craving more.

This wasn't your first time, yet you had never been this excited before. From heated kisses until somehow managing to get rid of your underwear and left you in your dress... your body nearly thrashed in response.

"Look at you... An queen of two empires, yet rendered putty in my hands," Satoru wickedly grinned as he slipped a hand under your dress, rubbing his thumb teasingly over your clit. You let out a soft sigh at the prodding. You were getting wetter by each second... and Satoru felt his cock straining against the tight material of his dress pants.

"More..." you pleaded, arching your hips. "More...!"

Any of your wishes would be his command, so he pushed two fingers inside you at once, and you let out an erotic gasp. Satoru was so close to tearing his pants off by seeing how tight you clenched around his digits.

Breathy moans fell from your lips with each harsh brush of his thumb over your clit, his fingers fucking you fast—

"Satoru...!" you shuddered, gripping his shoulders as you became limp and came into his hands in spurts.

"My queen..." he then captured your lips in a brash kiss, and you reciprocated it. He pulled away only to press his forehead against yours in an attempt to calm his raging heart. "No matter what."

His watery, sparkling eyes was mesmerizing to you, and you took one breath before you crashed your lips into his, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

"As pretty as you look in this, I'm going to take it off," Satoru murmured with a meaningful smirk, slowly undoing the laces of your dress. "I want to see you completely naked... just for me."

Soon, you laid bare, and the cold air made your body shiver. Satoru clenched his jaw tightly at the scrumptious sight.

It was almost difficult for him to take in all of you at once—your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, erect nipples, and legs spread wantonly for him. Satoru had been here so many times in his dreams, and to see it becoming reality...

"If back then, you had chosen me instead—" he sounded almost heartbroken, which startled you. "I would have treated you right from the start—"

You looked up to him. "You would..."

"Don't you know how many years... I've been just there— watching you and that bastard? Knowing I can do even more than him?"

"Mhm..."

You rose, tugging him closer, before you unclasped his robe, letting it fall to the floor. "Satoru... right now... I'm yours."

He allowed you to undress him and soon he too was out of his stuffy royal attire. Your eyes wandered on each part of his body you touched. His chiseled body, snow-like skin, and then the hardened bulge that sprung out the moment you undid his pants—

The sight of his cock alone only turned you on even more. You gently gripped the glistening head, running a thumb over the tip before gliding your hand towards the base of his length. With a gentle rhythm, your hand moved from base to tip in a slow, teasing motion... before pecking his head.

"Yeah... you're right." His eyes never left yours, admiring you as if you were the most precious gemstone, before catching you off guard. While you rubbed him, he snaked a hand around your waist, pulling you so that you tumbled on top of him.

You moaned loudly as his cock—big, both in length and width—entered you, his hands gripping your thighs to spread them apart so he can shove himself deeper.

You felt so, so full, as you pulled Satoru to you tightly, groaning into his shoulder. And he started to set the pace, moving against you.

"Ahh," you moaned out shakily, fingers clawing into his back. To him, the sounds you made drew him in like a siren's song, it made him throb inside you. "Ahh—hngh!"

"Feel good?" he asked, voice sultry and deep, as he thrusted into you particularly harder, causing you to stifle a moan. "Let it out—hah—sweetheart... I want to hear you, hmm?"

And you did. You felt hot. Your unabashed, nasty sounds with each thrust drove him to the edge. With every lift of your hips, you squeezed him so tightly it almost made his head spin. His breaths came in short pants too.

"You fit me so damn well," he groaned, holding your hips hard enough to leave imprints of his fingers. "So fine..."

One woman. It took just one woman—you—to unravel him like this.

"Satoru, harder—" You commanded, wrapping your arms around his neck even as you trembled. "N-not enough... harder!"

He actually had to swallow, because you and your pussy felt so damn tantalizing. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

He slammed his hips against yours twice—no, thrice the previous speed, and you incoherently squealed. The squelching sound of your hips slamming against each other, and the immense wetness coming out where you two were joined... it was clear: you were addicted.

"Did Naoya ever make you feel as good as I do you now?" he drawled, sinking into you impossibly deeper, squeezing your left mound and flicking your right nipple at the same time. "Did he... ever make you ride him like this?" And then he instantly regretted his words.

Because the moment he said that, you felt cold, reminded of nights in which Zen'in Naoya grabbed you just to forcefully breed you. You winced, and Satoru caught it.

"I..." you shifted your gaze away from him, and he could've sworn that it was sorrow he saw flashing in your pretty eyes. "I-I... don't want to talk about him..."

Feeling remorseful, Satoru reached for the back of your neck and pulled you to him, kissing your lips softly. "I'm sorry—"

"You don't have to—"

"Tonight, I'll make you scream my name so hard you'll forget him," he promised as he pulled away from you, his eyes darkening. "Tonight, give me everything and I'll show you how a man truly loves his woman."

And he followed through. He worshipped you meticulously, treating your body with the reverence one might bestow upon delicate glass. He peppered kisses on every inch of your skin he could reach, lips and tongue trailing down, his relentless thrusts so well-paced and brutal at the same time.

"I'm— close!" You whimpered, and yet still grinding your hips against him. He was watching your every move, every wave of pleasure that was evident on your face— committing it to memory for those moments when he couldn't hold you close.

You gasped—as a mind-blowing orgasm then ripped out of your very being, your hips faltering as you surrendered to ecstasy with a cry of his name, coming all over him. "Satoru... Satoru! Ahhh!"

And Satoru kept his gaze on your face as he too busted inside of you hard, feeling himself filling your womb with his essence, his hands kept your waist steady, memorizing the way your lips part and the way your body went limp into him with satisfaction.

Dear heavens, I love you. The sight of you was nothing but perfection, and with everything he had, he was very sincere when he said—

"You're flawless, sweetheart."

2 MONTHS LATER

"If you give me a son, I'll throne you as the empress right on that very day."

The Eastern Empire's palace was bustling as the royal consort's screams echoed through the halls. The day Naoya had been eagerly awaiting had arrived—his mistress was delivering his heir.

Yet unbeknownst to him, whispers in the dark suggested the royal baby was arriving suspiciously early. Many, still mourning the previous empress who had been dethroned so abruptly, were not exactly thrilled with this turn of events.

"My lady, just a little bit more!" the maid encouraged. Hanabi strained once again as the pain peaked and her body spasmed, letting out the loudest wail as the baby finally slid out of her.

"W-what... is it?" on the brink of passing out, Hanabi asked anyone who might hear her. She had to know, for she was so close to obtaining her throne—

"It's a girl, my lady!" the midwife announced.

What?

Her world crumbled at that very moment. A girl? A girl can't be the heir!

She wanted to sob, to utterly mourn, and right at this moment she was full of fear, because if Naoya knew—!

Like a curse, he suddenly made his presence known in the birthing chamber. His face scrunched in distaste at the scent of blood filling the air. He took one look at Hanabi, tearful and frazzled after the ordeal, then turned to the midwife, who was trembling at his presence.

"A baby girl, Your Majesty."

In that instant, fury flashed through him. He shot everyone in the room a glare before his eyes settled on his consort, full of spite.

"You useless tramp."

Your life with Satoru in Western Empire was wonderful.

He was everything Naoya was not. Satoru adored you, prioritized your well-being and happiness, often humored you, and made your days an endless delight.

And dare you say... you had begun to return his affections as well.

How could you not? Everything he did, he did with you in mind. He eased you into your position so seamlessly, and soon you found your place comfortably at court.

"He is mixing pleasure with his kingly duties," Suguru grumbled, watching his best friend order the gardeners to plant more blue roses simply because you mentioned finding them beautiful earlier. "Empress, you have to keep a tight grip on his leash."

"Well, at least he's happy." Shoko shrugged and nudged you. "Can't you see by now? How much of a loser he is for you?"

You did see him—a man who showed you everything he had. He had given you everything you unknowingly needed.

And you just wished... you could return the same for him. It still made you bitter, knowing you might never be able to give him heirs due to your condition.

. . .

"Sweetheart... what's on your mind, hmm?"

You looked up to him as he pressed a kiss on your cheek, an arm securely around you, sweaty and panting after your steamy session.

With his hair down and messy after you yanked him earlier, your lips curved into a genuine smile. "You look hot like this, you know?"

He clicked his tongue. "Hmm, I am, of course. But no use in changing topics, I know you well enough now."

Your bare body was pressed against his chest, fingertips tracing gentle lines on his skin.

"There's a possibility that... I can't give you any children." You almost felt ashamed saying this to him, unable to look at him in the eye. "I-I... I've failed for many years—"

"Hush," he silenced you with a finger to your lips, his expression firm. "No thinking that, yeah? I don't care."

"But—"

"Children are gifts," he said then, caressing your face tenderly. "It's not up to us to control how it'll take or not. And I married you not because I want heirs or such—I love you, you know?"

Your glassy eyes met his, and you willed yourself not to shed a tear.

He grinned cheekily. "Besides, you've felt it yourself—my sexual potency is undeniable. And I don't believe for a second, that you're what that bastard claimed you to be. I bet he's the one who is impotent—"

"Satoru! You're so obscene—!" you giggled freely and poked his chest.

At that time, you were just relieved that he didn't mind. Though it was still weighing in your mind on some days, you felt a newfound sense of liberation compared to when you were still in the Eastern Empire.

But you were in for another plot twist. Perhaps Satoru is correct, and your doubts are unfounded...

"Ugh..."

Your stomach churned in discomfort, a sickening nausea that seemed to twist your insides and threaten to force its way up. This had happened for days now.

You wanted to find a physician before Satoru was aware of your state. You didn't dare to hope or speculate, because you were tired of it by this point. You just wanted clarity.

Yet, the physician's words left you speechless.

"Your Majesty... it seems that you are with child," he remarked in wonder as he assessed your vein. "Yes, definitely. You are with child."

It was a revelation you hadn't expected. For years, you had been convinced that you were unable to conceive, but now...

You were carrying a new life. Yours and Satoru's.

You felt like bursting with joy as you made your way to his study. Your heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of happiness. Above anything else, you were eager to share this news with him—

...until everything you had known turned on its axis once again.

Right before you went past the ajar door, you saw a glimpse of your husband and his most trusted confidant, overhearing snippets of their conversation:

"Satoru, however you look at it, this is tantamount to declaring war," Suguru sighed, clearly at odds with his perspective. "It's not wise."

"We can finally put an end to them this way," Satoru's tone was steely as he moved a chess piece across the map, positioning it on the border between east and west. "No better time than now."

"The Empress will face the greatest backlash from this. They'll accuse her of being vengeful enough to provoke an attack on her home country—"

"On the contrary, her presence will encourage those still loyal to her to defect. That's why I have her here. We need defectors—"

You let out a choked gasp, backing away from the door in shock. For one good minute, you refused to comprehend what Satoru was implying.

. . .

. . .

Did your new husband... marry you for his own hidden agenda?

[novalore]

SEXUAL HEALING!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ — synopsis ! you just can’t please yourself anymore. all the toys, your ten fingers and the hours just can’t bring down that crashing bliss…but your sex therapist can!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ — pairings! fem!reader x sex therapist!toji fushiguro

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ — cw! 5.7k, pwp, dubcon, talks of masturb*tion, masturb*tion, teasing, nïppleplay, grinding, dom!toji, oral(m. receiving), bondage (toji ties your hands up), spitting, no protection, p in v, sqūirting, if i forgot some…that’s the gist!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ — xoxo, chris! this one has been in my archives for a little minute so pls enjoy!

Bearing the full wrath of his emerald hues weren’t for the weak, even if the glossy glare of glasses weakened its effects. You shrunk in his presence, your body melding into the cherry leather couch. In truth, anything Toji did sent the cold prickles to lick at your spine. The adjusting grips upon his pen, the mindless shifts in his seat, and even the faint grins brought a searing rouse to your mind.

For the past two weeks since discovering his services, it’s been nothing but the same antics that etched into your impressionable mind. The memories seemed to fancy you best at night, replaying each detail to the ‘t’.

From the thick pads of his fingers, he’d strummed along his jawline as he spoke ever so softly to you to the buttons of both his white dress shirt and cafè slacks threatening to pop with every nudge of his body. The sultrous thoughts stained your mind, even guiding your wandering hand to forbidden places.

Nowadays during the visits, it's a challenge to focus on any issues without the suffocating vines of lust laced around every inch of your body. It surely didn’t help to know that the Toji Fushiguro sat before you, his ears piqued to all to come.

Today, however, brought its own specific issues to the table. To begin with, your legs clenched more than usual, paired with the uncontrollable flairs of heat welling upon your skin.

He’s studying you again—every inch as a matter of fact. Toji’s chewing on the cap of his blue pen to keep his sight company, breathing the scene of you in pure heat. The squeeze of your thighs, the hitches clogging your chest, down to the quiver of your lips—it’s all just enticing him to entertain you once more.

“So Y/N, in the time that we’ve started these sessions…you still haven't told me what the actual issue is.”

“I haven’t?! It’s…a lot to explain but I guess I owe you that…”

Toji’s visage bears a displeased look, courtesy of the squint narrowing his eyes. Your teeth pinch at the plush of your bottom lip, the spry nerves of angst bleeding across your skin. You’ve come to know that very look too well, alerting you of his impending limits.

“Well…I can’t exactly…cum anymore.”

“And why is that you think?”

“Stress, mostly. So much is going on in my life right now but I didn’t think things were that bad. I can’t pinpoint what it really is. And it’s kinda embarrassing…to admit it aloud…to you.”

Toji’s entire face fell into a lackluster frown, a wrinkle placed between his brows. His interest’s been piqued by the sudden revelation, coaxing him to sit upright in his leather armchair. The pads of his fingers fall to their steady state, grazing the chiseled contour of his jaw as he presses on.

“Have you been having issues with any partners or…?”

“I think it’s best if I don’t enter any relationships until I get it situated. So I’ve just been…—”

“You’ve learned it through touching yourself, I got that much. It seems we’ve got quite the problem on our hands, don’t we, Doll?”

At his brash conclusion, you found yourself filled with a wave of heat, embarrassment prickling at the highs of your cheeks down the very tips of your fingers. As vulgar as it may be, Toji couldn’t be any closer to the truth.

Call it a kind gesture or cowering in loss of confidence, you couldn’t trust anyone but yourself with your needs. Yet, even that only brought you so far. All the time, all the dollars spent, and not a single toy in your reach ever came close to easing that pit so deep within your tummy.

However, to hear Toji utter such words without a shred of the hesitation you held stirred something in you, bringing a flutter of butterflies to swarm to your belly. You couldn’t dare meet his eyes, nonetheless continuing down such an intimate path.

“Mhm,” you mutter lowly. “So…is it fixable?”

A heavy shroud of silence falls upon both you and Toji, the unanswered inquiry left to bake. The room’s filled with a flurry of emotions. Relief and comfort may have filled the air, but the dark ruse of embarrassment and worry clawed through to the surface. You don’t have to look at Toji to know what he’s thinking.

He’s deep in thought, trying to comprehend just how to handle your case. Toji wants to offer you the best help he can supply, one that he alone could provide you. His eyes are cast upon you, his pretty patient with the worst of luck.

He’s shocked should the truth be told, shocked to know that someone like you had encountered such devious trouble. Now, all he’s left to do is imagine, his thoughts used to help you now sullied by his own twisted imagination.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to see it, you caught up in the heights of lust. To watch your spine take on an ungodly arch, your lips whipped into a quiver, and the hellish cries of plea he’d have to endure. He’s eager to witness it now. It’s written all over him, even apparent in all the mindless movements within the seat. He’s so intrigued by you that he’s forced to grow comfortable, reclining back into his seat.

“Y/N?” Toji calls, a grin laced buried behind his tone.

“Um…yes, Dr. Fushiguro?”

“Come sit.”

Your eyes shift to meet his own, a darkened flair clouding his eyes. At the sound of his very direction, Toji’s thrown into an ecstatic state. His hands rest along the armrest, the pads of his digits rattling a sporadic tune. Your head falls into a gentle tilt, as you begin to comprehend what exactly was asked of you.

“Where…exactly?”

“On my lap of course. Unless you don’t want the issue to be…properly addressed.”

Hesitation runs high within your veins. It’s enough to warn you but not enough to keep you away. The very tip of your black heels dig into the ground as you stand, ruining the groomed pattern of the gray carpet. Every step you take leads you closer and closer to Toji, his aura beckoning you to close the distance.

He’s desperately failing at hiding his excitement, the corners of his lips fighting back a smile. It’s not until the curve of your ass settles atop his thigh that he can breathe that much easier, the florals of your mint dress melding well along the black pant leg.

“Good,” he hums, placing his hand to ghost along your waist. Toji’s compelled to face the consequences, his body overrun by his own whims and desires. He’s longed to have you this close, your temple of a body finally in his grasp. He simply has to take you, to admire every inch of you while time is on his side.

“Now, y’know I wanna help you, Y/N, right?”

“Right.”

“And if I’m going to help you, you have to tell me everything. All you’ve tried, what you haven’t tried—all of it. I promise that by the end of this session…you’ll be all cleared of such a pesky problem.”

Toji’s hands inch to capture your waist, brushing past the soft fabric. Anticipation nips at his being, teasing Toji’s will until he gives in.

“Can I touch you?…for the sake of t-the diagnosis, that is.”

“Yes,” your body losing all tension in Toji’s hold.

No delay can be found in his reach, the pads of his thumb inscribing mindless swirls at your lower back, easing your body into his. All it takes is a gentle tug to seal both your fates, your back resting along the hull of his chest. In Toji’s eyes, you’re just beautiful, so perfect that it melts the cold abyss of his soul. He’s forsaken with an urge to fulfill, eager to ensure your comfort.

“Alright, let’s start nice and easy. Tell me, does it feel okay? You can tell me to stop at any time.”

You peek back to meet the haze of green in Toji’s eyes. His words roll off in the softest of tones, his touch falling nothing short of soothing. It’s almost shameful how quickly you give into him, your head resting at the curve of his shoulder. His touch is even pulling those shushed purrs right off your chest and into his delirious mind.

“That’s cute, we’re starting to get somewhere. Now I wanna ask…What kind of toys did you use? Nothing too extreme I hope.”

A harsh gulp is forced down your throat. All the heat is pinned on you, the brash embarrassment and amusement melding into a single hellish mix.

“I…I used vibrators, brought a few um.…d-dildos and well.…”

Toji’s lost in the heat of the moment, your words soon falling to white noise. He’s hurt to hear it, how your own body could turn against you. Or at least he should be. But all Toji sees is an opportunity, a chance for him to prove to you just how badly you need a man like him in your life.

All he wants is to help you and relieve all that pesky tension scattered throughout you. So maybe that’s why his touch travels to forbidden places, the palms of his hands creeping up to your chest. He’s daring enough to do it too, sending his digits to softly cup at your tits. The pads of his fingers settle over the bra, using a pulsing squeeze to spur you on all the further

His presence isn’t something to be ignored, nor when the heat of his palms bleeds right through the layers of clothes. You’re all too swift to reciprocate his advances, pushing your chest to fill the expanse of his palms. nudging your shoulders for the dress’ straps to fall.

“Toji?”

“Hm?”

“Can you…y’know…keep doing that, please?”

There’s bliss to be worn by Toji, his lips curling to match his amusement. He’s willing to test his luck now by the little whimpers escaping from your pursed lips. Bit by bit his fingers work, tugging at the cups of your bra. It’s a slow practice but he’s only that much closer to the goal—having your tits spill in his hands.

You’re left for putty in his care, anticipation dressing you in a feverish heat. All Toji’s good for is his clever nature, now more than ever. And he knows this very fact all too well. He knows what he can do to you and why he can make you wait like this. The seconds meld into hours the longer he forces your patience, leaving the bra’s wire to trail against your skin.

It isn’t long before a sigh of relief cracks through the air, your tits finally sitting pretty in his palms. He can’t help but admire his efforts—the contrast of lush supple skin, the rousing flush of heat filling out the peaks of your nipples. He’s so engrained in the unfolding scene that he can’t help how his own digits prey on the raw bud with steady pinches.

“Oh, you pretty thing. You like me touching you like this? I’ve barely done anything, though,” his voice breaking the silence. Toji brings a trail of soft pecks from his lips to nip at the velvety crook of your neck, each one dusting across your skin.

“I haven’t played with that cute lil’ clit, or even fucked your pussy full…looks like you’ve got my work cut out fr’ me, don’t you?”

Your teeth sink into the curve of your bottom lip, your thoughts caught in awe by Toji’s words. Here he was, a man doused in intelligence speaking without a care in the world to his patient. He’s so shamelessly vulgar that it’s refreshing, a breath of fresh air if you weren’t so needy.

“You feelin’ okay?” Toji presses as his fingers still find delight in teasing your nipples. He’s even found another way of easing you into his care, his hands kneading the plush flesh to par. He knows you’re feeling something, courtesy of all the cute faces and pretty whimpers he’s had the pleasure of enduring. Yet, there’s only so much–and only much he himself can take before bursting.

“It’s okay but I think I think I’ll need something just a bit more…trying, if you understand.”

Toji only wishes you’d never said that even if the thought was bad enough. He’s been sitting on such a heavy bulge since you walked in, it’s almost hard for him to even think clearly. All the shushed pangs shooting through his pants, the mess of precum he’ll have to face, all the while he has you squirming right over his cock.

He can’t ignore it, a minute longer and he’ll burst from the sprinkles of friction he bears from your shifting hips. Toji has no choice but to scramble through his thoughts now. to find a solution to both growing problems.

“I-I have something we can try…if you’re okay with that, of course?”

All Toji needed to see was your eyes breaking wide, even your lips falling from that tight-knit pout to know just how dedicated to the cause you were.

“And what is it?”

“Get on your knees and I’ll show you.”

You were one to oblige if it meant you’d finally be cured. You were swift to part from Toji, pulling away from the hull of his chest to rest on the plush carpet. Your hands find rest over the curve of your knees as you face him.

You can’t deny it, the heat fizzling deep within your belly. Toji really didn’t have to tell you what he had planned but you knew it’d sound better coming from his sly lips. Why else would be seated on your knees if not to satisfy the growing bulge you’ve been warming for the past half hour?

In truth, the proposed idea was as bizarre as it was thrilling. Your mouth watered at every notion to pass through your brain. You’d finally have a taste of that man, to watch him fall apart at the warmth of your mouth, the swivels of your tongue, and the tight constrict of your throat–why it might just be enough to make you cum at last.

“Now what?” Your head falls into a puzzling tilt.

For his own idea, Toji had no clue where to proceed. Just the sight of you was enough to devastate Toji. You're sitting so politely on your knees, peering back up at him with those misty doe eyes beckoning for his trusty aid—it’s almost too much for him to take.

Toji’s run hot with hysterical anticipation for you. His skin’s bleeding with the purest hues of pink, dotting at the highs of his cheeks and ears alike. It’s embarrassing for him to say but all he can do is imagine how pretty your lips would look fitted around his cock, the swollen mounds laced around the fat head with conviction.

To reach whatever sick fantasy he’s planning, however, Toji’s forced to find an answer fit to satisfy you, one that won’t raise suspicions about his true ambitions.

“Uh…well…studies show that some people get highly aroused by giving pleasure. So let’s see how wet you get sucking me off, ’kay?”

The heat of Toji’s palm sinks into your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing along your skin. For now, he’s ditched that hardened stare for a new one. He’s softer now, emerald hues glimmering with a hint of resolve for your cause. It’s a gradual pace but you’re falling into his care by the second.

“I’ll coach you through it all so we—I mean— you can get the best out of it. I’m doing this all for you, after all, Sweetheart.”

“Okay…if you think it’s gonna help me…fine. Just…don’t…don’t look at me while I do it.”

All you can do is give Toji a limp nod, granting you both to finally relax in each other’s presence. Your hands gravitate to the clasp of Toji’s belt, the cold metal buckle rattling apart. A gentle lift of his hips is all it takes for his navy slacks to rest bunched at his ankles, pulling his black briefs in tow.

It’s only natural for your eyes to settle upon the raw sight of his cock. Toji’s big, bigger than just what his aura’s led you to believe. But what are his words, his mannerisms, when compared to the hefty girth his cock holds? The tanned fat of his length lays along the ridges of Toji’s abs riddled with pudgy veins.

His balls come with a bloat so full that you’re sure just a mere pass of your tongue could pull every drop he has to offer. Though, it’s the tip of his cock that really earns your attention. The fat head wears only the prettiest imbues of pink and crimson, glossed in the spilling tears of precum.

Small hands lace around the thick girth of Toji’s cock, the flourished forked veins thumping in your hold. You let the fat mushroomed tip drift along your lips, the sheer weight sinking into the plush mounds for a kiss. It’s a soft kiss that you give, one that brings your lips to encircle every inch of the fat head. You can’t help but usher him deeper, a gentle suckle introducing Toji to the warmth of your mouth.

The pink bellhead sits heavy along the curve of your tongue. And suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with everything that relates back to Toji. His scent, taste, and even the heat budding within his cock become all you know.

You draw away for a moment, admiring the thin layer of gloss shrouding the head of his cock. Beneath the pad of your thumb is where your eyes fall flat on the thickest vein to entertain, fat and begging for attention.

The flat of your tongue curls at the vein, painting a wet trail of spit along the heavy underside of his cock. Toji’s the first to break the tense silence, his chest hoisting in a heavy breath. He’s already prepared to cum by your hand. Yet his eyes hinge on the sight of you teasing his cock, that pretty pink tongue innocently licking at his biggest weakness. It takes so much of him to hold back a groan, the poor man resorting to a spill of words instead.

“That’s it, just put your tongue on the underside ‘nd—h-haa…oh fuuck!”

A grin creeps at the corners of your mouth at Toji’s face, fluttering eyes, and laxed jaw. He’s piqued your curiosity, leaving you to wonder just how sensitive he is. You’ve barely done anything to him and yet he’s cast into a state of ruin.

You know it’s a crude thought to entertain but that still doesn’t stop your lips from sealing around the head of his cock once more. Inch by inch is how you take Toji into your mouth, your lips keeping a loose cling around his girth. Your mouth combs over the length of his cock gradually, leaving the thick sheens of spit as you take him in one swift motion.

Determination drives you drunk, your throat so eager to squeeze Toji of his worth. Already, his cock sits so homelily in your throat, his throbbing shaft shooting through your senses. It’s an unsettling virtue you carry, fighting the urge to gag and reject him in its entirety. But when you look back up at his drowsy eyes and fond grin, Toji’s bliss is the sole reason you’re still holding strong.

A burst of awe crackles through your mind. You simply have to admire your own achieved goal of being able to take all of Toji’s cock into your mouth. He makes it easy for you too, his encouraging words and all the head pats serving as your motivation.

“Yes, yes, yes, Right there, Y/N! Just a little bit more, get it all in your mouth.”

He’s trying his hardest to keep calm but it’s all so dizzying to him. You just feel so good around him, taking him like the good girl he knows you are. You’re just so cute, small hands pawing at his inner thighs. It’s taking all of Toji’s strength to keep his thick thighs from smothering you. It’s against your wishes to even blink at you, but Toji has half a mind to ignore the beauty between his very legs.

The onslaught of tremors quaking through Toji’s legs can only stand for one thing—he’s close. From the huffs of his lungs, winces rippling out his throat, and the heavy grip he keeps at the base of your neck, it’s more than even he can handle.

You pay Toji a glance of misty eyes fluttering with white. That evil glance of your eyes rolling back alone was his final straw. The heavy seize of nerves claims every bit of him hostage, leaving Toji to be still in your presence. A word doesn’t have to pass through his lips for you to understand what exactly entrances his heart, mind, and body. Not when a grip like his over the nape of your neck loosens all too quickly.

There’s no exact warning or way to prepare you for the heavy load Toji had for your sweet little throat. But when a squeal is all you can muster out as the thick spurts of white flood the walls of your throat, you know all too well to hold every drop in without delay.

“C’mere,” Toji huffs between breaths, pulling you to fill the expanse of space between his trembling thighs. You’re a mess before him— black patterned tears staining your plump cheeks, swollen lips smeared in a gloss of his precum, even your chin’s doused in a spool of spit that’s dribbled far down past your breasts.

All the mystery and innocence surrounding his favorite client was wiped clean by his very hands. It’s an artwork so rare he’s actually scared to ruin it. But that doesn’t stop Toji’s hands from crowding at your waist, tugging the dress to fall to the ground.

A sliver of Toji’s strength is all he needs to have you pinned beneath him, his hull of a body caging you in. He’s peppering the crook in kisses all over again, pulling you in with the hazy growl of his voice.

“I’m gonna fuck you ‘til all you can do is cum fr’ me.”

“I dunno, so far you’re the only one that’s had their issue fixed,” you pouted, your arms coming into a fold over your chest. Toji can’t help but chuckle at your reasoned display as he brings his knuckles to graze over the high of your cheeks.

It’s a steep threat he’s made indeed, he knows it. Toji’s made it his goal to see your orgasm through to the very end. That alone drives Toji’s hands to be hard at work, ridding himself of what clothes did occupy his body. The white button-down, the navy blazer of his suit, all tossed about the room without a single care. All that remains in his hand is his tie—his favorite one made of a precious white silk.

With his free hand, Toji pulls your arms from your sides and above your head, his sinister plan laid in plain sight. “Gimme your wrists. Can’t have you moving around when I’m at work.” His speech almost rivals that of the smooth fabric that comes to drape past your arms, lacing around to build the pretty bow the thin slack settling above your midway wrists.

Toji turns his attention down the course of your body, digits catching at the rim of your panties. There’s an amused grin that illuminates his sharpened features. He’s intrigued by every little detail to be found, thick fingers flicking at the limp bow in honest tease. He offers you a single glance, chuckling at the pout you wear so perfectly.

“Let’s take these off too, yeah?” Your hips rise to aid Toji, the cotton slipping down your legs and off into the hazy abyss of the office.

Toji’s cock comes to lay between your thighs, slipping right between the plump lips of your pussy. A gasp catches itself in your lungs as the sheer weight of his cock smothers against your clit. A gesture like that can’t afford to go unnoticed, especially under Toji’s keen eye. He has to entice you, to give you a reason to go forward with his senseless idea.

His hips fall into a mimicked pattern of rolls, driving his cock to graze across the hot bud of your clit. He knows it feels good too, to have the heavy length grind against you, the enriched veins plump with blood melding into nothing but white-hot ecstasy. He’ll even go as far as to ensure that the fat head of his cock smears along your clit, pressing the wettest of pecks upon the perked pearl.

He’d be lying if he said you didn’t arouse him. He’s entranced by all the dumb expressions passing over you. Every eye roll, pout, and whimper has him falling over himself. That’s why Toji has to close the distance between you both, his chest buried within the heat of yours. He’s so close that his lips have to purposely brush past your own, a flurry of kisses catching you two in the moment’s heat.

Toji pulls away at last when he knows you’ve had enough, the flushing cold sweeping over your bare physique. He peers down at the awaiting scene, his eyes greeted by his cock dressed in your spill of honey.

“See, just look at how wet you are. Oh, ‘m gonna fucking love this pussy, aren’t I?”

A final drag of his hips pits the thick head cock of Toji’s cock to nip at your fluttering hole, His hand snakes between you, bestowing a careless grip over his shaft. He’s swiping at your glossy slit in breathless awe as a single question arises in his mind.

“You can take it?”

“I can take it!” you whimper, giving a frantic nod to match.

“Then fucking take it. It’s all for you.”

Without another word, Toji’s cock sinks to fill you. It’s the initial drive that claims you, strikes of a ripping heat tracing along your walls. He’s only given you the tip and your poor hole already’s sobbing with a delicious burn. Inch by painstaking inch Toji fills you, your pussy finally giving way for more.

He’s aware he’s asking a lot of you but there really is no other choice but to bully your walls to take him. Yet Toji’s interested in something more heavenly than your enveloping pussy—your teary eyes aimed at the mess unfolding between your legs. An amused hum is all he can get out before his hands slip to brace your arching spine, pulling you up just enough to watch his sinking hips.

“See it? It’s goin’ in nice and slow just for you, pretty girl.”

Why you’re taking Toji well that more than half of his fat cock's been sucked in by the cute cries of your pussy. He’s overwhelming you, a sinful fact he has to ignore. He’s already in so deep that to pull out would only be criminal, not when he’s already to the hot gushing smothers of your walls.

If anything, Toji’s distracting his hinging guilt with your face all over again. It’s the pouts, the winces, the breathless gasps that soothe his guilt. He wants to know all that’s passing through your mind.

Toji’s hand comes to brace the limp fall of your jaw, breaking yet another moan from your lips.

The room’s growing heat carries you both together. A mere peck that grows for every second shared amongst you two. A shared hunger erupts and that alone always lands you in the timeless scene: drunk off each other and urgent for more.

There’s no sense of competition for the lead, no remnant of aggression, only the purest of intentions to be found. That careful art welcomes along the sticky chimes ringing about, the breathless hums of bliss, and Toji’s pitiful wince of desperation.

Toji’s almost in despair for it, the supple heat that the kiss from you provides. He’s so eager for it that he’ll chase every inch of you, Toji’s lips catching the drifting tides of your lips. He’s following your every nod, your every jolt, everything just to hold that extra second he has with you.

He breaks away just for the moment, still hopelessly searching to ease his doubts. His thumb traces the curve of your bottom lip, coaxing you to fall for his lustful spell. “Don’t be shy, baby. Tell me everything you wanna say. If you don’t, I’ll just hear it later.”

“Y’re so big, Toji! So big, and s’ deep! B-But I love it, m-makes me so good,” you babble aloud helplessly. It’s such a passionate ramble that it sends your pussy aflutter at the very thought, your walls capturing his length in an impassioned squeeze.

“Mhmmm—oh fuck, that’s a good girl!”

“M-Me? I’m a good girl?” Your eyes shooting wide at his words.

“‘Course you’re a good girl—My good girl! Takin’ me so well too.”

And he’s right, who else could handle so much of him other than you? His hips can reel from your own, pulling the full brute of his cock from the warmth of your pussy. finally sit against your own, the full brute of his cock sitting pretty in your pussy. He’s falling into the charitable realm of the moment. The matched breaths, the heat flushing out his senses, the throbbing pangs that bleed through his cock.

Toji’s hips only graze along your own for a moment before he’s sent into retreat. He reels away from your heat with a wince, the fat head being left to plug up your hole. His cock gravitates to fill you, desperate to overwhelm your walls with a splitting stretch. He was kind at first but now those lazy, laggard draws are now spiked with a swift drive.

The rolling tide of Toji’s hips feeds you his cock all too easily. He’s fucking right at it, hitting your sweet spot without a doubt. Bit by bit, he’s hitting deeper than before too, the prodding head sulling your cervix in messy pecks.

Your body tells him all he needs to know. All the gasps, broken moans, and even the bucks of your hips give Toji a prideful power high. It’s enough for him to ramble out with his thoughtless notions, calling in just very thing he’s itching to observe.

“Go on ‘nd play with yourself. Lemme see you play with that cute pussy of yours, Sweetheart.”

It’s a struggle, twisting your bonded arms to squeeze between what space Toji allowed. Your lithe fingers fight for a steady brace over the hood of your clit. It’s messy but you can manage painting loose circles over the slicked bud.

All Toji can do is coo at you and poor attempts, clicking his tongue in detest. He’s watching you, how your fingers can’t remain consistent over the puffy button. You’re shamefully lacking the pressure, the gradual teasing speed, all the tools needed to reach a proper orgasm—something he knows too much about.

“No wonder you can’t cum, you need so much lovin’ than that,” Toji surmises with a smear. He feels remorse for you, really. It’s no wonder you couldn’t achieve anything close to an orgasm, you needed more than what your body’s led on—all pent up with stress and anxiety, with no real way of release.

It’s because of his newfound pity that the pads of his thumbs break from your inner thigh to your cunt, prying the swollen mounds from their sticky clasp. His mouth purses at the reveal of your pussy, dribbling streams of drool to spill over your clit.

The heat of his thumb strums at your puffy hood, engraving traces of hearts and the bubbly lather of his spit to induce your impending high. He can feel how close you are, how you’re so hesitant to allow yourself something so sinfully deserving.

You have all you need to cum—his cock dragging at your walls in tempered heights, his worked thumbs calling your nerves into a spry rave. Toji’s even willing break his comfort for you, bringing his forehead to rest against your own. His eyes hold in line with yours, reaching to the depth of your very being with one single plea

“It’s okay, just relax. You gotta let it out…fr’ me, please?”

Your lips part to give some answer, but all that’s to come is a cracked sob. All you have left in you is a single roll of Toji’s hips, the dipping tides pulling forth your long-awaited high. Your walls clench him in place, forcing his thighs to catch the weeping salacious tears of your cunt.

Astonishment shatters Toji’s focused composure, his eyes pinned to the sight. At last, he can see it, your pussy sputtering out all the pent-up worries. It’s not until he peers back at you that he sheds such joy from mind, your bewildered expression searching for an explanation.

“I’m so sorry Toji! I-I don’t know what just happened, I just–”

“I don’t care about that!” He interjects with a boyish grin. You can’t help but study the more before you, the sticky thread of black hair stuck to his forehead, the dots of pink drifting across his cheeks. Toji doesn’t bother to pull out from you, his hips sending his cock to sit deeper inside you.

The excitement that breaks across him is contagious, your lips catching a grin similar to his. In celebration of his efforts, Toji can only smother you in kisses, his lips peppered along the highs of your polished cheeks.

“Question is…can you give me another?”

A feverish nod falls from your head, holding a weary smile in tow.

“Good. A pretty pussy like yours was always gonna need me anyways.”

[novalore]

Levi Ackerman can and will blow your back out, but he’s also the type to lean in and press his lips hard against your forehead when you’re in the middle cumming so prettily for him.

He has your legs bent and nearly pinned to your ribs beneath the solid mass of his body. His arms are braced on either side of your head, one hand loosely fisted into your hair to make sure you keep your eyes on him and him alone. Every bit of his weight bears down into you, and it strikes you that between the fullness you feel from his cock and the pressure of his body against yours means there is no part of you that isn’t being thoroughly and completely consumed by him.

He curls one arm over your head, caging you in against the pillow while the other shoves between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to play with your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues hammering into you, allowing the blunt head of his cock to push repeatedly against that spot deep within that makes your vision turn white and your toes curl.

“There you are — oh,” he smirks at how you begin trembling beneath him, and the vibrations of your body only magnify as he rubs his hand in time with each hard grind of his hips as his cock continues bullying deeper and deeper into your soaking heat. “That’s the spot, huh, pretty girl?”

His smug, mocking smirk is a front; you know it by the way the muscles in his shoulders tense, signaling he’s summoning every bit of his own will power to fight off his own release, far too invested in savoring yours.

You’re also trying to hold on, and he knows that; he can sense it in the way your nails bite into his back, can see it in how your teeth sink into your plump bottom lip.

You want to cum — badly. And he’s more than eager to see you fall apart.

A growl, low and possessive builds in his throat. “Go on then — be a good girl and give me what I want.”

He gives another sharp, pointed thrust of his hips, burying himself all the way to his hilt before grinding against you, hard. “Let go,” he orders, his voice firmer and you know the leash he has on his own restraint is rapidly fraying.

Levi exhales a quiet swear of relief when he feels your cunt finally seize around him like a vice, and he is transfixed by broken staccato of his name that falls from your pretty lips as your climax washes over you like a wave. A surge of pride wells in his chest at how you manage to keep your eyes locked with his, even though he knows your instinct is to let them roll back into your head as you float among the clouds of pleasured bliss only until he can reach in and haul you back down to earth.

��Atta girl,” he coos, and the pace of his hips slow from those relentless, bruising thrusts to a gentle canting, each roll into your heat deep and purposeful. Then, he feels a surge of your wetness gush over him, dampening the coarse hairs of his base as the walls of your cunt continue to flutter and pulse around him, and Levi somehow finds himself becoming even more smitten with you than he already is. “Oh — it’s a big one, isn’t it?”

And when you look up at him with those big eyes of yours — wide and sparkling with tears of pleasure and exhaustion- and you nod, lower lip quivering, Levi can’t help but lean forward to press his lips to your forehead, as he continues fucking you through your high.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your damp forehead, his groin churning torturously against yours. “Good fucking girl, cumming for me like this.”

Each grind of his coarse base right against your clit sends sparks additional waves of electrifying pleasure rocking through you until your legs are twitching and spasming beneath him. But Levi only chuckles, the sound dark and rich and so distinctly him.

He continues to guide you through the dizzying ripples of your orgasm, and when the last, gentle wave flickers out like a candle flame, Levi imparts one, final kiss against your forehead.

And then he pulls back, but he is not finished — no where near it, in fact. One by one, your legs are pushed over his shoulders until your knees are pressed to your chest, and his lips curl into something between a grin and a sneer.

He leans down and presses his mouth to the shell of your ear, and you’re not sure whether it’s the heat or his breath or the severity of his promise that sends an excited chill down your spine as he hisses, “My turn.”

Banners from @/benkei-bear!

[novalore]

““i love you, si…” and he practically has hearts in his eyes. “you mean it?”” screaming, crying, dying — i just wanna hold him 😭

ex-boyfriend simon riley making you admit you still love him if you wanna cum <3

he can be such a jerk sometimes! calling you up one evening, claiming he was just wanting to check in on you and how you know how overbearing protective he can be sometimes, acting surprised when you snapped at him barely after his greeting.

“what has you so frustrated, hm, dove?… christ, can practically feel you seethin’ through the screen.”

you bit your tongue and gave him the truth over the phone; how he shouldn’t be calling you without warning like this considering you’ve broken up, and it’s inappropriate to be labeling you those sweet pet names you unfortunately and unknowingly still adore deep down.

how you don’t appreciate his abrasive bluntness, then again, he should know very well that you never have liked that part about him.

you told him the truth, though you couldn’t be entirely honest with him, in the sense of how fucking needy you’ve become with his absence. for touch and care, proximity and security, and all that.

but you are over him, undoubtedly, and you let him know that.

“yeah, baby, whatever you say…

…bet you rub that little cunt raw every night thinkin’ve me.”

and that shut you up quick.

he hummed in understanding, like your silence was readable.

“poor girl prob’ly hasn’t had any proper attention since i’ve been gone… shame such a pretty thing has to be so neglected, eh?”

butterflies invaded your tummy at the compliment, and you cursed yourself for your hasty, blind acceptance of it. but you can't blame yourself; what girl wouldn’t at least begin to crumble at that voice?

“i’m right, yeah?” he taunted, and it almost made you sick when you caught yourself rubbing your thighs together at his meanness.

“c’mon, sweetheart… you know you can be honest wi’ me.”

and god, was his cocky tone so infuriating; you wanted to reach through the phone and slap his smug face straight for overstepping your relationship’s boundaries so blatantly, and with such a deeply rooted nonchalance in his voice that always had you heated and wet.

“say the word, ‘nd i’ll come over and fuck you right now.”

…which is why you had eventually asked him oh, so nicely:

“please..?”

you could practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face, followed by the faint noises of boots hitting hardwood floor and then the clicking of a door’s lock, the obnoxious ringing of keys clanging together.

“just give me ten minutes, doll.”

and now, as he bullies and buries his cock deep in your warm cunt, reaching all those sweet spots you or another man could never even come close to, you can’t really think much of his misbehavior.

truthfully, you can’t think much of anything at all, at the moment.

he had teased you prior to finally managing his way inside you, for god knows how long. his mouth, his fingers, his cockhead; all had brought you to the edge rather quickly, over and over after each other, but he was yet to give you that final push.

he puts his full body’s weight on you, strong pecs pressed up against your heaving, sensitive tits, and his stubble tickling your neck unceasingly. you can’t stop squirming and writhing beneath him, and his hot groans right up against your skin aren’t helping, either.

it’s always been a feat taking his cock, being crammed in your precious cunt almost every night when you two were together, but now it’s been weeks, and you nearly forgot just how big he was.

you missed it, admittedly. all of it; the veins and ridges, the unforgiving stretch. the slight twinge of pain he always hushed with his fingertips pressing your swollen, little clit, or a calloused thumb shoved between your puffy lips to suck on and drool over to distract yourself.

you missed his stamina, his libido. most striking of all, his selflessness in the entire act. he’s a soldier, he serves you right. most times.

“fuckin’ christ, sweetheart… missed this tight, messy thing wrapped ‘round my cock… practically stranglin’ me ‘n with no remorse, eh?”

shit, and you missed his dirty talk most of all.

“gonna fill this pretty, little pussy… keep ‘er happy all night, make up for lost time with my girl.” he wraps his hand gently around your jaw, making your eyes meet his. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you nod frantically, swallow as best you can, before sucking in a breath. “yeah— yes, please, si… i-i want it really bad… please.”

he kisses your lips with a smile, and then all over the side of your face, up to your forehead. he just can’t seem to stop kissing you.

“tell me, sweetheart. y’wanna cum, too?”

“i do, si—! i really, really do- fuck, please?” you beg and beg, and as much as it turns him on, digs at his heart to just give in, he sticks to his guns and merely adds:

“then say the words, pretty girl,” he coos, making you whimper in frustration. “that’s it, y’know what i wanna hear.”

you huff a whine in response, albeit your breath is strangled when he doesn’t halt his movements for even a second.

you really, really don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

he’s nearly panting himself, big chest and even bigger shoulders rolling upwards with every thrust. “y’ain’t cummin’ til i hear you say it, baby. c’mon, now. jus' admit it, that you still love me.”

he buries his cock to the very hilt, taking your slackened jaw tighter in his hand as he watches your eyes grow even hazier from his pelvis rubbing up against your vulnerable, needy clit. the stern look he gives you tells you he's serious about his last statement, but you'll later swear you sensed a bit of sadness, even despair in his expression.

“i love—” you choke on your own breath, desperate to sputter out the words. “i love you, si…”

and he practically has hearts in his eyes. “you mean it?”

“yes—! yes i do, i promise i still love you, please,” you spill, sounding closer to a temper tantrum than anything. “just lemme cum, please, si… really need it, please, i-i’ve been good...”

he hums lowly, contented, satisfied for once. as if those three words themselves — i love you — are the ones actually stroking his fucking cock. his ego maybe, you’d think, but jesus.

if you knew just how badly off he was beforehand, you never would’ve let him get this cocky and in control.

“love you too, sweetheart.” he kisses your puffed out lips, wipes a tear you hadn’t even noticed was trickling down your cheekbone. “always been my good, patient girl, haven’t ya?”

you nod once more, pinched brows and bleary eyes doubling in severity at his soft tone. simon praising you and being so, so uncharacteristically sweet has always made you fawn after more, even now. especially now.

“tha’s right, baby, you’re my good girl… now do me a favor and cum on my cock for me, yeah? lemme feel every last bit of ya.”

he ultimately resumes moving inside you, and it makes you wonder when he ever even stopped. your brain shuts off when he snakes a hand between your bodies, smoothing over your tummy before his middle and ring fingers quickly find your tortured, little bud. pressing hard, making you writhe with oversensitivity.

he works you over the edge diligently, and embarrassingly fast on your part, taking into account just how long he had edged you for. the sight and sweet noises you make are a dream; a reality he awfully missed, and something no other girl could compete with.

"that's it... easy, sweetheart," he coos softly.

he gives you a moment to come down from your high, softly palming your throbbing cunt to assist in grounding you, but you're barely able to finish catching your breath before he's doing it all over again! resuming flicking at your clit, rubbing you harshly and overstimming you enough to make you fruitlessly jolt and cry out beneath him.

he frowns down at you, damn-near condescending. "again, for me?"

you twitch and moan relentlessly as he gradually coaxes another orgasm from your tuckered body, his cockhead hitting that part deep enough inside you to make you see stars, his hard abdomen pressed against your tummy making the pressure of it all skyrocket tenfold.

the sensation of you finishing around his length once more has him barreling into his own orgasm, and soon fucking his pent up cum deep into your cunt with a few hard thrusts and a grumbled, broken groan right at your temple.

endless praises spill from his lips as everything becomes a blur for you; from the moment he's pulling out of your used cunt—crawling down and giving it and your pretty tits a couple sloppy kisses before briskly redressing himself—to being coddled in bed and squished between his muscular arms and torso.

he holds you so close to him that it makes you wonder why, or even how you could ever turn your back to it. he truly makes you feel like a spoiled doll in this sort of space. a doll with shaky legs, ruined makeup, and half a conscious.

"remind me why we broke up again?" he chimes.

you groan aloud, burying your face somehow further in his chest. "shut up, simon."

he laughs softly, pestering you with even more quick kisses, one after another to the crown of your skull. large hands rubbing up and down your back, moving to knead at your ass and thighs for a short moment. he just loves touching you so much.

“c’mon, pretty girl. let’s go get you cleaned up,” he mutters with an exhale. "how's a hot bath sound?"

you have no time to interject, other than a displeased pout and shake of your head, before you’re being hoisted up on your wobbly legs, then swept up and carried to your restroom when you couldn’t even make it three steps before your knees began to buckle on you.

you’re dizzy, utterly dazed and half asleep as he bathes you. making sure you don’t lift a finger as he works, treating you as nothing less than a princess. your loosened muscles somehow melt even more with his precise touch and strength, and you remember just how much you love being turned utterly numb and dependent on him.

you’re pretty sure you fell asleep the moment you were wrapped in a warm towel, pulled into the strong embrace of his meaty arms, but something he said moments beforehand had stuck with you.

“hey,” he whispered, soapy hand turning you to face him. he leaned in and kissed the area between your brows. “i’ll be better this time.”

“you promise?” you mumbled. your head fell atop your knees, arms wrapped around your legs and keeping them close to your body.

your extended pinky finger made him chuckle a bit, and he quickly looped his own around yours. solidifying his words. “promise.”

[novalore]

ken‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

driving instructor!nanami who knows as soon as you step into his car, that you’re going to fail.

with your hot pink acrylics that click, clack against the wheel, your mini skirt that just about covers the round of your ass and the see-through mesh top you hone that you wear absolutely no solid material underneath. with driving instructor!nanami knows he shouldn’t look but he can’t help his eyes that glance towards your perked nipples that are clearly begging for attention.

and the thing is, it’s not like driving instructor!nanami wants to fail you, but he does have his doubts when you ask him if you can finish the test early because you have “a more important function to attend to.”

But alas, driving instructor!nanami let’s you take your test. and despite his misconception, you’re not a bad driver. you end the course with no major faults but you just about have one-too-many minors and sadly he has to fail you.

“what?! only one minor over the threshold?!”

your glossed pout is adorable and driving instructor!nanami hates that you look you’re about to cry — especially since he’s the one who’s caused your sadness.

but its when you ask if there’s really nothing you could do then and there to make things right or fix the mishap, that driving instructor!nanami suddenly has a change of heart and mentions how maybe there is something you could do to maybe fix it.

driving instructor!nanami is absolutely mesmerised by how your breast bounce in his face, your pathetic little whines of “i can’t do it, i can’t, i can’t!” as you struggle to ride his heavy cock in the back seat.

he bunches your now pleatless skirt in his hands as he grasps at the fat of your ass, swishing his fingers inside your puckered hole as he chants back “yes you can” with the utmost lack of remorse.

the double penetration is so overstimulating that you squirt a messy spray of wet juice all over driving instructor!nanami’s dick, his tan coloured trousers and back car seat darkening in colour. driving instructor!nanami moans loudly into your ears as he pulls out and cums just over your moist pussy lips. he makes sure to tap the head of his cock over the steady stream of liquid that pours from your sex.

“you think im gonna let you pass after you just spoilt my car?”

you whimper at his sign of possible denial of passing, your mind still hazy from your shocking orgasm. on impulse, your hand comes down to languidly stroke at driving instructor!nanami’s dick. as if it wasn’t wet enough from both of your cums, you swaddle a bout of saliva in your mouth before dribbling it down over his curved and semi hard cock.

as a string of spit still dangles from your chin and lips, you give driving instructor!nanami a teary eyed yet manipulative look.

“please.” you whisper.

it’s safe to say that on that day, you gained your driver’s licence.

[novalore]

“come on over here so i can finally love you” i’m literally blushing like crazy. i too would pine after könig for years yet be too awkward to admit my true feelings and then wait until an obscure moment for it all to come rushing out 🥹

Okay but imagine being Königs best friend and texting him late one night after some creep you met at a bar won't stop sending you dick pics, to ask the giant if he could please send you a picture of his so you can use it to deter the creep. And then imagine the collection the greedy bastard sends you in response, hoping you'll like it and come sit on it :))

Ok but imagine this as a loner x loner type of scenario…

König thinks he’s friendzoned because he’s convinced he’s just some clumsy weirdo to you; you think the big boi never makes a move because you’re the odd one here. Longing stares cast each other’s way every time the other one isn’t looking, you’d make such a cute couple if you both weren’t so shy ^^

CW: dick pics of all kinds, mentions of cyberstalking, König is a bit of a red flag, requited unrequited love. (In other words the dirt potential in this was great but I had to turn it into a cutesy romantic drabble again didn't I)

Chatting with König has always been tinged with teasing, but you mainly think of him as an older brother. That’s what you tell yourself when he smiles, and it sends a gush of happiness in your heart: you just want him to be silly like that, to smile more because he looks so adorable when he does it... Adorable, not hot. Sweet, not sexy. Never sexy, no: you’ve vehemently decided not to go there. If his smile just so happens to make your nipples hard sometimes, what would thinking about his hands, forearms or hips do to you?

König never got himself a girlfriend, just works out five times a week and dreams of becoming some mythical sniper. Maybe he tries to be one of those godforsaken stoic sigma males or something; be it this way or that, you buried your dreams of kissing his stupid blushing cheeks and wet, flustered lips an aeon ago.

Still, it feels like fate that he hits you up with a message right after some shallow dork wanted to get it with you at the bar you rarely go to, who started sending you unsolicited dick pics after you excused yourself and went home. Why you even gave him your number is beyond you – maybe you liked the attention, and it looks kinda nice, for a dick, but otherwise you’re not impressed. You’re more elated when you see your best friend reaching out to you, your silly friendly giant who's absolutely heaven sent in this ridiculous situation.

You don’t know that König is insanely curious to know why you’re up so late; you don’t know that he’s a bit stalkerish about you. How could you when he’s not even supposed to be into you! Sure he says you're pretty every now and then, teases you about your dimples and your cute nose. But you'd be in for a surprise if you knew that König sometimes checks to see if you’re online or if you’ve updated your profile pic, your status, anything to help him decode what you’re up to, if there’s some guy around, sniffing at what should’ve been his. So of course he’s alarmed to see you’re hanging around the messaging app at 1 AM...

What’s up?

This, you type and send him the pic. You do it so casually that it almost escapes you that you’re trying to get attention again, this time from the man you should only view as a friend.

Oh. Well that’s disappointing.

You look at the reply König just wrote, blinking because anyone can see that the creep’s dick isn’t actually small or in any way “disappointing”. The cruel dismissal makes you smile: so at least he doesn't want you to spend time around other dicks…

Is it…? You type and hit send.

The reply arrives right away, as if it’s urgent that you get a second opinion. As if he’s a bit mad that you’re even considering this lousy dick – which you’re not, you just like to tease him, that’s all.

Sure. Too small. Wouldn’t waste time on that if I were you.

Your heart starts to beat faster – König never likes to hear about your dates, not even a word about some guy being interested in you. He always says he has to go to the bathroom or then he changes the subject, dismissing your shy, awkward tales that never even go anywhere. You reckoned it’s because König doesn't care about relationships, that he just wants to strive for something better so of course silly dating stories must sound annoying to him.

Now you're beginning to think that maybe there’s more to this man after all… Maybe you’re playing with fire here, sending him a picture of some other man’s dick.

Ok big guy. You got a better offer?

Shit…

You did not just send that.

You DID NOT just send that…

Sure. Wait a sec

And just like that, before you can even breathe in and out, a collection of 4 fresh dick pics hit your phone.

Was he about to send you pics of his cock anyway??

And for the love of god, his dick...

It’s bigger.

Thicker.

Sure as hell better.

And as soon as you’ve gathered your jaw from the floor, he deletes them.

I didn’t just send you those.

You did, you type with shaking hands.

Well you asked.

Yeah. I did.

What little you know about König, it must’ve taken all his courage to send you some nudes. No, not nudes: four freaky fucking shots of his hard, leaking cock.

And he’s not that type of guy at all. At least, not with you...

“What are we," you type but never hit send, knowing that he can see that you just wrote something and then wiped it away. The images of his long, veined cock will haunt you for the rest of your days, that’s for sure. So what the fuck are you supposed to do now?

Did you like the offer?

The impatient question hits the screen and makes you flinch.

Is this a fucking joke...?

Is he joking?

…What will happen to you if you say yes?

What if you get teased until you can't bear the shame and have to change your name and the country you live in... König will come gloating about it even to your deathbed, brag and tease his "friend" about how she liked his cock… How you tried to get a ride from him, how you couldn't get enough, how your phone was already filled with some other man's dick pics, the nasty girl that you are... What if you’ll never hear the end of it?

But then again, what if he’s just lonely...? Lonely, just like you?

You grab your phone and sigh, mentally preparing yourself for the cutest, most awkward battle there ever was.

Are you flirting with me?

What if I am

The reply to your question comes right away, no jokes, no bluffs. It’s blunt and needy, longing long past due, and your palms start to sweat.

So, it appears a man can get a girl to come over to his place just by sending her some dick pics... You never thought you’d be this woman, but with König? You don’t even know what to say to let him know you’re already slightly wet and pondering whether you should hop on a bus or simply call a fucking cab asap.

Look... I liked it ok? But if I come over… you type, then pause.

The What if’s here are endless, but you knew there’d come a day when you have to take the risk and possibly break your heart. König is the last man on earth you’d figure to do something like this for fun, and yet…

I want you to know it won’t be just for sex.

I sure as hell hope it won’t.

His reply, immediate, makes you smile like never before.

Ok. I’ll call a cab ❤️

I already called it for you.

You gasp at how awful and perfect he is, seducing you with a snap of his fingers after years of playing it cool.

Maybe he’s dreamed of you as much as you’ve dreamed of him, but was too afraid of getting rejected... As if you could ever reject a crazy, silly man like him.

But it’s a known fact that he’s indeed crazy, and even if he possesses the most delicious dick known to man, you know you’ll be a goner the minute he slides it in you.

This isn’t just about letting him rut all of your frustrations out: you know your heart is on the table here too. It will be squeezed to bits when you see him huff above you with an open mouth, when you witness him look at you like he sometimes looks at his favourite guns and knives. Your heart is fluttering like a leaf because you’re about to walk into a wolf’s den: this is it now, there’s no turning back.

König… you type slowly.

Please don’t break my heart.

You silly little thing, he responds. I would never. I swear.

And then…

Come on over here so I can finally love you.

[novalore]

I'm thinking about Megumi's sister, who went to magic school with him. who was trained by Gojo. who fell in love with Gojo. who dared to confess her feelings to him. and which Satoru rejected, saying that he was too old for her

it doesn't have to be something obscene… so if you like this idea, then please write something!

belong with me

- gojo satoru x reader

the strongest sorcerer is your savior. you know he is far from your reach... but is it so wrong to love him—after the years you spent by his side?

genre/warnings: angst to fluff, a bit slow burn, reader pining on gojo, mentions of injury, comfort

notes: omg omg i actually really like this idea!! i had wanted to write this since you sent this ask but i was struggling with the setting, so i tweaked minor things so that it’ll fit the canon timeline—reader is megumi’s cousin rather than sister.

and *sigh* it somehow turned out into a 4k+ word🤧

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

What is Gojo Satoru to you?

If asked that, Megumi would definitely say that he owed both of your lives and his sister’s to him. Following the chaos too complicated for you to understand that left the three of you orphaned at the age of six, Gojo Satoru, who were just barely an adult himself then, was the one who stepped in to take all of you in.

But to you, he was more than just that. He was many things. Your savior, mentor, friend, and... you daresay, first love.

And because of that, you would never thought that there’d come a time when your heart was really broken by him.

At first, Gojo Satoru felt like a big brother to you. Megumi was suspicious of him since the very beginning—his skepticism was funny sometimes—but you and Tsumiki weren’t as much.

He easily became your friend. You would laugh for hours to end after he cracked the stupidest or lamest of jokes. He made the fact that curses exist and that you were somehow able to keep them at bay more bearable.

And when Tsumiki fell into her curse… Gojo was there to bring you comfort.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Your hands were shaking as you frantically poked and nudged your kind cousin from her peaceful slumber at the hospital bed. The smell was suffocating—the sight was unbearable. Tsumiki was supposed to be bouncing up and keeping both you and Megumi at bay, not lifelessly lying here like this.

Facing Gojo, who had a tight-lipped expression beside you, you pleaded, "Gojo-sensei—" your glassy eyes welled up, voice choked with tears, "—make her wake up, please..."

And that was the first time he broke your heart. Even the strongest couldn’t lift this cruel curse posed upon your kind sister.

Your throat tightened, choked with painful whimpers as tears flowed uncontrollably. Sudden grief overwhelmed you, making you sway and shake like a leaf. At first, you didn’t notice how a pair of warm hands enveloped you, drawing you close for comfort.

Gojo allowed you to cry against him while you pounded on his chest. Not a word came out of his lips, a telltale sign that he was taking the situation seriously—something you, above anyone else, understood well.

From then on—ever since the tragedy that befell Tsumiki, it seemed like Gojo became even more protective of you but stricter with Megumi. The two of you eventually pursued the path of jujutsu, driven by one wishful thinking in mind—the possibility to break Tsumiki’s curse.

Encountering Gojo became a daily routine when you lived at the dormitory as a first year at Jujutsu High. He frequently dropped by just to greet you, or give you some things he got from his missions.

"Here," Gojo handed you the package of a popular kikufuku store. With that blindfold on and a shit-eating grin split his face, he actually looked so ridiculous. "I got you all their available flavors! Trust me, you'll like them!"

Against your own will, you felt rosy blush spreading across your cheeks. "Oh, thank you... I'll give some to Megumi as well, he's been working hard lately..."

"Ehh?" he pursed his lips. "No, no, no—they're for you! Don't give them to that emo kid!"

There was absolutely nothing significant about how he worded it. You were well aware of that—only a fool wouldn't be.

So why are you so giddy? Hah, why do you feel like you're... special?

"Don't call him emo," you chided, trying to suppress your smile.

"But he is! He's always grouchy with me without reason!"

Throughout your childhood, and now as you were entering adulthood yourself, Gojo's presence in your life still felt like a comforting, warm blanket—a dependable presence you could rely on, someone you could trust completely.

And apparently, someone you had unwittingly given your heart to.

It was a gradual process. You didn't fall for him at first sight or anything of the sort—it took years of being under his protection. Even as you watched him pursue one girl after another from the sidelines, you couldn't deny it—your heart was already his since then.

He always knew what to say, how to cheer you up.

"What's got you so down, huh?" Gojo asked, tousling your hair gently as you slouched. "Is it because of earlier? Don't be so down, you're doing great."

You fidgeted with your fingers, feeling the sting of failure twisting your gut. "I held everyone back, sensei. That's not great at all."

In the last mission, you nearly put Yuji and Nobara's lives in danger. You had taken the initiative to step into the cursed room, and had it not been for Megumi who came to your rescue, any one of you could have sustained significantly more severe injuries.

Gojo offered you a lopsided smile. "You couldn't have known that. Don't beat yourself up so much. The most important thing is that all of you are safe."

"But we might not, all because of my daring ass."

"Look."

He squatted to meet your eye level, and it dawned on you that he wasn't wearing that blindfold. "The fact is that everyone is good. And no, even if Megumi wasn't there, you wouldn't have been doomed. I would have been there, I always have, yeah?"

He was truly a sight, with that sparkling eyes even more so when he smiled unabashedly, voice not as playful as his tone usually was.

"That doesn't make me feel better," you replied, forcing out the words even as you were somewhat awestruck. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm inadequate."

"You're a first year," Gojo pointed out. "Everyone is bound to make mistakes. You just have to learn from them."

"In our line of work, those mistakes can cost us lives." You chewed your lip, looking down. "I—I don't want to be responsible for someone's death."

Your words left Gojo momentarily speechless. His blue eyes blinked several times as though he was taken aback, and you felt even more small—you had just revealed your deepest fear to him.

But suddenly, he laughed right in your face, prompting you to shoot him a glare. Just as you were about to retort, he rested his palm on your head.

"Do you seriously think I will allow that to happen?" Gojo queried with a wide grin and snarky tone. "To you, out of everyone else?"

You gazed at him in a daze, feeling self-conscious with his warm hand on your head. He'd likely done this a hundred times already, but you could never get past the sensation of his gentle touch on your skin. You yearned for more—for him to cradle your face, to caress you, to draw you closer—

“The obvious answer is, I won't,” he declared so surely, exuding unwavering confidence. You blinked, marveling at how his words made your heart soar and your breath catch. “So stop thinking about scary things. I'm here, remember?”

How was there a person who was such a perfect blend of the man of your dreams—smug, but also funny, caring and strong, like Gojo Satoru was?

Was it a sin to harbor these feelings for him? He has always been kind to you, and if you daresay it, fond of you as well. Is there a possibility—

Really, you should have known your boundaries.

"I think..."

And yet your heart screamed, for whatever it's worth—

"...I love you..."

Why couldn't you see that this was doomed right from the start?

"—Gojo-sensei."

You were breathless. Your wildly thumping heart drowned out almost everything else. Your hands were sweaty, and you braved yourself to meet his eyes.

And when you did, you knew heartbreak for the second time—

The way his smile faltered a bit, yet he forced it upwards, perhaps to spare your feelings.

Just as he always has. Ever since he rescued you back then, he would do these silly things so you would feel better.

"I'm flattered, you know?" Gojo gazed at you genially. "But I think—"

"You don't understand." What am I even insisting? "I... like you so much, Gojo-sensei. All this time."

It was supposed to be your final card. Baring everything to him. How grateful you were that he took you in, the kindness he showed you, Megumi and Tsumiki, those sleepless nights after Tsumiki fell into coma that he spent with you, sharing shaved ice on the hottest, cruelest summer...

"You're almost half my age," he stated matter-of-factly, and a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "You're mistaking love for admiration. That's it."

"No! I know how I feel—"

"You should find someone your age," Gojo added while maintaining his smile. "There are good guys out there. Toge is nice—ah, but his cursed technique might be a little troublesome. Yuji is earnest and honest..."

You have never thought that there’d come a time where your heart was really broken by him. But he just did, as he listed all your friends without any regard to your feelings.

Suddenly, a wave of resentment surged within you, prompting you to hiss and cut him off.

"You're always like this," your eyes had started to well up with tears, but you ignored it. His puzzled expression only fueled your frustration.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

You felt ashamed, but in hindsight you should've probably expected this. You didn't have anyone else to blame but yourself. You knew it wasn't fair to lay the blame on Gojo like now—he was merely on the receiving end of the brunt of your heartbreak.

You hated this. You hated yourself. And you couldn't help but to hate him too, despite knowing that you shouldn't.

With that, you dashed away, tucking away your first love to the furthermost part of your heart, swearing that you'd never, ever revisit that chapter of your life again.

Ain't that just the worst thing to hear?

Witnessing your tear-streaked face as you hurried past him left him stunned, rooted in place.

In no way was Gojo Satoru going to romance his own student. You were quite literally his protege and his other protege’s sister. That was simply out of the question. Not that he was the model of propriety, but even he knew that was not right.

And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact whether he did see you as a woman or not, because even if he did, it shouldn’t make a difference.

Right? It won’t change anything.

Because it was how it was supposed to be.

It was probably one of the forms of tantrum—or whatever it was labeled—in the end, it was simply a reaction to not achieving what you wanted.

For years, Gojo had shielded you and Megumi from the Zen’in clan. They were horrible people, and you were eternally grateful that Gojo went to great lengths for you, always swatting them away before they could get close to either of you.

Now that you thought about it, who they really wanted was Megumi. Your cousin held the quintessential Zen'in talent, while your modest Projection Sorcery wasn't particularly rare among the clan. Still, they sought you as well, merely to bolster their prestige with another member.

Normally, you wouldn't think such things. But you weren't in the best state of mind, muddled by your blind heartbreak. It skewed your mindset to one of the extremes.

And then you got this terrifyingly brilliant idea—what if you turned yourself to them? Surely the Zen’in would be sated for a while and stop bugging Megumi.

And you didn’t have to see Gojo as often too.

This went against everything he had done to ensure your safety. But that was the first thing that entered your mind when Zen’in Naoya accosted you by chance.

"We're family," he stated with a smirk, sending a shiver down your spine, an unsettling feeling washing over you. "We wouldn't harm you. Why waste your time being Gojo's little errand girl, huh?"

This was easier, or at least that was the illusion you attempted to persuade yourself with.

Naoya left with you with a meaningful "Think about it."

And the more you thought about it, the more you leaned towards the scenario you had thought to be unimaginable before—leaving Gojo behind.

Two months had passed since then, and it was time for the Kyoto Goodwill Exchange event. Gojo remembered this being one of the most exciting moments during his youth, and he sincerely wished that you would have fun too, even with all that had been going on between you.

He knew he was the one who said Yuji would be good. But he wanted to backtrack when he saw him getting punched by Todo. Nah, Yuji was too stupid, he wouldn’t want that for your match. Must be someone else… who was stronger, better.

And then he was even more beside himself when he saw you with Mechamaru.

Like really? That tin soldier? You could definitely have someone more human. He surely didn’t approve of the sight of you getting friendly with that suspicious scrap of metal!

"Hah," he grumbled to himself. Was it just him or were young boys these days simply too subpar?

Yuji is too risky, after all, he is also Sukuna's vessel. Todo... no way, he can crush you with one hand... Panda is a panda...

As if the roster wasn't bad enough, he was met with the most bewildering sight.

Never would have Gojo thought that someway or another, he would see you with that obnoxious Zen'in spawn who called himself the heir.

Before he could grasp his actions, he stomped right into the midst of where the two of you were—

. . .

You were a step away from agreeing to a whole load of new mess, until wind got knocked out of your lungs as you were harshly yanked from behind—

—and the next thing you knew, a broad back was in front of you.

“What do you want?” a low voice, almost foreign to your ears. But this man before you was Gojo Satoru himself, just way sterner than he usually was.

You were caught off guard by his tight grip on your wrist, his dark gaze fixed on the Naoya.

“Ah, don't be like that, please.” Naoya dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I'm just saying that it's been too long already for you to play the benefactor. She ought to be with the family, where she rightfully belongs."

Gojo seemed to grow more imposing, his sneer deepening. "And by family you mean you?"

The atmosphere grew tense as the exchange between them continued, each word laden with underlying tension.

"Hah, Gojo-sama, you really think you're so high and mighty, don't you? I'll have you know that she, and by extension, the Fushiguro boy, are Zen'ins. No matter how—"

Naoya's words seemed to falter as Gojo's presence intensified. There was this thick electricity in the air, and you almost shuddered when he spat, "Leave."

He couldn't possibly murder another great clan's heir, no matter how much he might have been able to. It would incite a strife that would make his eyes hurt. He just had to scare him off.

And he did. Naoya went with his tail tucked behind him, and that was one problem taken care of. Now Gojo just had one other thing to deal with—

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his tone sharp and accusing, before he even properly faced you. "Since when did you start meeting up with him?"

You hadn’t talked to him ever since your botched confession, but with the way it seemed, he was acting quite normal. It irked you.

"That's hardly your business," you retorted with a hiss.

Your responses seemed to grate him. "Oh? What do you mean it's not?"

"He is right, isn't he? I'm a Zen'in. There is no need for you to go out of your way to keep me under your wing. I can always go back to them."

"Are you—" His frustration was evident and it was quite possibly the first time you saw him direct this at you. "You can't go to them—"

"Sure," you mocked, wrenching your wrist away from his grasp. "I'm telling you, I'm not a child, Gojo-sensei. Please stop telling me what should and I should not do."

"That's not what I'm getting at. I've told you how horrible that place is, your place definitely isn't there."

"And? Where should I be?" you huffed challengingly. "Please, don't tell me that it's your cue to say that it's by your side. Because both of us know it's not."

Gojo didn't know what frustrated him more, the fact that you somehow fell into whatever it was that Naoya had whispered to your ear or how bratty you were being right now. Unwittingly, he let his own pettiness slip out, "You know what? You're being quite childish right now."

He convinced himself that, having practically raised you, he was entitled to have a say in major decisions in your life. He wouldn't let the Zen'in take Megumi away, let alone you.

Your face went scarlet with repressed anger. "So be it then."

With that, you stalked away, and just like how you went away from him the first time, Gojo could only stare at you in silence.

How had your relationship with him turned this sour? Was it the wrong thing to not acknowledge your confession before? He sincerely thought you would realize the implications behind your own words and snap out of that ideal version of him you had in mind—because he knew best that he wasn’t made for this.

Girls your age must want a taste of young love. He understood that, but it couldn’t be with him. It had to be someone else.

He resumed his musings earlier before he found you out with Naoya. And he finally came to a conclusion, that Yuta was the best match. Shame he was still away somewhere in Africa.

When Yuta got back, he would introduce him to you. Yuta was strong, kind, and he wouldn’t hurt you. And it would do him good too to have someone who cares about him.

Gojo Satoru never made flawed judgements. He knew this was the best approach, and yet why was there still this stifling feeling in his gut… at the idea of you being with someone—god forbid—who isn't him?

Not long after, a sinking feeling gnawed at him at the chaotic mess surrounding the Kyoto Goodwill event.

At first Gojo thought it was the standard worry. He chalked it up to all of his students were trapped inside this curtain that specifically forbid him to enter. Naturally, he would worry for his students; after all, he was their teacher.

But when he saw you fell on your knees with what seemed like a stem of cursed flower perched on your chest, he knew it was something else.

You were gasping for breath, clutching your chest in pain while Panda supported your weakened form, and seeing you like that apparently was too much for him. For the first time, Gojo regretted his decision. He shouldn't have pursued the enemy first. He should have gone to you first.

His instinct took over as he swiftly tore you away from Panda’s arms, drawing you close to his chest. His mind went blank, but he forced himself to focus on you, on what was causing you pain. "Y/N, calm down—"

"It hurts—!" you whimpered, digging your nails into his arm tightly, tears streaming down your face. "It hurts so much... I-I..."

For Gojo, this was a form of torture he hadn't realized before. For him, seeing you smile should have been the default, not this sobbing, injured, vulnerable state you were in now.

"I'll take you to Shoko. You'll be fine," he murmured decisively into your ear as you slumped against him. His grip around you tightened, and he repeated, "You'll be fine, I promise."

In the midst of your foggy mind, a realization struck—this was the second time you were ever held in his arms. And much like the first time, you felt an overwhelming sense of security.

Ah, but he had rejected you. You should know your place. You really should because pining on someone who didn't want you wasn't a wise thing to do.

But just this once...

Stupid. You were stupid indeed.

Because you chose to bask in this very short fantasy, fervently wishing that the heavens would grant you this sweet dream of him holding you in his arms like just this for a little longer.

As Gojo quietly observed you resting after being tended by Shoko, numerous thoughts swirled through his mind.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

That was not true. He didn't mean to treat you like a child, because you were indeed not. You were a grown woman now, no longer the crying child consoled by Tsumiki and protected by Megumi as you were back then.

Once, you were this young bud he was meant to nurture into strength, but now despite himself, he saw you more as a woman rather than his protege. He wanted to see you bloom into this pretty girl he had always known you were, always innocent and protected—and a selfish part of himself would add: preferably by himself.

You were so serene. You looked so soft too as you laid there. Gojo thought this wasn't quite right and he couldn't quite get the image of you screaming in pain out of his peripheral thoughts.

Had he truly fallen? This strong urge to protect you, ensure your happiness, see you always smiling—it was as if these emotions were suddenly planted, but immediately establishing themselves like deep-rooted feelings that wouldn't fade away easily.

No, actually... who was he kidding? It was what he had kept to himself for a while now. He just refused to acknowledge these feelings out of the misguided sense of propriety.

It was all he could think of from the moment you passed out until you awakened. He pasted a smile on his face when you opened your eyes to his face.

"Ah, Gojo-sensei..." you mumbled, still disoriented. The way you looked at him was as if you were spooked, to say the least, and it bugged him. "Sorry, how long have I passed out?"

"Just a few hours. Are you okay? Do you still feel the pain?"

"Uh... a bit, but I'm okay..."

Normally, he never seemed to run out of things to talk about with you. This was too obvious. You were uncomfortable with him, and he noticed it.

You also seemed acutely aware of this immensely awkward situation. Having spent the majority of your life with him, you used to be open and at ease around him. But now, it wasn't the same. All because of your reckless confession before.

You spent the first few hours with occasional silence. Eventually, Gojo stepped away for a while, leaving behind a lingering sense of discomfort instilled within you.

You remembered the feeling of being in his arms. Once again, he saved you. The least you could do is to express your gratitude.

I don’t like this. It had been two months already. You had to put an end to this unbearable tension. You couldn't force him to return your feelings—you understood that now. And to make it to the way it used to be, you had to make it clear to Gojo too.

And so when he was back to your room, you braved yourself again. For the second and last time.

"Gojo-sensei," you breathed out, willing your shaky hands at bay. "I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable. Please forget what I said before."

What is this now? Gojo blinked, stopping right in his tracks, somehow hearing how you started with a "sorry" didn't sit well with him.

You continued. "Maybe you are right. I'm grateful for you, I look up to you... for the longest time, I might even have idolized you."

Wait...

"But it isn't love," you said with finality, looking away. "This is me admiring you, for all things you have done for me. And even if it is, I still can't force you to look at me in that way."

Gojo could only gaze at you in silence, a storm raging inside his chest. This was what he had hoped you would realize when you confessed your feelings back then, but now—

"I don't like how... we are now," you gulped. "And it's my fault. So I'm taking it back—"

“No, just—” This wasn’t right. Gojo knows it, but why is he saying this? “Just wait for a minute.”

You started as someone he wanted to protect, along with Megumi and Tsumiki. And then you grew up right in front of his eyes. Someone like you, who had gone through many horrors in life ever since young should have someone dependable and strong who could make you happy.

But then Gojo thought, he didn’t like how others looked at you. Heck, in his eyes, they were inadequate for you, if anything.

“Sensei?” you looked up to him with that doe eyes of yours, and Gojo Satoru felt like this was enough.

To hell with you finding someone your age.

He was strong—the strongest, and if it’s him, he most definitely could protect you far better than anyone.

He could make you laugh—had been for years already, and nothing would stop him now.

He would be damned should you somehow go to the grubby hands of the Zen’in.

“Keep your eyes on me,” his somber voice said then, causing your heart to skip a beat in response.

In short, he was better-suited for you more than anyone else ever could, in every possible aspect.

Apparently he was right. Your place was by his side, after all.

“…because from now, I might start looking at you too.”

[novalore]

“dipping your fingers into his mouth as you rock your hips hard and he sucks on them like they’re covered in nectar— sharp tongue and plump lips dancing around your digits despite the dirt under your nails but he’s entranced by the way your eyes roll back once he starts fighting against your rhythm.”

oof this one line did something to me 🫠i can’t even—

im begging on my knees for you to see my vision of riding Luke in the driver’s seat of a car after a stressful and dangerous quest 😩😭 THE TENSION!? THE ROUGHNESS??

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

mdni

a/n: it's 7am... i... don't know either. smut. unprotected sex. semi public. slight exhibitionism

wc: 835

riding luke in the driver's seat of a car he stole while accompanying you on your first official quest.... having a car was a quicker way to get the job done he said, and chris also reasoned the old lady they carjacked won't know what she's missing. with two sons of hermes against you, even if you disagreed with them they still wouldn't hear a single complaint from your lips once you could sit in the ac instead of trod through the summer midwestern heat.

a week later you're sitting in the parking lot of a motel in rural illinois. one second you're grinning over the success of your quest and waiting for chris to come back with the room key and the next second luke's pulling you over the console into a bruising kiss that makes his cracked lips bleed. days ago you remember watching luke pick the locks of this car just as easy as he flicks your belt open just now, your knees digging into the hot metal of the seatbelt mechanism next to his thighs as you rise up from your haunches and he can see the sweat glistening on your tummy, back arching over the steering wheel. your shirt flies over his shoulders and lands somewhere in the backseat. shorts following as quick as he can pull them off you, slick rubbing against the meat of your thighs so much that when you sit back down on his lap he can feel it through his jeans---the heat isn't just coming from the red glow of the motel sign almost vibrating with the words 'open 24/7'.

he presses your back across the wheel, one hand snaking up to your throat and the other dragging your panties to the side for him to peek and prod at in the dim light. with his seat leaned all the way back, he watches you like you're something out of the porn magazine chris jokingly nicked from the gas station earlier, shiny with sweat and something he can smell, desire reeking from every pore of your tired body. demigod aside, you're a fucking fever dream, a nasty thought that keeps luke hard at night until he can jack off when everyone finally goes to sleep in cabin 11. the only thing he'll be thanking the gods for is the fact that his brother left you two long enough for a quick fuck.

"luke, we're still dirty," you mumble, but he knows you couldn't care less, both of you covered in blood and grime and unable to know where he ends and you begin once his fly goes down and you sink onto him like a perfect mold. this is filthier---the feeling of your pussy clenching down on him tight with every thrust of your hips downwards like he'd ever want to leave this small slice of heaven.

"f-fuck, just like that...you're so tight f'me..."

you grab onto his curls to make him look at you in the dim lighting, dipping your fingers into his mouth as you rock your hips hard and he sucks on them like they're covered in nectar---sharp tongue and plump lips dancing around your digits despite the dirt under your nails but he's entranced by the way your eyes roll back once he starts fighting against your rhythm. it's not a competition but with every noise that spills from your lips as he pistons into your sopping warmth, he thinks he might be winning.

"so dirty baby... you're right... feels too good to stop though huh?" he grins at the sound of sticky skin slapping once he bucks his hips up faster. through the steamy windshield, he can see curtains rustling in the windows near where he parked the car. maybe it's the way the whole vehicle is shaking with the force of your hips, the headlights he accidentally turned back on when taking your clothes off, or maybe its the way you're screaming his name like you want someone to hear.

"oh, luke, i can't! slow down, people are gonna...see!"

you're holding onto his shoulders and peeking at his face through teary lashes and this motherfucker has his tongue between his lips smiling---mortals be damned. they can watch if they want, regardless he fucks into you like he means it. until you fall apart on his cock and there are red handprints on your hips from where he pulls you off of him, the both of you pulling at his cock with his hands over yours until hot streaks of cum paint your tummy to your tits.

there's a knock at the window. rolling the window down at eye level, luke makes eye contact with chris who looks at his brother with a knowing grin. you've thrown your head onto his shoulder in embarassment, sandwiching the multiple stains and fluids between your shaking bodies.

"shower's open. you guys were... occupied so i went ahead. you both need it," chris smirks, before sliding luke the extra key card.

and he's right. the both of you need a shower. good thing the next step after getting dirty is scrubbing each other clean, right?

[novalore]

vertigo flowers.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: the header is from @/teefumz on tiktok and instagram. i couldn’t find anything about their rules on reposts used for personal reasons such as this which is why i really stress go check out the original artist on their platforms linked. WARNINGS: human!mordecai | fem reader | unestablished relationship | sexual content | premature ejaculation | praise | handjob.

"That's a cool shirt, by the way."

The compliment draws your gaze down to glance at the graphic on your top, cut-up and worn Fist Pump merch. "Thanks." you respond, voice raised over the natural din of the party. The guy who's been talking you up—said his name is MORDECAI—stands awkwardly tall alongside you, long ringed fingers messing with the rim of his red solo cup. There's an obligation to keep the conversation going, and you're not actually interested, but you ask anyway, "Who do you know here?"

His brows peak in question, and when you sigh with a roll of your eyes he's taken aback by how you don't walk away, instead you lean in. Tentatively, he mirrors you, afraid to make the wrong move as you incline towards his ear, and he lends it to you.

"Who do you know here?" you repeat, and your breath washes over the sheen of sweat on his neck, weighing down the black hair at his nape. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he would've audibly swallowed if not for the loud music. Your body heat radiates onto him, he can feel the sensation of your presence inches away from him, and you're hot—not just in the temperature sense. His jeans hurt.

"Uh," He scans the party until he comes across the unmistakable spotlight of his coworker, shirtless and lassoing said shirt above his head. "Muscle Man." he replies, glancing back at you before realizing how close you are still. His eyes widen and he straightens abruptly, smoothing a hand over his dyed blue hair, and a curl forms to your lips. To avert his eyes, he refocuses on the cocky display of his peer in the center of a circle of partygoers. Muscle Man knows how to entertain a crowd. "D'you know him?"

"Yeah, I'd say so." you reply in a way that pushes Mordecai out of his own mind for a second. Muscle Man also has game.

"Why'd you say it like that? Did you date him or something?" he jokes, scoffing at first. As if Rigby were right next to him, he's expecting some form of banter, momentarily slipping his mind he's in the company of a pretty girl. His lips part, snapping his neck in your direction, anticipating your twisted expression of confusion. Instead, it's the first time your countenance melts into an easy smile, hitting him softly on the arm.

"Shut up, I did not." you tell him, and relief washes over him at his stroke of good luck.

His disbelief at that good luck only grows when later on you lead him to some dark corner of the party by his skinny black tie. Somehow, he'd stumbled his way onto charming you, and he thanks whatever god is smiling down at him for sending him a hot girl that's not afraid to make a move.

"I like your voice." you tell him through heated kisses, using the collar of his white button-up to tug him to you. "Keep talking to me." the command in your sweet voice makes his eyes flutter as he draws his snake bites through his teeth, letting you slot yourself between his neck and shoulder to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down.

"What should I say?" he asks, clutching onto your waist to ground himself as your teeth scrape against his pulse point.

"Anything you want." you goad, your nose grazing his sensitive skin. You suck on him, tonguing the reddening spot in your mouth as he goes limp under your touch, head lulling back.

The panic in his chest to get this right urges him to think of something, but his blank mind betrays him. Kneading your flesh in his hands, he presses you to his crotch incidentally, and a deep moan reverberates from low in his throat at the contact. You hum against him, kissing on the tender area you created by your ministrations and he sucks in a breath. "You're hot. You're so hot, I can't believe you're talking to me." he rambles, and he feels you chuckle on him squished this close together. He uses the wall behind you, easing you against it as his hand treads to your hip, dragging your skirt down an inch. The exposed skin against the heel of his palm sets it on fire, and he hopes you can't feel him sweat. Between the heat of this party and bodies melting together, he's still embarrassed. He occupies that nervous energy doing as he's told. "You're way out of my league, no one's gonna believe me when I tell 'em what I'm doing right now."

His pathetic babblings make you grin, and you overlay your hands on his, directing them for him. The strings of your thong lay high over your hipbones, cresting underneath your Fist Pump top. So you show him, curling those long fingers under the strings and his breath hitches in his throat. Standing on your toes, you roll your abdomen to grind on him, demonstrating what you want. Loud guitars grate your ears as you move against him, and his fist forms around the waistline of your panties as if to ground himself again. He's too excited, hard in his pants which you can feel through your clothes, and it encourages you.

A thump sounds next to you, and you glance up at the source. His forehead is stamped against the space next to your head, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he humps you. Lips near your ear keep talking to you, "Kinda wanna fuck you right now." A thrill shoots through you, but you let him run his mouth. "I don't care it's a party, I don't care if someone sees. Couldn't care less about finding a bathroom, I wanna fuck you right now."

You bite down onto your lower lip, craning your neck to keep yourself afloat above his shoulder. He's so much taller than you, but you're able to reach down, wedging between your impossibly close bodies to fiddle with his jeans. He retract his pelvis, letting you do it, and when you palm him another one of your favorite noises pours right out of him. Hyper-sensitive and completely pliant, he lets you feel him up, massaging him through his plaid boxers. "Oh, my God." he exhales, raising his arm to bang his fist against the wall. You jump from the noise, and your eyes follow the lean muscle of his bicep and the corded veins and tendons of his forearm.

Unconsciously, you squeeze, and he whimpers, rutting into your hand as you cup him. Fucking himself using your hand as he speaks nothing but incoherent grateful praises, mixed with desperate "Just like that"s. He's swollen as he can be, and he doesn't realize it before he's pushed himself over the edge, full body contractions pass through him as his dick twitches in your grip, painting the inside of his boxers with his cum. A string of curses leave his lips, humiliated that he'd do such a thing, but you give him your number for another chance.

[novalore]

“𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭? 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫!”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! Satou turns this into a gangbang with his clones, cockwarming, breeding, fucking his cum into you, thigh fucking, begging, running away from his cock, teasing/condensing degradation/praise, using his blindfold as a collar, satoru makes a clone, double penetration (different holes), dacryphilia, daddy used once/princess/mama, a clone is fem!satoru who sits on your face (let’s say he can pick his clones gender with some practice and cause he’s gojo), tity fucking (doesn't matter your size they are rubbing their cocks on your tits anyway), Satoru had recorded a previous rounds and taken pictures, showing you the nude pictures he took

Oreo: this is so self indulgent

“Look at you! What a pathetic little slut you are for my cock!” Satoru shows you a shaky video of your soft cunt taking his cock. When he pulls out your cunt tugs, refusing to let him go. “I love seein’ how your lips grip my cock, doesn’t wanna let me go.”

In the video you’re loudly moaning, “Daddy! Fuck! Love your cock ‘s much please!” You shift on his softening cock making Satoru moan.

Firmly grabbing your hips, he croons. “This is my new favorite picture of your pretty cunt.” He’s spreading your lips apart, showing off your hole filled with thick white cum. “It’s my new home screen. Your face when my cock slides in is my lock screen.”

Satoru is getting harder, his cock growing in length reaching deeper. You clench his cock, wishing you could move.

He slides over to show you on your back in a mating press. There is a look of pure satisfaction and pleasure on your face. “This one is my new lock screen.”

Satoru swipes over to a video showing his pale pink tip nudging your lips apart. Clenching Satoru’s hardening cock watching the recorded one glide into you. “Fuck me, please all I can think about is your hard cock.” Grinding your hips rubbing your soft wet cunt on his long, hard cock. He sets his phone aside on the bed.

He croons, “Such a pathetic slut thinking with your cunt.” Squeezing your throat, and tightening his grasp on your hip. He gets on his knees and bends you over shoving you face-first into the bed.

Satoru props a leg up, slipping his blindfold off. “Since you’re such a cock loving whore here’s another one.” Yanking up your hair, there is a clone of Satoru kneeling on the bed. His hard cock close to your mouth.

The real Satoru slips the black blindfold over your head. Once around your neck, he twists the fabric choking you. Your cunt clenches Satoru’s hard long cock.

He groans, “Should’ve thought about using this as a collar sooner.” The clone nudges your lips, gliding his cock in when you part your lips. Satoru rocks his hips, your cheeks jiggle and clap as he roughly fucks your soft wet cunt.

Your body bounces in between both cocks. Satoru hard thrusts forcing the other Satoru’s cock into your mouth. It’s erotic to be trapped between your boyfriends as they fuck your soft wet holes with little mercy.

The clone insists, “Fuck her harder, our cocksleeve can take it.” It’s cock is deep in your throat when he pulls his hand back and roughly cracks you across the face. Your cheek stinging, your cunt clenching the real Satoru’s hard cock.

He tugs on the blindfold and straightens your body. Reminding you, “Slap his thigh three times for us to stop.” You grab the clone’s thighs and dig your nails in.

You want a greater pleasure than your body can handle. He’s more than your cunt can handle. You want Satoru so badly sometimes you can't think straight.

Their breathy moans and needy whines almost drowning out the squelching if your soaking wet cunt. Your slick dripping down your thighs. “You’re a needy slut with a greedy cunt that's sucking me in deep, gripping me tight.”

He roughly slaps your ass then groans, “Love watching your cheeks jiggle.” Leaving both cheeks stinging with two more harsh slaps. “Fuck princess, fuck mama, you feel too fuckin’ good.” You clench his cock and he whines.

Satoru croons, “It’s so fuckin’ sexy seeing my pretty pale cock going in your soft cunt, feeling how warm n’ wet you are for me.” He summons three more clones, who climb onto the bed with their cocks hard, their tips wet with pre-cum.

Two clones both grab a hand and spit into your palm. Wrapping your fist around their cocks and guiding your strokes. Your body is too limp to move on your own.

Satoru lets the blindfold go and the clone quickly pulls out to stroke his cock. You open your mouth, roughly trying to catch your breath. Whilst thick warm cum hits your face and tounge in short spurts.

The clone nudges your cheek with his softening cock smearing his cum. He croons, “Does it feel good to be my dirty pretty whore?” His harsh slap to your face, and Satoru harsh thrusts making you cry.

Your eyes stinging with tears. “Aw gonna cry already?” Satoru spits on your face, smiling when the tears trickle down. “Keep crying like that n’ ya gonna make my cock hard again.” He grabs your hair and pulls your head up for a passionate kiss.

There are two hands on your hips, the real Satoru is roughly fucking your soft cunt into cumming on his cock. Whilst three clones grope and fondle your breasts, playing with your nipples.

You cream on Satoru’s hard cock, your thighs tremble and you twist your hips away. Your soaking wet cunt squechling. “Are you really cumming thus easily? Such a slutty pretty cunt”

You hear a woman’s sweet voice, “I want to rub my cunt on her’s after you cum in her. Let’s find out if I can squirt into her cum filled cunt.” Satoru glides his cock out with a soft pop. He turns your your head to look at clone different from the rest.

Beautiful, familiar yet you’ve never seen her before. She short fluffy white hair, and fat soft tits. She pinches one of her soft nipples, smirking at you.

She croons, “Your Satoru looks beautiful, don't I?” She turns around and bends over, spreading her cheeks apart. Her soft pink cunt is sloppy wet. “Watching you get fuck is getting me soaking wet.” She curls a long thing finger into herself.

You moan, “Please mama, daddy, nnn fuck! ” Satoru chuckles. “Want all of you to fuck me till Im about to fall asleep. Please I'm such a needy slut!”

She walks closer with a blindfold and vibrator in hand. “It’s pathetic how horny we can get you, make you our mindless little slut who only thinks with her cunt.” The clone in front steps away, the other two letting go. Satoru lays down with your soft body resting on top.

He firmly holds onto your hips keeping you from squirming. “.” She climbed onto the bed leaning down putting her soft breasts in your face.

You groan sucking on her soft pink nipple. She places the vibrator on your sensitive clit. Your cunt spasms around Satoru’s hard cock. “Beg for my soft cunt.” A clone closes your legs, trapping the toy between.

Biting on her soft nipple, flicking it with your tongue when she whines. You let go, pleading with Satoru “Please mama lemme eat your cunt into a sloppy mess. I wanna know how you taste, please mama sit on my face and smother me.” She slips Satoru’s blindfold off of you, putting it back onto the original Satoru.

She straddles your face trapping your between Satoru’s chest and her soft wet cunt. Opening your mouth and gliding your tongue through Satoru’s soft lips.

Stroking her clit with your tongue, she rocks her hips softly whining. Satoru groans, “It’s so hot seeing you eat me out.” He lets your thighs go and grabs the clone’s to keep her steady.

A clone holds your thighs together and gliding his cock inbetween. “Her thighs are so fucking wet cause of her messy cunt, perfect for fucking.” Two cocks nudge your soft nipples. Then one softly slaps the right while the other rubs his cockhead.

Her soft ass on your face keeps you from being able to see. All there is are her soft cheek, soaking wet cunt. And their warm cocks, in your cunt, between your thighs, grinding on your breasts.

Satoru suggests, “I should have a clone record this. You can masturbate to yourself getting gangbanged by me.”

Oreo’s m.list

[novalore]

AHHH thank you for reading my series! I hope you enjoy it 😄 there’s about one more part left before it’s all over and I can’t wait to see what you think 🤍 ty for your comments/reactions so far I LOVE IT

OHMYGOD hi (big fan of your work if you couldnt tell) IM LOVING THE SERIES SO FAR. its so well-crafted, i adore it! i haven’t been sucked into a fanfic series in a long time, especially one about my aot babes, and it’s amazing! i’m going to be so sad when it ends :((( since its so good. thank you for writing such beautiful work 💛💛💛💛💛

[novalore]

alright, HERE WE GO. ⬇️

ok but reiner is so green flag coded (im colorblind when it comes to men), idc how you write him. he’s perfect TO ME. IM TRYNAAA FUCK MR.BRAUN.

MY REACTION TO CS RECORDS BEING CONNIE’S RECORD COMPANY. MY MAIN MAN IS ON TOP, AGAIN. HE NEVER LOSES, I LOVE HIM.

but what’s with the beef? i need someone to unpack this rn, i can only read so fast.

OK BUT LIKE

EREN’S LITERALLY POWER MOVE TO CRADDLE Y/N. HOLD HER CLOSE WHILE SHE’S BEGGING HIM TO STAY WITH HIM. AND THEN SHE REMEMBERS THAT SHE HAS A HICKEY ON HER NECK FROM TRYING TO FUCK WITH REINER NOT EVEN 24 HOURS PRIOR AND HE SEES THAT. AND HE SERVES HER THE DIVORCE PAPERS. INSANE. HE WAS SERVING CUNT IN THIS SCENE, YOUR HONOR.

armin making a guest appearance? baby, come back. y/n is a dumb bitch, she didn’t mean it. your dirty talk was superior in chapter one, couldnt be topped.

my reaction when armin LEFT the next morning without notice after all the shitty things y/n said. i hate her. armin, my beloved, come backkkkk i don’t know this dumb bitchhhhhh

FIVE HUSBANDS

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

➙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eren, armin, connie, jean, levi & reiner x fem!reader

➙ 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: the latest chaos has flipped your life upside down. moving forward in hollywood after the drama involving the two lovesick musicians won’t be easy, especially when a new person walks into your life: the star.

➙ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 18+ ONLY // MINORS DNI - suggestive content, modern au, fluff, angst, drinking, violence, heartbreak, marriage & cheating.

➙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 11k

Even at the sight of blood, he wouldn’t stop punching him…

—

Two bodyguards wrapped their buff arms around Eren Yeager. One could only hope that their extreme workout routines and protein-heavy diets would pay off, because as Jean Kirstein’s blood spewed out of his face and splattered across the cold, grey ground, it became clear to everyone watching that if Eren wasn’t stopped, he could kill Jean.

When the heartbroken man was pulled off of his bandmate, his long brown hair messy with sweat, he looked at you.

Security rushed over to put him in handcuffs. Bystanders called for medics to tend to Jean, carefully stepping around the small pool of blood pouring out of his face. Others took damaging photographs.

But you only stood there, eyes wide, mouth agape. And, like an unfortunate habit, Eren stared through you.

The overwhelming chatter falling from the mouths of shocked and hurried individuals drowned out the sound of you saying Eren’s name, but he saw the meaningless call fall from your trembling lips, and he didn’t respond.

He only continued to glare.

Even as security dragged him away, even as his line of vision was obscured due to flashing cameras from the paparazzi—who now had a much more interesting story to report instead of writing about the details of your first little concert—those green eyes never stopped piercing through you until he was out of sight.

You turned your head to look at Jean.

Trying to peek through the several tending bodies that swarmed over the injured drummer was no easy feat.

The amount of blood certainly didn’t make it any easier, nor did your frozen body refusing to let you take a step closer.

But when one person got up, rushing away to go grab some bandages as they shot you a peculiar glare, you were able to catch a glimpse at the result of Eren’s rage. You were only allowed one utter second to look at him before a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around, and pulling you in for a hug.

“Don’t look,” they said. “Everything will be alright. Just don’t look.”

It was Mikasa Ackerman.

The dark haired girl had paused her backpacking adventures across the world to attend your first concert, as she had become your closest friend since the day you both met. Or, perhaps, your only friend.

She rubbed your back, the cold plastic of her backstage pass dangling around her neck pressing against your skin—and like a broken record—stale, comforting words fell from her mouth over and over again.

“Don’t look.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“Just don’t look.”

Oh, what a liar she was! It was hilarious in a bittersweet way. Perhaps, you should laugh to drown out your own sobs, for this was the furthest possible thing from okay. Even so, you hugged her back. It was the proper thing to do after a night of being a walking, breathing disaster. Your own tears soaked through her black jacket.

“I messed up, Mikasa,” you cried.

She didn’t respond.

You cheated on Eren. Eren beat up his bandmate. Eren was being arrested. Jean needed medical attention. And soon, everyone would know, as if you weren’t already being bombarded with atrocious hate mail due to what happened at the Grammys.

The pounding ache in your heart spread all the way to your fingertips, which clenched onto Mikasa’s jacket.

It had to be a dream.

All of it had to be a dream instead of a living nightmare.

When the blaring sirens from both an ambulance truck and a police car sounded in the distance, it only confirmed that this was, indeed, a screwed up reality.

“We need to talk,” A voice suddenly overpowered the buzzing ones in the distance, and although whoever spoke was behind you, out of your blurry line of vision, you knew exactly who it was.

“Don’t ignore me. We need to talk. Now.” They said again.

“Leave her alone, Levi.” Mikasa spoke over your quiet sobs, holding on to you a bit tighter as she frowned at her cousin. “Now’s not a good time.”

“This has nothing to do with me. All of this is out of my fucking hands now,” Levi clenched his fists. “She has to tell me what the hell’s going on. I’m pissed off enough as it is.”

“No,” Mikasa paused. “Not right now.”

Levi stared at her for a moment. Undoubtedly, he was thinking.

“Fine,” he said. “Then get her the hell out of here, Mikasa. Take her out the back, and keep her damn face hidden.”

“Right,” Mikasa responded firmly.

She did what she was told, guiding you to the back exit and making you wait by the door as she left to go get her car.

When a black vehicle that could have easily been two decades old pulled around, you hopped into the passenger seat.

—

About fifteen minutes of uninterrupted quietness had passed. Glancing out of your passenger window, the stars above seemed too pretty and peaceful for what took place down on earth, and so did the beautiful, bright moon, which you stared at longingly until Mikasa suddenly spoke.

“Hey,” she broke the silence, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. “What exactly happened tonight?”

She dropped her right hand off of the wheel, clasping the top of the wheel to steer with her left as she clenched and unclenched her freed hand.

Her pale knuckles were wrapped in bandages, and one could only guess if it was from her work as a professional fighter, or from exploring dangerous earthly treasures that only stupidly brave adventurers would attempt.

Climbing mountains. Hiking through forests. Wandering through deep caves.

As you glanced at her, you couldn’t help but wonder if the cut across her cheek was from her thrilling journeys as well. Only then did you realize that her hair had grown out since the last time you had seen her.

And, now, here she was, caught up in your mess of a life instead of traveling to another country for a week. A lump of guilt crawled up your throat.

“I’m not judging you,” Mikasa spoke once more, and you suddenly realized that you failed to answer her question from earlier. “Eren getting himself involved in shitty situations isn’t anything new, but he’s still my brother, so I want to know what happened.”

“I cheated on him.”

Mikasa’s dark eyes flickered around at the nearby cars clogging the streets of Los Angeles.

The engine rumbled gently when she came to a stop at a red light.

Switching her driving hand for the injured one, she gripped the wheel as she pulled off again once the light turned green.

“I’m sorry, Mikasa,” you glared at the black interior of the car for so long, it blended in with the surrounding darkness of the night once your eyes started to get blurry with tears. “I don’t know how it happened. Jean was there, and Eren wasn’t.”

“Eren was there. You just didn’t know.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

When she went silent, lost in thought as she tried to decipher the meaning behind your words, she looked exactly like her cousin. You tried to speak once again, wanting to say something that felt appropriate, and apologizing seemed like the proper thing to do.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be.”

Your head snapped in her direction when she suddenly interrupted you.

“What?” You questioned, pinching your eyebrows together in utter confusion.

“I said don’t be,” she repeated, making a swift right turn as she spoke. “I love Eren, so don’t misunderstand me, but he had it coming.”

You didn’t say a word. Not at first. After all, what could you possibly say? Listening to Eren’s own sister say such a thing only made you want to hear more.

If anyone truly knew Eren, it would be her.

“What makes you say that?” You asked softly, careful to not let your tone reveal the intense curiosity you actually held.

“Do you really need to ask?” Mikasa sighed. “He always messed around when it came to relationships. Never took them seriously. So, when he finally decides to settle down with someone who he genuinely fell in love with, of course it’ll end badly. It’s karma.”

“You believe in karma?”

“He took you away from your ex-husband, and then you broke his heart,” Mikasa paused. “If that’s not karma, I don’t know what else it could be.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Listen,” Mikasa’s voice softened. “I think it’s only fair to say that this could be your karma as well. You broke two hearts, his and Armin’s, and now, the person you love is divorcing you. I think you’re both getting what you deserve.”

“Three.”

“What?”

“I broke three hearts. You forgot about Jean.”

“I didn’t forget. I just assumed the two of you would get together now. Why else would you cheat on Eren with him?”

“I told you. I don’t know how it happened.”

The vehicle slowly came to a complete stop, and Mikasa switched off her car, pulling her keys out of the ignition. When the comforting roar of the engine from her old-fashioned car could no longer be heard, only then did you glance out of your passenger window to see Eren’s white modern mansion.

“Do you even love him?” Mikasa asked. “Do you even love Eren?”

“I want him back.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

The door squeaked when you opened it to get out of the car. You had hoped that she wouldn’t try to stop you, nor attempt to pick your mind apart for answers, especially since you didn’t have any. It was the sad, old, truth.

“Thanks for the ride,” you mumbled.

Shutting the door, you walked up to Eren’s home. Your skin crawled with the odd sensation of being watched, as Mikasa refused to pull off until you were safely inside.

And it was rather funny.

All of it.

From watching her enter the gated community to her watching you fish for your keys, the both of you secretly knowing that if Eren wasn’t in jail, you wouldn’t have been allowed back into his home.

But there was nowhere else for you to go.

You were just as lost as a singer in Hollywood as you were as a baker in New York.

When the front door to Eren’s house opened, Mikasa’s car started up again, and she finally pulled off.

Eren’s housekeeper greeted you with a smile. The poor middle aged woman had no idea what had taken place tonight, for if she did, your belongings would have been packed and placed in the grand foyer.

Perhaps, that’s what you should start doing. Getting your stuff and fleeing before Eren had a chance to kick you out himself.

It was a tempting idea, one that had your foot on the first step of the grand staircase on your way to the master bedroom, your trembling hand gripping the rail, but you hesitated.

Marriage takes work. Couples make mistakes. You had to fight to hold on to what you held dear. Maybe he wouldn’t want to leave you if you apologized. Maybe Levi knew a couple of marriage counselors for you. Maybe…

Hoping for forgiveness is what made you grab the keys to your own car, run out of Eren’s house, and drive down to the police station. And hope was a dangerous thing.

—

Pulling into the semi-isolated parking lot of the police station, the depressing brick building lit only by a few orange streetlights, you hopped out of your car before you even had a chance to park it properly.

Levi Ackerman lingered around in front of the glassy entrance, his phone pressed against his ear, his other hand in the pocket of his jacket as he mumbled away at his device.

When those dark eyes of his landed on you, he raised an eyebrow, and said to the person on the other end of the call, “I gotta go.”

You tried to rush past him. Tried to march through those glass doors and find Eren. But Levi stretched his arm out, forcing you to halt your footsteps.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, his cold breath visible thanks to the chilly weather.

“Move.”

“No. I’m not letting you go in.”

“I’m still his…his wife,” your voice was rather shaky, but you continued. “I wanna talk to him—I need to talk to him.”

“Yeah, well, unless you’re his lawyer, you can’t talk to him. I doubt he’d want to speak to you anyway.” Levi looked at you intensely, his eyes glossed over with the wet shine of exhaustion and stress. “What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how serious this is?”

Tears started to brim in the reddened waterline of your eyes, but they didn’t fall down your cold cheeks just yet.

However, as your voice gave a small crack whenever you spoke, it was clear to your manager that you were at your limit. It was the only telltale sign that he needed.

Still, you didn’t cry. Not yet.

“How was I supposed to know that Eren would beat the shit outta him?” You croaked out. “I didn’t even know that Eren was there! He was avoiding me for weeks a-and said he wasn’t gonna show up. I fucked up, I know that, but he stopped speaking to me. Stopped looking at me. He acted like I didn’t exist…and I was fucking lonely.”

By now, the receptionist had peered up from behind her desk to take a glance at the commotion outside. You turned your back to the glass, shaky breaths escaping you as you poorly attempted to calm yourself down.

Inhale…exhale…

Still, you didn’t cry. Not yet.

Perhaps, you were all out of tears. Maybe the last of the salty liquid had dried against your cheek on the somber drive home in Mikasa’s car, when you sulked against the cracked window that let in a bit of the nightly breeze.

Or, maybe, your relationship had truly ended—not tonight, with Jean’s hand in your pants and his lips on your skin, but a while before, when your beloved husband witnessed him kiss you at the Oscars.

Maybe it ended when Eren opened the door to the studio, and saw his old best friend kiss your cheek. A simple affection that carried the weight of a ticking time bomb.

When a random civilian walked out of the station, giving a polite nod to Levi, the man dropped his voice down to a whisper, all too aware that you were both in public.

And people were ruthless.

“You’re not in that shithole neighborhood in New York anymore,” he started. “You’re in Hollywood now, which means that you can’t do anything anymore unless you want the public to know about it. I don’t give a damn about you and Eren or you and Jean, but hooking up in the dressing room of your concert was the stupidest thing you could have done. Anyone could have walked in, and someone did.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. As someone who was actively against smoking, it killed him to admit that he could seriously reap the benefits of a good drag from a cigarette right now. The stress was just as unhealthy.

“As your manager, I can fix a cheating scandal or handle rumors, but I can’t fix this. I can’t do shit when it comes to the law,” he said.

“Is Jean gonna press charges?” You asked, glancing down at his shoes. It was easier than looking into his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. Eren’s screwed either way. And so are you.”

He was right. It was The Court of Public Opinion. Along with that, whether or not Eren would have to deal with the legal consequences of beating Jean was nothing compared to the nightmare of having everyone know what had happened.

Nosy tabloid companies were probably overworking their journalists and reporters already, making them write up headlines and articles about tonight until their fingers ached from typing.

How unfortunate it was to have every single movement be seen by the entire world. To be picked apart by strangers.

And you’d be right in the center of it all.

“I can’t believe he’d attack Jean like that. I’ve never seen him get so angry. Jean said that he was dangerous, but…” Your words trailed off into the chilly air. The sight of Jean’s blood reappeared in your mind intrusively.

“You really didn’t know the kinda man you married, did you?” Levi asked.

And there it was. The vague hint at who Eren Yeager truly was. You failed to respond to Levi’s question—which was spoken like some sort of warning, truth be told—and you simply looked at him.

“Listen,” Levi sighed. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Home?”

“Yeah. Home. The place where you shit, eat, and sleep.”

“Well, I stayed with Eren. I don’t think I’m welcome there anymore unless it’s to pack my stuff. I gotta find a hotel.”

“No, it’s too late at night.” Levi frowned. “Just…come home with me.”

“What?” You raised your eyebrows. It was a rather kind gesture, especially from someone as cutthroat as him. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not letting you spend the night in a hotel by yourself when I have a guest room. Especially once Eren’s crazy groupies find out what you did.” He started walking towards his sleek black car. “Let’s go. We’ll stop by Eren’s house to get your stuff.”

—

Levi Ackerman’s house was an architectural version of himself. It was a modern mansion, but smaller and more sophisticated than Eren’s. The black exterior should have a sign along its sleek material that read “I’m rich and I’m serious!”

Prioritizing a minimalist style over a showcase of wealth, expensive and stunning artwork decorated an occasional wall here and there. And it was clean. Spotless without a maid running around to dust every corner.

Stepping into the chilly house of your manager, your shoes clicked against the marble floor of his foyer. You took a few steps forward before turning around to face him like a clueless guest, watching him lock his front door.

“Follow me,” he said.

And, like an obedient puppy, you followed him through his home, turning down the majorly isolated hallways. The silence, aside from the air conditioner blasting, was nauseatingly awkward. Something had to be said to end it. Anything.

“Hey, Levi?” You started, walking a bit faster to keep up with him.

“Hm?”

“How can you afford all of this on a manager’s salary? Just how many people have you worked with? I remember Mikasa saying that you were one of the most elite managers in Hollywood, but still, this place has to be pretty expensive. Is that why you barely have any furniture and decorations?”

“Do you want to sleep outside?”

“No,” you mumbled. “Sorry.”

Silence remained until you reached the guest bedroom. It was as clean and organized as the rest of the house, and truthfully, you wanted to ask him if he ever had any guests stay over to begin with, but you knew better.

He stood in the doorway as you walked further into the room, sitting your bag down on the bed.

“The guest bathroom’s through there,” he pointed out a nearby door attached to the bedroom. “Take a shower before you go to bed.”

He started to walk out, his hand on the doorknob as he was getting ready to close it and leave you be, eager to take a hot shower of his own after such a stressful day, but he halted his movements when you spoke again.

“Sorry to be so much trouble,” you looked over at him. “But I appreciate your help.”

“It’s fine.”

Levi closed the door without another word. Without him around, his chilly home managed to feel even colder. Even so, despite the air conditioner running at sixty eight degrees Fahrenheit—the white, black, and grey exterior along with the perfectly clean environment that made you not dare to breathe too harshly—you exhaled as you sat on the edge of the bed.

You felt safe; more protected than you would have felt in a hotel room, no matter if you could have swinged a presidential suite or something equally as lavish at this time of night.

New and unopened toothbrushes, deodorant, and toothpaste tubes were neatly organized in the drawers belonging to the double vanity in the guest bathroom. It only made you even more curious about the type of guests someone like Levi Ackerman might have had.

Perhaps, Mikasa might have stayed over sometimes whenever she was in town or simply wanted to feel closer to the one blood relative she had.

Or, maybe he often had clients occupying his guest space whenever they needed it.

Either way, as you stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away every bit of the hellish day you had experienced, you were beyond thankful for his charity.

And when you drifted off to sleep in the unfamiliar bed, you only had two things on your mind: your reputation, and getting your husband back.

—

Once ten A.M. rolled around, the sun was shining through the large bedroom window. The bright sun rays served as nature’s alarm clock, and you squinted your eyes as soon as they fluttered open.

During one of the many lessons and classes Levi made you sit through to shape you into the Perfect Celebrity, one of the variety of topics dealt with healthy habits. Make your bed. Eat fruits and vegetables. Drink water. Some more aggravating rules as well. And among them? Never look at your phone when you first wake up in the morning.

You had to mentally apologize to Mrs. Delano, your instructor, because as soon as your brain processed the fact that you were indeed wide awake, you snatched your phone off of your nightstand.

Aside from the bright screen light, you were greeted with an overwhelming amount of messages, all from known industry acquaintances.

Mikasa had also sent a message around seven in the morning. A polite check in.

She was the only person you had the energy to text back. Everyone else would have to wait. As your finger hovered over the power off button along the side of your phone, your eyes suddenly dropped down to a message from an unknown number.

call me.

You decided to check your missed calls, and discovered that they had dialed you back to back four times.

It wasn’t strange. Not necessarily. After all, your phone number getting leaked was a regular thing you had to deal with nowadays.

Even so, this didn’t seem like any regular old fan or hater.

It seemed familiar. Too direct.

Your thumb hovered over the call icon, however, after a moment of silent debate, you decided to turn off your phone and get out of bed.

Trying to locate Levi in his own home was like walking through a maze. Every single door you came across led to a room that he wasn’t in, but you could hear him moving around.

Half of you wanted to call his name and wait for him to come find you, lean against the wall with a frown and blame him for picking out a house that was more confusing than a puzzle.

Luckily, after meeting your daily step goal, you found him sitting at the breakfast nook in his modern gourmet kitchen.

“You overslept,” Levi sipped on his tea, not bothering to look up at you. “I made breakfast, but it’s cold by now. Didn’t know you’d wake up this late or else I would’ve saved myself the trouble.”

“C’mon, it’s not that late. Not to mention, I spent the last thirty minutes trying to find my way through your house.” You walked over to the kitchen island, picking up the covered plate of food. “Besides, yesterday was exhausting as hell. Can you blame me for being tired?”

“Yeah, I can, actually.”

You sighed. His little remarks were what you deserved, and therefore, you didn’t push him any further.

“You didn’t have to make me breakfast, Levi. You’ve done enough for me by letting me spend the night.”

“Just eat it. I don’t need to hear a speech.”

Putting your plate in the microwave, you pushed the necessary buttons to turn it on and heat up your food without another word.

For the next two minutes, at least.

The microwave beeped. You grabbed your steamy meal, searched around for a fork and made yourself a glass of water, all before sitting down across from Levi.

“So, what happens now?” You asked softly, breaking off a piece of bacon.

“I gotta go check up on Eren and see how much shit he’s in.”

“Can-”

“Hell no. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But it can’t be that serious,”you frowned, “he just punched him.”

“Yeah,” Levi looked over at you for the first time since you stepped into the kitchen. “He punched him, several times, while wearing rings. Jean needed medical attention, and it’s not like Eren’s never been in trouble with the law before. He could seriously get locked away if money and influence doesn’t save his ass.”

You were silent.

“What? Got nothing to say?” Levi took another sip of his tea.

“No. Not to you. Not to anyone except Eren.”

Now, it was Levi’s turn to remain silent, but only for a moment.

“You really love him, huh?”

“Okay, why is everyone questioning that?” You pulled away from your food with a frown. “First Mikasa, and now you-”

“You’ve fooled around with three guys back to back. It’s a little hard to tell which one of them you like the most.” Levi’s eyes never glanced away from yours as he spoke, his words laced with harshness and honesty, and he continued to sip on his tea as shame washed over you.

“Well, Eren’s my husband, and I want him back. That’s all you need to know.” You stared at your plate. “My personal life is my business-”

“I refuse to believe you’re stupid enough to think that. How many times do I have to explain it to you?” He sat his mug down. “There’s no such thing as privacy anymore. Everything you do from what you say to what you wear will be everyone’s fucking business. After all the lessons I put you through…after everything you’ve seen so far, how can you still not comprehend that?”

Once again, the silence reappeared like an old habit. Only, this time, it was accompanied by a thick aura of sadness from you, and lingering guilt from Levi.

It was as if he had just kicked a puppy.

And it was odd. He normally didn’t care too much about how people handled his brutally honest words, but right now—for unknown reasons he’d think over later on when he was alone—he felt the need to apologize.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he gave a small sigh. “I forgot that all of this is still a big adjustment for you, but I can’t hold your hand through all of it.”

“I don’t need you to hold my hand. And I can take care of myself. You shouldn’t care so much about what a bunch of gossipy brats are saying about us T.V.”

“Those gossipy brats can ruin everyone’s entire career in an instant.” Levi shot you a look, one that you couldn’t quite grasp the meaning behind. “Besides, you need me.”

“No I don’t.”

“You’re a homeless woman who’s sleeping at her manager’s house because she cheated on a famous rockstar with his bandmate.” Suddenly, he got up from his seat, grabbing his nearly empty mug.

“Now listen, I gotta go. Try not to turn on the T.V., alright? I’m sure they’re dragging your name through the dirt right now. Don’t leave the house, and don’t answer any phone calls.”

You suddenly remembered the unknown calls from earlier, and while you watched the concentrated man wash and dry his mug, you debated with yourself over whether or not the phone calls and the text message was worth mentioning. After all, maybe he knew who the number belonged to. He seemed to know everyone.

Clearing your throat, you decided to keep quiet.

“Are you gonna check on Jean too?” You asked. “Make sure he’s okay?”

“Of course I am.” He started to leave the kitchen, but he hesitated. “And don’t tell anyone you’re staying here, not even Mikasa. Last thing I need is for the public to start making rumors about us.”

“Okay.”

Without saying another word, Levi left, leaving you all alone.

—

For the next two weeks, that was your life. Waking up. Seeing the missed calls from an unknown number. Having brunch prepared by Levi as he sat and drank his Earl Grey tea, having already eaten his breakfast earlier in the day. Then, after telling you not to answer your phone or watch the news, he’d leave for hours upon hours, only to return home late at night.

Then, it would all repeat the next day.

Although, sometimes he’d leave around noon. Sometimes he’d come back home before the day completely ended.

But his constantly fleeting presence did little to help the intense loneliness you felt.

And although he was hardly around, Levi noticed the way you’d stay in bed all day. At most, short trips to the bathroom or to the kitchen were made, but after a few minutes, you were right back in bed.

Lonely…

One morning, you heated up your breakfast like you always did. This time, Levi prepared homemade pancakes with neatly diced fruit. Plopping down at the breakfast nook, you grabbed the syrup to pour over your pancakes, and Levi continued to sip on his tea. Today, he decided to have Green Tea instead of Earl Grey.

“You need some friends,” Levi suddenly said.

“Huh?”

“Friends. You need friends.”

“I have friends.” You frowned, biting into your diced cantaloupe. “And I’ve never seen you talk to another human being outside of work.”

“I have friends, believe it or not,” Levi glared.

“Like who?”

“You wouldn’t know them. We were in the military together.”

“You were in the goddamn military? Why?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. The idea of someone like Levi going from the military to managing celebrities was rather funny, and you gave him an amused smile.

“It was the smartest way out of a bad situation,” he replied coldly. He scratched his cheek as he looked away from you, not exactly keen on replicating your amusement.

“What situation?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Levi sighed. “The point is that you’re lonely. I can tell. I know I said that no one should know you’re here, but loneliness can drive you crazy, and I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“What are you saying?” You asked.

“I asked Mikasa to come pick you up tonight. She’s gonna let you hang out with her and her weird ass friends.”

“Seriously?” You raised your eyebrows. At this point, going outside and hanging out with people seemed like a foreign concept. Like a fantasy. “That sounds like something I need.”

“I thought it would cheer you up a little. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Levi flashed you a look of worry. “They’ll be here around seven, if her shitty car doesn’t break down, at least.”

“Well, they always say that rich people should live like they’re broke, huh?” Giving a soft grin, you thought about how much money Eren had given her and the rest of their family. Even before his fame, they were pretty well off, living comfortably as upper middle class citizens.

And yet, she refused to allow herself to enjoy even a spec of luxury.

Or—based on the state of her car—decency as well.

“There’s a difference between living like you’re broke and living like you’re stupid.” Levi said, getting up from the breakfast nook to wash his mug, like he did every single day.

“And just what would you know about how broke people live?” You asked, not necessarily expecting to find yourself so bitter over his comment, but you couldn’t help it. “I mean, look at this house.”

“What, you think I was born here? Always had money?” Levi paused. “I know more about struggling than you do, and it’s none of your damn business.”

“Oh,” you mumbled pathetically. “I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“It’s fine.”

You wanted to properly apologize. Truth be told, you wanted to know more about his past more than you wanted to say sorry. Therefore, you did neither, avoiding the act of apologizing and pushing for more details all together.

Instead, you finished your food, and went back to the guest bedroom.

—

When day turned to night, you eagerly waited for Mikasa to arrive like a little kid waiting for Santa Claus.

After what felt like an eternity had passed, a knock was heard at the front door.

Finally.

“Mikasa!” You greeted her with a smile, pulling her in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you, you have no idea.”

“I was worried about you. I should’ve known Levi had you hidden away here.” She gently rubbed your back as she hugged you, only pulling away to scan her dark eyes over your entire being. “I’m glad you’re alright, though. When I saw what they were saying about you, I…”

When you frowned in confusion, your facial expression saying what do you mean? without you having to utter a single word, Mikasa let her words drift off into nothingness.

Of course Levi wouldn’t have let you watch the news or read any articles.

And that was a wise decision.

“Anyways,” Mikasa started, turning away from you and facing the two women standing in the foyer. “This is Annie Leonhart. She’s a well respected stunt double and a big advocate for women’s rights.”

“Hey,” the shorter, blonde haired woman greeted.

“Nice to meet you, Annie,” you smiled politely.

Mikasa turned her attention to the wide-eyed woman with reddish brown hair standing beside Annie.

“This is Sasha Braus,” she paused. “She’s friends with just about everyone. A big leech, but we all love her, so we allow it. You’ve probably seen her guest star on a lot of cooking shows, if you watch that sort of thing.”

“It’s true!” Sasha beamed, grabbing your hand to shake it. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

You flashed a grin of your own that was equally as enthusiastic. Her happiness was contagious. She seemed like someone who you should have been friends with your entire life, and a sliver of frustration shot through your veins over the realization that you were just meeting her now. Her energy was fantastic. It was crystal clear why all of her influential friends took care of her, as someone that joyous should never have to work a day in their life.

The happy girl suddenly grabbed your wrist, along with Annie’s, and started to hurriedly drag you both right out of the door.

“Come on, guys,” she said, her excitement raising her tone a bit. “Let’s go eat!”

And with that, you all piled away into Mikasa’s car.

—

Bright lights belonging to the southern-style restaurant advertised its whereabouts from about two miles away.

It was more fun than fancy, the blue neon lights and funky cowboy decorations as a dead giveaway that if you were looking for a quiet and sophisticated place to dine luxuriously, you’d be greatly disappointed.

And it was lovely.

Scooting into the spacious booth with the other three girls, you found yourself sitting in between Mikasa and Annie. Being at a restaurant with such an amusing vibe after spending two weeks indoors resulted in you glancing around like a kid at the zoo.

“Hey,” Mikasa glanced up at you, looking away from her menu. “Try not to draw any attention to yourself. Most people here like to mind their own business, but still. You never know.”

You nodded, grabbing ahold of your own menu.

“So,” Reaching for a dusty peanut inside of a little silver basket right in the center of the wooden table, Sasha cracked the tiny shell open. “I, uh, I listened to your first song earlier today. It was really good.”

“Thanks, that means a lot,” you flashed the happy girl a polite smile.

“For what it’s worth,” Annie suddenly spoke up, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m on your side in all of this.”

“You are?”

“Yes. Men like Eren and Jean took pure advantage of your naiveness. If you ask me, you should have been the one doing the punching. Don’t sit back and let them walk all over you.” Annie paused, “and not just Eren and Jean, but their entire clueless fandom.”

“Enough, Annie.” Mikasa said. “We’re not here to talk about any of that.”

“I know, I just had to get that off of my chest.”

“We should order some drinks,” Sasha laughed nervously, grabbing ahold of her flimsy, laminated menu. The category of alcoholic beverages caught her attention, and her big eyes widened as she smiled. “Oh, I’m definitely gonna get the Pina Colada! What about y’all? We can share a basket of wings as an appetizer too. Should we get ranch or blue cheese as a dipping sauce? Nevermind, let’s get both.”

When the waiter appeared with a complimentary bread basket and a warm smile, he said, “good evening ladies, thank you for dining with us tonight. What can I get you guys started with?”

“We definitely want a basket of mild wings with both ranch and blue cheese, and I’ll take a Pina Colada. Any chance y’all have extra pineapple?” Sasha said.

“You want pineapple slices? Sure thing.” The waiter jotted down Sasha’s request before looking at Mikasa. “And what about you?”

“I’ll pass on any alcohol. I’m the one driving.”

The waiter nodded, turning his attention to you and Annie.

“Please bring me a blood orange margarita immediately,” you practically demanded.

“I’ll take a glass of red wine,” Annie said.

“Alright, I’ll have those drinks out along with your wings shortly,” he flashed yet another polite smile before walking away.

Everyone said a quick “thank you” to the hardworking man. Reaching for a bread roll, you smiled softly.

“I just gotta say,” you paused. “Levi might be an ass sometimes, but it was nice of him to call you guys.”

“You could use some support right now,” Mikasa smiled softly. “Despite whether what you did was right or wrong, you don’t deserve to feel lonely.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

At first, you and the rest of the group chatted about mundane things. The weather. L.A. traffic. A variety of simple topics. Once your drinks arrived, along with your appetizers, the topics not only increased in volume, but became more interesting as well.

By the time you ordered your main courses and took your first few bites, it felt like you had known all three women since the day you were born.

Their laughs were like music; a song you wanted to hear on repeat over and over again, and you’d think about it once the evening ended, surely.

After having a hilarious debate over who was the hottest celebrity of all time, you pressed the salty rim of your alcoholic beverage against your grinning lips.

That was when you noticed a particularly handsome, slightly familiar man sitting at the bar.

“Hey,” you furrowed your brows, pointing slyly at the man. “Am I crazy, or is that who I think it is?”

“Who? Where?” Sasha asked, craning her neck as she looked around.

“Sitting on the side of the bar,” you said.

“There’s a lot of people sitting at the bar-”

“With the blonde hair, Annie.”

“Oh, I see him.” Annie blinked, returning her attention to the half-eaten chicken Alfredo she ordered.

“Is that Reiner Braun?” You tried to whisper, but your sudden excitement along with the alcohol running through your system made it so that you were talking at an above-average volume.

“It sure looks like it,” Mikasa said.

The Handsome Man could feel several pairs of curious eyes watching him, burning into his skin as he sipped on his beer.

As a well-known actor, he was used to having strangers watch him in public, and typically, they’d shyly glance away whenever he made eye contact.

But not you.

Reiner could practically see the caution signs hanging around your head. After all, he knew exactly who you were.

That girl from New York.

The one who got Eren Yeager arrested.

The singer with more failed relationships than original songs.

But even so, he swallowed down the last gulp of beer, left the ginger bartender a hefty tip, and made his way over to your booth.

Maybe it was the alcohol.

Maybe it was your beautiful smile.

He had never believed in something as silly as love at first sight—even after acting out the trope in several films before—until now, when he looked into your glistening, captivating eyes.

“Nice to meet you, I’m-”

“You’re Reiner Braun,” you interrupted him, extending your hand for him to shake. “You’re one of my favorite actors. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine,” instead of shaking it, he raised your hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss against your skin.

“That’s why you shouldn’t ever meet someone who just finished filming a romance movie.” Annie frowned, “they’re usually pretty weird.”

“Hush, Annie. I'm just being polite.” Reiner dropped your hand, turning his attention to the two women next to you.

“Sasha, Mikasa, good to see you.”

“Come on, have a seat. You looked pretty lonely over there,” Sasha instantly started to scoot in, shoving everyone together like a pack of sardines as she patted the cushion of her previous spot, encouraging the actor to have a seat as she smiled at him.

“Oh, I’d hate to interrupt-”

“You’re not interrupting,” you quickly cut off his rejection.

“Y/N,” Mikasa frowned slightly. “This is supposed to be a girls night.”

There was a strange flame within her dark eyes, one that signified that she was deeply bothered. Something irritated her more about this situation than a girls night potential being ruined.

“You’re right,” you paused, searching her eyes for a hint as to what she was really thinking, before turning your attention back to Reiner. “Some other time then, Reiner.”

“I look forward to it,” he smiled—flashing a grin that was nothing short of a breathtaking sight—and started to walk away. “Goodnight, ladies.”

Once he was a good distance away, Sasha leaned forward across the table.

“He’s so handsome, it’s insane,” she whispered, although it was anything but a whisper.

“I beg to differ. Reiner’s one of the reasons why I refuse to date men,” Annie blinked, her tone and face as expressionless and blank as a piece of paper.

“I think he’s great. How can a guy be so fucking dreamy?” You said, and the other women chuckled.

Except for Mikasa.

When the bill arrived, Annie and Sasha decided to head to the bathroom together before everyone was ready to leave, wise enough to not pack themselves into a car and risk having to deal with a full bladder while stuck in L.A. traffic.

With the two of them gone, you glanced at Mikasa, giving the girl a soft, comforting smile. A “trust me, I’m friendly,” sort of grin.

“Hey,” you started. “You alright? You got kinda quiet.”

“I’m fine.”

When she uttered out those two false words, she sounded exactly like her cousin.

And, just like you did whenever you chatted with him, you decided not to press her any further.

You both sat in a bit of an awkward silence, aside from the restaurant’s mainstream music and chatter from the other diners.

Suddenly, she spoke once again.

“I know I said that we shouldn’t talk about any of…it, but I need to ask you something.” She paused. She looked deeply into your eyes. “Have you talked to Armin?”

To say that her question had caught you by surprise would have been an understatement. After all, everyone seemed to only ask about Eren and Jean.

“Armin?” You scratched your arm. “No, I haven’t. Why? Have you?”

The dark haired girl gave you the saddest look.

“Yes.”

—

After that wonderful night, you and the other girls couldn’t stand being away from each other for too long. Even Mikasa had lingered around Los Angeles and nearby cities for a while, as there was something beautiful and peaceful about the friendship that was created between the four of you.

Or, perhaps, the five of you.

Maybe six.

Reiner eventually joined in on some of the outings. You and Sasha insisted upon it. Annie truly didn’t mind, despite her constant bickering with him, and Mikasa eventually caved in as well, as she cared more about your happiness.

And, as Levi allowed you all to hang out at his place, he was starting to grow fond of the idea of having you all in his home.

The steaks sizzled in the hot pan on the stove as Levi flipped them, a towel over his shoulder as he listened in on the idiotic UNO game taking place at the breakfast nook.

You, Sasha, Annie, Mikasa, and Reiner were all sitting there, drinks poured, and every single one of you held your cards as close to your own faces as possible.

“Draw two,” you said, placing a card down as you glared at Reiner out of the corner of your eye. “Wait—shit…Can I stack a draw two on a draw two?”

“No,” Reiner glared as he grabbed two cards.

“Yes,” Sasha chimed in.

“You’re only saying no because you don’t want four cards,” Annie said, holding on to her last two cards like her life was on the line.

“No, I’m saying no because it’s the rules of the game,” Reiner took a much-needed sip of his beer.

Levi suddenly walked over. He glanced down over Mikasa’s shoulder, looking at her three cards.

“Hey, don’t try to help her out, Levi,” you frowned.

“She’s my family, so I gotta root for her. I want to know if she has a chance.” Levi paused, turning his attention to Mikasa. “You better kick their asses.”

“I plan to,” Mikasa smirked.

“Worry about your steaks, Levi.” You rolled your eyes playfully, putting a card down as you did so. “They’re probably burnt as hell by now.”

“Do you even know how to cook?” Levi shot back as he made his way back over to the stove.

You didn’t respond immediately. You blinked at him. You couldn’t cook a meal to save your life.

“So anyways,” you cleared your throat, “I think that we should be able to stack a draw two on a-”

“I take that as a no, then.” Levi interrupted, and as he took the steaks out of the pan, he gave a low, barely-audible laugh, along with a soft smile.

Everyone looked up from their cards to witness the historical event. At that moment, everyone mistakenly dropped their hand, showing their cards, but everyone was too concerned with the unfamiliar sound and facial expression that came from Levi Ackerman to notice.

“Are you laughing, Levi?” Your eyes widened a bit. “Did I just make you laugh? And smile?”

“No. Shut up.” Levi turned his back towards you and everyone else. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Ya know, you’re pretty cute when you’re grinning,” Sasha said. “Isn’t he?”

“She’s right,” Annie added on. “A smile looks good on you.”

“You should do it more often,” you laughed.

A faint pink blush dusted across Levi’s cheeks. He tried his best to hide it from the group, but the sudden shouts and coos were a telltale sign that he had failed.

As he tried to deny the laughing, smiling, and blushing allegations, his phone started to ring.

Upon seeing the caller ID, he immediately frowned.

“Everyone shut the hell up for a minute,” he demanded.

He answered the phone quickly. After a while of mumbling, “okay,” “I understand,” “Yeah,” “Okay,” he hung up.

But his frown only deepened.

“What’s wrong?” Reiner asked.

“That was my boss,” Levi paused. “The guy who runs the company. He’s finally back in town.”

“So?” You took another sip of your drink.

“He hasn’t been in town since any of this happened,” Levi said, turning to face you from where he stood by the kitchen island.

“You mean since…” you paused, “since what happened between me, Eren, and Jean?”

“Yeah,” Levi said. “He wants to have a meeting with all four of us. You, me, Jean, and Eren.”

“What? When?”

“Tomorrow. He’s pissed off, so it can’t wait.”

—

You, Levi, Eren, and Jean.

A meeting with the big boss.

The thought of it made your stomach twist into a knot.

“What a way to ruin a fun night,” you thought.

Sitting on the ground in the partially dark hallway, you rested your head against the wall. Laughter echoed from the kitchen. It wasn’t as joyous without you around, but your nerves had ruined any appetite you had for steaks, drinks, and card games.

Booted footsteps had suddenly drawn your attention. You looked up to see Reiner approaching you.

“Levi took your spot in UNO,” he paused, handing you a glass. “Here, I brought you some water.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

As you took the cup, taking a gulp of what seemed to be the most refreshing glass of water of all time after downing enough alcohol this evening, Reiner sat down next to you on the floor.

“So, I haven’t known you for a long time, and I only have gossip and articles to go off of, but everything’s going to be alright,” he said.

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” you closed your eyes as you spoke.

“No, I mean it,” Reiner sighed. “I’ve been in the industry for a long time. Film—but it’s all the same. There was a time when I betrayed everyone closest to me so that I could stay in the spotlight. People make mistakes, and Hollywood might not understand that, but they’ll get over it eventually. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

Reiner looked into your eyes, revealing every bit of sincerity within him.

“Even if the fans forget about it, that doesn’t mean Eren will. He hasn’t divorced me yet, but I haven’t seen him since that night. I keep trying to have hope that I can save my marriage, but…there’s no point in lying to myself. He took his ring off. We’re over, aren’t we? Me and Eren?”

You looked at him with fleeting hope, your own eyes glistening as you rambled.

“I’m afraid so,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You sniffled, but you didn’t cry. Instead, you and Reiner sat in silence for a few moments before you looked over at him and asked, “have you ever had your heart broken?”

“I did,” he answered hesitantly. “Once.”

“What was it like?”

“It’s not really something you can describe,” he scratched the side of his blonde head. “It’s too strong of an emotion to fit into words. Why?”

“Just curious,” you suddenly grinned sheepishly.

“Well,” Reiner pushed himself off of the ground. “Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to-”

“Wait,” you interrupted, standing up and straightening your clothes. “Don’t leave.”

You stepped closer, and he didn’t back away. Even when you pressed yourself against him. Even when you looked up at him with eyes that made him understand why your past three lovers were so addicted to you.

Just as Reiner blamed the alcohol for being the reason why he approached your table at the restaurant, you would do the same thing; blame the alcohol as you pressed your lips against his.

He was surprised. Pleasantly so.

It took no time at all for him to get over his initial shock, and he cupped your cheeks, kissing you passionately as your back hit the wall.

—

“Oh—god, Reiner,” you moaned softly, “feels so…good.”

His lips on your neck felt like heaven. Those large hands of his gripping your ass sent a rush of pleasure through your veins, a rush that came from alcohol, and the thrill of doing something so insanely stupid.

Anyone could walk down the hallway and catch you both.

“Let me take you back to my place,” Reiner mumbled against your skin, as he suddenly became aware of how exposed you both were.

“No, I can’t,” you said breathlessly, clenching onto his muscular arms. “Meeting’s tomorrow…my husband…”

“Hm?” Reiner kissed your jaw, “I thought you said it was over? I’d never go after a married woman, sweetheart.”

“I…” your words drifted off into yet another soft moan, as when you started to speak, Reiner started to suck and lick at the sweet spot on your neck once more.

“Come home with me,” he whispered. “I gotta hear more of those moans.”

“No,” you released a small whine. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

The warmth that radiated off of his body quickly became something you desperately craved once he pulled away. With his body no longer against yours, you found yourself missing his touch already.

“I understand,” he smiled sadly. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You nodded—despite how much you wanted him to shove you against the wall and kiss you deeply—you nodded.

And after saying goodbye to everyone else, under the excuse that he was feeling tired, he left.

—

From the very second Levi Ackerman’s eyes fluttered open on the morning of the meeting, to the very second he walked into CS records, he was beyond stressed.

But not nearly as stressed as you were.

Levi practically dragged you into the elevator, scanning your entire body for any obvious signs of a hangover once the automatic silver doors closed.

“Let me do the talking,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of getting fired. That bastard doesn’t scare me, though. I’d kick his ass if he didn’t carry a gun. ”

You nodded. You tried to calm yourself down by focusing on your breathing.

For a moment, it worked.

It worked until you walked into the big office, and your eyes landed on Eren.

Levi grabbed the seat next to Jean, who had a scar going across his cheek from where his stitches used to be. And although Eren had no visible scars, his emotional damage was beyond clear to anyone who caught a glimpse of the daggers within his eyes.

Once you sat down, the man who owned CS records—Connie Springer—sighed deeply.

—

“So,” he tossed his hands up, “who’d like to start? Who wants to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

“Well, first of all-”

“Two months.” Connie interrupted Jean. “I was gone for a little over two months, and everything starts falling apart.”

“Just let me explain,” Levi raised his hand, and Connie nodded, letting him speak. “There’s no need to get worked up about what happened between these three. The public has practically moved past it by now. Eren’s out of jail, and Jean’s all healed. Y/N’s going to start working on music again, and I plan to get the band back on tour.”

“Hell no,” Eren said darkly. “I’m not going anywhere with him.”

“Grow up, Eren,” Jean shot back, before he glanced over at you.

Eren clenched his fist. If Connie and Levi weren’t around, there was no doubt in your mind that he would have tried to scar Jean's other cheek.

Even so, even with Jean’s eyes all over you, your beloved husband still didn’t cast one single glance in your direction. You might as well have been a ghost.

“You two don’t have a choice,” Connie said. “You both signed a contract.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Eren pressed his clenched fist against his lips. “If you force me to be around him, I’ll end up killing his ass.”

“You left the goddamn band, Con,” Jean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t we leave as well?”

“Different time. Different contracts.” Connie smirked. “You work for me now. Unless you want me to ruin your lives?”

“Fuck you, man,” Eren said. “This is bullshit and you know it.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Connie faced Eren in his rotating chair. “Gonna punch me too? Try it. Go ahead. Do it, and let’s see what fucking happens.”

Eren and Connie glared at each other with eyes filled with so much hatred, it was impossible to believe that once upon a time, they were best friends.

“Cut it out,” Levi said. “Just tell us what you want us to do, Connie.”

Connie stopped glaring at his old bandmate, and he smirked once again.

“Just as you said, Levi. Eldian Devils will finish their tour. I want some new music out as well. As for you,” The rich man looked at you for the first time since you stepped through those doors. “Get your shit together. Focus on releasing some more music and buy yourself a goddamn house before I send you back to New York. Got it?”

You nodded, feeling like a school kid being scolded by the principal.

“You guys know me. I like to have fun and take it easy, but when you guys embarrass my company’s name when I’m not around?” Connie sighed. “All of you need to get it together now. This is your last warning. Now get out of my office.”

Without another word, the four of you got up.

Eren rushed out of the door, and you were right behind him.

“Wait, Eren,” you rushed out, jogging slightly to catch up to him. “Please…wait.”

It was all too similar to the first time Eren ever kissed you, when you tried to avoid him, and he refused to stop chasing you. Only, this time, not only were you the one doing all of the chasing, but you truly didn’t see him kissing you against the wall like he did once before.

Even so, you had to try. You had to.

“I’m sorry, Eren.” He turned to face you, looking down at your saddened face with an equal amount of sorrow. “I’m sorry I broke your heart. I was just lonely, and I acted out of sadness. I missed being loved and touched by someone, and Jean was just…well, he was there. I know what I did was wrong, but it doesn’t have to end this way. I want to go back—I don’t want us to break up. Can’t we go somewhere and talk it out? Please? I’m begging you.”

He didn’t respond.

He never did.

Instead, his large hand cupped your chin, his thumb pressing into your cheek as you instantly wanted to melt into his touch.

Raising your chin a bit higher, his sharp eyes darted down to your neck.

He looked right at the hickey.

You tried to stammer out some sort of excuse, some sort of pathetic apology, but he didn’t listen to any of it.

Instead he handed you a folder, and walked away, ignoring your calls of his name.

When you opened the folder, tears instantly fell from your eyes at the sight of the signed divorce papers.

—

ONE YEAR LATER

Perhaps, this was the truest definition of peace.

It was bittersweet, but you were single, and spent the past year focused entirely on yourself. The unwavering self-love had resulted in you releasing your very first album.

Every other Saturday, you, Sasha, Annie, and Mikasa hung out together—along with Levi and Reiner on certain occasions—and you did everything and anything, whether it was going out for food and drinks, or an improvised trip to Las Vegas.

Best of all, however, was the fact that you had purchased your own home.

The big, beautiful, two-story house was all yours.

Even so, as you became more well known in the industry, you tended to get a little anxious once night time rolled around.

A quality night time routine was never properly complete without one last look around your home to make sure your doors were properly locked.

And your home, which was dark aside from the kitchen light, was quite secure, both your front and back door in good shape.

That was when you heard three gentle knocks coming from your back door.

Your heart sank instantly. You had seen enough scary movies to know better than to open that door.

If it was someone you knew, they would have called you.

While debating between grabbing a knife, or calling the cops, the person who knocked on your door did it again.

Within that moment, they probably realized that they were frightening you, and they spoke.

“Y/N?” They called out. “It’s me.”

Hearing that voice—that unexpected call of your name which sent a shiver down your spine—half of you had wished that it was a stranger.

That would have been easier.

Your legs seemed to move forward on their own.

The mechanical movement of your body led to you unlocking your door.

You opened it widely enough to see him.

He stood there.

His face was decorated with a couple of bruises.

He looked at you with the saddest eyes.

Your hands were trembling, and your heart pounded rapidly against your chest.

“What are you doing here, Armin?”

Although he wanted to speak, he couldn’t respond. Simply because he didn’t have an answer as to what led him to your house in the middle of the night.

The both of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at one another, trying to read each other’s thoughts.

That was when you stepped back, and you opened the door completely.

“Come inside.”

—

With first aid supplies scattered across your dining room table, Armin winced as you cleaned the cut across his cheek.

He had a cut that was equally as deep going across his lip.

Even so, none of it compared to the deep purple bruise across the side of his stomach, and he flinched whenever he took a deep breath.

“You look good. Healthy.” He said shyly.

He stared at you with those striking blue eyes. The fact that he could no longer tell what you were thinking only worsened the damage to his broken heart.

“Thanks,” you frowned. “I wish I could tell you the same thing, but…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What are you doing here, Armin?” You looked at him—truly stared into his eyes—for the first time since he arrived. And all he saw in your gaze was utter disappointment. “Did you ever go back to New York?”

“No. I, um, I stayed here.”

“Dumb decision. You had friends back home. I’m sure the bakery and Chuck’s Place would’ve given you your job back.”

“Why would you assume I need a job? Or that I don’t have friends here? Am I…really that pathetic to you?” He glanced away from you, holding an ice pack against his injured jaw.

“You showed up outside of my house all bruised up. What else am I supposed to think?” You frowned, going right back to pouring medicine onto a cloth and pressing it against his wound, but suddenly, a troubling thought popped up in your mind. “hey, how’d you find out where I live-“

“Ouch, that hurts.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you quickly snatched the bloodied cloth away from his cheek. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

He was silent. Like a kicked puppy.

“I heard that you had gotten involved with some dangerous people. I was hoping it was a rumor,” you said.

“The construction company went out of business. All of us were struggling to find work, and…I needed money.”

“These people,” you paused, “the ones you borrowed money from. Are they the ones who beat you up?”

“I was fifty dollars short.”

“Shit, Armin! What’s the matter with you? Why didn’t you just go back to your old job?”

“Because,” he sighed, although it pained him to do so. “You’re still here. I tried to leave, trust me, but I couldn’t.”

Silence lingered once again. This time, Armin broke it.

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Leaving me.”

“Do you regret trying to force me to work for you?”

“Don’t say that,” Armin frowned sadly. “You know that’s not how it happened. That’s something Eren put in your head. I loved you more than anything. I told you over and over again that it didn’t matter if we were rich or poor, as long as we were together. I just…I didn’t wanna see you suffer anymore, and I knew that you could be successful.”

A tear rolled down Armin’s bruised cheek. Quietly, he asked, “why was it so easy for you to leave me?”

“Because,” you paused. “No matter what you say, I know that you were only using me-”

“You’re lying. You know that’s not true. I know you’re smarter than that. Tell me the real reason because I deserve to know.” Armin’s bloodshot eyes tried to meet yours, but you always glanced away. “Was it because of money?”

“It’s because I loved Eren.”

“If you loved him, you wouldn’t have cheated on him. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have left me. So you’re still fucking lying.” He raised his voice. It was something he had never done before. “Tell me the truth, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you flashed a bittersweet smile, “but don’t blame me if you get your feelings hurt.”

“You can’t hurt me anymore than you already have. Tell me the truth.”

“I didn’t give a damn about love. I don’t know what the deal is with you, Eren, and Jean thinking I’m some naive kid who needs to be saved by any of you. Then you all have the nerve to get upset when you can’t mold me into the damsel-in-distress that you all fucking want me to be.”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t say it’s not true, because it is,” you paused, and now, you were the one raising your voice. “Even if you and everyone else was doing it out of love, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not a fucking doll. You dragged me across the country to try and make me successful because you loved me. Eren stole me from you and married me out of nowhere because he loved me. Jean tried to ruin my relationship and take me for himself because he loved me. Whole time, I simply liked you all at most.”

“Then why did you keep quiet? Why didn’t you ever tell any of us that you didn’t love us?”

“Oh, I tried,” you glared at him, nodding your head. “I didn’t want to leave New York until you convinced me. I tried to avoid Eren, but he wouldn’t stop trying to get with me. I didn’t want to be with Jean at first, but he didn’t back down. You all just fucking push and push until you get your feelings hurt, then I’m the bad guy.”

Suddenly, you laughed. It was almost sinister, almost frightened Armin, and when you suddenly got up out of your chair, you spoke once again. “You better believe I got something out of it though.”

“Let me guess,” he glared at his feet as he spoke, “money and fame?”

“That’s right. Levi disagrees, but I think all publicity is good publicity.”

“You know what I think?”

“What do you think, Armin? I really wanna know,” you said sarcastically.

“I think you’re still lying.” Armin got up as well. He took a step closer to you. “I think it’s easier for you to act like you’ve never cared about anyone than it is to take responsibility for your actions. It’s less painful to pretend that you’re completely the victim in this situation than it is to accept that you broke my heart. Eren and Jean’s heart as well. I’m not saying that anyone is in the right or wrong, but I know you. I know you loved me, even if it was just a little bit.”

“What makes you so sure?” You whispered, but he was so close, he heard every single shaky word.

“You brought me inside. Fixed up my wounds. If you didn’t care, you would’ve told me to go away.”

You sighed. “Why did you come here in the first place?”

“Because, I just…had to see you.” Armin reached out, his hand almost touched yours, but he stopped himself. It took every bit of strength he had left to avoid spilling the truth, which was that he was still madly in love with you.

Suddenly, you turned away from him.

“Sleep on my couch,” you said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere until we figure something out. Something that’s better than the shit you’re doing now,” you called out.

As you left the dining room in search of a pillow and a blanket, he said, “Okay. Thank you.”

—

The next morning, you awakened to the sound of your alarm clock. Typically, you took your time rolling around in bed, not in any particular hurry to start the day, but today was different.

Today, you hopped out of bed, swinging the covers off of you as you rushed into your living room.

On the couch, there was a neatly folded blanket with a pillow on top of it.

You called his name a few times. Checked a few different rooms.

But he was long gone.

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

♡ 𝐚/𝐧: 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤? 𝐈’𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

🏷: @hidansdarling @lilvampirina @okaystopwhore @chrollohearttags @nanamochii @bunny2612 @kazushawty @cupids-soul @crazychaoticizzy @indigoballad @averysmolbear @seishirogf @6sakusa @levin4nami @chaotic-on-main @sad-darksoul @gwapbby @katestrophes @ackermans-angel @lovelyless-fiction @svftackerman @musegonemad @moonmalice @inciteterr0r @honeybleed @zeninsbitch @purple-milk24 @itzgabz22 @mooomuu @micafecitoconpan @beaniebanby @anonymousme23 @theitchbbbb @skit-brentfaiyaz @princessos-blog @elliesbabygirl @the-mrs-steve-harrington @kittenbabe00 @neptunes1nterweb @shinzouwoeren @hetalia-tumbler @hon3y-c0mb @bol0-de-morang0 @thisisketchy @yoongirecs @allofffmypeaches @sasha-glass @taylorwasreading @ela-dahe @emery-333

[novalore]

hello, welcome back to another addition of me reading through the five husbands series. reactions below the cut ⬇️

me literally @ jean because holy fuck. eren had it coming. this karma for manipulating and stealing a married woman from a good man.

also y/n is so dumb, i can’t— bitch, jean kissed you like three times. THREE. made his intentions very clear from the very start and YOU STILL DIDNT SLAM THE DOOR ON HIM WHEN HE BADMOUTHED YOUR HUSBAND (slimy eren) AND STARTED SEDUCING YOU. you allowed that to happen, fr.

FIVE HUSBANDS

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

➙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eren, armin, connie, jean, levi & reiner x fem!reader

➙ 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: after the end of your first marriage, you move on with your newest lover, the musician. however, your current partner isn’t the only one who wishes to have you.

➙ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 18+ ONLY // {N}SFW // MINORS DNI - modern au, fluff, angst, smut (oral & penetration, degrading terms, finishing inside), slight violence, heartbreak, marriage, & cheating.

➙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8k

➙ 𝐚/𝐧: here is a summary of part one.

Eren Yeager was devastatingly beautiful.

It was an indisputable fact; scientists measured the elements of his face and declared the handsome man as the literal definition of physical perfection.

Perhaps, that was why talk show hosts were calling his manager’s phone number daily, especially since People Magazine slapped that pretty face of his across every single form of publication they had, declaring him the Sexiest Man Alive.

As he sat in the purple velvety chair across from Flint Davidson, the lucky talk show host who was able to wiggle their way into the rockstar’s busy schedule, Eren Yeager smiled at the live audience, showing every single attendee why he had effortlessly earned the sought-after title.

“Would you look at that smile, folks?” The overly-enthusiastic host laughed charmingly. “Colgate, if you’re watching this, you better sponsor this guy!”

The audience cheered.

When the applause dwindled down into curious silence, the lights, cameras, and every pair of eyes in the building on the Handsome Man, the interviewer leaned forward in his chair—as if he was a caring, dear ‘ole pal instead of a money-hungry bootlicker—and stared at Eren.

“So, tell me, Eren,” he paused. “As we all know, you’re not the type of guy to settle down into a relationship, am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong,” Eren rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, still continuing to grin politely. He knew where this was going.

“And, on top of that, the women you have been with were all supermodels, actresses, and so on. So, I’m eager to know about what’s going on between you and the cover artist you pulled out of thin air. I mean, she’s gorgeous, isn’t she, folks?”

The crowd cheered once more.

“So,” the interviewer continued. “What’s going on? Are you two together or what?”

In that moment, as the man blinked at him and the audience held their breaths, Eren tilted his head a bit. He had thrived in the spotlight long enough to know the ins-and-outs of talk shows such as this one.

Flint Davidson in particular had called Levi Ackerman’s phone personally, so eager to be the first host and interviewer to get to the bottom of the rumors spreading like wildfire in regards to Eren Yeager’s infamous love life.

“When they ask, tell them the truth,” Levi once advised, leaning against the black, sleek desk in his spotless office. “It’s time.”

Eren sighed softly.

“Yeah. We’re together.”

The crowd briefly started to whoop, but Flint Davidson raised his pale, waxy hand, silencing them as politely as he could.

“Now, now, hold on a minute,” he said. He let his hand drop back onto his brown pants, which were the same shade as his slicked back hair.

“Eren, here’s my concern,” he cleared his throat. “We adore you here in Las Vegas—your fans all over the world adore and care about you—but, a lot of us can’t help but wonder if this new woman in your life loves you, or your wallet.”

Eren frowned. It was a slight downturn of the lips, not enough to showcase the full intensity of the anger he felt boiling through his veins, but enough to show slight, stale, distaste.

“Let me start off by saying that there’s no need for your concern, alright?” He looked away from the host, and at the audience. “I love her, and she loves me. Money doesn’t have anything to do with any of it, okay?”

Flint Davidson nodded. Applause echoed throughout the room.

And with that, the irritating talk show host moved on to another topic.

—

Pretty words.

That’s what you thought when you witnessed the love confession fall from Eren’s soft lips, the very lips that kissed you deeply after he walked through the door belonging to your lavish hotel room suite.

You switched off the television, which aired Eren’s guest appearance an hour after being filmed, and greeted him.

That was when he kissed you. He kissed you as some sort of apology for telling the world he loved you on “live” T.V. before telling you himself.

“Missed you,” he said, breaking the kiss. “Davidson’s a piece of shit. I should’ve never let Levi talk me into doing that interview.”

“It’s fine,” you grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s all just a means to promote the tour.”

Eren sighed softly, pulling his hand away from yours only to take off his leather jacket.

“Did you see him ask me about the tour? Because I sure as hell didn’t,” he frowned. “All he did was disrespect you.”

Making his way over to the kitchenette, the long-haired man poured himself a glass cup of whiskey as he continued to rant.

“I’m not even just talking about the money thing, but a cover artist? You’re not a fucking cover artist. Everyone knows that you’re working on your own music. He just wanted to get a rise outta me, I swear to god.”

“Seems like it’s working,” you teased.

He turned around to lean against the marbled counter. He took a sip of his golden brown beverage.

“Hell yeah, it’s working. I’m tired of this tour.”

“Baby,” you mumbled softly, walking up to him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rested your head against his chest. He was quick to snuggle his arm around you, despite his irritated mood.

“You can’t get tired of touring yet, we’ve barely even hit the road. Not to mention, I think Levi’s adding on a few more shows.”

“Which is your fault, you know that, right?” He smirked. “People wanna see you.”

Shrugging, you turned your head, looking up at him.

“They wanna see us together and pick apart our relationship. We’re gonna have to worry about every little thing we do in public and on stage. That’s gonna be a lot for me to handle,” a frown appeared across your face.

“Look,” Eren placed his cup down on the counter behind him, wrapping both of his arms around you. “Don’t worry about any of that, alright? I was just pissed off earlier. The rest of the tour’s gonna be great. We just gotta deal with a couple of rumors and shit like that.”

You nodded, and Eren pressed a kiss against your forehead.

“I meant it, by the way,” he mumbled.

When you gave him a puzzled look, one that was simply too cute and made him have to fight off a smile, he spoke once again.

“When I said that I loved you during the show. I meant it. I shouldn’t have said it on T.V. before saying it to you first, but it’s the truth.”

You grinned softly.

“I know,” you said sweetly. “I know you love me.”

“Good,” he looked into your eyes. “It’s getting late. You’ve got a big day tomorrow, right? We should go to bed.”

“You’re right. Levi will kill us if tomorrow gets screwed up.”

And, with that, you hopped in the shower with your new lover before crawling into bed together, falling asleep with his arms wrapped around you.

—

That next day, the big day, you awakened to the tantalizing aroma of fluffy eggs, hot french vanilla coffee, and a big, buttery waffle.

Eren was wide awake, dressed for the day in a cream colored button down shirt and black pants, and he rolled the tray of delicious food to your bedside. When your eyes fluttered open to catch a glimpse of the beautiful breakfast—which also included strawberries that looked too pretty for consumption—you smiled up at him.

“Room service here is kinda quick,” Eren yawned. “Faster than any other place we’ve stayed at so far.”

You sat up, rubbing the sleepiness away from your eyes.

“What’s up with the big breakfast?”

Eren grabbed a strawberry, taking a bite.

“Singing for long periods of time makes you hungry. And you’re gonna be in the studio all day,” he started to walk away. “Get up and eat, lazy ass.”

He smirked playfully, a smirk that only grew into a full on laugh and chuckle when you flicked him off.

It was a rare sight. A genuine smile. One that wasn’t forced out of the rockstar who only offered a frown or a smirk at most. And it was a beautiful sight.

As you started to dive into your meal, taking a gulp of the fresh eggs first, Eren returned later with an outfit for you.

Levi insisted upon letting Eren pick out your clothes, as he had been in the industry for years now, and knew exactly what pieces you needed to wear to start building your perfect spotlight image.

Apparently, your old, worn-out blue jeans didn’t fit the aesthetic.

“Clothes are right here, baby.” He said. He grabbed his leather jacket, walking over to press a soft kiss against your cheek. “I gotta go. I’ll pick you up from the studio tonight, okay? Good luck.”

Taking another one of your strawberries, he headed out the door as you said, “bye! Be safe!”

—

The studio was rather impressive. Walking into the lowly lit, red and beige room, you couldn’t help but feel like a kid entering a classroom at a brand new school for the very first time.

“Woah,” you mumbled. “This is…this is really nice.”

Your eyes glanced over the equipment that you couldn’t even begin to figure out how to work. When your eyes landed on the official vocal booth, you were slightly relieved over the fact that all you had to do was stand there and sing.

And finish writing your song first, of course.

Eren’s bandmate, who was not only skilled when it came to playing instruments, but producing and writing lyrics as well, shut the door behind him as he walked in.

“Pretty intimidating to look at, I know, but don’t worry about any of that stuff.”

You nodded, running your fingertips along the foreign buttons of the studio mixer.

“Nervous?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Kind of.”

“Don’t be.”

“Wow,” you rolled your eyes. “Thanks for the solid advice, dude.”

“Hey, Ackerman said we can’t leave the studio until you finish recording your first song.” He sat down in front of a keyboard propped up against the wall. “It’ll take even longer if we gotta keep rerecording because of any shaky vocals.”

“Right,” you mumbled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just…” he waved you over, then gestured towards an empty seat near the keyboard.

The unzipping and rustling of your backpack served as the only source of noise in the otherwise silent studio, as Jean Kirstein curiously watched you pull out your notebook full of song lyrics.

“What the hell is that?” He raised an eyebrow, nodding towards the binded paper in your hands.

“Lyrics,” you said.

“You wrote your own lyrics?” He frowned.

“Yeah,” you paused, handing him the notebook. “I didn’t know shit about writing lyrics at first, but Levi said that people would go nuts if my first song was completely original. Matches the diamond-in-the-rough image, apparently.”

“Let me guess,” Jean said, flipping a page of your handwritten verses. “He had someone give you writing lessons?”

“You know it,” you gave a soft laugh. “And singing lessons, dancing lessons, proper etiquette lessons, stage presence lessons…I could go on. How much time do you have?”

Jean chuckled softly.

“These lyrics are pretty good. Mind if I change a few things?”

You put your hands up, shaking your head.

“You can rewrite the entire song from scratch for all I care. I trust you.”

Jean frowned in concentration. Suddenly, he started to play a couple of notes on the keyboard, creating cords to match your lyrics with a level of expertise that left you wide-eyed and rather impressed.

Truth be told, you didn’t expect that much passion to pour out of his fingertips with every key he pressed. To you—and to everyone, unfortunately—Jean was just The Drummer. Bright spotlights that shined upon his more popular bandmates only created a shadow around him.

And it was rather unfair. He wrote most of the songs. He came up with the peculiar band name—Eldian Devils.

Not only was he creative, but he was kind, too. Although things always tended to get done when Levi Ackerman asked for it, it was still generous of him to drop everything in the middle of preparing to travel to yet another state just to help you write your first song.

“So,” Jean abruptly stopped playing, looking over at you. “Who’s this song about? Eren?”

“No,” you mumbled.

Jean looked away.

It was a love song.

Therefore, if it wasn’t about your current lover, then it must’ve been about your first one.

Your old one.

Armin Arlert.

“Well,” Jean glanced down at the keyboard, tapping away at a few notes. “Does Eren know? That you’re writing a love song about another guy?”

“You’re dumb as hell,” you got up from your seat, hurriedly walking over to the keyboard. “Move. Scoot over.”

Jean suddenly found himself scooting to the left, giving you enough room to plop down beside him.

“Look at the lyrics,” you paused, grabbing your notebook as you pointed towards a few random verses. “The song’s about my first love. About being used and all of that. Not about who I currently love.”

“Still though, it’s Eren. Same man who took you away from the person you’re writing about. There’s no way he’d be okay with this.”

You couldn’t help but stare at Jean.

“Ya know,” you paused. “For the two of you to be best friends, you act like he’s some sort of bad guy.”

“We were best friends. Now we’re just bandmates.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Jean frowned, turning his head to look down at you. “He’s an asshole. He only cares about himself.”

Rolling your eyes was only the most natural response to his accusation. After all, he was talking about the same guy who treated you like a princess, when most people still thought of you as the poor baker from New York.

“I think you’re just jealous of him. And you have no reason to be.”

“Seriously?” Jean’s frown deepened. “No reason? People worship his ass.”

“C’mon,” you paused. “You’re a famous drummer with plenty of fans and money. Your hairstyle is a little funny, but you’re pretty handsome. Tall too. You shouldn’t compare yourself to Eren so much.”

The silence that suddenly struck was only due to Jean taking a moment to appreciate your words. A small smile, a whisper of a grin, briefly appeared upon his face, but it vanished as quickly as it had came. He frowned once again. It was almost as if his true purpose in life was to frown instead of playing the drums.

“It’s like we’re not a band anymore. We’re just Eren’s backup crew. He was my best friend, but…”

“But what?” You blinked at him.

“It’s nothing,” Jean closed his eyes, sighing deeply. “You’re just trying to get out of recording this damn song, aren’t you?”

“No, idiot. We’ve been around each other for some time now, but we’ve never really talked. I mean, I didn’t even think you’d agree to help me with my first song when Levi asked. It’s not like we’re friends, ya know?” You paused, lost in thought, but only for a moment. “Oh shit…am I supposed to be paying you?”

“No,” Jean gave a small chuckle. “I’m doing this as a favor.”

“See? That’s what I don’t get.” Glancing at the grumpy man, you couldn’t help but replay the sound of his chuckle over and over again in your mind. It was as rare as discovering gold. “Are you really this much of a nice guy?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I just can’t help but feel a little protective over you.”

“Protective? Why?”

“You’re dating Eren Yeager, who hasn’t been the best boyfriend to a lot of chicks in the past. Plus, you’re trying to become the next big breakout artist, and Hollywood…can really change you. You seem like a good person. I just wanna watch out for you, that’s all.” Jean faced you. He looked into your eyes, giving the black and white keys of the keyboard a break from his glares. “Remember Eren’s pool party?”

“Hmm…I remember it a little,” you paused, searching your memory. “I was drunk as hell, but…yeah, I think so. Why?”

“Guess who made sure your drunk ass didn’t drown in the pool? And got you back home safely?”

“Really?” You smirked at him with utter disbelief. “You’re the person who took me back to my hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

When the question fell from your lips, Jean looked away from you. Suddenly, he slung his legs over the bench, getting up from the keyboard, making his way towards the door.

“I’m gonna go pick up some food. I’ll be back.”

Before you could utter a single syllable, the door was shut, and he was gone.

—

Hours later, the studio was littered with little white boxes that once held cheap, greasy, and insanely delicious Chinese food.

You both promised to clean it up. Swore upon it, in fact. But right now, you were inside of the vocal booth, recording your first song.

Jean had the privilege of hearing you sing on a few occasions in which you hopped up on stage and did a song or two during their tour, but it was never like this.

Perhaps, he was too busy smashing his sticks against his drums to notice, but your voice was beyond heavenly. As he sat behind the mixer with his eyes on you, his heart started to pound rapidly inside of his chest.

It was more than just your singing.

It was you.

Everything about you.

You were more than just a pretty face. You were more than just a lovely voice. You were a distraction.

What was once muscle memory for Jean, in terms of layering vocals and properly producing a song, was now a struggle, thanks to you. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t even look at you for too long. Not at your soft skin that glowed underneath the shitty booth light, or your pretty lips that were pulled back into a breathtaking smile as you wrapped up your last verse. And—damn it all—your gorgeous eyes that glistened with excitement as you stared at him, eagerly waiting for his feedback.

God, he couldn’t stand it.

“Well?” You said through the microphone. “How was that?”

“Really good,” Jean replied, messing around with whatever buttons he could to distract himself. “Come listen.”

You rushed out of the booth, grabbing a seat beside him as quickly as you could. Your utter excitement warmed his heart in a peculiar way.

Verse after verse flowed through the studio as he played your song, and truth be told, he truly couldn’t focus on how it sounded. He could only flicker his ash-brown eyes across your face, taking in every little change in your expression. And those little changes? Such as the way you excitedly bit your lip or flashed a quick grin?

They all made him want to press his lips against yours.

And he thought about it, sinfully. It was a rather idiotic fixation—at least he was smart enough to know that—but he was falling into the trap.

Or, perhaps, as he recalled the memories of watching over you without anyone truly knowing, he had already fallen.

When the song ended, he was forced back into a harsh reality. A reality where he couldn’t have you.

“The song came out great, Jean!” You smiled, leaning over to press a friendly kiss against his cheek.

A blush as red as a bouquet of roses spread across his cheeks.

If your lips touched his cheek, it could only mean one thing.

He was finally no longer the drummer in the shadows.

He had been seen, even if it was only by you.

“You should really think about becoming a producer full time, ya know?” You looked up at him.

“And leave the band?” He raised an eyebrow. “No way. Can’t do that to the fans, but…thanks.”

“Huh? What are you thanking me for?”

Jean wanted to glance away from you. He should have glanced away from you. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“You reminded me that I’m not meant to live in Eren’s shadow, and that I’m pretty great as my own person. Touring made me forget that things don’t have to be this way.”

Jean wanted to thank you in the special way you had thanked him earlier.

He pressed his soft lips against your skin, but instead of planting a kiss on your cheek, he kissed your jaw. His lips were right above your chin, so close to your lips that it was like a preview to an actual kiss.

And his friendly kiss lingered. And moved further along your jaw.

Even when you mumbled his name, putting your hands against his chest, it still lingered. He didn’t pull away until the studio door opened, and Eren walked right in.

—

Greeting your boyfriend was the only way to break the thick silence, as you gave a cheerful call of his name.

Jean didn’t say a word to him.

“Hey, baby,” Eren gave you a soft smile, leaning down to give you a hug. “Go wait in the car, okay? I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Don’t take too long,” you said, grabbing your bag and your half-full to-go cup before walking out of the door, shutting it behind you.

Jean was about to leave too. He had hoped that Eren wanted to grab something from the studio, pay him no mind, but his hope vanished quickly once he heard the other man speak up.

“Jean, let me talk to you for a minute.” Eren called out politely.

The drummer hesitated. He knew his longtime friend quite well, and recognized the honey-laced venom that fell from his lips as he spoke.

Jean turned around, his hands in his pockets.

When Eren approached him, he smiled threateningly as he spoke.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Eren placed a hand on Jean’s shoulder. He gripped it harshly, and Kirstein could feel the cold metal of his black rings pressing into his joint.

Jean looked into his chilling eyes, and frowned.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Don’t play any fucking games with me.” Eren continued to speak through gritted teeth. “She’s mine.”

It was an indirect threat, one that made Jean clench his fists at his side. As far as he was concerned, his old best friend no longer existed. The sweet childhood memories of skateboarding down the streets of L.A. and licking sticky popsicles were so faint, they might as well have been a dream.

Jean couldn’t help but wonder if the man who was glaring at him now even remembered when they used to make music in his mom’s basement.

Back then, as couple of teenagers prone to mood swings and not particularly talented when it came to the guitar and keyboard—which was unfortunate for Mrs. Yeager, who spent the afternoon listening to the aggravating noise while making a big pot of spaghetti to feed the struggling musicians—it was all about the music, at least.

They had Connie Springer and Marco Bodt in the band back then, too.

Now, it was just Eren, Jean, and the two replacements who couldn’t fill the hole left behind from the absent original bandmates no matter how hard they tried.

Maybe Marco’s death was why Eren changed.

Maybe Connie leaving the band was another reason.

Maybe it was the way no one truly cared about his music the way that he did, but rather, his good looks and striking personality.

Whatever it was, it poisoned him. Changed him. The world’s eyes were always watching Eren Yeager, but his best friend couldn’t even stand to look at him.

“You’re such a damn jerk,” Jean snapped. “You can’t take everything you want like you rule the goddamn world, Eren. You stole her away from her ex-husband, but no one’s allowed to steal her away from you, right? Not until you get tired of her and move on to someone else?”

Eren clenched his jaw. “If you don’t back off, I’ll ruin your entire fucking life.”

—

THREE MONTHS LATER

There was a lot of chatter circulating the golden streets of the rich and famous. If there was one event in which the influential stars of music planned their entire life around, it was the Grammys.

And this year, you would be attending.

“Everyone’s going to pay attention to how an unknown girl from New York will act at a place like the Grammys,” Levi warned, rubbing his eyes to show just how nerve wracking the upcoming event was, as if he didn’t insist upon you going as Eren’s plus one. “So behave. You’re not nominated for shit, obviously, but I set up a small press interview for you. I want you to tell everyone that you’re about to release your very first song soon, okay?”

“What about the other news?” You questioned, hunched over in one of the chairs in Levi’s office.

“Oh, right.” Levi sighed. “Talk about that too.”

When you sighed, it was obvious just how nervous you truly were. After all, you couldn’t imagine that many people would be too happy with the news you had to share.

But there wasn’t any time to worry about it. There wasn’t any time to even think about worrying about it, because before you could process the fact that you would be attending something as legendary as the Grammys, even if it was just as a plus one, the day had arrived.

It arrived with a sense of dreadful excitement and the rushed behavior that everyone in the industry possessed.

You were officially back in Los Angeles, and a team of professional strangers hurriedly slapped makeup on your face, fixed up your hair, and yanked an expensive dress and a pair of heels onto your body, and with that, you and Eren were making your way to the red carpet.

Your lover, who was a professional red carpet walker by now, held your hand the entire time. He held it through the blinding paparazzi lights, through the crowds of people on the way to your press interview, and through every overwhelming moment of flashing lights and misguided directions until you both located Levi.

Levi, and the forty interviewers waiting for you.

“I’ll be right here, baby,” Eren kissed your hand. “Good luck.”

You gave him a confident smile. Perhaps, the lessons Levi put you through were worth it. And as your manager gave you a knowing look, it was a telltale sign to not embarrass yourself. The glare in his dark eyes told you very clearly to not screw anything up.

Cameras clicked and flickers of bright lights flashed once you walked up on the mini stage, taking your place in front of the journalists and paparazzi.

Immediate shouts of your name erupted from the tiny audience, and once you pointed to a blonde lady in the front row, the shouts faded out as she started to speak.

“Good evening, I hope you’re enjoying the Grammys so far,” she paused. “When can we expect to hear an original song from you?”

“Um,” your hesitant mumble echoed. You blinked at the interviewer, who smiled rather kindly. It was a small bit of encouragement, but it was enough. “I’m working on my first song now. It’ll be released relatively soon.”

Calls of your name buzzed around like a beehive. This time, you pointed to an older man dressed in a suit. His thin lips hardly moved as he asked, “how does it feel to be at the Grammys as someone who came from a very humbling background?”

“Well…” you scratched your cheek, “everything’s been happening so fast, I guess I’m not sure how it feels. I haven’t had time to process anything that’s happened.”

“And what do you have to say to everyone who thinks you shouldn’t be here? That you owe it all to Eren?” Another reporter from the other side of the room spoke up. You shifted your feet.

“Um,” you hesitated once more. “I’m only considered a cover artist right now, but with the little success I have earned, ya know, from touring with Eldian Devils and stuff…I owe it all to not only Eren, but to my manager, Levi, as well. And, I don’t think any of it would have been possible if I wasn’t a decent singer, right?”

Small, rehearsed laughter fell from the mouths of a handful of journalists, right before another one caught your attention with a quick raise of their hand.

“And what about your ex?” She paused.

Everyone paused.

“Is it true that your ex-husband pushed for your success? And you left him for Eren Yeager?”

When your eyes flickered between Levi and Eren, it was only because your lessons hadn’t prepared you for a question such as this one.

That was when Eren gave you an encouraging smile. It was the same grin from the night you met. From when he brought you on stage for the very first time.

He believed in you then. And he believed in you now.

“I didn’t come here to talk about my ex-husband,” you said softly. “I’m in love with Eren Yeager, and I’m proud to announce to everyone that the two of us are now husband and wife.”

The bright flash from flashing camera lights bounced off your gorgeous wedding ring when you held your hand up, showing off the product of your secret engagement and private wedding.

It was rushed, but entirely romantic. Being in Vegas was the perfect opportunity for it, according to Eren.

Announcing it at the Grammys was a marketing strategy that Levi cooked up upon hearing about your marriage, having received the news through a phone call while you both went to the beach for a brief honeymoon.

He came up with the idea after yelling at the both of you for leaving Las Vegas the night before a show. The tour came first. It always would come first.

As the hive mind of gossipy interviewers started to buzz with excitement over your announcement—along with trying to be the first ones to publish the news before their competitors—it was quite difficult to deny that Levi Ackerman was a genius.

His marketing strategy worked.

But it wasn’t failproof.

That much was made clear when Jean Kirstein started to make his way onto the stage.

Before you could question the well dressed man, he walked right up to you, and pressed his lips against yours.

The flashing cameras nearly blinded you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t a kind one, either. He kissed you out of pure anger, moving his lips against yours until your breathlessness forced your mouth open, and he took advantage of your pure shock by deepening the kiss and swirling his tongue around yours.

He kissed you like he was pissed off that he had gone his entire life without doing so.

His large hand cupped the side of your face. The audience gasped; others squealed out of pure shock.

The kiss didn’t end until he pulled away. Those dark eyes of his were as blank as a blind man, staring intensely into yours until an arm was wrapped around your elbow, pulling you in the opposite direction.

The person dragging you off the stage gripped your arm like they’d die if they had to let go.

They paid no mind to the way you stumbled over being pulled backwards while wearing a dress and high heels, but you didn’t bother to shout in protest, nor pull your arm away.

The flickering lights from hundreds of cameras worked in your favor once you glanced over your shoulder to see that Levi was the one pulling you away.

And he was beyond pissed.

He could see the headlines now:

Cover Artist F/N L/N Kissed by Eren Yeager’s Bandmate After Announcing her Marriage!

Trouble in Paradise? Eren Yeager’s New Wife Makes Out with Jean Kirstein at the Grammys!

A Secret Affair? Did Eren Yeager’s Wife Cheat on Him with his Bandmate?

Damn it all.

He’d rip Jean apart for this. Then he’d figure out how to fix it. But for now, as he dragged you through the crowd of paparazzi and their life-altering cameras snapping photos of you from every angle, he had to get you back home and out of the public’s eye.

And, more importantly, he had to find Eren Yeager.

—

“…That poor girl had her first Grammys absolutely ruined by Jean Kirstein! Did she even get to see the show, Harrison?”

“Based on what our cameras were able to pick up, it seems like her manager dragged her off of the press interview stage and into a car right after it happened.”

“Such a shame.”

“Well now, Sarah, there is the possibility that she could have been having an affair! She did leave her first husband for Eren. Who’s to say that she wouldn’t leave Eren for someone else?”

“That is certainly a possibility-”

The television, which showed the live broadcast of a popular talk show, was switched off once the front door opened and closed. It took a moment for you to make your way into the grand living room of Eren’s mansion.

But there he was, sitting there, staring at a blank screen.

“Everyone was looking for you,” you said, taking a step towards him.

He didn’t say anything.

“Ren?” You tried once again, “are you okay?”

Dread crawled up your throat, clawing at your insides until you felt small. Pathetic. Like a child getting ready to plead for forgiveness after accidentally eating the last piece of candy.

He still didn’t face you, didn’t give you that encouraging smile you so desperately needed right now, and he said, “No.”

“Why are you acting like this? It wasn’t my fault.”

“I know.”

“Then cut it out!” You forced your wobbly legs to move, to march towards him and stand in front of the couch until he had no choice but to look at you. Tears fell from your eyes, and truth be told, you didn’t want to cry in front of him.

Not now.

When you looked into Eren’s eyes, the split second of courage you briefly possessed vanished.

Those striking green orbs were haunted with steaming anger. His waterline was reddened with revenge.

He didn’t look at you.

His piercing stare looked through you.

It was frightening.

He got off of the couch.

He stood over you, looking down at your fidgety frame with those chilling eyes. You wanted to glance away, but you couldn’t. You could only stare up at him, and wait for him to say something. Do something. Anything.

“You know what’s funny?” he started. He reached out, grabbing ahold of your arm. “I was pissed off at first. I was gonna find Jean and teach him a lesson for kissing my wife like that. But then, I realized something when he kissed you, and it pissed me off even more.”

“What did you realize?”

Eren smiled sadly.

“You never pulled away.”

Scrambling together an apology was the first thing you tried to do, but the words never formed. Half of you expected him to walk away. The other half of you expected him to stand there and demand some sort of excuse.

But he did neither.

Instead, he kissed you. Despite his anger, it was a soft kiss; one that expressed every bit of love and sadness he held in his heart. Knowing that your lips were just pressed against someone else’s made his stomach twist up into knots, and he couldn’t have that. He had to get rid of Jean’s touch—Jean’s unwanted presence.

And, more importantly, he had to remind you that you were his.

—

You were naked, as Eren was quick to snatch every article of clothing off of your body and carry you to your bedroom. He tossed you on his bed like a doll.

Crawling over you, he couldn’t help but admire how devastatingly pretty you looked with those tears from earlier still falling down your face.

His wet tongue ran across your cheek, licking up the tear that fell from your eye. “Such a crybaby.” He unbuckled his belt. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Spreading your legs, he dipped a finger in between your folds, smirking once you instantly soaked his fingertip. You glanced away out of pure embarrassment.

“You’re such a goddamn slut, aren’t you?” He whispered, taking off his pants and giving his cock a few strokes. “Soaking wet and we haven’t even done anything yet.”

He rubbed the tip of his dick against your clit a few times before he finally pushed in, groaning once your tight walls squeezed his cock. “You’re mine, you hear me? You belong to me.”

“Ren,” you gasped.

He filled you up like his cock was made for you, and despite how many times he’s fucked you, you could never truly get used to him.

He started to thrust. Slowly, at first. He moaned softly, his lips pressed against your ear.

“Take it, baby. Just like that,” he whispered.

“Do you know what it was like watching some bastard kiss you? And then seeing you not pull away? Know what that did to me?” Eren started to buck his hips even faster. “Answer me, baby. Tell me who you belong to. Say it. Say it right now.”

“You!”

“That’s a good fucking girl.” Eren pushed your legs back, drilling into you much deeper and faster than before. “Now apologize.”

“I’m sorry, Eren.” You blabbered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’ve been too fucking patient with you, you know that? Too fucking patient.” Eren fucked you and fucked you until the mattress squeaked wildly.

Dots of sweat started to form across his forehead, and he held on to you tightly, fucking you as if you were nothing but a sex toy.

“That mouth is mine. That ass is mine. And that pussy is mine,” he grabbed your hand, showing you your wedding ring, but you were much too dizzy from being fucked silly to truly focus in on it.

“Look at that fucking ring, baby,” Eren said. “I put that on your finger. You’re all mine.”

Eren gripped your hips, claiming your cunt for all it was worth. Skin slapped against skin so sinfully, his heavy balls hitting your ass with every deep thrust.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

Eren leaned down, kissing you quickly, moaning into your mouth as he did so. “Is that all you needed? Some fucking dick to get you to behave?”

“I’m so-sorry…I-I’m close!” You blabbered utter nonsense, every thought that wasn’t revolved around cumming was fucked right out of your pretty little head.

“Don’t you dare cum. Hold it until I’m ready to eat that pussy. You’re not cumming unless it’s on my face,” Eren demanded, closing his eyes shortly after as his own wave of pleasure started to wash over him.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, his eyes fluttering closed. “Shit, I’m right there.”

His rhythm changed. Euphoric pleasure took over, and he sloppily slammed into you as his moans grew louder, your cunt milking him as he finally came inside of you.

He didn’t pull out until his twitching cock poured out every last drop, and when he did pull out, it was only to bring his head down in between your legs.

There was no warning. No cocky remark or comment. He simply dived in, moaning over the delicious taste of your pussy. He licked and sucked at your clit until you were squirming against his face.

“Eren!” You whined.

Eren pulled away from your clit, looking up at you.

“Nuh uh. Don’t you dare pull away from me. You didn’t pull away from him.”

And, with that, he not only proceeded to lick your cunt, but he added two fingers, curling them just right as he pumped them in and out of you. Creamy juices from your cunt flooded his mouth as you moaned wildly.

“Look at you, falling apart all over my tongue,” he said once he pulled away. “We’re not finished, baby. It’s about time someone shut your smart ass mouth. You just need to take my cock down your throat, huh?”

Eren repositioned you to his liking. Off the bed, and on your knees. At the sight of you awaiting his cock, he practically fell in love with you all over again.

Slowly, he slipped his tip between your lips, and as he pushed in further—your tongue rubbing against his sensitive spot—his breathing hitched.

He wanted to truly enjoy your mouth. Pump in and out of your throat nice and slow. But he never could. Not with how amazing your warm and wet mouth felt.

Bucking his hips, he gripped your head and he thrusted himself down your throat.

“Damn it,” he groaned.

He was already close to cumming again. He wanted to savor it, treasure every second and make it all last as long as possible, but with the way your tight mouth worked on his cock, it didn’t take long for him to start cumming once more, keeping your head still as he moaned.

“Swallow,” he ordered, catching his breath. You obeyed beautifully.

Eren smiled, pulling himself out of your mouth. He didn’t kiss you like he normally did. Nor did he offer to wash the sheets or cuddle.

Instead, he walked away from you, left you on your knees, and headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

That night, you both went to bed without saying another word to each other. It was the first time you had ever slept next to him without his arms wrapped around you.

—

You were exposed to the cruel nature of human beings when the news spread worldwide.

Jean Kirstein left the band.

And, according to the mile long line outside of CS Records protesting such a tragedy, it was all your fault.

“I think I should go back home to New York,” you wiped the tears away from your eyes with the tissue that Levi gave you. He looked down at you from where he stood, in front of his desk as always, his arms folded.

“You’re not going home,” he said.

“Why not?” You glared at your feet, more tears spilling down your cheeks with such speed, it was pointless to try and wipe them away. “Everyone blames me for everything Jean’s done so far. Have you-have you seen the letters people have sent to my PO Box? I can’t handle any of it, and I shouldn’t fucking have to.”

“Look at me.”

You didn’t move a muscle.

“I said look at me,” Levi gripped your wet chin. He raised your head until you had no choice but to stare into his dark eyes.

“You’re not giving up, and you’re not going home,” he frowned. “You’re going to release your first song. You’re going to have your first solo performance with your own original music. You’re going to buy your first car with the money all of this publicity is giving you, and you’re going to piss everyone off. Got it?”

“But,” you looked at him sadly. “What about the band? Eren…he says he’s not mad at me, but he barely speaks to me nowadays. And I haven’t seen Jean since that night. And I heard that Armin is-”

“It’s not your job to worry about the band. That’s between me and my pissed off boss. He’s not happy with the way Jean’s making his company look either, but none of that has anything to do with you, alright?”

You nodded.

“Now head home. Get some rest,” Levi released your chin. “Your first show’s in two weeks.”

You nodded once more, getting out of the chair and leaving his office.

“Two weeks, huh?” You mumbled weakly, and sniffled. “Okay.”

—

The fourteen days leading up to your first official concert came much quicker than you expected.

The venue was much smaller than any of the ones you’d admired while traveling with Eldian Devils, but even so, knowing that everyone was there to see you made your hands tremble.

You had fans.

Once again, Levi proved that he was a genius. You’d be singing your first original song tonight, along with some covers in order to have a decently long show.

Cheap tickets.

Lots of security for you.

An outfit that showcased the end of your diamond-in-the-rough era, but that still represented your humble beginnings.

It was all perfect. That’s what you tried to tell yourself as you made your way towards the dark stage, but truth be told, it was the furthest thing from it.

Eren couldn’t come, and didn’t even bother trying to come up with an excuse as to why. But you didn’t have the energy to push for an answer.

Not anymore.

You’d have to fight through your nerves without his encouraging smile.

Without him.

And it was all fine.

Fans cheered for you. Not you and Eren. Not you and the Eldians Devils. Solely you. They sang along to the chorus of your first song towards the end of it, when they started to catch on to the repetition and rhythm. And Levi was happy. Your first show was a success.

And it was all fine…

Making your way through the backstage area was a bit of a blur. Strangers and industry acquaintances all congratulated you on a successful show, and only then did you realize that you had mastered the false smile. Thank yous flooded out of your mouth after every congratulatory sentence. You shook hands. You accepted hugs. And, the entire time, you inched closer to your tiny dressing room until you could finally escape into it and shut the door.

Releasing a breath you truly didn’t realize you were holding, you collapsed down on the couch. You wanted to take a moment to simply…breathe.

But no. Fate had other plans.

Three gentle knocks were heard from your dressing room door. You couldn’t help but toss your head back in utter annoyance, assuming that it was someone else who wanted to offer you an overused congratulations.

When you opened the door, Jean was standing there.

—

Back then, you couldn’t scrape together the words needed to apologize to Eren. And, now, you were just as dumbfounded, stammering out random syllables but unable to scrape together the words needed to tell Jean to leave.

He backed you into your dressing room. He shut the door behind him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You said hurriedly, “get out!”

“I’m sorry,” Jean frowned sadly. “I just had to find you and apologize. I shouldn’t have kissed you at the Grammys, I know that. When I heard that you and Eren got married in secret, I just got so pissed off that he had you and…I’m sorry.”

“Yeah?” You folded your arms. “Well you leaving the band only made things worse.”

“I had no choice,” Jean stepped closer towards you. “I told you once before, but Eren’s not the kinda guy you think he is. After what I pulled, I have to avoid him as much as possible. Where is he? Is he with Levi and everyone else?”

“No,” you mumbled, and the simple word you uttered was laced with sadness. “He’s…not here.”

“Why isn’t he here?”

“I don’t know. He said he couldn’t make it.”

Jean was silent. His eyes flickered as he took a moment to absorb what you were telling him.

“Eren missed your very first concert for no good reason?” Jean paused. “I told you he was an asshole.”

“Shut the hell up,” you sniffled. “He’s only treating me this way because of what you did. Everything was perfect until you-”

“Don’t finish that sentence. If everything was perfect, why did your relationship fall apart over something you didn’t even do?” Jean took yet another step closer. “Unless you did do something?”

“I, uh…” you darted your eyes across the floor. Looking at paint dry would have been easier than looking into his eyes right now. “He thinks I didn’t pull away.”

“You didn’t.”

“I was shocked,” you mumbled. “That’s why.”

“Well, either way, it’s obvious that he doesn’t care about you anymore. If he did, he’d be here.” Jean was close enough for you to smell him. His tall figure practically hovered over you, making you well aware of the wall you found yourself backed against.

His eyes widened in utter surprise when you suddenly looked up at him.

“Fuck you, Jean.”

He smirked. That was when his large hand was suddenly wrapped around your neck, his fingertips pressing into your skin. He didn’t know what it was, but hearing you swear at him, glaring at him with those eyes of yours…It all inevitably led to the hardening of his dick in his pants.

—

This is wrong.

When Jean shoved his hand into your pants, spreading your pussy lips and rubbing circles around your clit, you could only repeat those three little words.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

He pressed wet kisses down your neck, darting his tongue out to taste your skin. Your skin was so soft. Your cunt felt perfect against his fingers.

“Jean,” you moaned softly, and he had to fight the urge to increase his speed. As badly as he wanted to feel you cum all over his fingers, he knew well that patience was key.

Jean pulled away from your neck only to kiss you deeply. This time, he didn’t hold anything back. He kissed you hungrily, swirling his tongue around yours as his finger swirled around your clit.

And—god, it felt so good.

You couldn’t pull away from him once again.

Not even when your dressing room door opened, and holding a bouquet of roses and a bag of gifts stood your husband, Eren.

—

For as long as you’ve been with Eren Yeager, practically glued together since the day you met, you’ve seen just about every single side of him. Witnessed every moment of joy, sadness, humor, and anger.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

This was something deeper than heartbreak.

He didn’t look at Jean, who was quick to pull away from you once the cold air from an opened door hit his back. He only looked at you.

His eyes were filled with as much pain as Armin’s eyes once were.

“Eren…” you mumbled.

But there was nothing to say. There was nothing you could say.

Your husband dropped your gifts on the ground. Within the bag that held your presents was a few pieces of confetti.

It was the confetti from your show.

He collected it.

He watched your first concert.

He was there.

Perhaps, it was silly of him to try and surprise you by making you think he wasn’t going to show up. And, if this was the result, he never would have pursued such a stupid idea.

But, apparently, all of it was stupid. He felt stupid as he stood there, watching his best friend kiss and touch you. He felt stupid as he thought about the day he proposed to you. He felt stupid as he thought about how much he loved you.

Eren slipped off his wedding ring.

He tossed it on the ground with your gifts, and walked away without saying a word.

“Ren,” you called out. “Don’t do this, please.”

Jean followed you both out the door. Eren kept walking. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Eren, we gotta talk about this,” you tried once more, but deep within your ruined soul, you knew well that it was too late.

You stopped following him, but Jean didn’t.

He grabbed Eren’s shoulder.

“Eren, I-”

The drummer was suddenly interrupted when Eren took a step away from him, swinging a hard punch right into Jean’s jaw.

The backstage crowd—paparazzi, journalists, and CS Records employees alike—immediately turned their attention towards the two men, and they all witnessed Eren shoving Jean to the cold, hard ground.

Eren punched Jean again.

Even at the sight of blood, he wouldn’t stop punching him.

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠, & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭!

🏷: @hidansdarling @lilvampirina @okaystopwhore @chrollohearttags @nanamochii @bunny2612 @kazushawty @prettydumbslut @crazychaoticizzy @indigoballad @averysmolbear @seishirogf @6sakusa @levin4nami @chaotic-on-main @sad-darksoul @gwapbby @katestrophes @ventdavi154 @randomrandom122 @svftackerman @musegonemad @inciteterr0r @micafecitoconpan @moonmalice @thehanging-gardens @zeninsbitch @purple-milk24 @itzgabz22 @mooomuu @beaniebanby @anonymousme23 @theitchbbbb @skit-brentfaiyaz @princessos-blog @elliesbabygirl @the-mrs-steve-harrington @kittenbabe00 @neptunes1nterweb @shinzouwoeren @hetalia-tumbler @hon3y-c0mb @bol0-de-morang0 @thisisketchy @yoongirecs @allofffmypeaches @sasha-glass @taylorwasreading @ela-dahe @emery-333

[novalore]

as i return from the depths of hell [fanfic reading hiatus], i will finally start binging again by reading tf out of the five husbands series. i’ve been eyeing tf out of this series since forever and i’m finally dipping the toes in the water, let’s see how this goes. my genuine reactions beneath the cut ⬇️

my genuine reaction when i realized that armin ((the love of my fucking life)) is the first husband. completely forgetting that THIS IS A SERIES ABOUT A Y/N WITH FIVE DIVORCES UNDER HER BELT.

my reaction when armin and y/n finally fucked. dawg i could eat up armin smut all fucking day, for every single meal, 365/24/7 i know his dick game is lip smackin’ good. its always the ((mass murdering)) shy ones you gotta watch for 🤭🥴

MY FUCKING REACTION WHEN THIS DUMB BITCH (me) CHEATED ON ARMIN WITH EREN (he kissed her without consent BUT SHE NEVER PULLED AWAY). LIKE THIS MAN HAS BEEN WITH YOU THROUGH THICK AND THIN, SUPPORTED YOU WITHOUT HESITATION. BROUGHT YOU TO LA, PAID FOR EVERYTHING SO THE TWO OF YOU COULD HAVE A FRESH START. HE EVEN INTRODUCED YOU TO THE BAND MANAGER AND LAUNCHED YOUR CAREER AND YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE HIM FOR EREN⁉️⁉️⁉️ A PUNK YOU’VE KNOWN FOR ALL OF TWO SECONDS⁉️⁉️⁉️ bombastic side eye couldn’t be me (its literally me) i just can’t

HOW FELT WHEN THIS BITCH (literally me) ACTUALLY LEFT ARMIN. SHE (i)BROKE HIS HEART. ALLOWED EREN TO WORM HIS WAY INTO HER (my) HEART (coochie) I HAD TO PUT MY PHONE DOWN FOR TWENTY MINUTES. WHATTHEFUCK I HATE HER (me)

I’m so sorry— Armin— Baby come back, it wasn’t me— I could never— I’m praying that the last husband is Armin because he deserves a thousand suns and moons after being subjected to such fucking bullshit

FIVE HUSBANDS

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

➙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eren, armin, connie, jean, levi & reiner x fem!reader

➙ 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: after decades of being one of the most legendary stars of all time, you reflect on your past with a dear loved one, who is curious about your rise to fame and fortune. you decide to tell them about your five husbands, starting with the very first: your old friend.

➙ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 18+ ONLY // {N}SFW // MINORS DNI - modern au, fluff, angst, smut (oral & penetration, finishing inside), heartbreak, poverty & wealth, marriage, very brief mentions of death & surgery, mentions of hunger. reader has a child.

➙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15K

“Mom? Can I ask you a question?”

A sweet, silvery voice snatched your attention away from the vibrant vegetables and blooming flowers growing in your outdoor garden. 

Standing a mere foot away from the wooden raised bed—holding several well-kept and vividly red tomatoes—was your daughter.

The sunlight made her scrunch up her youthful face. As she attempted to shield her eyes from the beaming sun by placing her hand across her forehead and eyes, she cursed herself for forgetting to grab a garden hat before coming outside.

You had yours, of course. The big, beige, god-given protector was the reason why you had spent hours upon hours in the garden today, and as a result, she had to come outside in the unforgiving sun to find you.

It was rather silly, really.

The gardener was on vacation, and the plants could have survived a few days without being picked, especially with the automatic sprinkler systems coating every inch of the gardening section within the enormous, luxurious backyard.

However, you found yourself falling in love with watching your great variety of fruits and vegetables grow, and you started harvesting the crops for various meals on your own. 

Your dearest daughter flickered her eyes down at the wooden basket packed to the brim with hand-grown lettuce and fresh strawberries. Back in the gourmet kitchen, which had a back door that led to the garden, your personal cook, Chef Ruberski—an older tanned man with a bald head and an adorably chubby belly—was already preparing Champagne Vinaigrette and grilled chicken.

Strawberry chicken salads were going to be served for lunch today. The summery meal was one of your favorites during this time of year, and about three years ago, your then ten-year-old daughter looked up at you with eyes glistening with curiosity, and rather politely, she asked you a simple question.

“Why do you have salads with strawberries in them, momma?”

“It reminds me of one of my ex-husbands.”

“Oh.”

The simple word fell from her lips, but truthfully, she didn’t understand. 

One of your ex-husbands? You were married to someone else before her dad? Or, rather, multiple people?

The thought of it fried her young mind. The sight of you continuing to prepare the salad alongside your personal chef—who had a nice set of hair back then—as if you hadn’t just uttered world-altering information moments ago only emphasized her confusion.

Perhaps, the young girl would have pressed for more information, but as she opened her mouth to speak, a bowl of strawberry chicken salad was placed in front of her.

She had other priorities now. 

It was, however, the only meal you insisted upon making either completely alone or alongside Chef Ruberski. You prepared your daughter’s portion with the nuts on the side and as little vinaigrette as possible.

It was perfect.

Perfect enough to make her sweep the topic under a rug for three years straight.

But now, as she stood tall at the age of thirteen, her curiosity had once again crept up on her, and it was all thanks to the brand new film being made in your honor.

As the child of a singer and a movie star, Nia was used to the lifestyle of lights and cameras, but this was different. You weren’t starring in the movie. You were the movie. 

The overly-eager hotshot director of the biographical drama film wanted the dirty details of your entire history, starting with your unique list of former spouses. 

At one point, while interviewing you in your living room while Nia watched from her spot on the couch, the hungry director suddenly asked the flabbergasted teen how she felt about your previous trial-and-error relationships.

Her silence was the perfect opportunity for you to redirect his attention to another topic; the duo lifestyle of being both an actress and a singer.

Sucked in was he. The creatively-starved director was influenced by your smooth-talking like a spell was casted upon him, and his previous question had fluttered away from his train of thoughts just like that.

But your charismatic nature didn’t work on Nia. And that’s why she was here now, standing in the middle of your garden without her gardening hat. 

“You can ask me anything,” you smiled at your daughter, who fidgeted as she stood there. “What’s wrong?”

She gulped. 

The tingling nerves that made her pick at her nails wasn’t due to any sort of fear. She knew that you wouldn’t yell. She knew that she could honestly talk to you about anything, and that you would tell her the truth.

And, perhaps, that was why her stomach was doing flips like an Olympian. 

In the bittersweet city of Los Angeles, gossip and rumors were a major part of the Hollywood lifestyle. But, for someone as famous as you, gossip and rumors were a major part of your lifestyle from all over the world.

She had seen the US Weekly and TMZ article titles discussing your marital status, old and new, but never dared to read anything below the click-baiting titles.

After all, the context of such catty material would amount to nothing more than rumors, and she wanted the truth.

Even if she was afraid to hear it. 

One of her old friends, the daughter of a Netflix show actress, twirled her honey-blonde hair while sitting on top of Nia’s bed during a sleepover, and looked the young girl up and down before she said:

“My mom told me that your mom was married, like, eight times. The man she’s with now might not even be your real dad!”

A friendship abruptly ended that night. Social media accounts were blocked. Nia never looked back.

Even so, it only fueled her desire to know more about your history, and not from gossipy girls or nosy articles.

She didn’t even want to hear it from her dad.

She wanted to hear it all from you.

“I, um…” She paused, not entirely comfortable enough to look you in the eyes. “I wanna know more about you.”

You gave a light laugh. Soft. Airy. The same laugh that you gave during your interviews to give off the aura of a lovely lady.

Only, when you were being broadcasted in front of a live audience, you’d finish off the laugh by looking away shyly, a soft smile dancing across your face. Perhaps, Nia was taking the role of an interviewer right now. She did have a passion for journaling, after all. 

The difference, however, was that she did not want any sugar-coated nonsense. She wanted the cold truth, and with that, she took a step towards you.

“Can you tell me about your ex-husbands, mom?”

You stared at her. The sudden silence made Nia all too aware of the chirping from nearby birds. She opened her mouth to speak once again, only to close it when words finally fluttered out from between your formerly pressed lips. 

“I was wondering when you would ask me about that,” you leaned over, grabbing the basket of harvested vegetables and fruit. As you walked through your organized garden, your daughter trailing behind you like a lost puppy, you made your way indoors and into the kitchen.

The harvest basket was placed down carefully on the marbled kitchen island, ready to be cleaned and prepped by Chef Ruberski, who was previously seasoning several pieces of chicken.

Upon seeing you, he paused, offering a kind smile that showed off the lovely wrinkles in his face.

“Bountiful harvest!” He exclaimed.

“Well, we did grow a lot. It’s all for my favorite meal this time of year,” you smiled politely. 

“Mom,” Nia suddenly spoke up, grabbing your attention. It was one word, but it carried a heavy thickness to it. A single word that represented several unspoken ones.

“Right,” you said. Turning your attention to the chef, you placed your hands together.

“Would you be so kind as to make us some lemonade? We’ll be on the patio when it’s ready.”

The chef nodded. Several lemons that were harvested a few days ago were sitting in one of the refrigerators, and he grabbed a handful of them. To him, it was rather silly. The way you always asked for favors that were undeniable, unless he wanted to risk losing his job, that is. 

“Of course!”

“Thank you.” You glanced at Nia, nodding your head in the direction of the patio. “Come on.”

She followed you once more. Truthfully, she didn’t expect you to go through such measures when she asked about your past. Not even the official interviewers had handmade lemonade prepared for them. Out of all the scenarios she concocted as an attempt to prepare herself for the moment she’d finally ask you, she had imagined herself receiving a short, stale answer. 

But this? The reality? Having lemonade prepared and escorting her to the luxurious patio?

You were getting ready to tell her a story.

And, god, the patio was luxurious. It was a greeting to the big pool centered in the backyard, and home to two outdoor flat screen televisions, a top notch cooking area complete with a grill, and, of course, a seating area that was just as comfy as the indoor couches. 

If it wasn’t so warm outside, you would have lit the fire pit, perhaps. Instead, you turned on the ceiling fans.

It was lovely. Lovely enough to make Nia wonder if your five marriages had anything to do with it. 

The cloud-like cushions elicited a sigh from you as you sat down. You weren’t as young as you used to be. You were definitely old enough to appreciate a good seat. 

“Alright, sweetie.” You grinned. “May I ask—why the sudden curiosity?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s sudden,” Nia paused. “I mean, I’ve been curious for a while now. I just…I didn’t wanna find out about your past relationships online or through rumors, ya know? And I don’t just wanna hear about your marriages. I wanna hear about your life in general. I wanna know all of it, if I can.”

You nodded. 

“Well, I’ll tell you, hun. You’ll be fourteen in November. I think you’re old enough now to know how your momma was able to afford all this.” You gestured casually at your extragavant surroundings. With a sigh, you crossed your legs, fiddling with your half-a-million dollar wedding ring. And, with that, you told her everything, starting from the very beginning.

Starting with your old friend.

—

24 YEARS EARLIER 

The sweet, yet tantalizing aroma of freshly baked cakes and cobblers filled your nose once you walked through the front door of the tiny bakery.

A centered wooden sign, still flipped to “CLOSED,” dangled against the glass door. Your boss and coworkers were made aware of your entering presence thanks to the gentle ring of the bell, and if you were an ordinary customer, hearing that chime would have prompted an overly-cheery “Hello! Welcome in!” from the bakery employees, complete with a wide smile.

The purpose behind it was to show any potential customers that the employed cashiers and bakers were as sweet as the overpriced desserts and pastries. 

Plus, squinty-eyed smiles made it more difficult for customers to see the hidden exhaustion glistening within your coworkers’ shiny orbs. 

And there was plenty of exhaustion to be seen, undoubtedly so.

The bakery was a tiny, bricked, rectangular shop, poorly lit with warm lights to make everything seem much more cozy, as if they weren’t an expensive bakery in a poor New York City neighborhood where most people would have preferred cheap sandwiches or beer.

Not overpriced heart-shaped cakes.

Being a minuscule shop tucked away in a strip of competitive stores that actually bothered to cater towards the locals meant that your redheaded boss could only afford to have three employees.

Three insanely overworked employees. 

And when you, the last to arrive, walked behind the counter and into the kitchen, your boss and one of your coworkers greeted you. Cecilia was a teenage girl, a fresh and shiny sophomore in high school who wanted to save some money for college.

“Hi,” she greeted you softly, carrying two piping bags filled with creamy frosting from one side of the bakery to the other as she speed-walked. 

“Morning,” you yawned, but she moved with such a hurried speed, it would have surprised you if she actually heard your greeting.

“Hey,” your boss’s raspy voice suddenly grabbed your attention. “Don’t just stand there. Go help frost the fuckin’ cinnamon rolls before we open.”

With a New York accent as thick as the grime in the underground subways, the short woman continued to holler out every few minutes until opening.

Walking around with her black watch inches away from her pale, freckled face, she’d shout “Twelve minutes!” “Ten minutes!” “Six minutes!” And so on.

She was the world’s most obnoxious alarm.

It was pointless, as there wasn’t a soul who had ever walked into the bakery at seven A.M. 

And yet, Cecilia and your other coworker had been working since five A.M. sharp. 

As Cecilia dropped the bags of frosting off at your coworker’s frosting station, she then walked towards the oven to pull out two trays of chocolate chip cookies. 

They were a best seller. About five people bought them daily. 

But it wasn’t your job to help with the cookies being placed on the glass display beneath the cash register. It was your job to help your other coworker frost the cinnamon rolls.

Your coworker picked up one of the bags, the white sleeves of his buttoned up shirt rolled up to his elbows as he started swirling the delicious frosting on top of the fresh pastry. 

After putting your bag away in the back room, you approached him. The warm, yet spicy scent of cinnamon flooded your nose, as he smelled just like it. 

He didn’t hear your footsteps. He didn’t even notice you picking up a bag of frosting.

As he focused on making each cinnamon roll look perfect, you could have set off a fire alarm and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“You’re pretty distracted, huh?” You elbowed his side gently. 

“Huh?” He mumbled absentmindedly, turning his head to look at you with a startled gaze. “Oh, sorry. Good morning.”

“Good morning to you too,” you teased. 

The piping bag made a swirl of fluffy frosting when you squeezed it, moving your arms in tiny circles to get that perfect loop.

It was odd, but your boss insisted upon using frosting for the cinnamon rolls instead of icing or a thin glaze, which were more traditional and common toppings for the rolls. And, every single time you and your coworker were in charge of putting the thick cream on the cinnamon rolls, he’d always complain.

“Frosting on a cinnamon roll? Really?” He’d pout, tossing his frosting-covered gloves in the garbage can. “I think it tastes fine, but it just looks funny, like we got the cupcakes and the cinnamon rolls mixed up or something.”

And, now, you were waiting for him to say it. He’d complain about the cinnamon rolls, and you’d complain about the early hours, quoting your famous complaint, “why do we have to wake up before God just to get no damn business?”

But today, he said nothing. A piece of his hair dangled around his face, shielding the dark circles underneath his eyes from you. 

“You okay?” You questioned, icing your fourth cinnamon roll among the twenty-seven sitting on the prep table in front of you. 

Despite having arrived two hours before you, your coworker was only on his fourteenth roll. On any other day, he would have completed his tray and even taken over yours by now. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Just tired.”

You hummed. A beat of silence passed by, aside from your boss’s irritating call of “four minutes!” in the distant background.

“Did you work last night?” You questioned. 

“Yeah. I didn’t get off until one in the morning.” 

“What?” You frowned at him, although he couldn’t see it, as he stared only at cinnamon rolls. “That’s ridiculous. What happened to getting off at eleven?”

“Weekend,” he yawned. “Chuck’s Place has a special deal on hamburgers every Saturday. More customers…more cleaning afterwards.”

“Damn, that really sucks. That’s exactly why I can’t work two jobs.” You sighed. “When do you finally get an off day?”

“Probably when I die,” he glanced over at you, smirking shyly. A small chuckle rumbled from his throat. It was fitting, as he would laugh at his own joke. “I’m kidding. I’m actually off tonight at seven, and I don’t have to be back at the restaurant until Monday.”

“That’s great!” Smiling at him, you paused. “You better get some rest tonight. You’re literally sleep-walking.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m wide awake and full of energy. You’re just trying to distract me so you can finish your cinnamon rolls before me,” He gave a cheeky grin, and suddenly, he was hunched over his cinnamon rolls, working his arms in circles to complete as many perfect swirls as he could. 

“Oh, are you trying to race me? Really?” You raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I see how it is.”

And with that, the race to finish your batches was on. Perhaps, the competitive nature between the two of you had stemmed from your childhood.

You had both grown up in the same apartment complex. Two wide-eyed kids, curious about the world outside of their raggedy, bricked walls. The lack of money contributed to a lack of space. And, a lack of space contributed to a lack of places to play.

But that didn’t stop the two of you. If anything, it had only strengthened the bond between you. At least, until you were both competing in a very intense game of hopscotch. And, now, when you were both in your twenties and just as poor as you were then, nothing had truly changed. 

It was a bittersweet, and yet, heartwarming realization.

Leaning over your own tray of cinnamon rolls to frost the ones at the other end of your tray, you caught a glimpse at his face. It was plastered with that same sheepish, adorable grin of concentration that he held throughout his entire life.

Suddenly, when his bright eyes met yours, he moved his tray to another prep table. 

“Stop trying to see how many cinnamon rolls I have left,” he sassed, his back now facing you.

“You’re a damn dork, you know that?” You laughed.

During the time it took you and your coworker to finish frosting the last batch of cinnamon rolls, the bakery had opened.

You finished frosting your cinnamon rolls before him. It was natural, as back in the day, you also whooped him when it came to hopscotch. And rock-paper-scissors. And kick-ball.

Therefore, you had bragging rights for the rest of the shift.

And it was a rather long shift. Twelve dreadful hours, and even longer for your other coworkers.

At the end of it, your coworker, with a towel slung over his shoulder and a thin coat of sweat across his forehead, released a deep breath. According to the big clock hanging on the wall in the abnormally small dining area, it was 6:53 P.M.

“We’re almost free,” you said, washing your hands in the industrial sink. 

“Maybe there is a god,” he flashed a goofy smile, snatching the towel off of his shoulder. 

Suddenly, the white, clean, fabric was smacked against your back.

“Ow!” You jumped away from the sink, turning to face him.

“Oh, come on. I barely hit you, how’d that hurt?” 

“What’d you hit me for?” You flicked your fingers at him, flinging water at his face.

“Because, you’re an idiot,” he paused, and suddenly, he grabbed your wrist. Using the same towel that he hit you with, he wrapped it around your wet hand, drying it off. “You washed your hands without grabbing a towel first.”

He grabbed your other hand. He dried it with the towel, but for a longer period of time than what was necessary.

“Hey,” he looked into your eyes. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Suddenly, you were well aware of the fact that he hadn’t yet let go of your hand. And he was close. Close enough for you to see his eyes flickering around your own orbs rather nervously. 

“What is it?”

“Well, I know you’re tired and everything…and I’m tired as well…we’re both tired and probably ready to go home.” He released a shaky breath. “But I was wondering if you wanted to hang out for an hour or two.” 

The way he played with his rolled-up sleeves immediately made your eyes flicker down to his fidgetting hands. It was as clear as the night sky that he was nervous, and the realization made you raise an eyebrow.

“Sure, sounds fun.”  

He released another breath. This one a sigh of relief rather than wrecked nerves. Afterwards, he flashed a beautiful smile. 

“Why are you acting funny? We hang out all the time,” you questioned, walking towards the back room to get your belongings with him following.

“Well, yeah, but…” he paused. “I wanted to do something different this time.”

“Like what?” 

“Come on,” he playfully rolled his eyes. “Stop investigating me and get your stuff before they change their minds and ask us to stay even longer.”

As you reached for your bag, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you out of the door with him.

 Truth be told, he was obviously slightly panicked, but even so, you had no idea just how much his heart was pounding inside of his chest.

His stomach was churning more than a kid who stuffed their face with all the desserts at the bakery.  Looking away from you was the only way to hide the hint of blush spreading across his cheeks. 

It was true. You did hang out all the time, even as hard working adults.

But this was different.

Or, at least, he hoped that it would be different.

While he appreciated your friendship—which lasted almost two decades—he didn’t want to be friends with you anymore.

He couldn’t stand being around you and having to stop letting his eyes flicker down to the lips he so desperately wanted to feel against his own.

Every night, as he drifted off to sleep with the moonlight shining through his curtains, he imagined what it would feel like to have your lips melt against his in a passionate kiss. His favorite scenario was kissing you right in the bakery. The idea of your soft lips tasting like powdered sugar after having it fly around you all day long made him melt.

He’d cup your cheeks softly, and lean in, and he’d kiss you. He’d feel your gentle breath patting against his face. If he was lucky, it would be a kiss that lasted for a long time, one that would leave the both of you breathless and begging for more. 

And most people don’t think about making out with their best friend.

But he didn’t want to just kiss you.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He had already known you for the majority of the time he’s been on this damned earth, and he wanted more.

More, more, and more.

Being with you but not truly being with you was like having an itch that begged to be scratched. 

And he didn’t know what it was. Was it due to the good ‘ole days of playing silly games all afternoon and then going to your mom’s house for dinner? Was it due to your beauty? How insanely stunning you looked even after working a twelve hour shift, or when you had an attitude over something and you’d pout, which he found absolutely adorable?

Or, was it due to the time he first heard you sing? It was a simple tune, one he couldn’t try to recite even if you paid him, but god, he loved hearing your fluttery vocals. It made his heart swell, and it was probably the day he had fallen in love. 

Maybe it was everything. Maybe it was just fate.

Either way, Armin Arlert was falling in love with you, his childhood friend—if he was not already completely smitten—and he had absolutely no idea what to do about it. 

But he was determined to figure something out.

—

Walking down the street with him was an ordinary thing. His hand holding yours was not. 

The gentle gracing of his thumb across your hand made you look up at him, his face only visible in the darkness of the night thanks to the yellow streetlights and the bright lights from convenient stores you walked past. 

“Hey, are you gonna tell me where we’re going or not?”

“Nope.”

“I kinda feel like I’m being kidnapped right now, ya know. Because of all the secrecy.”

“Well, you’re not.” He blinked down at you. “Besides, anyone who’d kidnap you would bring you back immediately. No offense.”

You playfully snatched your hand away from his. He didn’t mind, though, as soon enough, you were both standing outside of a tall and narrow abandoned building.

The brown and bricked nature of it showed its age, and the obvious abandonment and lack of upkeep had done it no favors.

Local children would have probably regarded it as a haunted house—or, rather, a haunted building—a place to visit on Halloween while dressed up in costumes that their mothers slung together based on pieces of random clothing and little trinkets that could be glued together. 

If you had a blue shirt and a red jacket, the sleeves wrapped around your neck like a cape, then you could march up to your friends on October 31st, strike a superhero pose, and tell everyone that you were Superman. 

The kids always, without fail, would mess around outside of the abandoned building, daring each other to step through the front door. No one ever did.

Except you and Armin.

But it wasn’t a test of courage, nor was it a haunted house in your eyes. It was a place to view the stars. As kids, you’d run up the raggedy flights of stairs, open the latched door to gain access to the roof, and from there, the entire galaxy was at the mercy of your curious eyes. 

You hadn’t seen this place in years. Before you could ask him why he brought you here, he was grabbing your wrist once again. It was a specific behavior that had stuck with him since his childhood. 

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go.”

—

When your world had become a swirling mess of chaos, blinded by the struggle of trying to survive in one of the most undeveloped corners of the Big City, it was easy to forget about the stars above.

How beautiful they were.

The night sky never failed to remind you of just how small you were, and thus, when the world felt enormous, looking up was exactly what you needed. 

A nightly breeze greeted you once you stepped out onto the rooftop.

“We haven’t been up here since we were kids,” you said, following Armin to the edge of the roof.

The best spot. 

“You say that like we’re old or something. It hasn’t been that long.” As he sat down, he gave a small chuckle.

“It feels like it. I almost forgot about this place. Can’t believe we used to just come up here and talk. I guess we never have the time to do things like that anymore,” you paused, sitting down next to him. “Is that why you brought me up here? Did you wanna chat or something?”

“I…well, yes and no. I just wanted to spend time with you. I couldn’t think of a better place.”

“Well I could. A damn restaurant with food, maybe? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the stars are beautiful and the nostalgia is hitting me like crazy, but with the way you were acting today, I thought that we were finally gonna go on a date or something.” You teased him, glancing at the side of his face.

“A…date? You wanna go on a date? With me?” He scratched his cheek. As he spoke, his voice carried a tone of sudden shyness, and it served as a reminder that typically, he was a more reserved person.

But never around you.

It was familiar and concerning at the same time.

“I don’t know. It just feels like…I don’t know.” Now it was your turn to feel the prickle of shyness.

Truth be told, you always teased your old friend when it came to the topic of dating, even going as far as pretending to be a couple during your freshman year of high school for the hell of it. Nothing had ever progressed beyond innocent hand holding, but even so, the implication of romance with him felt as natural as breathing. 

But not right now. In this moment, it was like trying to learn how to juggle with one hand. Juggling both the teasing nature of your friendship and the reality you both wished for.

“Well, I think that dates aren’t exclusive to nice dinners. Maybe…we’re on a date right now.” 

“We’re on a damn roof, Armin.” 

“Yeah. On a date.”

“Cheapest date I’ve ever been on, that’s for sure.” You smirked. Snatching off your jacket, you bunched it until it resembled some form of a pillow. It did little to cushion your head when you laid down the roof, nothing within your line of vision except the bright stars. 

Armin did the same thing with his jacket. He released a breath as he laid down beside you. 

“Have you ever even been on one before?” He mumbled.

“You mean a date? Yeah, a few.”

“How much is a few? One? One-and-a-half?” 

You elbowed his side as he teased you. A short burst of laughter escaped from you both.

It was a sound that Armin wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

“Bold words for someone who calls stargazing a date. You could’ve at least brought wine, or a sandwich.” You paused, frowning a bit. “And, it’s kinda hard to find someone to date when you and I have been stuck together like glue for our entire lives. Sometimes I have to remind myself that we aren’t actually dating. It doesn’t really matter, though. There’s no one I’d even wanna go out with in this shitty part of the city. People can’t even afford to take care of themselves, let alone afford to go out on dates or get a day off to do it.”

“You’re right. It’s shitty. But…I still plan on taking you on a date—a real date—some day.”

“Really?” Suddenly, you sat up on your elbows, looking over at him, a humorous smirk plastered across your face. “And where are you gonna take me? Chuck’s Place? See if they’ll let us have the leftovers after they close?”

“Hush. I’m being serious,” he said, sitting up on his elbows as well. “Your mom has fed me so many times when I was a kid. The least I can do for her in return is take her daughter on a nice date. And when I do take you on one, it’ll be amazing. Fancy outfits. Steak and Lobster. Lights so low that we can barely see each other. And the lights will be low to set the atmosphere, not because they can’t afford to have them turned on.”

“Haha.” You mimicked a stale laugh.

“I told you I’m being serious.” 

“Serious?” Your frown deepened. You pushed yourself off of your elbows, sitting up completely as you turned to face him. “Armin, we’re one step away from being homeless. Everyone on this side of town is. It’s only a matter of time, so there’s no sense in dreaming about fancy dates and shit.”

Your words caused a bit of sadness to prickle at your own heart.

And Armin could see the hopelessness reflected in the windows to your soul.

He wanted to fix it. He wanted to give you the world, and the bright stars above as well. He wanted to see you smile; not as a temporary sign of your mood. Not because someone said something funny or because you were being polite and friendly. He wanted to see you smile as a reflection of your mental state. 

Pure and utter happiness.

Armin bit his lower lip, his beautiful blue eyes—which, without fail, always made the stars seem like plain rocks—flickered off to the side as he started to think.

Oh, how you loved his thinking face. Even more so, you loved the look of pure satisfaction afterwards, when he had come up with an idea or solution and his eyes would widen a bit, and those pink lips of his would grin softly.

Most times, his solutions to any issue would come like a breath of fresh air. Like a cartoon character from a kid’s television show solving a problem and going “Ah Ha!” As they pointed their finger in the air. 

This, however, didn’t hit you like a breath of fresh air. This time, his brainy solution hit you like a speeding car, knocking the air right out of your lungs. 

“Then let’s leave.”

“What?” You questioned, not knowing if you had heard him correctly.

“Let’s leave town. Let’s leave New York.”

“What are you-”

“You were right when you asked if I brought you up here to talk, because I did. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go with me.” Armin sat up. He moved closer towards you. His eyes darted across the puzzled look upon your face.  “Don’t look at me like that. If we stay here, we’re just asking for poverty and homelessness for the rest of our lives. There aren’t any opportunities here. But…maybe if we left, we could have a chance.”

“Armin, we can’t just get up and leave. How are we supposed to afford to do all of this? Where would we even go?” 

“I…I have more money than you think.” He admitted softly. 

“What? How?” 

“Let’s just say that I’ve gone to bed hungry most nights for the past year.” He looked down at his twiddling thumbs. “We could do it. We could rent a car and go anywhere we wanted. Stay in motels until we get on our feet and have enough saved up for a real place. I was always planning on leaving, but…not without you.”

There was a thick moment of utter silence—aside from the chatter of citizens walking along the streets below, or the sound of cars, of course—and you finally spoke again, relieving him of living in the aftermath of his bold words.

“Couldn’t leave me here, huh?” You said with a bit of a teasing tone, but truthfully, you weren’t trying to joke around with him this time. You were trying to buy yourself a couple of moments to think.

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like charity. That’s not it. I mean, I can’t leave you, but it’s because I want you to come with me. I want us to be together.” You could hear the slight shakiness to his voice as he spoke. Even so, he continued on, bold enough to not even think about looking away from you. “Listen, I know it sounds scary, but-”

“I’ll go.”

“What? Really?” He raised his eyebrows, his heart beating rapidly out of pure shock.

Half of him had imagined that he didn’t hear you correctly, as there was no way you’d actually go with him.

Want to be with him. 

Since when was he ever so lucky? Since when did fate decide to show him a little bit of pity and mercy? The universe had taken everything from him before he was even old enough to know how to spell the word “universe.” 

He was only five when he awakened in a hospital bed, the sole survivor of the car crash that killed his parents.

After going through a handful of surgeries, he moved in with his grandfather. He moved into your apartment complex.

He was only six when he discovered what bullying was, as well as the stomachache from going to bed hungry.

Even so, that was when he also discovered friendship.

Through you. 

And you were with him when his grandfather passed away as well. 

And when he had to drop out of high school at the end of sophomore year to work full time as his only source of survival. 

And, damn it all, he wanted to be there for you as well, and not because he felt like he owed you, but because you genuinely made his heart stop whenever you smiled at him. Because you made the peculiar thing called life worth living. You made him want to continue breathing. 

And he was in love with you.

“Just tell me one thing. Where exactly do you plan on going?” This time, it was your turn to look down at your fingers. You picked at your nails as you awaited his response.

Armin smiled at you. There it was. That big, wholesome, show-stopping smile. A smile that should have been on billboards for dentist advertisements.

He sighed all dream-like, staring deeply into your eyes with a look of blissful hope.

And with that, he told you where he wanted to take you. 

“California.”

—

You had imagined the day where you packed up all of your belongings and left your apartment complex behind several times before.

However, those scenarios were always concocted out of worry. Fear. Mainly with an eviction notice taped to your brown front door. But, in reality—this utterly insane, thrilling reality—you were shoving a handful of precious items into a big bag on purpose.

“This is insane,” you mumbled to yourself. 

Three days had flown by. It was a peculiar short period of time in which you and Armin tried to get your affairs in order. Truthfully, it didn’t feel real.

Even as you and him worked your very last shift at the bakery, a shift that your dear boss made sure was a living hell as some sort of punishment, you always hovered around him, patiently waiting for him to look at you and say, “I’m just joking, we aren’t going anywhere.”

But no.

Instead, he rented a car. 

It was a cheap one, rolling down the highways as slow as Christmas, but when the radio was blasting good music, the both of you singing along loudly while ignoring the passersby who flicked Armin off for driving too slow—as if he could help it—everything felt perfect. 

It took an entire week to travel across the country. Some nights, you slept in motels. Other nights, right in the car. 

Driving through a handful of states made it worth it, especially for Armin, who would have never guessed that you’d be the type of person to make him pull over if you saw something interesting, nor the type to get excited over animals you caught a glimpse of.

“Look!” You gasped, pointing out of your window. “Did you see those horses?”

“No, I’m driving.”

“Turn around then.”

And, just like that, he was headed in an entirely different direction. But, as he watched you cautiously approach a steed in the middle of some empty fields, perhaps philosophers were speaking their truth when they said it wasn’t about the destination, but the journey. 

When you arrived in Los Angeles, you were as excited as a blind man regaining his vision. A kid looking at Christmas lights. 

All of it fascinated you, from the sunny weather and the Hollywood sign, to the motel you’d be staying at until further notice.

You and Armin pulled into the parking lot, stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut.

“Oh my god,” Armin looked at you, utter surprise written across his face. He was in pure disbelief.

“We did it. We actually fucking did it!” You said, smiling widely. 

Armin grabbed your bags. After checking in, he led you into the motel. 

It was certainly nothing fancy. Yellowing walls, a comforter that could have dated back to the 60’s, and the carpet wasn’t exactly cushy. 

But it was fine. 

It was enough to bring a smile to your face. 

You turned to face Armin as he shut the door behind you, tossing your bags on the bed.

“Listen,” he started. “I know it’s rough, but it’ll get better. Trust me. I’m gonna start searching for a job tomorrow, and-”

“Shh. Let’s not worry about that right now. We’re actually in Los Angeles. We made it.” You reached into your bag, pulling out a cheap bottle of red wine and some cups you bought during one of your grocery store runs. “I think we should celebrate.”

Armin smiled, taking the cups from you and sitting it on top of the nightstand, and he poured two cups of wine. 

“There’s something funny to me about pouring wine into paper cups,” he said, walking over to hand you a drink as you sat on the edge of the bed. He sat down beside you.

“Well, until we can buy us some glass cups…” You started, raising your beverage.

“And have a place to put them…” He added on, bumping his cups against yours.

“Cheers,” you said in unison.

You both chuckled, taking a sip of wine. 

A few sips later, you and Armin ended up chatting about everything and nothing at the same time. Talking to him was lovely, especially when it was about nothing in particular. The weather. Childhood memories. Dreams for the future. The last time you saw a spider. 

But, suddenly, a question that you had been rotating around in your mind had come to the surface, perhaps thanks to the effects of the wine moving through your system.

“Armin?” You called softly.

“Hm?” “Why California? Why L.A.? Shouldn’t we have gone somewhere with a lower cost of living?”

“That would’ve been smart, but I picked this place because I think you could truly become a successful artist.”

The words fell from his lips so casually, as if you were both still chatting about the weather. You looked up at him, giving him the same puzzled look as you did the very day he asked you to come to California with him.

“You can look at me like I’m crazy if you want, but I remember seeing you star in that one musical back in high school. You were amazing. And, I always hear you humming to yourself at work. You’re better than most actors and singers who are making millions right now.”

“Okay, you’ve had too much wine.” You teased, grabbing his empty cup so he couldn’t pour himself another one.

“You’re such a pessimist,” he frowned. “Whether you believe me or not, it doesn’t matter. I’m still gonna try. Until then, I’ll flip burgers. I’ll paint houses. I’ll do whatever I have to do to support us.”

Suddenly, you weren’t looking into his eyes anymore. You were looking down at the last sip of red wine at the bottom of your cup. 

“Us…” you mumbled.

“Yeah, us. Me and you.” His gaze burned into the side of your face, as he stared at you for a moment before he spoke again. “What’s wrong?”

“All this talk about your dreams and spending our lives together and making it work,” you sighed. “I’m happy, don’t get me wrong, but what does it really mean? What are we? Are we just doing all of this together as…friends?”

Your words had caught him by surprise. You could tell by the way that familiar faint blush spread across his cheeks. At the same time, he anticipated this. 

“I-I…well, I was hoping not. I just don’t know how to really…express how I feel,” he mumbled.

“Give it a try.”

“It’s not that easy.” Armin turned away from you. This time, it was your turn to gaze at the side of his face. His eyes darted across the patterns among the dingy carpet. It was easier to look at that than you. “Do you know how hard it is to tell someone how you feel about them? And risk them not feeling the same way?”

“Telling me how you feel is scarier than dropping everything and moving across the country with me?” You folded your arms across your chest. 

“You don’t get it,” he said. His tone was flat. Stale. 

“Armin, I’ve been by your side since we were kids. I think you know I feel the same way about you as you do about me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now. I don’t-”

“I want to marry you.”

You blinked. You had to take a moment to process his words.

“I…what?” 

“Exactly,” Armin mumbled. “Do you know how crazy it is to tell someone that you’ve never even kissed before that you want to marry them? We’ve never…I’ve never held you, never touched you, but I still want to wake up next to you every single day. I don’t care if it’s in a mansion or on the side of the road. I just want to be with you. That’s it.”

The ringing silence was deafening. 

“Say something,” he looked over at you, desperately wanting to end the quietness that almost drove him crazy.

“Sorry. No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.” You replied softly. Suddenly, you were about to get off of the bed, preparing to push yourself up.  “I need some more wine.”

“Wait,” Armin said, grabbing ahold of your wrist, keeping you there. “Listen. We don’t have to do any of that any time soon. We don’t even have to date. I’m fine with being your friend-”

“No, no, no. You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m just nervous, and I don’t wanna mess anything up.” You gulped. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Hearing you speak so softly, a hint of nervousness within your voice, made his stomach do a cartwheel. Seeing your eyes glisten from the tipsy aftermath of wine, along with the soft pout of your lips, did very little to settle the butterflies he felt. 

Damn it all.

You were just…so cute.

Cute in a way that made him want you desperately. He didn’t even know how he wanted you, but he knew that he needed something more than late night convos. He needed something better than words. 

His eyes flickered down to your lips. 

“Do you trust me, then?”

“Yes-”

The words had barely fallen from your lips by the time Armin pressed his own against yours.

They were as soft as he imagined. He got a taste of red wine as your mouth melted against his in a way that made him forget how to breathe. The muscles within his body instantly relaxed when he kissed you passionately. It was like laying in bed after a long work shift. There was a sense of belonging, as if your lips were meant to touch like this. 

Still, he wanted more.

He deepened the kiss. He took advantage of the little gasp you released by gently inserting a bit of his tongue into your mouth. It wasn’t enough to overwhelm you, but enough for him to have just a little taste.

A moan rumbled out of his throat pathetically. He couldn’t help it. As he flicked his tongue against yours, feeling bold enough to insert even more of it into your mouth, he swirled his tongue around your own. You tasted more delicious than any of the desserts at the bakery. 

He broke the kiss only to catch his breath. When he did that, a needy whisper of his name fell from your lips, and, god, his cock instantly started to harden, testing the elasticity of his jeans. 

If your mouth tasted as good as he had imagined after years of daydreaming about your first kiss, then he had to know if your pussy was just as wonderful.

So, when you were sprawled out across the bed, helping him unbutton your jeans as he bit your lower lip, he released a small whine in pure anticipation. He was so excited to taste you. 

It was hard to stop kissing you, though. He just had to give your tongue a few more swirls with his own, and suck on your little wet muscle before releasing it with a small groan.

He then lowered himself in between your legs, pulling down your underwear as he made his way down your body.

And there it was. Your glistening cunt. Pure heaven.

“May I?” He said breathlessly. 

“Such a gentleman,” you grinned. “You can do whatever you’d like.”

He bit his lower lip. His fingers slowly spread your pussy lips wide open. It was like he was a starved man getting ready to eat his favorite meal, and oh, was he hungry.

“You’re soaked down here already. Just from kissing me?” 

He looked up at you through his pretty eyelashes, false innocence written across his face. 

“Armin,” you whined, frowning at him. “Don’t tease me.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. 

There was some truth to his words. Teasing a beautiful cunt that he had the privilege of touching, licking, and fucking would have been cruel to not only you, but him.

Even so, he also wanted to take his time with you, and savor every second his wet tongue could run across your pussy.

There was no need to continue daydreaming. Pearly white ropes of cum shot out of his dick and painted his fists plenty of times over the last several years as he jerked off to the thought of fucking you, and he’ll be damned if he missed out on the real thing. 

He pressed his tongue against your hole. Licking from your tight entrance all the way up to your clit, your entire body tensed up. He wrapped the hand that wasn’t holding your pussy lips open around your thigh.

When his tongue went over your little button, you clenched at his blonde locks, so he continued to lick at your warm and wet clit. He took it into his mouth, sucking on it, and moaning at the taste.

Bolts of pleasure shot through your veins until your legs started to thrash around his head, but he wasn’t letting up. He wanted you to cum all over his face, and your sweet taste flooded his senses until all he could think about was eating your pussy. 

“You taste so good.” He mumbled against your clit. “So, so good.”

“Oh god,” you moaned, certainly loud enough for guests on the other side of the wall to hear. 

Beats of sweat started to form across your forehead. He ate you out hungrily, yet lovingly, so eager to please you and doing it so deliciously that both your heart and your cunt throbbed at the same time. 

That was when he applied more pressure. He worked his tongue in circles at a quicker speed. He needed to make you cum more than he needed anything else in the world right now. 

And hearing your sweet moans, feeling your fingers in his hair, and tasting your juices that started to flood his mouth…it all made him grind his clothed crotch against the mattress.

When you finally came on his tongue with a moan of his name and your legs trembling around his head, his own dick had smeared his precum against his underwear.

Your juices were lapped up like it was his job, smeared all over his mouth like a kid diving face first into a birthday cake.

Pulling away from your clit was almost painful, but he wanted to fuck you so badly, he was starting to become worried over how hard his dick was over the thought alone.

“I wanna go inside of you.” He said breathlessly, looking up at your orgasmatic face. “Can I fuck you? Please?”

“Yes, please fuck me.” You mumbled. “I said you can do whatever you’d like.”

As he crawled over your body, he smiled.

It was a soft smile. A huge contrast from the way his hard dick started to push inside of your hole.

Seeing the look upon your face, the little gasp from how his cock filled you up, made him feel like a sinner. 

 “Say it again.” He demanded. Buttery lips were pressed against your ear as he whispered. “Say it.”

“Please fuck me, Armin.” You begged pathetically. You tried to move your lower body around in any sort of way to create any sort of movement. Seeing you become so needy for him made his heart pound rapidly within his chest. 

He couldn’t withstand the sin of teasing you much longer. He thrusted in and out of you slowly. Your warmth greeted him with a familiarity that didn’t actually exist, all as a sign that, perhaps, he should’ve started fucking you long ago. 

“You feel so good, baby.” He moaned softly, your walls squeezing him as your cunt tried to adjust to the cock suddenly within you. “Can’t believe I waited this long. Do you know how much I wanted this?”

He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear. Building a steady rhythm as skin slapped against skin, the headboard banging against the wall as the mattress squeaked from his heavy thrusts, he whined. 

His cock was so, so sensitive. And seeing your pretty little face staring up at him with nothing but lust in your eyes could’ve made him cum right then and there.

“You like that? Does it feel good?” He gently kissed your jaw. 

“Y-Yes,” you moaned. “Go faster, I need it…need you.”

Your wish was his command. No time was wasted as he repositioned his hips, pushed your legs back further towards your chest, and fucked your cunt like you were a slut from a local bar.

Your wet pussy was turning him into a mess of a man, milking his needy cock for all he was worth, driving away any thoughts that weren’t related to your sweet cunt and cumming inside of it.

“I-I can’t hold it much longer,” he warned, and yet, he never slowed. Your boobs were bouncing so deliciously against his chest. He so desperately wanted to take one of your nipples into his mouth and give it a swirl with his tongue, suck on them until they were nice and hard, but he couldn’t do anything except clench the sheets and pound in and out of your pussy.

“Armin,” your soft moan flooded his ears, making his hips stutter. 

“I can’t hold it if you keep moaning like that, sweetheart.” His mouth was hung open, his breath gently patting against your face, his sweaty forehead pressed against yours. “Oh fuck. Can’t huh-help it.” 

“I’m gonna cum,” He warned, his rhythm growing sloppy. “Shit, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum.”

Suddenly, his hands were underneath your knees, shoving your legs back as far as they could go. He fucked you and fucked you until you could no longer catch your breath long enough to even moan.

You could only take it, embrace your second orgasm and pray that you wouldn’t fall through the mattress.

He was right there. He was so close. And when your own juices started to spill around his cock, an overwhelming wave of pleasure washed over him until he started to tremble.

“I’m cumming!” He moaned.

Jets of his hot cum spilled deeply inside of you. Fighting to catch his breath, he pressed his dick in as far as he could, squeezing your legs as his cock throbbed and poured out every last drop of his milky sperm. “Feels so good, I fucking love you. Love you so much, baby. You’re all mine, you hear me? All mine.”

With his dick still inside of your warm cunt, he leaned down to kiss you deeply. You both moaned as your wet tongues swirled around each other once again. 

When he pulled away, a string of spit falling from his lips, you gave him a tired smile. 

“I love you too,” you said.

—

When searching for a job in a city such as Los Angeles, one must excel within specific categories of street smarts. 

Talent, charisma, and manipulation. 

Luckily, for Armin, the high school dropout with a couple hundred bucks to live off of, having some degrees to wave around meant nothing to the snobby, talent-seeking soulsuckers of Hollywood.

All they cared about was money. 

And if you didn’t have any, then you better have a way to make them some. 

And oh, did he have a way. A diamond in the rough. Someone who was multi-talented, beautiful, and came with the perfect sappy backstory.

All he had to do was get someone to listen to him. 

Until then, he spent his days working with a construction company for a few bucks an hour. As they built doors to houses and assisted bigger companies for hours upon hours underneath the hot sun, fate decided to act in Armin’s favor once again.

His coworkers consisted of five beefy men, and a woman who was just as strong, if not stronger, than them. And that woman was secretive. Her face was always as blank as a blind person, but she had bothered to listen to Armin ramble on about his past while they munched on sandwiches during their lunch break, drinking sodas as they sat on the curb. 

“…and when I was in high school, I had to drop out. I had to work if I wanted to support myself. New York doesn’t care about any communities that aren’t Manhattan.”

“I see,” the dark haired woman said, chewing on a potato chip. “Los Angeles is the same. No one ever bothers to look beyond Hollywood.”

Armin lifted his construction hat off of his messy hair, running his hand through the sweaty strands.

“If you’re working for these guys, I can only assume you know a thing or two about poverty, right?”

She was quiet for a moment. Hesitant to share her truth. But no one had bothered to get to know her like Armin did, and after weeks of working side by side, she developed a thick layer of trust with him.

“Actually, you’re wrong,” she confessed, looking down at her bitten sandwich. “I’m pretty well off. My adoptive parents had tons of money. My dad was a doctor, and my mom had a successful catering business. But…my brother, he’s different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Well,” The young woman hesitated. “He’s Eren Yeager.”

Armin chuckled a bit, resting his chin in the palm of his hands. 

“Yeah right,” he grinned, looking out at the construction site. “Hilarious.”

“You don’t believe me?” She turned her head to look at him.

“Of course not,” he frowned. “Why would you work here if you’re related to a famous rockstar?”

Dropping her head to the ground, she gazed at her dirty black boots.

“Just because my brother’s interested in money and fame doesn’t mean that I am. I like to keep myself grounded. Do things that most people wouldn’t do if given a choice.”

Armin looked at her curiously. 

“I still don’t believe you,” he sighed. “But let’s say that you are telling the truth, Mikasa. Engaging in jobs and communities meant for poor people shouldn’t be a hobby of yours. It’s only fun and interesting to you because you have a wad of cash to fall back on. Not to be harsh, but, did you ever consider that you took this job away from someone who really needed it? All because you don’t like luxury? Because, trust me, you wouldn’t like poverty either.”

Armin folded up the rest of his sandwich. He wasn’t hungry anymore. 

“I, for one, would give anything to have the opportunities that you and your brother have had. I’m not very talented, but the woman that I love? The one I was telling you about? She’s more talented than any singer I’ve heard on the radio. She can sing, act…she can even make flan. But right now, she’s sitting in a motel, waiting for me to come back and give her the other half of my sandwich.”

Mikasa was silent. The zooming of cars in the distance—along with an occasional honk or brief blast of music—filled the quietness until she spoke again. Only, this time, her hushed tone was thick with guilt. The said guilt made her shift awkwardly on the side of the curb where she sat. 

After all, he was right. Her attempts at keeping herself humble had only hurt people.

People like Armin.  

“Can she really sing?” Mikasa questioned.

“Yes.”

Armin could tell that the woman was thinking. What about? He had no idea. 

“Bring her to the Hudson Stadium at seven P.M. in one month. Eren’s band is performing there. I’ll…I’ll get you guys some backstage passes, and introduce her to Eren’s manager. Maybe he can help.”

Mikasa pushed herself off of the curb. Before she left, she pulled out her wallet. Right in the front display pocket was a photo of her family.

Herself, her mom, her dad, and Eren Yeager.

“Proof,” she said flatly. “Consider this to be my apology.”

She started to walk away, but the guilt was still nagging at her like a migraine. It formed a lump in her throat that she couldn’t swallow.

She tapped her fingers against her wallet, turning around to glance back at Armin. 

He was tired. 

His hands were scarred from years of hard work. The bags under his eyes were from handling work shifts that no human being could manage for long. 

The lack of a proper diet certainly didn’t help him out when it came to carrying heavy planks of wood and other construction items all day. And, the little money he did get?

He sent it your way. 

Feeding you first. Buying your clothes first. Making sure you were able to bathe in hot water, even if he was covered in dirt and grease from working all day. And, he refused to let you work with him as well. He couldn’t stand the thought of you getting injured on the job. He didn’t care how much you both needed the money. You weren’t going to work unless it was a safe and stable job.

And he did it all happily. All because he loved you.

He held his head down, trying to shield his face from the sun. Because of that, he didn’t notice that she was holding out a thick wad of cash.

“Here,” she said to get his attention. “Take it. I don’t need it.”

“Wh-what?” His blue eyes widened, darting between her and the money. He had never seen so much cash in his life.

“No, I can’t take-” 

“I’m not asking, Armin.” She reached down, grabbed his hand, and put the stack of cash right in it. 

It was too much money to fit in her wallet. He figured that she must’ve fished it out of her backpack when he wasn’t looking. Considering she didn’t enjoy staying in one place very long, she always carried all of her money with her and a handful of necessities should she spontaneously decide to go to another part of the country or something of that thrilling nature. 

“No. Here.” Armin tried to hand the thick stack of cash back to her. “This is like…a thousand dollars. I can’t take that much money from you. Besides, you’re trying to introduce my girlfriend to someone who could change her life. This much of an apology isn’t necessary.”

“It’s more than a thousand dollars. And it’s not charity. Look at your hands.” She grabbed them, showing him the scars of hard labor. “See how hard you’ve worked for your entire life? You’ve earned this money and much more if you ask me. And if you can’t take it for yourself, do it for the woman you love. Don’t you want to see the look on her face when you tell her that she doesn’t have to eat half a sandwich tonight? Take her to a nice restaurant. Buy her a dress. Buy her whatever.”

Mikasa started to walk away once again. 

“And I’ll be back here tomorrow with the backstage passes.”

Armin tried to call out for her, but she wouldn’t respond. She wouldn’t even slow her speed. 

The blonde did the only thing he could do. He shoved the money as far into his work bag as he could.

—

“Wow, look at this place, Armin!”

You beamed, stepping through the doors belonging to a restaurant of such elegance, you couldn’t even pronounce the name. When Armin came home from work that night, he told you about Mikasa giving him some money. He failed to mention the backstage passes, though, as he wanted to see if that promise would actually come true. 

Running around Los Angeles looking for nice dinner-worthy outfits was utterly surreal. And, perhaps Armin was a fool to spend this much money on food and clothes, and he’d save the rest, of course, but he wanted you to have one night.

One night of pure happiness.

And he promised to take you on a real date once. 

“We’re a long way from Chuck’s Place, aren’t we?” Armin smiled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You looked amazing. Even better than the lavishly presented food you’d soon stuff your faces with. You wore a dress that managed to hug your curves just right, but that was also classy and sophisticated. 

You were beautiful enough for people to hesitate and glance your way.

Armin, with his hand placed on your back like a true gentleman, approached the hostess.

“Hi, we have reservations under Arlert.”

The brunette lady smiled, searching for the confirmed reservation for a couple of moments.

“Yes, of course!” She said politely upon finding it. “Right this way.”

You were both seated at a dining table for two, complete with a white table cloth, a bread basket, and complimentary water.

Armin pulled your chair out for you, and you gave him a heartfelt, “thank you.”

After you both received your menus, you scanned your eyes across the beige template filled with appetizing meals all written in cursive.

“Look at the bottom of the menu,” Armin said, glancing up from his own menu with a soft smile. 

You darted your eyes across the bottom, and frowned.

“The fucking squid?”

“Below that, genius,” he gave a small chuckle.

You blinked at him, but continued your search. When your eyes landed on something you so desperately wanted to try, you struggled to keep your voice at a socially-acceptable volume.

“Steak and lobster! They actually have it!”

“Order it,” Armin said.

“What? Hell no.” Your smile faded, and you were instantly reminded of your financial situation. Mikasa’s money wouldn’t last forever. “Do you see the price? I’ll have the…Chicken Parmesan. It’s cheaper.”

“Hey,” Armin reached across the table, taking ahold of your hand. He looked so handsome underneath the soft lighting. “I didn’t bring you here so you could worry about the price, sweetheart. Please, get whatever you want, okay?” 

“Okay,” you said hesitantly, but you smiled. “Well then, since you’re made of money now, what are you getting?” 

“Chicken Parmesan.”

You playfully kicked him underneath the table, laughing softly in a way that made your eyes glisten. You were truly happy, even if it would only last for a few hours.

Seeing you happy made him happy. He ran his thumb across the back of your hand, looking at you as if he was staring at the world’s most enchanting piece of art. 

You weren’t doing anything, simply chewing on the complimentary bread and showing him a trick you saw about spreading the butter.

Then, you’d glance around and make note of all the fancy decorations you saw, and try to pronounce the elegant titles of the meals on the menu. 

You were just being yourself. The happiest version of yourself. 

And it made his heart skip a beat.

He loved you so much, he could have cried. 

—

After munching on flavorful tender steak and lobster—Armin ordered garlic lamb chops and buttered scallops—you were both sipping on a glass of champagne when your waiter approached you.

He placed a plate of ravishing tiny bites of three different desserts in front of you, drizzled with a chocolate sauce.

“Your dessert, miss,” he said politely.

“Sorry, we didn’t order any dessert-”

“I ordered it.”

Armin interrupted. He nodded at the waiter, who hurried off with a polite grin. 

“Oh,” you raised the plate to pass it to Armin. “Then here you-”

Suddenly, your throat dried to a crisp at the sight of a ring sitting on the other side of the dessert plate. 

“Is that…” Your words trailed off, vanishing in a way that made you wonder if you had said anything at all.

Armin took the plate from your trembling hands.

He sat it down.

The engagement ring stared at you.

He had told you that he wanted to marry you, but just like most couples who said flattering things to their partners in hopes of winning them over, you didn’t think that he’d actually propose. 

Armin took your hand once more, staring into your eyes.

“Listen, I’m not a fan of public proposals, and I was too nervous to prepare a speech, but coming to a place like this has always been a dream of ours. It symbolizes how far we’ve come, and how we can go further. To be able to sit here and eat this kind of food, and to do it together after everything we’ve been through…I wanted it to be the place where I ask you to be mine forever as well. I couldn’t imagine what my life would have been like without you, and I want to be with you for as long as we live. I hope you know how much I love you, because I want to grow old with you, no matter what happens.”

Armin picked up the ring. He got down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?”

Nearby diners and waiters watched the ongoing proposal eagerly, and when tears started to stream down your face as you held out your hand, they cheered politely. 

“Of course I’ll marry you,” you sniffled.

Now, tears started to fall from his eyes as well. He slid the engagement ring on your finger, and kissed you wholeheartedly.

—

When Mikasa kept her word and delivered the backstage passes to Armin, he kept the secret from you for an entire month. 

All he told you was that his friend didn’t want to go to the concert anymore, and didn’t want the passes to go to waste. 

You hadn’t heard of the band at all, and even tried to convince Armin to sell the passes for some extra money, but he refused, claiming that he was a fan of them and it would be a lovely experience.

But what was truly a lovely experience was marrying Armin. It was a courthouse wedding, but even so, you were just as happy as a dolled-up bride who spent thousands on a fancy ceremony. 

You were both husband and wife. Truly. You had the wedding rings to prove it, as well as the beautiful glow of all newlyweds.

Three weeks later, you and Armin were at the Hudson Stadium. You had never seen so many bodies in one place.

If it wasn’t for Armin’s hand gripping yours, you probably would have gotten lost in the swarm of fans. They were decked out in band t-shirts or outfits to match the group’s aesthetic, which was mainly black clothes and some sort of edgy jewelry.

Making your way backstage was like undergoing a secret mission, one that was led by Mikasa.

Meeting her was when you discovered your husband’s plan.

That this was his way of trying to get you into the spotlight.

You wanted to tell him how ridiculous it was, but the hopeful spark in his eyes was something you couldn’t let fizzle out. So, as he went with Mikasa to go fetch the band’s manager—leaving you at the snack bar since you desperately wanted to try the cubed cheese—you figured that for him, you’d give it a try. 

—

“You’re doing it wrong.”

A voice suddenly startled you.

“Huh?” You glanced up, seeing someone walk over. They reached for the cubed cheese.

“You don’t take the toothpick out of the cheese with your hand. You use your teeth. See?” He placed the toothpick right between his teeth, pulling the little snack off of it smoothly. “Slides right off. You don’t gotta take it apart beforehand.”

He grabbed your wrist. He picked up the toothpick out of your hand, placing it back within the cubed cheese that was also inside of your hand, and he gave you the reunited pieces. 

“Now take it apart with your mouth.”

“Dude, don’t touch me.” You frowned at him, tossing the cheese in a nearby garbage can. “I don’t know you like that.”

“Sorry, just wanted to help you out.” He smirked a bit, tilting his head down at you. “You don’t know me? You mean, you’ve never heard of me?”

“Nope,” you said dryly. You continued to scan your eyes across the mini buffet, searching for anything else you might have wanted to try. The sight of a macaron had caught your eye. You reached for it, taking a bite, forgetting all about the stranger until he spoke again.

“If you don’t know me, what the hell are you doing here? And with a backstage pass?” He looked you up and down. “And people aren’t supposed to come back here until after the show anyways.” 

You pinched your brows together. As you took another bite of the macaron, you scanned your eyes over the stranger.

Putting his words aside, based on his attire, which consisted of ripped black jeans, a fitted black t-shirt, and a spikey belt complete with an equally spikey bracelet and ring, you noticed that he also didn’t have a backstage pass dangling from his neck.

He was a band member.

“I’m gonna guess that you’re a band member.” You chewed on the macaron. “What do you do? Dance? Play the damn drums?”

A humorous chuckle fell from his lips, one that was also laced with utter surprise.

“Try lead vocalist and guitarist.” He held out his hand. “I’m Eren Yeager. Pleased to meet you.”

You hesitated, but with the hand that wasn’t holding the half-eaten macaron, you shook it. 

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name? That’s kinda how it works, baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Well, unless you tell me your name, I gotta have something to call you,” he teased, and you frowned.

“Y/N Arlert.”

“Right,” he nodded. Suddenly, he picked up your hand again, this time, it was to examine your wedding ring. 

“And where’s Mr. Arlert? He’s not here, is he?” 

Snatching your hand away from him only made the devilish smirk spread across his handsome face even more.

“Why do you care?”

“Because,” he leaned in, whispering in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of it. “Then we could-”

“Eren.”

When his sister’s call suddenly interrupted him, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Yeah?” He turned around. When he did, he saw her, his manager, and an unfamiliar blonde guy. “What’s going on? Who’s that?”

“My name’s Armin,” the friendly blonde extended a hand to Eren, shaking it. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Apparently,” Eren’s grumpy manager suddenly spoke up, “the woman behind you has a nice voice. Your sister and her new friend want me to hear her sing. Seems like a waste of time to me.”

“Really?” Eren turned around to face you, smiling humorously. “You can sing? I’ve known you for two-and-a-half minutes and you didn’t tell me that?” 

You were silent. You glared at him. You didn’t really enjoy his particular brand of humor. Nor anything else about him. 

“It’s not a waste of time, trust me! She’s really good! Just let her sing and you’ll see-”

“Ima put her on stage.” 

Your eyes widened. 

A collective “what?” Fell from the mouths of you, Armin, and Eren’s manager. 

“Have you lost your damn mind?” The dark haired man frowned at Eren.

“C’mon, Levi-”

“Don’t be an idiot. The damn show starts in thirty minutes, and we have every bit of it already planned out. Even if she can sing, I’m not letting you put someone on stage who’s never done anything other than a…what the hell was it…a high school play?”

“Yeah,” Armin mumbled.

“Well, I think the best shows are the ones where we improvise,” Eren said.

“Don’t be so closed-minded, Levi.” Mikasa turned to face her cousin. “I know how the industry works. You’re one of the most elite managers in Hollywood, but you won’t be if someone else snatches her up first. Look at her. She’s really pretty, has a humbling back story, and she’s talented. Give her a shot.”

Levi was silent. Looks were exchanged between everyone.

“Excuse me,” you said. Clearing your throat. “Is anyone gonna ask me what I wanna do? I’m literally right here.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Armin reached out, giving your hand a squeeze. “What do you want to do?”

Eren’s vibrant green eyes darted between you and Armin. It didn’t take him long to put the pieces together.

That overly-polite little weakling was your husband. 

“What I want isn’t the issue,” you started. “Even if you did put me on stage, I don’t know any of those damn songs. What would I even do?”

“You don’t gotta sing one of our songs. You can sing whatever you’d like.” Suddenly, Eren grabbed your wrist. “C’mon, let’s get ready. We need an opener for our show anyways.”

A string of protests fell from not only his manager’s mouth, but from yours as well.

Even so, none of it mattered to him. 

He was going to put you on stage.

—

Back in high school theater class, all of the lessons and methods to relax in the face of stage fright amounted to breathing exercises and confidence building. 

But this was different. Drastically different.

A wardrobe and makeup crew fixed you up, slapping on some black eyeshadow and clothes that were as equally dark.

Eren’s cocky attitude did little to calm your nerves, nor did meeting his bandmates. As you heard the rowdy crowd as the show was getting ready to start, you were about to back down.

That was until Armin pressed a kiss against your forehead.

“Good luck, sweetheart,” he smiled excitedly. “I know you can do it!”

Right. You weren’t doing this for you. You were doing it for him. 

As Eren Yeager pulled you on stage with him, his fans erupting into screams that made your ears ring, you repeatedly told yourself, “for Armin. For Armin. For Armin.”

You tried not to look at the thousands upon thousands of audience members. 

When Eren spoke into his mic, you couldn’t even hear it. And when he looked back at you, your eyes widened. Luckily, he could read your eyes as if he had known you for your entire life. 

“You gonna open the show for us?” He repeated into the mic.

You nodded. 

When Eren let go of your wrist, you suddenly grabbed his.

You didn’t want him to leave.

You probably would have ran off stage from pure nervousness if he did.

The stage lights were blinding. The audience was deafening. 

You didn’t know that the music had started until their screams settled down, and you could finally hear it through your earpiece. 

When you glanced up at Eren, who was looking down at you, you saw nothing except pure reassurance within his eyes. The man who risked his reputation and celebrity status by dragging you on stage had given you an encouraging nod. 

When you raised the mic to your lips, you couldn’t hear your own voice over the sound of your rapid heartbeat. But Eren smiled. And the crowd gave a quick burst of supportive screams. 

Soon enough, he joined in with pleasant vocals of his own, much to your surprise. Being as you weren’t singing a rock song, you didn’t know that he even knew the lyrics, let alone that he would join in.

He simply couldn’t let you try to sing the entire song by yourself, and his extra support gave you the encouragement you needed to let go of his wrist. 

His fans were just as surprised and shocked to hear The Eren Yeager sing something that wasn’t rock music.

And they loved it.

What they loved more, however, was the fact that he never took his eyes off of you the entire time.

—

The next month of your life felt like it belonged to someone else. Like it wasn’t your life at all. And, though it technically was, it was nothing like the life your soul had come to know. 

Levi Ackerman wanted to work with you immediately. Not only that, but he was well aware of the buzz circulating around you and Eren Yeager’s performance.

And who was he to deny the wants and needs of the fans who kept his pockets full?

Levi was wise enough to sit you down with an interviewer belonging to a popular news tablet to get your backstory out to the world, and the fans devoured the story of the poor girl getting discovered by a famous rockstar. 

Therefore, he tossed you into classes to work on your stage presence. He tossed you into classes to work on your vocals. He risked letting you go on stage and perform with Eren at the start of a couple of shows.

You also ended up having lunch with Eren. Attending his rehearsals. Attending one or two of his parties. 

Nowadays, you had seen more of him than your own husband, and that broke your heart into pieces. 

—

The enormous building belonging to a record label was rather intimidating, but as you exited the car, Armin’s lips pressing against your cheek had grounded you once again. 

You walked in, told the lady at the front desk that you had a meeting with Levi Ackerman, and in a short matter of time, you were walking into an office where he sat behind his desk, two white chairs in front of it. 

Eren was sitting in one.

He smiled at you as you sat in the other.

“Good morning,” they both greeted.

“Hey,” you replied.

Levi mentally took note to put you in some classes to help out with your mannerisms as well. You were indeed rough around the edges. 

“So, what’s going on?” You flickered your eyes between him and Eren.

“Getting right to the point, the band is on tour, as you know, and we won’t be staying in California much longer. We’ll be going across the country in a few weeks, and I want you to come with us.”

“Seriously? On tour? Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not kidding around,” Levi leaned back in his chair, clicking his pen against his desk. “I know you’re busy. You’re about to start working on your own music, you’re taking all of these classes, and you miss your husband a lot. But this could bring in a lot of money for you. Get you out of those hotels. What do you say?”

It was a tempting offer. One that you’d be a fool not to accept. Even though the money you had earned so far had brought you and Armin from raggedy motels to decently nice hotels, it still wasn’t enough to make a living off of. 

“I’ll go.”

“Great. We can…”

You tuned out his words thanks to Eren suddenly grabbing your hand. He squeezed it, looking at you with those eyes. 

Perhaps, that was a heads up that he’d approach you after the meeting. 

“Hey, slow down,” he called out, moving in front of you to bring your steps to a halt in the middle of the isolated hallway.

“What’s wrong?” You looked up at him.

He was wearing his hair in a low manbun today. Although he dressed in black, grungy clothes on stage, he was wearing a simple shirt with a pair of nice pants now.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he gave a sly smile. “You’re just always in a hurry to get away from me. I just wanna to talk to you.”

“Well, until I have something to talk to you about, I’ll see you later.”

You tried to walk past him and make your way to the elevator, but he grabbed ahold of your arm.

“Wait a minute,” he turned you around, making you face him as you frowned. “So we can rehearse together, you can come to my parties, all that shit, but you won’t let me talk to you? Why?”

You were silent, avoiding his gaze. 

Suddenly, his large hand gripped your chin, and only then were you aware of just how close he was.

“Is it ‘cause we’re all alone, baby?”

He leaned in. His soft lips brushed against your ear. “Can’t control yourself when it’s just us, can you?”

That was when you pushed him away.

Your actions, however, didn’t knock that smirk off of his face.

“Go away, Eren. Being around you is just the consequence of making money, so don’t get it twisted. I’m married-”

He interrupted you by shoving you back against the wall. This time, he didn’t waste a single moment by trying to tease you. He pressed his lips against yours. His large hand rubbed against your thigh, all before he gripped your ass. The thought that anyone could walk down the hallway and catch you both made him moan into your mouth, and his tongue greeted yours as he deepened the kiss.

He only pulled away because he wanted more, and he knew that he couldn’t get it in this damned hallway, nor with that ring on your finger.

With his lips hovered over yours, he spoke once again.

“What kinda partner makes their spouse work for ‘em, huh?”

“It’s not like that-”

“You sure? Seems to me like it is.” He kissed you gently once more. “If you were with me, you’d only be making money for yourself. No one else, baby. It’ll take you wherever you wanna go, buy you whatever want, fuck you however you want. You’d like that, right?”

You didn’t respond. 

You only pushed him away from you once more.

As you made your way towards the elevator, feeling his eyes on you, you fiddled with your wedding ring.

—

Over the next few weeks as you prepared to go on tour, spending time with Eren was utterly painful. Especially when he looked at you with those damned eyes, or found little excuses and ways to touch you, knowing it drove you crazy. 

And it did.

It truly fucking did.

He made you feel wanted. Desired. And not because of childhood nostalgia or as a savior from poverty. 

But you knew that he was nothing more than a cocky jerk who simply wanted to get in your pants, whereas Armin truly loved you. 

The night before your tour, you returned to your hotel room with a soft smile.

“Hey Armin,” you greeted your lover. “I’m back.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” 

Shutting the door behind you, found him sitting on the bed with a magazine flipped open. Upon it, several lovely homes were circled with a red pen. They were all for sale.

“Look at these houses,” he smiled. “Tell me which ones you like.”

You picked up the page. 

“You’re looking at houses for us?” 

“Yeah,” he paused. “I know we’re not ready yet, but once you come back from tour, we’ll be able to afford one. We can finally say goodbye to hotel rooms.”

“Oh.”

Armin’s smile faded. His eyes scanned over your face. 

“Everything okay?” He asked. “Are you nervous about the tour?” 

“No, not exactly.”

“Then what’s wrong?” He reached out, grabbing your wrist gently and pulling you down on the bed with him. He looked at you with the softest eyes. “Talk to me.”

When he looked at you with such love, and yet, such worry, as he gently stroked your wrist, you wanted to kiss him. He was so beautiful, and he always had been. Growing up, when your entire world amounted to nothing except for a poor little corner of New York, that perfect face was your entire world. 

But you weren’t in New York anymore. And your world had gotten bigger. 

“Armin,” you smiled at him sadly, placing your hand on top of his. “I’m leaving you.” 

—

You had never truly seen the face of heartbreak before. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t figure out if you were joking, but based on the look in your dead, emotionless eyes, he knew that you were being serious. He stared at you for a long time. Sadness started to prickle at his heart, and the corners of his mouth fell into the saddest frown, and his big blue eyes glossed over with tears ready to fall. 

“What?” He mumbled sadly. 

You pulled your hand away from his. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

“I said that I’m leaving you, Armin.” You sighed. “I’m sorry, but it’s over. Thank you for everything you’ve done, but I didn’t come back to the hotel to spend my last day with you. I came to get my stuff.”

You got up. You grabbed a bag, and started gathering your belongings.

“What did I do wrong?” Armin asked. His words were laced with heartbreak.

Tears slipped down his cheeks. As he got off of the bed, watching you pack, his heart ached badly enough to make him wonder if it could kill him.

And he was hoping it would. 

“Armin, baby,” you grinned sadly. “When you try to force someone into the spotlight to make money for you, then this is the price.”

He said nothing. You spoke again. 

“If you need money,” you took off your wedding ring, slamming it down on the table. “Pawn this.”

“That’s not-” he sniffled, “I didn’t do any of this because I wanted to make money off of you. I just didn’t want you to struggle anymore. I knew that you could have the life you always wanted. I…I promised you that I didn’t care if we were rich or poor! Don’t you remember that? I just want to be with you. Please…please don’t do this. Please don’t leave me.”

He didn’t see the point in living without you. He didn’t even remember what life was like without you. He didn’t even know anything aside from his love for you.

He sacrificed everything for you, from meals and hot water, to knowing that he’d go to hell and back if it meant that he could kiss you forever. 

He loved you—god, he loved you so much, it was excruciating, and yet, you zipped up your bag. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” He tried to wipe his tears away. “You’re doing this because of Eren, aren’t you?”

You ignored him.

“Thanks for getting me here, Armin.”

As you walked towards the door, walking away from your childhood friend and your marriage, you looked back at the crying man who clenched your wedding ring, telling him one last thing: 

“I’m sure the bakery will still take you back.”

And with that, you left the hotel, going to the parking lot where your ride was waiting for you. After your ride helped you with your bags, you hopped into Eren’s Lamborghini to head to his mansion as eagerly as you once hoped into Armin’s rental to head to an L.A. motel. 

Eren drove off with you.

And your old lover was watching you both from the hotel room window. 

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠, & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭!

🏷: @hidansdarling @lilvampirina @okaystopwhore @chrollohearttags @tartarsaucechi1de @nanamochii @bunny2612 @kazushawty @prettydumbslut @crazychaoticizzy @indigoballad @averysmolbear @seishirogf @6sakusa @levin4nami @chaotic-on-main @sad-darksoul @gwapbby @katestrophes @ventdavi154 @randomrandom122 @svftackerman @moonmalice @musegonemad @thehanging-gardens @inciteterr0r @zeninsbitch @purple-milk24 @itzgabz22 @beaniebanby @nuxoticc @mooomuu @micafecitoconpan @anonymousme23 @skit-brentfaiyaz @theitchbbbb @princessos-blog @elliesbabygirl @the-mrs-steve-harrington @kittenbabe00 @neptunes1nterweb @shinzouwoeren @hetalia-tumbler @hon3y-c0mb @bol0-de-morang0 @thisisketchy @yoongirecs @allofffmypeaches

[novalore]

another thing i had in mind for ex husband simon was that this time you're more resistant. no touching, no nicknames that make you weak-kneed, nothing. divorce means divorce, and the wedge that split the two of you up would probably still be there.

fine by simon, he follows the rules to a T. hands to himself, polite greetings and only talks about the children. maybe for a birthday for the boys, he takes the family shopping for gifts since it's a tuesday and there won't be any party or whatever and when y'all come back home, the lights are on.

they'd been off when y'all left. simon quickly opens the middle console and pulls out his weapon and tells you to get in the drivers seat. should anything come running out, pedal to the metal.

a little bit of time passes, you're about to be driven crazy with anxiety but simon finally comes out, except he's empty handed.

comes to the side and opens the driver door. "whoever was in there is gone. probably hopped the back fence. i've already called the guys."

you're a sobbing mess because how dare someone come into your home? your sanctuary? what if-

and you come to a startling realization. what if you and the boys had been here? alone?

simon's looking down at his phone, and furrows his brows. "i gotta go get-" but you don't let him finish, trembling fingers grabbing the front of his shirt. "you cant leave us here. don't leave me alone. don't- just please. stay."

you're too upset to resist his embrace or correct him when he calls you sweetheart. the guys get there eventually, price and gaz waste no time in sweeping the area and you, accompanied by simon, tuck the kids to bed.

price calls it later, that the place seems to be clear. nothing really taken nor left behind. they all leave, johnny and kyle deciding to stay overnight across the street their car and simon also turns to bid you goodnight, except you don't let him.

you practically beg him to stay, that you won't feel safe without him here. the couch won't do because he's too far away, what if whoever that was comes in through the bedroom windows.

you seek comfort in him and in the dead of night, he whispers promises into your ear as he slides home. promises to keep you safe, to keep the kids safe. that he'd let nothing ever happened to you, not while he still lived and breathed.

when you're finally dozing, with his spend drying in between your legs, he grabs his phone and texts johnny that it's done, they can go home now.

johnny responds in seconds, telling him that he tore his very nice jeans jumping that rough hewn fence of theirs and that simon owes him a new pair.

[novalore]

 SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN.

⋆ suguru geto, choso kamo, satoru gojo + fem!reader.

 ⋆ mdni. college au kinda. fingering, cunilingus, dry humping, choso + shy reader, making out, ‘just the tip’ satoru cums in your panties, dirty talk. usage of sweetheart, baby, babe, princess, angel.

ִֶָ SUGURU

Suguru’s not shy in the slightest, often smacked in the back of his head from the dirty looks he gives your cute ass under the tight little skirt you wore to the party. a couple of drinks in and he’s thanking the world for the chance to be locked in a cramped closet with the pretty girl who caught his eye.

“fuck, sweetheart, you’re dripping” he murmurs against your cunt, two fingers knuckle deep and his tongue continuously flicking over your clit. the closet’s carpeted floor burns in your back where your shirt rise, up your neck for his fingers to occasionally pinch a nipple in between keeping your thigh spread for him to feast on your spasming pussy. Suguru would lie if he said he didn’t dream about this moment, grateful for the opportunity even though he would have found a way to bend you over the bathroom sink.

his eyes are hooded, cock pulsing and dribbling precum all over the front of his boxers solely from the satisfaction of having you gush all over his tongue and digits. “you’re always this wet? or just excited because it’s me?” he teases, breath direct against the flutter of your cunt seconds before his tongue is gliding between your puffy lips, alternating between licking and slurping on your clit until your thighs shake.

“feels good” you sniffle, eyes crossed and chest heaving from the intensity, from the agonizingly slow drag of Suguru’s fingers inside your walls.

“’m glad, baby” he smirks, face fully buried in your cunt, his once slow and steady rhythm now sloppy and eager, forcing the wet sounds of your pussy to resonate through the room as he eats you like it’s the best fucking meal he has ever tasted. your time is running low, and Suguru will make sure you walk out of the closet with wobbly legs.

ִֶָ CHOSO

although forced by Yuuji, Choso is not quite mad he ended up in the current situation.

he thinks you look so pretty, so fucking pretty in that outfit, allowing his eyes to trail down the shape of your body much like he often does while you walk past him in class. “you look good” he finally manages to croak out after a whole minute of sitting side by side in the closet your friends pushed you into.

“thank you,” you murmur with your fingers twiddling shyly, and Choso feels his cock throb, “i’m glad you decided to come.”

“yeah?” his voice drops, pulled closer to your side like a magnet, eager to hear more, “why is that?” driven by a sudden burst of self confidence, Choso slides a hand to your thigh, briefly brushing the fabric of your pants.

“y-you seem like a nice person” you stutter in return, chest thumping and pussy wetting at the touch, at the low raspy and breathy tone in his voice, “wanted to know you better”

‘cute’ the black haired thinks, tentatively allowing his warm lips to brush your jaw as you stutter, eyes unconsciously landing on your cleavage, fuck..., how he wished to rip your shirt open in the spot, cup your pretty tits in his hands and make you cum from his tongue on your nipples.

"feelings’ mutual, babe” Choso groans, unable to stop his hand from reaching your cheek and tugging your face gently towards his, the touch of your lips on his is almost immediate, sloppy and messy with tongues clashing, saliva wetting the bottom of your lip that drops and stains your flowy shirt.

you’re too good to him, he thinks, and you deserve better than a quick fuck in a closet, so much against his inner lewd thoughts about savagely tasting your pussy, he tugs you up, lips still attached as your ass land on his clothed cock, begging to be freed and release inside or all over you.

but this will do for now, he just wants to make you feel good, he needs you to feel how much he craves for you; Choso might think he’s going slow, but the broken cries and whimpers increasing in intensity with each drag back and forth of his hands on your hips prove otherwise, grinding you nice and directly against his pulsing member. addicted to your moans, to your sounds, Choso can’t wait to become addicted to your cunt too.

ִֶָ SATORU

“lean back against the door, princess... mm, yeah, that’s perfect” Satoru grins, tongue poking on the side of his cheek at the perfect sight of your pliant body, cutely leaning back for his eyes to take in the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock head, panties pushed aside enough for the fat size of him to comfortably get enveloped by your walls. ‘just the tip’, he promised, mentally kicking himself for the teasing he brought on himself.

he needs to fuck you nice and deep, to bury the whole girth of his cock inside your warm inviting pussy,— but he won’t, Satoru promised to keep it light, just the tip... for now, and it’s hard to resist when you look at him with that slight glazed over gaze, lips glossy, puffy from the intense make out session you had just a couple of minutes ago, spread for huffs of air to come out.

but of course, when Satoru wants something, he’ll do his best in trying to get it.

“it’d be so easy, to pull your hips down and slide my whole cock inside...” Satoru tuts, sliding his thumb across your belly until it lands on your folds, rubbing on your engorged, glistening clit, “wouldn’t you like that baby? to take me whole inside this tight cunt of yours?”

“you promised” you whine in return, slowly circling your hips on his cock, dribbling slick all over his length until it coated his balls and most likely the floor underneath.

“tsk” the blue eyed retorts, continuing his assault on your clit while occasionally bucking his hips up, just slightly, but how can you blame him when you feel just too good, too warm and slick, almost begging to be pounded, “’kay, but at least i’ll make you cum on my cock” he groans, using the hand that isn’t on your clit to rub at the same pace on your nipples, bringing them to full hardness under his ministrations, “your body is so responsive, angel, so fuckin’ sexy” it comes with a buck of his hips, making a dragged cry to come out of your lips, thighs shaking from the effort of maintaining yourself in a hovered position, “you gonna cum? I can feel you twitching” the constant previous teasing got you to the edge in a matter of minutes, arching your back in a beautiful way that makes Satoru groan appreciatively, “fuck, yeah, so hot”

the cry of protest comes almost unconsciously at the same time he pulls his tip out of your still convulsing cunt, fixing your panties before sliding his cock through a leg opening, eagerly rubbing on your mound and sensitive clit until the crotch of your underwear got translucent by the amounts of mixed fluids, soon joining the thick ropes of sticky cum that land on your flushed skin, a reminder of the too short moment of passion you shared.